“Cash, grass, or ass?”

“Huh?”

She looked at him as he fastened the seat belt, sunglasses making her eyes cool, impersonal, insectoid above a lopsided grin.  “I said we could carpool, not that I’d let you ride for free.  So how are you going to pay?  Cash.  Grass.  Or ass?”

“Ass?”  It was half question, half hopeful request.

She dropped the car into gear and moved into traffic.  “I was hoping you’d pick ass.”  The clunk of the automatic door locks punctuated her sentence, an ominous counterpoint to her widening smile.  “Now shut up, leave the stereo alone, and enjoy your ass, because when we get home it’s mine.”

She watched him in the rear view mirror, his eyes moving to her hopefully, suspiciously, and felt a little twinge deep in her stomach as he started to sweat in the air-conditioned car.  The car moved through traffic quickly, taking them through the empty areas and suburbs towards their home.  She drove faster than usual, more aggressively, and felt her breath getting harder as he became more flushed, and had more trouble keeping his hands still.

Her door was open as soon as the ignition was off, and she was out of the car, walking around the back to come up beside his open door.  She’d been thinking about this all day, and couldn’t keep herself off him any longer.  “Get out.”  She hissed it, looking around to make sure they were alone.

He slid out awkwardly, her body pinning him in the opening made by the car door.  She grabbed him roughly, sliding her hands down the back of his pants, pulling him close, smashing her lips to his.  Hungry kisses.  Hard, painful groping.  Short gasps.  Her hands forced him up on his toes, grabbing the waistband of his underwear and twisting, pulling it into the crack of his – her – ass.

She felt his interrupted breaths on her lips as she twisted and groped his flesh, felt his body pressing against hers, and finally made herself step back.  She was hungry for him then, wanted to throw him down and beat his ass raw, roll him over and ride him on the dirty concrete, pressing his sore flesh into the filth and stone.  Instead she made herself slide by, a playful parting slap on one cheek waking him up from his own fantasies.

She went to the bedroom, he flopped down on the couch and reached for the remote automatically, trying not to think about what might be coming.  Trying to keep them out only made the thoughts more persistent and his hand was rubbing his cock through his jeans, imagining the sounds the belt would make, the burning slap of the hairbrush, the sting of her open palm as she he lay naked over her lap…
“Hey!  You’re sitting on my ass!”

He jumped at the sound of her voice, dropped the remote, and automatically jerked his hand away, suddenly a teenager caught doing something he shouldn’t.

She grabbed him by the hair, pulled him up.  He started to protest, stammering an apology as she slid something into his back pocket.  He looked in time to see her flipping another, identical item over and speech left him at the sight of a square of leather with brass tacks shoved through it.  “I told you that old wallet would come in handy.”  She loved the feeling of his body tensing as he saw it, figured out what it meant.

She felt her own crotch getting hotter as she slipped the square into the other back pocket of his jeans, loved the feel of his mind telling him to beg her to take away the pain while his cock got hard again and wanted more.  “Try sitting down now.”

He carefully, gingerly, lowered himself down to the cushions, gasping as the tacks slid through denim and cloth, making tiny points of pain in his ass.  She stepped over and straddled his legs, looking down at him and playfully lowering herself until she was putting the slightest weight on his legs.  “Hurts?”

The wide eyes did it to her every time, made her so wet, and the way he licked his lips, knowing there wasn’t a right answer…  “Yeah, it hurts.”

She lowered herself more, felt his arms tense up and push down into the couch harder to keep his flesh safe from the cruel points.  Her fingers traced a line down her cleavage, undoing one button, then the other, opening her blouse.  His arms started to get tired, the muscles spasming and sending little waves of pleasure through her as his body shook.  “Want to touch them?  She lifted a breast out of her bra, offered it to him, bringing it close to his mouth and then backing away, watching him tilt his head forward and feeling his locked elbows start to weaken, to involuntarily collapse.

“Yes, please…”

She rubbed her nipples, moaning as they crinkled and hardened, and looked into his eyes.  “Want to feel me up?  Want to fondle my tits?  Pinch my nipples?”

“Yes…”  It was a tortured moan now, and she felt him shifting his weight from one arm to the other, rubbing his cock against her crotch and trying to find a way to free even just one hand. When she thought his desperation had reached the point he might let himself fall to the couch, she stood up.  “Too bad.  You sat on my ass without permission.”

He fell to his side, keeping his ass off the cushions and bringing his burning arms to his chest.  She flopped down beside him, buttoning her blouse back up, sighing contentedly as she wiggled back into the soft cushions.

He turned his head and glared.

She smirked, pretended not to notice, and turned on the television.  “Since you can’t sit down anyway, how about making supper?  Do a good job and maybe I won’t make you sleep on your stomach all night.”

