The Humor in the Situation

She stomped around him in a half-circle, turning back and forth, examining him from every angle. His arms were tense, locked and holding him out from the wall. His legs spread wide, the thighs pulled tight as the muscles stretched to keep him in the unnatural position. His head was down as he watched her boots move from one side to the other.

She dragged the end of the flogger up his thigh, and held it just under his cock. He raised up on his toes, then sighed and lowered himself reluctantly, bracing himself against the wall. She pushed his cock from side to side with the leather end, and licked her lips. Her voice was a low, sultry whisper. “Tonight, your safeword is… I want to watch Antiques Roadshow with you.”

He groaned, and turned his head to look at her with a frown. “What if Antiques Roadshow isn’t on, oh Mistress of Mistresses?”

She put her free hand on her chest and thrust it towards him. Another deep throated whisper, Jessica Rabbit after a quart of whiskey and carton of cigarettes. “Oh my, then I guess you’re off the hook. My poor feminine brain couldn’t have possibly DVR-ed six hours worth last week.” She threw in an exaggerated flounce that ended in a pout and mauled her breasts with one hand while she tapped her temple with the crop. “Machines are hard, and I’m just a girl.”

He shook his head. “We’ve talked about the DVR co-topping before, it’s not cool.” Then finally nodded. “But I guess for tonight, although I’m not sure I can imagine a torture worse than that show.”

She laughed and shook her hands to limber them up. “Challenge accepted.” She stepped to one side and lined the crop up with his ass cheeks, then pulled it back. “Knock knock?”

He paused for a second, then slowly, softly asked, “Who’s there?”

“Please beat my ass with the crop.”

He closed his eyes so she couldn’t see them roll upward, and shifted his hips slightly. “Please beat my ass with the crop who?”

The leather slapped into his ass with a whack, leaving a small square of red skin behind that quickly faded. “Please beat my ass with the crop ma’am.”

Silence. She waited, while he breathed and waited for another stroke. Finally, she tapped the end of the crop against her leg. “You didn’t laugh. Wasn’t it funny? Maybe I told it wrong.”

He gave a weak, “Heh heh, very funny ma’am. I was laughing on the inside before.”

“And now you’re humoring me. Wait a minute, I did tell it wrong.” She walked over to the drawer and came back with the heavy wooden paddle. “Knock knock?”

He grimaced and took a deep breath. “Who’s there?”

“Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle.”

A heartbeat before he replied as he closed his eyes and exhaled. “Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle who?”

“Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle ma’am.” It crashed into him, hard, on the last word and he jerked his hips, clenching his jaw and trying to figure out how to ask for warmup.

“You’re still not laughing. Guess I’m still not telling it right.”

He made laughing noises that he hoped sounded sincere as she walked back across the room, and came back with the single-tail.

She carefully judged the distance, and let the whip uncoil. “Knock knock.”

He took a few deep breaths, and fixed his gaze forward. “Who’s there?”

“Please single tail me.”

“Please single tail me who?”

“Please.” A crack and a splat punctuated each word, the leather end uncoiling towards him and hitting him across the shoulder blades. “Single.” Crack-splat. “Tail.” Crack-splat. “Me.” Crack-splat. “Ma’am.” She kept going this time, throwing the whip at him, leaving little scarlet traces of pain on his body.

He tried to breathe in time with her strokes, in as she aimed and threw, out as the pain seared across his flesh. He wondered how long it would go on, and considered his safeword then rejected it. His eyes rolled up into his head and he tried to think of something funny.

The pain built as his mind replayed scenes from The Three Stooges and The Marx Brothers, trying to build up a genuine laugh. Each one disappeared in a flash as the whip hit his body, flickering to another that also disappeared. He kept trying to laugh, and failing, as pain and her presence disrupted his thoughts.

Finally, his thoughts tripped over themselves and into a drive across town with her. A woman on the right running from her apartment building, arms pumping and legs flailing for no apparent reason. Her breasts heaving, looking for all the world like she was desperately chasing them down the sidewalk with the intensity of an Olympic sprinter. Something so totally unexpected that it had jolted both of them into sudden, hysterical, paralyzing laughter.

A snort escaped his lips, and he slumped a little as he started helplessly laughing. She paused, her eyes narrowed, then grinned and nodded. He couldn’t stop laughing, and she eventually chuckled along with him then put the whip down and walked over to hug him from behind. “Come on jerkface, I guess I can watch Roadshow tomorrow while you’re out.”

Preview: “Are you sure you’re qualified to do this?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 16: Its Back is for Being Beaten

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: “Stay right like that, because I’m going to start on your back now.”

He groaned and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have put down so many body parts for being beaten.”

She laughed and rummaged through the top drawer of the dresser. “Aw, aren’t you having fun?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you would go through the whole list at once.” He shifted his weight from knee to knee to try to relieve the pain, the skin and think flesh under it still aching from earlier.

She pulled a leather belt out of the drawer, and slid her hands over it. “I try to be unpredictable, Cosmo says it keeps your man interested.”

He snorted. “Cosmo thinks relationships are Stockholm Syndrome with occasional oral sex.”

“Aren’t they?” She grinned and licked her lips, doubling the belt over in one hand.

He frowned, and then shrugged as best he could on all fours. “Fair enough.”

She turned around and brought the belt down across his shoulders, purring at the wet sound of leather smacking skin. “Time to torture the hostage.” She hit him again and giggled.

His teeth ground together at the arm pain radiating across his shoulders, and he flexed his arms, trying to let his body move a little with the blows. The belt hit him again, and again, and again. His body started to sink until he shoved his arms straight and held himself back up.

