She became a dancing, delirious ragdoll, bouncing to each blow, only to jerk more erratically with the next strike to sear her flesh. Wounded, pricked, nipped, to fight was useless. To relinquish her only smart choice. Sacrificing any control she might have envisioned before the whipping began, she gave up all pride to have this entertainment end. Mustering some courage she never realized existed within, she allowed her psyche to pretend it was that jerking, mindless marionette, and that her forlorn state of mind would draw some mercy from the master.
In her gut she knew it was not her state of distress that would move the master but the audience. She knew that each agonized cry and quivering response incited them. They heaped their satisfaction on her, viewing her reddened flesh in awe, with malicious amusement. No doubt this was the best game they’d seen in months. For some it was an initiation into a sadist’s pleasure they would enjoy again. And like the MC suggested, they didn’t fail to capture the picture of Jocelyn’s pained expression and find exhilaration beyond their imagination.
When her physical perfection was marred to the danger point, Jocelyn glanced up to see her master looking into her eyes, as if he were searching for something. There was only one last cut of the whip after that moment. Maybe he did indeed consider her plight and respond with mercy.
She stopped jerking with the whipping over, except for an involuntary twitch now and then. The room was utterly quiet, while she and the whip-wielding master remained in the center as though they were frozen on the stage. On cue, the lights began to dim around them until they were surrounded in darkness. And then the doors opened, and outside the theater tiny lights went on to mark the spectators’ path to the exit. Deprived of viewing the aftermath of the whipping with snickers and jibes, the crowd hustled their exhausted bodies from the room. And such quiet, as though they were all guiltily fleeing to their homes, realizing the torture they’d observed and their fascination for the sport.
With the audience turned away from her Jocelyn breathed a last sigh of relief. The pain was over. And when the last of the theatre doors closed, the master finally moved from his frozen stance. The rigging was lowered, her limbs set free and her feet removed from the too-tight boots that pinched her toes. It had been a torment she’d almost forgotten until the blood rushed into her lower limbs again and she realized what an ache was there.
Still, there were no words spoken but one small command from the dominant.
“Go home and masturbate,” he whispered to her. “Then sleep.” She was sure of the later, but not so sure she could feel anything akin to an orgasm rising within her. Somewhere in the middle of the whipping, the sex part seemed to slide away to become the last thought in her mind.
Ian brought her back to the hotel and put her to bed. After he’d doused her wounds with cream, he was astute enough to leave her by herself. If he’d as so much as tried to take her sexually she would have revolted.
But in spite of her exhaustion, Jocelyn lay awake for nearly an hour, too sore to sleep. Every inch of her body smarted. Sharp pains and dull twinges reminded her constantly that another cut of the whip could land any minute, until she reminded herself that the whipping was over. There was no more leather. No more audience. The patrons of that cruel work of art were all home in their beds likely sound asleep. Hopefully having nightmares.
Trying to relax enough to drift off, she thought a lot about fate. She wondered if in being whipped she’d touched on the seeds of guilt she’d sown months before. For her crimes she needed punishment, for her guilt she needed resolution. Was this a wise god giving her exactly what would bring her peace?
If Reggie had been there, what would he have done? Would he have viewed the scene with vengeance in his eyes or would he have been entertained? Or would he, like some conquering knight, have rescued her from the horror of it, and taking her on his steed, ridden with her clutched to his chest far away from the fiends and Ian and her own shame?
It was a tough pill to swallow, the truth of how she’d brought this on herself. As long as she pondered the thought—until the new day dawned when she finally fell asleep—she couldn’t figure how a woman of her mirth and bright-heartedness could fall into such desperate straits. The thought did not escape her that she was in as dire a predicament as she’d been when Ian first absconded with her. Not that the act of being whipped and humiliated in front of such an audience was so bad; but unlike the rough stuff she’d experienced with Reggie, there was not a shred of affection or hint of regard to soothe the pain and bring her raw body some ease.
By the time the night was at its end, she finally followed the master’s suggestion and masturbated to an orgasm. She was surprised how quickly it came, having assumed that it would be hard to let loose the stored passion. Once done, she slept. In contrast to her unsettled hours, Ian had been sleeping peacefully since he brought her back to her bed, and had himself laid down in the room next door.
Chapter Thirteen
It didn’t take a day for Alex to understand the method in Reggie’s madness, or his reasoning for having her perpetually bound in the garment of leather straps. Aside from being uncomfortable, having the thongs always running up her ass reminded her of who she was. Submissive, punished and Will Kozak’s wife. She got Reggie’s message loud and clear the first day she wore the thing to work underneath her clothes. However, as if he wasn’t entirely sure she understood, he added a chain that attached to the ring piercing the hood of her clitoris—the one he’d put there seven years before. That chain attached to her waist belt and was drawn up tight so with every movement there was a gentle tug on that sensitive bud. Gus, by his own inspiration, tightened the chain a little each night. To add to the mental torture, Reggie attached three locks to the leather garment to prevent her from trying to remove it by herself. While tiny, these hasps could be noticed under form-fitting clothes, so she was dressed to disguise what she was wearing closest to her skin.
To endure the internal humiliation and discomfort for five days seemed extreme. But it was five days after Reggie’s orders came down before she even had a chance to suggest as much to the man who imprisoned her.