His breathing slowed, the swelling in his crotch faded.  “Spaghetti sound good?”

“Whatever you can eat standing up.”

She waited until he was in the kitchen, unbuttoned her pants.  Slid one finger down her damp panties, began to rub her clit in small circles.  The orgasm came fast, a small, quick one, just enough to take the edge off her hunger.  She wanted to make this last, make his pain the entire evening, savor his rising torment.

She didn’t even taste the supper, left half the dishes on the table, and shoved him into the bedroom trading long, garlic and tomato flavored kisses.

His pants were down and on the floor as they moved to the bed, forcing him to take small, careful steps as she ground her body into him.  She felt his skin snag and tear beneath her nails as she dragged them up and down his back, tracing burning lines down to his ass and mauling it with savage lust.

She spun him around, shoved his face down to the bed, pulled his underwear down.  She felt a thump deep inside her as she kicked his legs apart, his pants and underwear dangling from one ankle.  Tremors deep inside her started as she pulled on a leather glove, and began to spank him.  Alternating cheeks at first, he jumped and hissed and moaned in pain and she hissed and moaned back in pleasure.  Ice water dripped across his back, running down his burning flesh and soothing, then making the pain worse as she began slapping him again.

When he started to beg, really beg, not the human cries of pain but the animal mewls that signaled the pain was too much, she rolled him over.  He squirmed to raise his burning backside off the sheets, and then she was on him, settling down and guiding him inside her.

She watched his face as she slammed down, contorting in pain as his searing skin hit the bed, then gasping in pleasure as she pulled up, over and over again, as fast and hard as she could.  He thrust up as she slammed down, caught between pain and pleasure, until they shuddered to  orgasm, and she fell on top of him.  He yelped and rolled onto his side, still hugging her tightly, and they lay facing each other.

“That, really, fucking, hurt.”

She kissed him, tenderly.  “Was it too much?”

He shook his head.  “No.  But it really fucking hurts.”

“Brave man.”  She sighed contentedly, snuggled up against him.  “I suppose I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to use cash instead, buy your ass back.”
A large hand stroked her hair, while he carefully touched his burning ass with the other and gasped.  “I have fifty-five dollars in my wallet.  It’s yours, and I think pretty fair considering the condition my ass is in.”

He felt her head move against his chest as she nodded.  “Deal.”

The next morning he grabbed her playfully as they were going out the door.  “Hey, I was thinking I’d drive today.  How’s that sound?”

She looked at him blankly.  “Do you have money for gas?  That’s why we parked the dinosaur truck in the first place, remember?  It cost so much to fill it up, it was almost empty anyway, four dollars a gallon…”

When he thought about his empty wallet and the stunned look crossed his face, she couldn’t keep herself from grinning.  “Didn’t think so.  Hand me my keys, would you?  Oh, and since I’m driving, we’ll be stopping at the rest area right before the turnoff.”

She made him wait for it, savoring the thought herself.  “You’re going to cut a switch.”

Copyright 2008 by Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

He slid his shirt off, and took out the clamp. Opened it and slid the cold steel over his nipple, letting it start to close, let the teeth start to bite then opened it again, the way she had so many times. Just letting the pain start, making the anticipation build, listening to the sharp gasps of breath every time the serrated shining teeth started to bite down and the whimper as they opened again. He could still hear her voice when the pain spread through him, telling him to get on his knees, her fingers tangling in his hair and pulling his head back so she could stand over him and watch his whole body tremble.

“You want pleasure?” She’d worry his neck with her lips, little bites with her teeth making a trail of sensation from his throat to his spine.

“Yes please!” He’d gasp and roll his body against her, desperate for her touch.

“You’ll pay with pain.” She’d twist his hair hard and pull, arching his back to pull his body into a taught, immobile bow.

“Yes please.” It slipped out before he could think of any other answer, he couldn’t think of anything at all but her thighs straddling his chest, of bartering his body or even his soul for her caresses. Of selling his pain for both their pleasure. Of begging her to to make his nerve endings a mirror image of her own, his pain reflected in her pleasure and back, feeding on each other and getting hungrier.

“Ooh, I love to hear you beg. Kiss the clamp.” She’d move it before his lips, making him fight to pull his head forward to reach it, holding it just out of reach until he puckered his lips and pulled forward as hard as he could to plant a quick kiss on the cold clamp.

She’d wait until he sagged back, the muscles in his neck exhausted, and then move the alligator clamp a little further away. “Give it a blowjob, a wet sloppy one.” She’d thrill at the flash of anger in his eyes and roll her hips when she felt his hair tighten in her hand again and saw his lips pull forward towards his tormentor again.