The sound of leather hitting skin echoed in her ears, and she licked her lips at as the skin on his back turned to mottled red. She fell into a rhythm, hitting him at a deliberate, steady pace, watching as he twitched and his body tried to move while his mind tried to make it stay still.

The thudding continued and filled the room until she paused and walked around to the other side of his body. “The marks were getting uneven. I hate it when you’re not symmetrical.” He didn’t comment, just took the brief respite to take a couple of deep breaths, and brace himself before the beating resumed.

The beating resumed, and she felt her passion building again, the deep burning inside of her body getting hotter. He felt his thoughts getting fuzzier, endorphins flooding his brain, his body melting away with the hot pain and force radiating down through his chest.

The belt slapped into one side of his body, then the other. She watched his skin turn from pale white to pink to crimson, listened to his breathing grow more and more ragged. She watched his eyes as she moved from side to side, catching the end of the fluttering eyelids and the wide pupils as she walked around him.

His thoughts got hazier and hazier, just a series of warming pain and the sensation of floating, the occasional sight of her walking in front of him a reminder that quickly faded of what was happening. The pain in his knees and the palms of his hands faded away, then the pain in his back, and finally all his thoughts were gone.

“Stand up.” He felt her hand pulling on his hair and his limbs responding, slowly forcing him upright. He swallowed hard and frowned at the bright spots appearing around the room, and his stomach started to twist and roll. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “Uh, I think…”

He opened them to see her leaning over him, watching him carefully. “Hey…” He smiled, happy to see her, and noticed he was lying on his back on the floor. “Hi.” His brain tried to puzzle together what happened, and he blinked as she grabbed the pillows from the bed and propped his feet up.

One side of her mouth grinned down at him as she put a hand on his chest. “Don’t try to get up. Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and kept blinking. “Did I pass out?”

She nodded back. “For about three seconds, yeah. You probably stood up too fast.”

“Huh.” He had a strange urge to giggle, and shut his eyes to block out the too bright light of the ceiling fan. “I’ve never passed out before.”

“I wouldn’t make a habit of it, if I were you. I caught you, but it was kind of a surprise. Stay here, don’t get up, I’ll be right back.”

He casually took note of the sensation of his body, noting the carpet on his back, the heat and pain still radiating from where the belt had hit him, and the assorted other aches and pains. He heard her coming back and opened his eyes to see her holding a glass and a small plate. She sat down beside him, and arranged the kitchenware to her side. “When you’re ready, you’ll need to drink and eat. Water and salty food should help.”

“Yeah, think I’m good.” He slowly pulled his feet down and sat up, picking up the glass and taking a long swallow of ice water. “Oooh, chips.” He grabbed the plate and threw a handful of chips in his mouth, crunching and chewing vigorously. He alternated with swallows of water, and worked through both quickly, licking the flavoring off his fingers when he was done.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he stretched and grinned at her. “It was just kind of weird.”

She nodded, and took the plate and glass from him. “Like I said, you probably just stood up too quickly. Luckily, the next item on your list is pretty low impact. I’ll put these away, you take a breather, and then I’ll get your collar and the leash.”

He nodded and smiled at her, glad they weren’t stopping.

Preview: Necks are for wearing collars with leashes attached.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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Heroes and Villians

This story originally appeared in the Erotica Readers & Writers Association Story Gallery, November 2013. It was revised with some very helpful feedback from the kind folks there.

Most people pay professionals to fill their evenings with artificial and gratuitous violence, nudity, and bad dialogue. Some people prefer to make their own.

She saved her spreadsheet, shut down the computer, and headed for the exit. Moving across the parking lot a co-worker waved, and asked if she was going out for drinks. She waved back and smiled, but shook her head no. “Can’t! Movie night!” She grinned brightly and bounced across the asphalt to her car, sliding behind the wheel and slamming keys into the ignition. The bright orange toy gun rode along on the floorboard beside her.

He slipped into the elevator just as the doors closed, stepping to the side and putting his back against the wall. After a moment of silence his supervisor asked him if he had plans that night, with the monotone voice of someone who has the same plans every night. He grinned and nodded at his boss. “Movie night!” The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and he strode quickly to his car, taking his tie off and throwing it in the back seat. It landed on a plastic pirate sword.

He came in through the garage, holding the pirate sword at his side and walking into the kitchen. A soundtrack was playing, something with a lot of percussion and brass. Heavy and thudding and designed to create an adrenalin rush. She was already sitting at the small table in the corner, wet hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a bathrobe. She pointed the toy gun at his chest.

They stared at each other, grinning. She slowly stood up, moving away from the table and keeping the gun on him. She licked her lips, and finally spoke. “So…”

He arched an eyebrow, and struck a pose he deemed sufficiently manly. He brought the pirate sword up, and inhaled sharply to inflate his chest. “Bruce Freedom is my name! You’ve probably heard of me, the world’s most famous spy and criminal detective, retired, but back in the game after my former partner was killed two days before his retirement.”

She smirked and answered in an atrociously heavy and thick Russian accent. “Ah, Bruce Freedom, we meet at last American-pig-dog capitalist assassin swine. I assume you are here to attempt to steal my country’s plans for glorious Communist doomsday device, no? Well, Super Agent Pushitin Buttockskis, who is me, shall thwart your plan to save puny planet. I shall kill you, just as I killed your partner.”

“Now lookie here…” His sudden and hideous Texas drawl made his words slow. “Missus Pushitin Buttockskis, that doomsday device cannot be allowed to fall into the godless commie hands, talons, tentacles, or other appendages of your government, with its known penchant for freedom destroying and liberty hating.”

They started to circle the kitchen, slowly, warily, keeping their eyes firmly locked on each other. The microwave clock was the counter on the doomsday device, the blender an elaborate torture instrument.

