She’d been told to get there by 4:30, she had a late call, traffic was bad, she arrived at 5:05 PM.
“I’m here,” she called, wondering at the location he’d sent her to. A house under renovation, beautiful at its core but full of dust, paint, tools and tarps. The neighborhood a hodge-podge of older houses, either being renovated or for sale. Deserted, mostly. She sneezed as she went up the stairs.
She’d worn what he’d told her to, silky blouse, tight black skirt, spike heels, no stockings, black g-string. She liked the hollow sound the heels made on the stairs as she went up, liked that she probably looked pretty hot from behind, with her round ass and stalking heels. Too bad he wasn’t there to watch her go up.
He wasn’t upstairs, either. She paused on the landing: paint buckets, rope everywhere, tarps in the doorways, dust and grit on the floor. She wrinkled her nose. He wasn’t one to be irritated with her for frequently being late, so she wasn’t really worried about that, but it was odd that he wasn’t here.
She ducked under a heavy plastic tarp that covered the opening to the last room.
“Hello—” she began. An arm came across her throat from behind, choking the words and breath from her. She gasped, trying to get her breath, twisted in his grip. He kicked her feet out from under her. She landed painfully on the floor, grit and dust grinding into her knees and palms.
“What the—” A hand slapped her across the back of her head.
“Shut up,” a voice said. It was not his voice. He had landed on top of her and now he wrenched her arm painfully behind her back, shutting her up, bringing tears to her eyes. In moments, while she tried to register what was happening, he had tied her wrists behind her back. She got her breath and opened her mouth to scream. He laughed.
“Go ahead and scream, no one’s going to hear you. And even if they did, no one would care. Some bitch screaming in one of these houses is nothing new, Princess. No one here gives a shit.” She thought about the empty street outside and knew he was right. She screamed anyway. He put a foot on her back and laughed at her.
“Who…” she managed, gasping. “Why?”
“Doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is you’re late.”
She immediately went still. “Where is he?” she asked. “I’m not that late…35 minutes!”
He began looping rope around her neck, heavy, tight, pulling her face down to the dirty floor. He had never done anything like this before. She couldn’t get her balance, she struggled, she pulled, she growled. She was suddenly afraid. If he wasn’t here, who would keep her safe? They had rules, she had limitations…
“He wouldn’t let someone—” she started.
“Do you see him here?” His voice was a growl in her ear. Then his hand was in her hair, turning her head to the side. “Look into the camera for him,” he said. “He wants to see everything that I’m going to do to you.”
She was furious. “I know him,” she said, “he wouldn’t allow—”
“Maybe he’s tired of you,” he said, interrupting her. “Maybe he’s tired of you always being late.”
She felt the stranger’s weight leave her, but she couldn’t move to get away, could only struggle like an insect on the floor. He wouldn’t do this, she thought. He likes me pretty… She heard the camera clicking away, recording her humiliation, her fury.
Then she felt the ropes on her ankles.
“No!”
He pulled them tighter, spreading her legs open, even as she fought him, leaving her face down on the dirty floor, her ass open to his gaze. This was wrong, she knew he would never have permitted this. He was jealous of her, never allowed her to show herself to anyone but him…she was his, and his alone, she’d heard him say often enough…
“And these pictures,” she heard the stranger say, “are for me.”
And that was how she knew that he hadn’t condoned this part of it. What else would he do that wasn’t what he was supposed to?
Moments later he stepped in front of her. “And now, for punishment.”
She strained to look up at him. Punishment? He had never punished her before! All she could see were his heavy boots, jeans, and a long, wicked crop.
“No, no…” she said, whimpering in real fear. She’d never been hit with more than her lover’s hand. Who was this crazy man? Did he even know her lover, or had she wandered into the wrong place and given some stranger just enough information to make her compliant? She began to struggle desperately.
He considered her for a moment, sighed, and said, “Okay, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” And he tied a rope to her arms and pulled them straight back and up, tying them above her back.
And then the blows started. She’d never known anything so intense and screamed and cried as he hit her, over and over. He made her count, telling her she was to receive one strike for each minute she had been late–she counted to thirty-five. She’d given him that bit of information herself, hadn’t she.
And through it all he took pictures.
But finally, the blows stopped. It’s over, she thought. It was done…whether he had sanctioned it or not, it was over.
Until she felt a hand on her head, and another on her hot, burning ass, stroking her.
“Such a pretty ass,” he said. And she heard the sound of a zipper. And then her real ordeal began.
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This is the fiction piece I wrote to accompany photos of a scene W and I did. The rest of the pictures can be found in the features area of Bondage Demons in the “Jade” section. Enjoy!