Her gasping breaths would fall in time with his own, in as he sucked the steel into his mouth, out as he rocked his head back, lips tightly wrapped around the length of the clamp, taking her fingers in. Her legs would pull him in tight to her crotch and she would rub herself up and down with short, jerking motions, feeling the hair on his chest tickle her thighs, jerking herself off on the beating of his heart.

“Wetter. Use your tongue.” He was rolling with her now, pushing himself into her, and his tongue shot out at her command. Rolling over the clamp, darting back into his mouth when it got dry, until she held the clamp open and watched his tongue dance on the sharp metal points.

Then let the spring pull the clamp shut on his tongue.

“Agh, fook!” His eyes flew open and he instinctively shook his head to try and dislodge the teeth as his hands came up from his sides.

She knelt down and grabbed his hands, wrestling with him and keeping them away from the points digging tunnels of pain in his tongue. “No baby, no, keep going, keep going with your mouth.”

She felt his chest shudder as he drew in a deep breath and calmed, then began pulling his tongue in his mouth, wrapping his lips around the clamp. His lips distorted as the flat back pushed them out of the way as he shoved his tongue back out, in and out over and over until spit dripped off every bit of the shining metal.

Her lips crushed into his own and she sucked the clamp into her mouth, biting down on it with her teeth and pulling his tongue out, further and further until it stretched taught and pink in such exquisite pain. His gasps of pain and her gasps of pleasure passed back and forth along with the metallic taste and suddenly memory wasn’t enough for him.

He pushed the clamp open and stuck his tongue out, remembering the feel of her up tight against his body. The teeth bit down and he trembled violently, forcing himself to keep still, letting the memory of her fingers hold him in place just like her flesh and bone had.

He sat there until the pain was a familiar situation, until it throbbed wasn’t new anymore and he could tell himself it was her pleasure he was feeling instead, and make his body believe it. His hands fought to reach his throbbing erection, but he made them stay behind him, counted down from a hundred until his lust abated to some dark corner of his mind.

His fingers opened the clamp and his tongue slipped out. Dragging the damaged flesh across his teeth to feel it again, he put his shirt back on and dried the clamp off with a washcloth. He came down slowly, but his breath calmed and he eventually relaxed.

He looked at the clock on the wall. Quarter of seven, she’d said she’d be there at eight.

And she was. His lust and shame were nearly boiling by that time, he wanted and needed her to force him down to the floor and make him beg. To make him feel so wrong and hurt him.

When she’d casually asked him what he’d done that day, he’d blurted out the whole story. In trembling, halting sentences he’d confessed everything, the words falling over each other as he shook and stared at the floor, pulling the clamp out of his pocket and turning it over and over in his hands.

She’d waited until he was done, then kissed his forehead softly and lifted his chin with her hand. “Oh baby.” She took the clamp out of his hand, and dragged it across his lips. Her other hand reached down and unzipped his pants. He felt sharp metal points snag and pull his underwear. She smiled at the fear in his eyes and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

“I have other uses for your tongue tonight, so we’ll just have to find someplace else for this to go.”

She shivered at his moan, and her hand slid into her purse where her fingers flitted across steel and plastic and wood, some smooth, some with sharp jagged teeth, all with springs to pinch and crush flesh between their jaws. And all for his most sensitive and tender parts, and all for tonight.

Copyright 2008 by Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The ritual had been passed down since the people of the plains had stopped following the beasts across endless prairie and began to plant crops instead. Every winter, year after year for generations, they would find the strongest, the bravest, the most determined man of their village for their sacrifice.

When the first snow fell, the men would fight. A brutal free for all melee in the disappearing summer grass. Kicking and biting, gouging with teeth and nails, they would howl their pain at the open sky as they strove to break each others bodies. The fight would continue until only one was standing. He would be the chosen, swaying and gasping on wobbling legs with blood pouring from a multitude of cuts, holding broken ribs with short, gasping breaths, great chunks of long hair ripped from his skull and smiling teeth stained bloody from split lips.

He would be stripped.

The women would cut his clothes away with long slashes from crude flint knives, the chiseled edges tearing jagged stripes in flesh, pulling him up or forcing him to his knees as they sliced away everything that was not part of his body. Hot breath steaming in the cold as fresh blood traced the lines of twitching muscles down his torso, painting his bruises scarlet.

He would be bound.

Strips of wet leather hide that would shrink and tighten as it dried wrapped around his cock and balls, constricting, holding, keeping him from any release. Knots pulled tighter and tighter until they nearly fused, binding great churning lust in his gut.

He would be caged.

Hauled to the pit, thrown in the ground where the Gods of Death and Winter ruled. Cold, jagged Earth engulfing him and sucking the heat from his bodies. A wooden grates thrown over the cages, secured with mighty stones until the Spring.