She snarled at him as she slipped between the table and the wall, still circling. “Miss Pushitin Buttockskis, actually. I turn my husband over to beloved cruel totalitarian dictator for exploiting the proletariat. Traitorous husband offered neighbor boy five dollars to rake leaves. Of course he was decapitated to death, for glorious revolution, as was neighbor boy for listening to offer.”

He stepped around the microwave cart, and doffed an imaginary hat. “My condolences on the passing of your late toolbox of a horrible nightmare regime husband, ma’am. But I’ll still be needing those plans.”

She moved towards him with an exaggerated step. Her knee poked out of the worn green bathrobe before it fell back around her body. “But I have gun and this is totalitarian secret science base. Thousands of KGB guards will pour through door at slightest sound, and even you will not survive, Bruce Freedom. So tell me, how do you think you will take plans from me, who is elitist evilist superist agent of entire evil world government?”

“With this, ma’am.” He dropped his plastic pirate sword, kicked his shoes off and pushed his pants and underwear down in what he hoped was a dramatic motion, then stepped out of them while thrusting his hips forward. “DUN-DA-DUN!” He thrust his hips back and forward again. “The world’s most freedom-loving penis.”

“Hah!” She threw the gun to the floor and her bathrobe followed. She jerked the strapon hanging from her waist up with both hands. “Evil totalitarian regime penis is much superior! Is strong like bull, and sexy like tractor!”

He laughed in spite of himself, then forced his face back to deadly seriousness. “Well, I have to give you credit for commie unpredictability, Miss Buttockskis, I was not expecting to see that kind of tackle on your hips.”

“Really?” She arched a shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Because name is kind of… big hint. You know what I say, like, dude, spoiler alert.”

“I was blinded my love for freedom ma’am, but now I see how diabolical your evil is. I shall have to take your penis from you, to protect lady liberty from unwanted vaginal penetration with a foreign object. Or any other penetration.” He made the last word into at least six syllables, then moved towards her.

She snarled back at him and kicked the bathrobe away. Her arms spread wide she growled, “Come and get at me, imperialist social safety net hating swine bro!”

He grinned at her and grabbed her shoulders, trying to twist her around so he would be behind her, with her bright red cock pointed the other way. She grinned back and clamped her mouth down on his bicep, pushing her teeth together, worrying the muscle with her jaws.

“Fuck!” His drawl forgotten he loosened his grip on her shoulder, trying to move his arm with the jerking motion of her head and lessen the pain.

“Muhahahah.” She let out a cartoon villain laugh, muffled by the mouthful of skin and tissue wrapped around her lips. She jerked her shoulder out of his hand and stepped in closer. She opened her mouth and let him pull his arm free, then punched him in the upper leg one, two, three times, hard.

He winced and stepped back. She followed him across the room, punching him in the same spot on his leg with short, hard jabs until his back slapped the wall.

“On your knees pig.” She kept the accent, punching him between his sharp exhalations and profanities until he held his hands up in surrender and sank to his knees. She spread her legs and positioned herself above him, sneering down. “Now, let us see how you like taste of glorious authoritarian cock.”

He opened his mouth and she shoved the dildo between his lips until he gagged, choking as it hit the back of his throat. She pushed his head back against the kitchen wall, holding it there and fucking his face, reveling in the control. She could distort his face by shoving the cock into a cheek, sawing back and forth and watching his jaw bulge obscenely. She could make him gag by sliding it to the back of his throat, or suffocate him by pushing a little further.

She played his face like a broken orchestra, pulling all the sounds a person makes to indicate wrongness out of his mouth, one at a time, then in combinations. Gags, wet sloppy snorts, coughs, hacking sounds, retching, bile filled gasps, and congested moans.

Drool poured from his mouth, coating the fake cock and running down his chin. It dripped onto the floor beneath them, and left streamers of glistening wetness from his mouth to her cock when she pulled it out. Her breathing was hard and fast, and she slapped him across the jaw with the fake cock, one side of his face and then the other.

“Swine, you give very sloppy blowjob, but glorious revolution saliva is much better.” The accent was less outrageous now, and she forced his head back, making him look up at her as she leaned over. Her spit splattered across his forehead, running down into his eyes. “Open wide, pig whore.” She could have wrapped her fingers around his jaw and forced his mouth open. She wanted him to do it to himself.

He took a deep breath and his jaw fell open. She let the spit dribble out from between her lips, and hang between them, then worked her jaw muscles. It fell into his mouth and she smiled down at him. “Disgusting. Swallow and tell me how superior my spit is.”

He closed his mouth enough to swallow, and she felt his head try to flinch in her grasp. “Your spit is very superior, Miss Pushitin.” His Texas drawl was completely gone.

She dragged him away from the wall by his hair. He followed her on all fours like an animal, his throat sore and his face still wet, liquid running it across it in new directions and dripping as his body changed positions.

She dragged him to the center of the room, and pushed his face down with her foot until it hit the floor. She paused for a second to enjoy the view of him, naked from the waist down, on all fours, back already arched and legs spread and vulnerable. Then she walked around behind his prostrate body.

Her foot kicked his legs a little further apart, just to prove she could, then she lowered her body until the strapon lined up with his ass. She spit on his asshole, and jammed a finger inside of him hard. She was eager now, and hungry to violate him, to see him hanging off her cock like a spitted animal.

They both groaned in anticipation as she pushed the tip of her cock against his ass. His body tensed until he forced himself to relax, to accept the penetration as the plastic slid inside. She felt the pressure building against the outside of her cunt, mashing nerve endings together as her hips slid forward.

Centimeter by centimeter it slid further inside of him, relentless, until he raised his head and moaned. A deep, despairing animal sound that made her pause. “It’s almost all the way in.” Her voice was her own again. She spit on the cock protruding from inside him, and waited for him to take a deep breath. Then she shoved again.