Reggie had taken up with his trollop. For three nights, while Alex languished in her room by herself, she heard the sounds of sex. To her despair, the bubbly blonde and the man of the house were engaged in more than just frivolous sex play. One night there was the distinct sound of a paddle laid against the woman’s bottom. At least Alex assumed as much, considering the smacking noise of wood meeting flesh and the spirited four-letter exclamations that followed. Another time she heard the more startling sound of a lash striking skin. She could only guess the target. And then, because they were in the study, just a short distance from her maid’s room, she realized that Reggie was tying the woman with ropes. The grunts, the groans and the exclamations gave away their sex play, which only made Alex envious since she was having no fun at all. She figured that Reggie must be gloating over this new form of torture—didn’t even have to lay a hand on her to have her suffering.
Gus, of course, loomed large over her at the dawn and sunset of every day. There with his paddle, belt or crop, he made sure the fire in her bottom was constant. Morning and night he appeared in her doorway, always the same expression on his face. It wasn’t completely blank, just passionless in a restless sort of way, as if there was always some darkness brewing inside him. For as long as she’d known the man, however, he was always the same. Whatever was about to explode within him remained duly contained. Alexandra was sure that it had something to do with his high regard for his boss. She didn’t want to think about what utter calamity might be unleashed if the man was not bridled in some way. She decided that moments like this, when Reggie had some other submissive to ‘instruct’, were an outlet for the man’s dark needs.
Five days after this current imprisonment began, Alex walked through the main door of the estate house after work. It was about six o’clock. Her plans were as they’d been the day before. Remove her clothes and remain in her room. Rest if that was possible. Read, yes, she now had some magazines and books. And think, which was by far the worst. It was a dismal prospect, but one she was still willing to endure if it meant eventually getting her back to Will.
“Alexandra,” she heard Reggie’s sharp voice coming from the living room. He halted her progress to the back hallway and motioned her to him. “I want you to meet Gwen,” he said, introducing her to the woman sitting on the couch.
Alex nodded, keeping her real feelings for the woman guarded. A pair of effervescent eyes gazed up at her looking a little startled.
“So, you’re staying here?” Gwen asked.
“A favor to her husband,” Reggie answered for her
“I suppose you’re submissive to Reggie, too?” Gwen wondered aloud, noting the subdued look on her face.
“In this case most definitely,” Alex confirmed.
“Alex sometimes needs reminders. Don’t you, my dear?”
“Yes, yes, sir,” she thought to include the formality.
“Alexandra, I’d like you to take off your clothes and show Gwen your harness,” Reggie went on.
“Here? Oh, but Reg…” the objection began, but thinking better of it she stopped for a moment and just stared at the two. There were a dozen thoughts popping in her head, things she wanted to say to the man, but it was not the time and place in front of this woman. Not hesitating too long, she finally gave in to the command and began unbuttoning her suit jacket. There was a blouse, slip and skirt to follow. She finished off removing the garter belt and hose that got in the way of Gwen seeing the complete picture.
Her hand went to her gaping expression. “Oh my, that is extreme, isn’t it?”
“Oh, on Reggie’s scale of devious delights it ranks about in the middle,” Alex quipped.
Reggie looked at her scowling. “You may keep your comments to yourself, Alexandra. Turn around.”
Alex’s back side was more than just a show of leather and skin. What skin was showing, that particularly on her bottom, was marred by the appearance of bruises in various stages of healing. There were marks of roughed skin scattered here and there. And a few red spots still showing where Gus had used the crop that morning and the bite of the implement had cut deep. These latest marks not only graced her buttocks, a few appeared on her back and shoulders. This had been the most severe daily punishment since the first one at the stables.
“You punish her every day?” Gwen asked.
“I leave that for my stable foreman,” Reggie replied.
“Ooo, that is interesting,” the girlish woman almost giggled as she spoke.
What a ditz,
Alex was thinking. And yet she was very pretty, and obviously submissive. In a way Gwen reminded her of herself a few years before, innocent and unsuspecting. She was a woman toying with darkness having no idea what ship she would sail on and what seas she’d have to cross to find her passion’s satisfaction.
“Come here, Alex,” Reg ordered.
Turning around, the harnessed submissive took the three steps to the man finding herself standing painfully close to his cold, masterful mood, shivering with one chill upon the next.
“This week’s been rough for you,” he said. He spoke to her without including Gwen in the conversation, even though the woman could hear him.
“Yes, sir,” she answered.
“And the lesson will remain with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
He tugged the chain attached to her clitoris and she winced.
“I don’t want you to forget, ever.”
With his voice like steel, the timbre of its vibration climbed right down her spine and tickled her ass. She resisted the urge to shake off the mounting arousal.
“I don’t think I could, sir,” she replied.
“We’ll see,” he said. “I might never trust you, but the man that loves you wants you home. He’s a champion of forgiveness, don’t forget that. Now, get back in your clothes and spend your night with Will.”
“I’m not coming back?” she exclaimed excitedly.
He tugged the chain so she remembered herself.
“God forbid if you did,” he warned. He let loose the chain and she stooped to snatch her clothes from the floor. She was about to fly from the living room, but then Reggie’s voice rang out. “You’re forgetting something,” he said.
“What’s that?” She turned around.
Fishing through his pocket he withdrew his hand and tossed her a shiny wad of something she didn’t recognize. Not able to catch the flying projectile in the air it landed on the floor and she bent down to pick it up. Keys. Two small silver keys to her harness.
“I’m not sure Will wants to use them, but they are his, just as you are. Now behave yourself.”
Alex was so elated she was about to tell him thank you but that seemed totally absurd. A quick smile was all that was necessary and she was off. Reggie was satisfied, as much as he could be, and Gwen remained a little speechless for the normally loquacious woman.
Reggie stared for some time at the empty hallway until Gwen finally broke the silence.
“Were you in love with her?” she asked.
“I think I was once,” he ruminated, almost to himself, though he finally shook himself awake and looked down at the charming woman on the sofa.