He would hunger.

Uncooked strips of bloody flesh would be thrown to him while the wind howled and the snow fell. He would tear it apart with his teeth and fingers and devour the warm meat raw. Goat milk would be poured through the wooden bars while he lifted his eyes to the world denied him, frozen lips open wide as he tried to catch it all, the white liquid running down his face and body, freezing on his skin and mixing with the blood and dirt and filth. The hunger would grow until it became unbearable, pacing in his cage to keep warm, howling in his prison to remind the village he was alive, shrieking in frustration as the leather denied him and his lust grew.

Come the Spring, he would be reborn.

With the dawn looking down his cage would be opened. The boulders pushed aside and the wooden covering moved away. For the first time in months he would see the light and warmth again. He would be roughly hauled out of the cage, hands pulling on his arms and hair, dragged forth from the Earth by the women. His hands and feet torn and bloody from the frozen Earth, the dark soil still staining him the color of the land, he would fall to the ground.

He would be freed.

The knives would come out again, and his legs would be yanked apart, his face pinned down in the fresh summer grass and his ass hauled roughly into the air. Sharp blades at his thighs would keep him on his knees, make any movement a pinprick of sudden pain. While the blades of grass tickled his gasping lips and the women of the village took in his lewd display with jeers and catcalls, the stone knives would cut the leather harness away, fingers pinching and pulling the flesh away from the leather cords and hard stone points working themselves between his flesh and the straps, slicing into both. The harness would fall away, and blood would pour into his cock and balls, forcing its way out the cuts and punctures until he was swollen and bloody.

He would be driven.

Whips of leather and horse hair would strike his back and scrive his flesh. He would fall to the ground over and over, until the pain of the whips grew to be unbearable and he would drag himself further until he finally collpased again. The women would drive him through the village, hard lashes on his back, mighty overhand swings on his ass and thighs, fierce blows rained down on his shoulders as he heaved to pull himself away, dragging himself along the ground like the lowest animal. Starved, naked, bleeding, covered in the filth of the Underworld, fists clenched to protect his torn palms, he would dig his elbows into the ground and pull himself forward, shoving with his knees.

He would be their sacrifice.

The grass would caress him as he passed, exciting him. His lust plain to see, honed by a season of cold and denial, he would drag his flesh across the sweet fingertips.
His desire would grow, until it eclipsed his pain, and he crawled faster, his pleasure growing and forcing him to crawl faster still. His lust and his life would drive him forward until he shuddered to a stop. With the whips crashing down on him in a mad frenzy his knees would lock, his thighs would tremble, and he would cum. Orgasm crashing through the pain and hunger, his life and his blood would spill and sanctify the village, guaranteeing healthy children and many crops.

The land would be sated.

But the Goddess would demand her due.

He would be rolled onto his back, his arms and legs pulled tight, spreadeagled, pinned to the ground and held. He would be fucked then, savagely, mercilessly. After the long winter of denial he would be hard again in an instant, and one of the women would mount him. Riding his hard bloody cock, slapping his face or tearing at his nipples, twisting them to feel his hips buck and roll in pain. They would take turns with him, letting his strength test the might of the Goddess, proving her life and lust would always overwhelm his, and turn it to pain.

Through the day they would ride him, use his cock for their pleasure until he came and his orgasms turned into a white, searing heat. When his throat became too hoarse to scream and his cock lay limp and exhausted after countless orgasms, his balls throbbing and empty, they would finish with his tongue, to make sure he knew his place.

Pulled to his knees, or with the back of his head shoved into the hard ground, they would use his mouth. Slapping his cock and balls whenever he slowed, feeling his screams vibrate against their cunts, he would serve until the last woman was sated. Then he would be left naked, broken, spent…

Conquered.

And for now, the hunger of the Goddess would be subdued. But come the Fall, she would feel the familiar twinges. Leaves would fall, and the wind would grow colder.

And the village would prepare another sacrifice.

Copyright 2008 by Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

She leaned over so he would see himself reflected in the mirrored sunglasses, and then slapped him across the face. While he tried to wake up she sat down hard on his chest and pinned his arms to the bed with her knees. Another slap and she began barking orders in a loud, clear voice into his sleep addled brain. “Convict 84, why the hell are you still in bed?! The 0-800 bell sounded ten minutes ago, and your lazy ass is still in an unmade bunk!”

The bed jostled as she stood up on it and dragged one foot along his thigh until a big, ugly boot rested on the front of his underwear. She put a little weight on it and smiled at the “Oomph!” he gave. His legs jerked up and his hands started towards her foot until she screamed at him again. “Don’t touch that boot convict, unless you want it up your ass! Now I’ll explain again: The 0-800 bell rang! You have ten minutes to get your ass out of bed and have your bunk ready for inspection! Is this bunk ready for inspection?!” She punctuated the end of each sentence by pushing down with her foot, watching him wince and grab hold of the sheets to keep his hands from moving to protect his testicles.