His breath whooshed out, but she felt her hips rubbing against his skin. She held him there, savoring the feeling of control, twitching her hips just enough to remind them both of the pressure between their bodies. She pushed the palms of her hands up his back, then dragged her nails back down.

He moaned at the sensation, trying to ignore the protests of his asshole.

She massaged his back and dragged her nails along his skin until she felt the muscles relax, then started to fuck him. Her cock slid out and back in, pushing against her clit in rhythmic bursts. She could tell when he remembered to try to relax, and when he involuntarily clenched, and it made delicious changes in the sensations washing up to her from her cunt.

Her hips started to thrust faster, blending it into one long, delicious hammering of her clit until she was slamming her body against his, desperately needing to get off. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, and she growled down at his body, determined to use it to satisfy herself. Finally, one leg thrust out behind her and she shoved herself against him, hard, crashing into him and holding herself there. A deep moan poured out of her throat, and she held herself on top of him, resting on his back.

She rode out the orgasm, then slowly slid her cock out of his body. He felt cold air where hard plastic had been seconds before, and flopped down on his side. She lay down on the floor behind him, and wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him close. The linoleum was cool against their skin, and they lay there until their breathing slowed. She kissed the back of his neck, then moved her lips close to his ear. “Well, world is fucked, audience is pissed, and critics hate movie. But there is always chance for sequel, no?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 8: Its Ass is for Being Beaten

Click here to start at the beginning.

From Part 7: She was still grinning as she looked down at him. “I could get used to that. But business before pleasure, and now that we’ve violated that asshole of yours, I think it’s time we got on with the list and gave those cheeks some color.”

“Stand up.” He forced himself to his feet, body aching and protesting, and stood there breathing hard. She shifted his body slightly, rotating him a little so he was facing away from the bed, and nodded approvingly.

“Here you go.” She held out a plastic ping pong paddle, the bright yellow handle towards him. He awkwardly took it, and she walked back around him to lie down on the bed. “I need a little break, but that ass of yours still needs beaten, so get to it.” He frowned, and looked over his shoulder at her. “Does this technically make me a switch?”

She giggled and pulled a blanket around her, shifting a pillow to prop up her head so she could watch him. “I’m not really into sharing you, so you better hope not. I’d kind of have to kick your ass if you were seeing yourself behind my back. Your affair with video games is bad enough.”

He widened his eyes and feigned shock. “You know about that?!”

She grinned. “I found the Cheeto stained controller, Mountain Dew cans, and sometimes you mumble die alien scum in your sleep.”

He grinned back. “Earth ain’t gonna save itself. And it leaves time for your liaisons with Benedict Cumberbatch.”

“What can I say.” She rocked her head slightly, and panned an arm down her blanket covered body. “He just can’t resist me. And you’re stalling. Start beating that ass.”

He sighed, and shifted the paddle in his hand, awkwardly reaching behind himself and swatting his ass with the plastic. “Oh please, you can do better than that.”

He twisted slightly and hit himself again, harder. The stinging thud of plastic worked its way through his body, and he frowned slightly. He swung again, and the pain reverberated through his body.

She watched, needing the rest, and enjoying the sight of him torturing himself. “Other side of your ass, please.” She pulled the blanket tighter and sighed, watching the awkward swats from his left hand land with a little less certainty.

She put him through his kinky little paces for awhile, ordering him into increasingly awkward positions. On his knees, face down, balanced on one arm with ass in the air. One leg up on a chair, facing her so she could watch his expression as he beat his ass with the plastic paddle. Bent over, leaning awkwardly against the chair and beating one side of his ass, then the other.

The room was silent except for the rhythmic slapping of plastic against skin and muscles, and her occasional command to change position, or hit himself harder or softer. She worked him like a puppet, imagining how she would beat him then having him mimic those motions. Harder, softer. Faster, slower. Spreading his legs to tighten the muscles across his ass, his cock and balls lewdly displayed between them as the paddle crashed into his flesh.

They both knew this was foreplay, the slight delay between her vocalizing her desires and him hearing them lost some of the immediacy a true connection needed. They worked it in, taking the frustration and building on it, using it to build their passion. Tease and denial for d/s, little stumbling blocks that made it harder to lose themselves in each other.

She happily let him torture himself for awhile, letting her hunger build again. He rolled with the pain he inflicted on himself, enjoying the feeling of being an active participant in what they were creating. Her hunger built, his pain faded, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Okay, that’s enough. Put the paddle away. I’m tired of waiting, and next up is one of your favorite body parts: your cock. It’s mine too, you know, because it can give me so much pleasure, and cause you so much pain.” She threw the blanket off, pulled the dress over her head, and looked down at his cock as he turned to face her.

“Oh yes, I’m going to have some fun with this one.”

Preview: Cocks are for fucking! No way this can go wrong, right?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The List 6: Legs are for Being Beaten

The story starts here.

She slid out from under him, and walked towards the bedroom. “Put the vacuum away, take care of any of your disgusting biological needs, and meet me in the bedroom. Enjoy walking, because it might be the last time you do it without pain for awhile.”

She dropped her plate and glass off in the kitchen sink and went to the kitchen. He put the vacuum back in the closet and walked into the bathroom. He forced himself to walk normally despite the electric twitches in his feet from the earlier caning, and leaned back as he pissed. He closed his eyes and flicked the last few drops of piss off his cock, put the toilet seat back down, and strode into the bedroom.

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively as he walked into the bedroom, letting her eyes flicker over his nudity. She could see the little tremors in his muscles, the slightest hesitation before he put his feet down. Things she had caused, and he had done for her.

She sighed and pushed herself off the bed. “Stand there.” She pointed to the middle of the room with a thin dowel rod, and he walked to spot. “The things I do for you. I’d rather sit on the bed and torture you, but I can’t get a good swing sitting down.” She lined up her body, and kicked his feet a little further apart. “Aren’t I considerate?”

Any reply was cutoff by his grunt as the wooden rod whacked into his shin, bouncing off the thin skin and muscle, sending a shock wave into the bone of his leg. He hissed out his pain, and shook his head. “One, ma’am.”

Laughter forced itself past her lips. “Oh, that’s so cute. He thinks how many times I’ve hit him matters.” She slapped his shin with the rod again, sending another wave of pain into his body. “It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve hit you pet.” Another slap from the dowel, an inch below the other. “Because I’m just going to hit you…” Whack! “Until I think…” Whack! “Your legs…” Whack! “Have been…” Whack! “Beaten…” Whack! “Enough.”

He rose up on his toes at the last strike, the skin of his legs glowing red and angry. She stepped around, and started working on his other shin silently, her mouth a hard line of intense concentration. Hitting him exactly where she wanted, exactly as hard she wanted, ratcheting up the pain and sensation for both of them.

She moved from heavy, hard hits to light, stinging taps and back to hard hits, distressing the thin skin on his shins before moving to the back of his legs. She worked him over, moving back and forth across his legs, up and down the heavy muscles. Slapping, hitting, crushing, distorting the skin and muscles, forcing energy into the bones from unnatural angles.

Time vanished, and the world shrank until it was just the bedroom, then the two of the them, floating in a void of pain and pleasure. She moved around his body, focusing on his legs, leaving a spiderweb of red lines and abrasion across the skin. The wooden rod glistened with sweat from his body. Blood rose up near his skin, then peaked out in tiny drops, winking and bouncing as his muscles spasmed.

The sound of wood hitting skin filled their ears, echoing around the pleasure, forcing it into peaks and valleys. The sound of wood hitting skin forcing it higher, his gasps and moans little bursts of percussion that accented the sound of torture.

She kept working on his body, tearing it away, robbing of its vitality little by little, hungry and wanting to take it all until he had nothing left to give. His body jerked in little shocks and waves, and she waited until he started to wobble, then slid a chair from the desk behind him. “Sit.”

He dropped gratefully into the chair, and then dowel slashed down hitting the front of his upper legs. Trapped against the wood of the chair there was no give, and the pain made him jump. He forced his hands to grab the chair seat, holding himself in it while she continued beating him, barely pausing.

The world got a little smaller, and she relentlessly worked her way up and down the front of his legs, bouncing the wooden rod off his body until he was sobbing and gasping in front of her. When his moans no longer sounded human, when they were the desperate sounds of a trapped animal, she finally stopped.

She stroked his hair gently, letting him come down, and slid her breasts across his face. He moaned again as the pain mixed with sudden pleasure, and sank in the chair a little. She let his head rest against the skin between her breasts, feeling his hot, wet breath, and then gently pushed him back.

She reached over the dragged an old blanket off the end of the bed, and spread it out in front of him. He leaned forward as she slipped away, and she smoothed a wrinkle in the blanket with her foot. “I think that covers the legs. Hands and knees now. It’s time we fill that hole in your ass.”

Preview: Butt fans rejoice, next up is part 7: Assholes are for being violated, with dildos, buttplugs, or hands. Possibly extraneous commas, not sure if that first one is necessary.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Eventually

She pushed him against the wall, face first, and stepped back. His skin shined in the dim light, and she licked her lips. “Which gag for you tonight? I think the penis gag, you look like the kind of guy that will really struggle to keep a cock in his mouth.” She shoved gag past his lips, making sure the bottom of the fake cock rested on his tongue, and let the straps dangle from the base.

He turned his head expectantly, waiting for her to fasten the straps, but she just shook her head. “Nope. I’m going to beat you as long as you have that cock in your mouth, and not a second longer. You want to suffer? Tonight you’re going to prove it. Spit out the gag when you want it to end.”

She shucked her pants down and off, then pulled a bullet vibe out of the toy drawer. It hummed to life, and she carefully slid it down her panties, making sure it rested snuggly against her clit. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll willingly spit it out. I think you’ll keep it in your mouth as long as you can, but eventually you’ll scream, and it’ll fall out.”

She grabbed his hair and turned his head until he was facing the wall, then leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “I can’t wait to hear you scream.”

The rubber band snapped into the skin on the back of his shoulder. Thick skin that was constantly being rubbed and abraded by clothing and sheets, skin with relatively few nerve endings. Skin that could take a lot of punishment. Blood vessels rose to the surface and popped as she pulled the rubber band back and let him snap into his body again and again, methodically working on one side then the other. Ten snaps on the left, ten snaps on the right.

He wasn’t even breathing hard yet, and she purred in appreciation.

When those spots were tenderized, she moved on to the crop. Light, stingy pain. Quick flicks of her wrist on the same spots she had been working on earlier. He liked his marks, liked to check them in the mirror when he woke up in the morning, and she was happy to give him a few. He’d have an abundance after tonight. He didn’t mind the crop much, it didn’t weigh enough to really hurt him with one stroke, so she made the blows light and quick. Made sure the pain built up and never had a chance to subside.

When his breathing started to get harder, and the air rushed out past the gag harder and faster, she shifted her hips and rocked the vibrator buzzing against her cunt.

More quick slaps with the crop, now on his ass. First one cheek, then the other, alternating back and forth while the skin on his shoulders was still hot and burning. She could have plugged him, left him with a plug in his ass or a tail dangling between his spread legs, but she didn’t want him slipping away into being a thing. She didn’t want him to slip away into the feeling that he he was some thing that deserved to be violated, to be used for his holes and his pain. She wanted him to be fully aware and feel every second of agony.