After a deep breath he finally managed to croak out, “No, I don’t know, I guess I overslept.”

She shook her head, and emphasized each word by rubbing the rough sole of her boot over the outline of his delicate cock and balls. Her voice was softer but each word was just as clearly spoken between his gasps and twitches. “You. Will. Address Me. As. Warden. You. Stinking. Convict.”

The bed bounced again as he threw himself hard back into the mattress, and nodded frantically. “Yes warden, sorry warden.”

She took her foot off his groin, and hopped down to the floor. “Better.” She grabbed his ear and pulled while he reached down to massage his aching balls. “Don’t just lay there playing with yourself con, you’ve got work to do.” She pulled on his ear again, harder, twisting this time and he hissed in pain and rolled out of bed.

“Arms up!” His arms went up, and she let go of his ear long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head and off. She threw it on the floor, and then grabbed the front of his underwear. Pulling it out until the elastic stretched to the limit she looked down at him, smirking. “Don’t you dare wear these filthy rags in my prison, con. You can just go naked until you learn to control your filthy urges.” She let go and the elastic snapped back. He hooked his hands into the waist and pushed down, and his underwear hit the floor. Two short steps and he was naked before her.

She took out a magic marker, then clamped the lid between her teeth and pulled. The black ink made a circle on his chest, traveling around his right nipple and then continuing down in a spiral. The petroleum smell filled their heads as she wrote a large “84″ on his chest, directly over his heart. She gave her lips a long slow lick, then walked behind him. “Bend over con, prison regs say I own your ass, and I’ll have you numbered there as well.” The cool tip of the marker traced its way across his cheek, and two numerals later, he was marked as “84″ front and rear. The marker hit the floor, and she moved back in front of him.

Long slender fingers wrapped around his head, holding it there before she pulled his lips down and into a kiss. “I own your ass, convict 84,” she purred. He kissed her again, and she grimaced, “And you have major dragon breath. Get your ass to the bathroom, I don’t have time to wait for you to learn how to make a bed.”

He laughed, and pushed a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. “Yes warden.” He smiled, then took off at a sudden run, sprinting down the hallway and leaving her in shocked silence. A second later the heavy clod of her boots followed him close behind. He stopped and turned after he got to the bathroom, grabbed the door frame with one arm and pulled her close with the other as they collided.

“Bad convict! You’ll be punished for trying to escape!”

He laughed and lifted her up off the floor in a tight hug, kissing the sides of her neck and working his way up to gently suck on her ear lobes. She shuddered and sighed, then grabbed one of his nipples and twisted hard. She didn’t let go until her feet hit the floor, then gave another twist just to hear him gasp in pain. He looked at her thoughtfully in the khaki pants and long sleeved blue denim shirt, while his hand massaged his nipple. “You’ve been watching Cool Hand Luke again, haven’t you warden?”

Her sudden pout was half sincere and half joke. “I want to spank Paul Newman, damnit!” She added a foot stomp, and then forced her face to become serious again. “And I’ve had enough of your nonsense 84! You’ll be showered and have those teeth brushed and report to the mess in ten minutes or I’ll take the belt to your ass until those numbers fall off!”

She turned and stomped off, leaving him alone. From down the hall, she could hear the shower turn on and water running in the sink. His gasp when he found out the shower water hadn’t warmed up made her smile, she’d turned the hot water heater off as soon as her own shower was done. She leaned against the counter, rubbing herself through the pants, imagining him jumping into the cold water, bouncing out, soaping himself up, and running back in to wash off. Small tremors of lust ran through her as she thought of the cold water running over his skin, making him tremble and shiver. The shower shut off, and she smiled down at the laundry basket she’d put all the towels in, sitting there on the kitchen floor.

The bathroom door shut, and she picked up his plate of scrambled eggs and walked to the trashcan. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the clock as she heard his wet footsteps pad into the kitchen. She watched the seconds count down, and ignored him when he cleared his throat. She pretended not to hear when he took another step forward and offered a hesitant, “Warden.” The second hand crossed twelve and she dumped the eggs in the garbage, and turned to look at his shivering, wet, and very naked form.

“Too late 84. If you want to lick the plate, I suppose I’d let you.” She set the plate on the floor, and slid it over to him with a nudge from her boot.

He looked from the plate to her, then shrugged. “If it’s all the same to you warden, I think I’ll just skip breakfast.”

Her eyebrow arched, but she shrugged back. “Suit yourself con, it’ll still be ready and waiting for you at supper time. Now get those hands behind your head, we’re late already and I have to get you ready to travel!”

He sighed as he put his hands together behind his head. Her fingers wrapped around his left wrist and yanked it down into the small of his back, and he felt and heard the hard metal of the handcuff click tight, digging into his skin. The right hand followed, and the second cuff ratcheted down and locked.

He tried to look back at her, but she pinched him hard on the ass as soon as she saw his neck turning. “Eyes front, convict.” Her breathing was getting faster, and he could feel her hot, humid breath rolling across his shoulders. He jumped when she threw the end of a long length of chain over his head and pulled it back into his neck, and she relaxed the tension in the metal links just a little. “Easy 84, easy. It’s just a chain. We use them to keep nasty, incorrigible boys like you in line.”

She watched his shoulders relax, and smiled when he mumbled a breathless, “Yes warden.”

She felt the heat rising in her as she pulled the chain tight again, letting the metal links dig into his neck and push the surrounding skin into a white line tracing his imprisonment. “Can you breathe 84?”

She swooned as he rasped out another affirmative, and pulled the chain across the crotch of her khaki pants. The links massaged her roughly, and she groaned as he swayed back when she pulled on the chain. The padlock slipped through the links, and with a click the chain was a secured collar. A miniature orgasm rolled through her, a small wave of pleasure that brought her back down a little. She undid her belt, and made a loop out of the end. She held the chain with one hand and gave her prisoner a hard smack across his ass with the belt in her other. “When I say march, you march to the back door convict. Keep this chain nice and tight, or you’ll get a taste of the belt. You’ll pause by the back door, and we’ll get you situated in your work detail uniform. Understood, 84?”

“Yes warden.”

The belt hit his ass just as she barked out the order to “March!” and he started walking. She followed a half step later, letting him pull her hand forward and lift it up, the weight of her arm keeping the chain pulled tight, making him conscious of every breath. Three more swats of the belt later, they arrived at the back door. She walked in front of him, slapping the leather belt into her hand. “Am I going to have any trouble with you convict?”

He shook his head, “No warden. No trouble from me.” The links of the chains rattled every time he moved.

She glared at him, then nodded curtly and walked back around. She undid one cuff, and his hands fell to his sides. “Turn around prisoner.”

He turned around and she slapped a tube of sunscreen into his hand. “Your work uniform convict, put it on.”

He squirted a generous blob into his hand, and began rubbing the cream into his face, working it into the hollows beneath his eyes and across his nose. She watched him, moaning when the dangling handcuffs clanked against the chain hanging down from his neck. He rubbed the cream into his chest and arms, and then down and into his legs.

She sighed, and gave him an exasperated look. “Give it here 84, you missed some spots.” She smeared the sunscreen into her hands, then rubbed them down his back, tracing his spine and spreading out to give him hard slaps on the ass before rubbing the lotion in. His back covered, she stepped in front of him and smiled. “Just one spot left.” She took a rubber cock ring out of her pocket, and slipped it down his penis, threading his balls through the loop. The tip of the bottle traced a line down the length of his cock, and she began to rub and massage the lotion into him. He got hard quickly, the flesh expanding and tightening in her hand. She added some more lotion to her palm, and rubbed his balls until his hips rocked and she could see the precum leaking out.

She teased him until his breath became short gasps, felt her own lust building, and then put her hands at her side. “Put your cuffs back on 84. Behind your back.”

He groaned and shuddered, then moved his hands behind his back and awkwardly locked the cuffs in place. She kissed him again, and smiled as he melted in her hands.

His eyes were still closed as she opened the door and picked up the chain. A sharp “March” hit his ears and he quickly moved forward to pull the leash tight as she hit him with quick, sharp slaps from the belt. She shouted directions as they walked, pulling on the chain to add emphasis. “Left” and the steel links dug into the soft skin of the left side of his throat. Too far, and he’d feel the chain start pulling right, scratching the skin on the other side of his body, and he’d move back that direction a little.

It wasn’t a large backyard, and they quickly came to the spot he’d tilled for the garden yesterday. He stopped when she yelled, “Halt,” and felt her let go of the chain, felt it fall and pull tight against his throat. She stood behind him, then smiled and planted a foot right on the 84 marked on his backside and pushed. With his hands still cuffed behind him he fell flat on his face in the dirt and she heard the breath rush out of him. “Right there con, in the dirt where you belong. Right fucking there.” She grabbed the end of the chain and walked over to a tent stake laying on the ground. The pointed end of the stake passed through a link in the chain, and she picked up a heavy mallet.