Sometimes subspace was fun, but sometimes it really annoyed her when he started to enjoy her carefully orchestrated beatings. Not tonight, not until the very end. Not until she had gotten off.

She switched to the evil stick, a light carbon something-or-other rod that stung like a motherfucker. She kept working on his ass, then bounced a quick his off one shoulder. This could hurt with one hit, and she kept working her away around his body, starting a pattern then deliberately veering off in a random spot. From his shoulder to his ass, back to his shoulders, down to the back of his thighs, back to his ass, a sharp jab to his balls, working her way around his body.

She used the stick in one hand, and twisted the waistband of her panties with the other. The vibrator was pulled harder against her cunt and she gasped in pleasure. His breathing was harder now, and she could tell he was trying to exhale when she hit him. She twisted her panties in time with his breaths, giving herself sharp bursts of pleasure every time she hit him.

She hit him until she saw his body start to slacken, and could tell he was getting used to the pain. Time to change things up a little. The wooden paddle was heavy, thuddier, more impact pain than stinging pain. She lined it up carefully, and laid a sharp slap across his ass.

His hips jerked, and slammed into the wall as he rose up on his toes. “God, I should have tied some weights around your cock to keep you from fucking the wall.” Another slap, this time only across one of his ass cheeks. That leg spasmed and the knee jerked, and she angled her wrist to hit the other side. She worked one side of his body, then the other, letting him jerk and twist. He bounced off the wall, and she looked at his face as it jerked into view every time she slapped the hard wood into one side of his body.

His eyes were screwed closed, and he was breathing hard. His lips were pulled back, and she could see him biting into the gag to keep it from falling out of his mouth. She started hitting him harder, across his entire ass now, putting more of her arm into it. His hands were curled into fists and he was sweating. She kept hitting him, twisting her panties.

When he started gasping around the gag, making animal sounds even with his mouth full of fake cock, she set the paddle aside. She picked up the cane, and poked him under the chin. “Open your eyes.”

His eyes slid open, and his body slumped. He groaned at the sight of the cane, and she nodded. “You will scream, eventually.” Drool poured out of his mouth around the gag, and she knew his jaw ached, but he still held it in his mouth.

She reached into her panties and flipped the vibrator to high, then started to cane the back of his thighs. She had left this area virtually untouched, wanting the skin to be fresh when she got to this point. She wanted this to last.

The cane thudded into his body, and she laid bright red lines across the back of his legs. The cane whomped into him, sinking into his flesh then springing back. His body convulsed with each blow, and tears, drool, and sweat all poured out of him. She felt the vibrations rocking through her cunt, and felt her orgasm building quickly. She kept hitting him, kept slapping the cane into his trembling body, and forced herself not to come. Not yet, she told herself. Not until he screamed.

The cane thudded into his body again. And again. And again. She felt the frustration building within her, and started to hit him harder. She fought to keep herself in check, to keep from damaging him, and succeeded. Barely.

The heat in her cunt spread through her body, and time slowed down. She could feel the smooth varnish on the cane against the ridges of her fingerprints, and hear the air swish as she swung. The cane moved through the air slowly, then thudded into his body. She was hyper-aware of the force being moved down her arm, through the cane, into his body, and back. She could see the shock traveling up and down his body, making his muscles jerk and contort, all down his legs and up his back.

She moved around to his other side, and continued beating him. The lines across his body were and angry red and purple now, and small trails of blood ran down his legs, pooling and knotting the fine hairs on his legs. He suddenly sensed that she had moved, and turned his face to follow her to the other side of his body. The can caught him halfway through the movement, and pain exploded in his brain.

The gag flew out of his mouth and bounced on the floor, and she stared at it for a second before her hips spasmed and she came. The cane thudded down to the floor, and she groaned and sank to her knees as the orgasm slammed into her. She ground her teeth together and smashed her thighs against one another, riding the wave of pleasure as it washed across her body.

She pulled the vibrator out of her panties, and turned it off. She carefully stood, her legs still slightly wobbly, and carefully pulled him to the bathroom, making sure he wasn’t dripping blood on the floor. She’d have to remember that in the future. Blood was a bitch to get out of the beige carpet.

He followed her into the bathroom with small, mincing steps, and sagged gratefully on the sink. She could hear him hiss as she rubbed alcohol down the welts, carefully cleaning each one. Her thoughts were still warm and fuzzy, and she played with the abrasions she had left on his body as she carefully sterilized them and put bandages over the worst.

She slowly licked her lips, and spun him around so that he was facing her. She wrapped her hands around his balls, not squeezing, just applying enough pressure that she got his attention. “Who owns this cock?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “You own that cock, ma’am.”

She shook her head and tugged on his balls, just enough to make him wince. “That didn’t sound sincere. Look in my eyes and tell me who owns this cock.”

He opened his eyes, and looked down at her, and smiled, just a little bit. “You own that cock ma’am.” His cock twitched as she ran her thumb along the shaft, teasing the head.

“Yes I do. And I decide if I’m going to punish you by hurting it, or reward you by making it cum, isn’t that right?”

His cock twitched again and he raised himself on his toes slightly as she continued to rub the sensitive skin. “Yes ma’am.”

“I’m glad we understand each other.” She slid her lips over the head of his cock, teasing it with her tongue, then letting it pop out of her lips. “You have no say in the matter.” She licked down the length of his cock, swirling her tongue around the head. “You took quite a beating, and you will have an orgasm.” She wrapped her lips around his cock again, working more of the hard flesh into her mouth.

He groaned and she sucked a little harder, pushing him closer to orgasm. She glanced up and his head was back, his mouth open and breathing hard. She worked her free hand behind his body and jabbed her fingernail into one of the welts. He whimpered and jumped, his cock almost falling out of her mouth as she went back to working on his cock.

“Ugh…” He growled deep in his throat, and she paused, holding his cock in her mouth, letting his pleasure die down a little before building it up again, a little further each time.

“May your cock please come, ma’am?”

Ever so slowly she dragged her lips along his cock until it popped out of her mouth. “There’s no permission here. My cock will come. And then we’ll put the gag back in your mouth, and I’ll bet you until you scream again.”

She shoved his cock in her mouth, sucking hard as his the words sank into his mind and his hips jerked. His legs shuddered as he came, and she could feel his cock convulsing in her mouth. She waited patiently for it to end, slowly running her tongue over his skin, teasing the frantic nerve endings, then stood up.

Small hands pushed her hair out of the way as she leaned around him to spit in the sink. She scooped a handful of cold water into her mouth, swished it around, then spit again. His legs were still trembling and his breathing was still hard and fast, his cock half-hard and wet with her spit.

She kissed him lightly on the lips, her hands on his shoulders in case he collapsed. “You did very well, pet. Now crawl back into the bedroom while I get a sheet of plastic for you to stand on. I don’t want to worry about you bleeding on my carpet.”

He started to sink to his knees, but one finger under his chin stopped him. Her lips were a fraction of an inch from his ear when she whispered, “You did very, very well, but it’s going to get more difficult each time. I just want you to know, keep impressing me, and I’ll have that cock I let you borrow coming in my cunt.”

He shuddered and she smiled. “Eventually. Not the second time, but around the fourth or fifth scream, I think I’ll want my cock to feel my cunt.”

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded and his shoulders slumped as he started to sink to his knees.

Her finger on his chin stopped him. “Make it to double digits, and I’ll lock that disgusting appendage up, and keep it in a hard plastic cage while you suck on my tits and eat my pussy, unable to get even a little bit hard.”

His body froze, but his sharp inhalation told her exactly where his mind was determined to be by the end of the night. He crawled into the bedroom, and she went to get a plastic drop cloth from the linen closet.

She already had the package torn open and was pulling the plastic apart when she walked through the door. He was standing, facing the wall again, the cock gag in his mouth and the straps buckled tightly around his head. She dropped the plastic next to him, and chuckled as she undid the buckle to the gag.

“Nice try. It gets harder each time though, not easier. I don’t want my cock to be spoiled.” He let out a soft mewl of protest as she pulled the cock out of his mouth, and dropped it in the drawer. She came back with a dildo, larger than the cock gag, harder to keep in his mouth. “Open.”

His mouth opened the fake cock slid into his mouth, disappearing inside him inch by inch. The balls dangled obscenely in front of him as he wrapped his lips around the cock, applying pressure with his teeth to keep it in his mouth.

She rubbed his hair, then slid him over so he was standing on the plastic. “Don’t worry, you won’t get a bigger cock every time. At least not in your mouth. I’ll be plugging some other holes too. Eventually.”

She slipped the vibrator back in her panties, and turned it on low. He turned his head to face the wall, pinning the base of the dildo there to keep it from falling out of his mouth. His lips sank a little further onto the fake cock, and she grinned.

She couldn’t wait to hear him scream.

Preview: The cardboard scraped against his cheeks as he slid his head inside the box.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Choose Your Own Adventure Part 9: The End

Choose Your Own Adventure Part 1

Don’t try this one at home kids. Breath play is serious stuff.

The bag hit the floor in front of his hands. “Put it on.”

His fingers relaxed and the needle fell to the floor. The cloth was smooth, light, and warm in his hands as he pulled it open and slipped it over his head. The world plunged into darkness, and he could feel his breath filling the hood.

He sensed her movements around him, picking up the needle and antiseptic. Then her boot thudded into his shoulder and he was falling, hitting the floor with a rush of disorientation and pain. The heavy sole worked its way around his body, stomping into his flesh, grinding and twisting his muscles and skin. His body twitched under it, instinctively trying to defend itself or flee, to do anything to escape the pain.

The clinical part of his mind noticed that she was avoiding his lower arms and face. She wanted to leave marks, to grind the sole of her boot into him and brand him as her property. To tear, to bruise, to change the flesh so he would remember this every time he showered. To make his body less his, and more hers.

He could feel her footsteps in the floor, stomping around him, working her way down one side of his body then up the other. There was a pause, and then the toe of her boot flicked into his balls. His hips jerked and then slapped back down into the carpet and the cold, numbing pain flashed across his balls.

She kicked him in the balls again, watching his hips jerk and his arms twitch. His body slammed itself up and down each time, a mockery of fucking, until she placed her boot on his cock and pinned him, twisting it back and forth. She could feel his body pushing back against her foot, trapped between her and the floor, bulging and straining against her.

His head was a black pool on the floor, his body an anonymous toy she could hurt and get herself off on. She bit her lower lip, mentally going over what was going to happen next one more time.

She moved her foot, and repositioned herself to sit down on his chest, pinning his arms with her knees. The plastic slipped over his hood, and she cinched it down, cutting off the flow of fresh air. It inflated suddenly, the air rushing out of his body as he realized what was happening and his body jerked under again. Then the bag deflated, and began to move slowly and regularly as he forced himself not to waste oxygen.

That was what she was waiting for, and tremors worked their way up her thighs. That moment of calm surrender, the acknowledgment that she controlled him clear down to his breathing.