She could see him watching her out of the corner of his eye, not daring to move as she put the point of the tent stake to the ground and began giving slow, rhythmic blows with the mallet. Steel rang out as she staked him to the spot, driving the tent peg into the ground further with each blow. She began breathing hard, and felt the warm flush creep up her thighs into her pussy. The mallet blows continued to fall, and her hips rolled in time with the sound of metal on metal.

Clang, her hips went forward. Clang, her hips rolled back. Until the tent stake was buried in the ground, chaining him to that spot.

She walked back to him with a swagger, he could see the spring in her step from his worm’s eye view. She took the cuffs off his hands, and rolled him over with her boot. “Someone got dirt in my hole convict, dig it out.” Her footsteps took her out of the dirt and back towards the house, until she heard him cry out behind her. “Warden?”

“What is it, con?” Her hands were on her hips, and she felt her breath get shorter as he sat up and the chain pulled tight.

“There’s no shovel warden.”

“Use your hands.” She walked back into the house to change out of her dirty pants, leaving him outside, alone.

Standing at the window, she watched as he scooped up double handfuls of loose soil and threw it out of the hole. She slipped her pants off and shoved two fingers down her dampened underwear. Rubbing her clit, she watched as he crawled on all fours in the dirt. The soil clung to the excess sunscreen on his skin, turning it into mud and coating him. She saw the 84 she had scribed on his ass, still there and marking him. She clamped her eyes shut, and moaned loudly, forcing herself to pull her fingers away. Her pussy throbbed, and she made herself stand perfectly still, afraid that even the slightest friction from her underwear might make her cum. Breathing hard and shaking, she threw her pants in the washer and went to get a clean pair.

Freshly attired, she went outside and sat on the patio, watching him dig. She wanted to cum badly, could still feel the insistent ache in her pussy, but knew she couldn’t. If she came, she might show mercy on him, unchain him and shoo him into the shower. She needed that ache in her crotch, the fire in her gut to make him do these things. She needed that perverse animal lust to hurt him like this, to help her torture him. The same animal lust that was in him and made him submit, made him crawl naked in the dirt for her.

She watched his clean skin turn to mud, the dirt hanging on him and then falling off his body in heavy droplets. Down on all fours, scooping up handfuls of loose earth and rising to his knees to throw it over the side onto the grass. He sank lower as he dug deeper, and she watched as the loose soil gave way to hard clumps. He’d move forward, dragging the chain along behind him, until his knee struck a clod of dirt. Wincing and cursing, he’d reach back and pull it out from under his knee and throw it aside. He kept digging, turning to look at her sometimes. She’d smile, and he’d drop back to all fours, gouging the earth loose with his sore fingers and throwing it aside.

The day wore on, and the sun climbed into the sky. The cool air from the night got hotter, and he began to sweat. She could see the muscles on his back tense and tighten, and watched his sweat roll across his body. His skinned knees didn’t slide over the ground anymore, but were picked up carefully and moved forward, set down gently but he still winced from the pain. His looks at her grew longer and longer as he silently filled with lust and pleaded for mercy, asked her without words if it was enough. She saw the sweat running into his eyes and watched him blink it away. When he sat on his knees for some time, just looking at her as she stared impassively back, she finally got up and walked into the house.

Coming back outside a few minutes later she stopped at the door, shuddering as a jolt of heat passed through her body. He was back on all fours, digging again, the sun making the sweat on his body glisten. She walked over to him, a glass of ice water carefully held in one hand. “Afternoon, convict 84.”

He turned his head around, seeing her silhouetted against the sunlight. She waited for him to let the dirt he had gathered slide through his fingers and turn his body around to face her. “Warden?”

She smiled down at him, sincerely, and felt her pulse quickening. “You look like you could use some water, con.” He nodded, and began crawling towards her. She tilted the glass, letting a few drops hit the front of her boot. He was on it like an animal, flinging himself forward to land flat on his stomach, running his tongue over the polished black leather to lap up every drop. His cracked and dry tongue continued around the side, determined not to miss any of the precious water that might have run off.

She moved her other foot back, and let some water drip from the glass to the polished leather. He saw the sparkling liquid hit out of the corner of his eye and immediately slithered forward to lavish that boot, licking furiously, the cold water soaking into his tongue and providing the briefest relief from his thirst.

She moved her free foot back and dripped water sooner this time, and he licked faster, trying not to waste any. She walked him across the lawn this way, until the chain started to tighten around his throat. She licked her lips and started breathing faster, watched the chain pull tighter and the links cut into him, the flesh bulging around the steel links that were forced into his muscle and skin. She could see him below her, laying on his belly. Pulling against the chain so hard he had to ease up to draw in a ragged breath, then shoving himself forward again. Pulling the tent peg over slightly with his desperate crawl, his tongue hanging out of his mouth to desperately reach her boot.

She dripped some more water on the toe, and moved it forward as slowly as she could. The tip of his tongue strained and finally reached the water, and she could see the links of the chain rubbing his skin raw and then off. Fine lines of blood mixed with the sweat and mud, and ran down the back of the quivering muscles in his neck. When he had lapped all the water off her boot, he let himself fall back, giving the chain slack. He lay there face down, his breath coming out in ragged chokes between bouts of coughing. She couldn’t hold herself back any more, and awkwardly undid her pants with one hand.

She pushed her pants down, her thoughts were jumbled as she pulled her panties aside, she knew she’d think of something she should have said later, but for now she just ached. She leaned back, and poured water on her stomach, letting it run down into her pubic hair and between her lips.

She crouched down in front of him, and scooted forward. He surprised her by kissing her softly before licking up and down her sex. His tongue followed the trail of water up to her stomach, and then back down again. Her thighs shuddered, and she sat down hard on the grass. More water followed, running down her stomach to her pussy, his tongue following the liquid trail.

The spasms in her thighs grew faster and stronger, and she knew she was near. She set the glass down, and got an ice cube. Shoving his head back, she slid the rounded piece of frozen water inside herself, pushing it in slowly with one finger. The cold burned insider her, and her aching pussy throbbed in frustration.

She grabbed a handful of his hair and leaned back, feeling the grass tickle her legs and thighs. She twisted his hair as he dove forward, trying to shove his tongue insider her. He worked it inside her vagina, feeling the cold hardness of the ice against the tip of his tongue, and began to worry away at the frozen water. She rocked back and forth, twisting his hair and clamping her thighs around his head while he tried to pull the ice cube out with his tongue, with his lips, with his mouth.

Her breathing became shorter, gasping, and she held his face tight to her as she came. She rode the shuddering orgasm, clenching her teeth and rocking back and forth on the grass. Pushed him away as it subsided, and pulled him in for a long, passionate kiss. Their lips crushed together, and the moans slipped from one mouth to another.

They kissed again and again, biting each others lips, clawing at each other in the grass. When she was ready, she pulled a condom out of her shirt pocket and pushed it into his hand. “Fuck me you filthy fucking convict. Fuck your warden and make her cum.”

He got up on his knees, ignoring the raw flesh, and pulled the condom on with trembling hands while she scooted forward and lay on her back, raising her hips up. “Hurry it up convict, your warden isn’t patient. Get her off before you spend the rest of the day fucking a hole in the wall.”

He pulled the condom on and pinched the end, then threw himself on top of her. She “Oofed” and wrapped her legs around his waist, dragging her nails down his back as he started fucking her. She bit down savagely on his ears and shoulder and muttered encouragement between deep moans. “Fucking prisoner 84, better fuck me good or I’ll have your ass in solitary, fucking convict, fuck me harder or I’ll tie you up and you can be the bitch for every prisoner in the yard…” He ignored the spasms in his arms as the exhausted muscles trembled and held himself up, kept thrusting as he felt her nails down his back begin to draw blood.

She could feel the dried dirt crumbling under fingers as she held on to him, the rough soil on his skin rubbing her raw, rolling across her breasts as she tore her shirt open and tugged at her nipples. The sweat dripped off his face, running down and falling on her, leaving trails of salty water and clean earth as it ran down her cheeks onto her neck. The filth on his skin rubbed off on her as they frantically bucked and tore at each other in the grass, his thighs rubbing against hers, the dirt turning smooth skin pink with friction and making each thrust of pleasure a burning, stinging reminder of his pain and suffering.

They rutted in the grass like wild animals, dirt and soil and sweat pooling between them until she threw back her head, clenched her jaw, and came. The sudden contractions around his cock made him orgasm, and he felt his legs lock until the abused muscles screamed in pain. He fell on top of her, she lay there rocking slowly, riding her orgasm down.

Their breath slowed and the kisses became gentle, until he rolled over and flopped on the grass. They lay there for awhile, watching the clouds chase either across the sky. She pulled her pants back up over still tender flesh, and handed him the glass of water.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing the cool glass across his forehead between long drinks.

She smiled and wrinkled her nose. “Damn, you need a shower.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. So do you for that matter.” His finger traced a line of dirt down her cheek.

She grabbed his hand and stood up, pulling him to his feet after. “Oh, I’ll be in the shower con.” He jumped as her hand slapped him on the ass. “And you better drop the soap at least once.”

She found the key to the padlock and started to unlock it, until he grabbed her hands and kissed her gently. “I’m still your prisoner, right?”

She kissed him back, softly, and smiled. “No parole for you, 84, it’s a life sentence.”

Copyright 2008 by Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.