She counted off seconds in her head, then opened the bottom of the bag long enough for him to take a breath, then wrenched it closed with her fist. She held it closed a few more seconds each time, forcing him to go a little further, take it a little longer. Finally, she licked her lips and started counting for the last time, holding it closed until she reached the last number, then pulling it off his face.

He could feel cool air drying the sweat on his face as she pulled the black cloth off his head. He lay under her, squinting his eyes at the sudden light with the warm rush of endorphins and adrenalin making his head warm and fuzzy.

“It’s over Navaux. You’re dead.”

He swallowed hard and grinned at her. “I’m getting better.”

She snorted and shook her head. “I should have known you couldn’t get through this without a fucking Monty Python quote.”

That’s it! End of the Choose Your Own Adventure Saga. It’s been a lot of fun, thanks for voting and commenting. I saw a lot of people who hadn’t commented before, and found out some things about reader preferences (apparently some people are very dedicated to cbt, which I’ll keep in mind in the future). Maybe I’ll do something like this again some time, but I have some real world stuff coming up that I need to build up a story buffer for, so it’s a pretty good time to end it. Ciao.

Preview: I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Smells

“Real animals rely on their sense of smell. So I’m going to help you out with that.” She wrapped the band of the blindfold around his head, then carefully pulled a hood down over it, completely blocking his eyes with two layers of cloth. “Can you see anything?”

He blinked, feeling his eyelids rub against the cloth. “No ma’am.” He mentally shrugged and closed his eyes. It was more comfortable that way. “I can’t see anything.”

“Down on all fours.”

He dropped to all fours, felt the collar wrapping around his next. The chain leash brushed the side of his face, and he was being dragged along. He followed blindly, crawling along the floor on his hands and knees until he heard her voice.

“Stop.” He put his hand back down, stopping, knees and hands pressed down into the floor.

Something disturbed the air in front of his nose and he instinctively flinched a little. A chuckle came from above him, and then her voice. “Smell, pet, and tell me what you’re smelling.”

A slight acrid scent that reminded him of jackets and winter. “Leather, ma’am?”

“Good boy. When you get one correct, you get something you like. In this case, it’s a belt.” He tensed right before he heard the swish-woosh and felt the strip of leather smack into his ass.

It slapped him several more times, and he rocked his hips back and forth, trying to breathe in time with her blows. Warmth and pain spread through his body, and his mind started to get fuzzy while his cock twitched.

Finally, it stopped. “Thank you ma’am.”

“You’re welcome pet. Now tell me what this smells like.”

He shook his head, and scrunched his face up under the mask. It was a heavy, hard smell that reminded him of oil and machinery. “Metal, ma’am? Steel?”

He felt her hand pat his head. “Very good.”

He could suddenly sense her body near him, and swallowed hard. Metal wrapped around one wrist, and the clicking sound told him a handcuff was being ratcheted down. He let her slide his other wrist closer, felt the metal bracelet wrap around it as well. He shifted his knees slightly wider, and tried to compensate for the unbalanced position of his shoulders with his legs.

“Next.” He breathed in through his nose, and the scent of glossy magazines and porn stores filled his nostrils. His face scrunched up, and his head recoiled slightly. “Pornography ma’am? A DVD or magazine?”

“Tsk tsk. Nope. And when you don’t get them right, you don’t get to breathe.”

Her hands clamped down over his nostrils and his mouth, sealing his lungs off from air. He forced himself to remain still, to not waste the oxygen in his blood, to obey. He forced himself to stay still until her hands released his face, then gasped, taking in large, heavy breaths.

“Try again.”

The smell filled his nostrils again, and he licked his lips. It still reminded him of porn stores and plastic…

“Latex, ma’am?”

“Good boy.” He could feel her grin. “You got it right that time. Specifically, it’s a nice green strapon cock. Give it a kiss.”

He opened his mouth and cautiously moved his face forward, turning it from side to side, sweeping the area before him. His cheek brushed against something and he moved his lips in that direction, finally finding the tip of her cock with his mouth. He pursed his lips, giving it a light kiss on the end.

It slid into his mouth, pushing past his lips, and he held very still. “Not like that. Kiss it like you mean it, pet.”

He started slowly working his lips around the head of the cock, bringing some saliva up with his tongue and jaw muscles, sucking, licking, and nursing at the end of her fake cock.

“That’s better.” It slid out of his mouth, and left a trail of spit that shimmered and then broke in the air. He swallowed, and waited.

He could hear her moving, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “You’re going to have to wait for your reward.” More movement.

“Now, this is the last one, and I’ll warn you it’s a little tricky. It’s actually two scents. You’ll need to get both right, and if you don’t, I’ll be a little disappointed.”

A little of the warmth and softness left his thoughts, and he tensed, wanting to please her. “Yes ma’am.”

The scent of leather filled his nostrils again, stronger this time. But there was something else in the background, a wet, biological, slightly earthy aroma. He smiled at where he imagined her to be. “Leather and cunt, ma’am?”

He could feel her approval. “Good pet! Yes, specifically, my leather boots that I jerked off with and rubbed my cunt all over last night.” Her mouth was suddenly next to his ear, listening. “I’ve been wanting to ass-fuck you for awhile, but I’ve been making myself wait until you earned it. Now, since you’ve been a good pet, you’re going to lick my dried juices off that boot while I fuck both of us into oblivion. Do you like the sound of that?”

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.” He nodded vigorously, and the words came out in a rush.

“Good.” He felt her fingers under the mask, and a sudden rush of cool air came across his skin as she pulled it away. The blindfold came off next, and he blinked his eyes at the sudden light.

Her boots were on the floor in front of them, black, round chunks of leather with laces hanging off the sides. “May I please start ma’am.”

She was already behind him, eager and hungry, massaging lube up and down her cock, jerking it off. “Yes pet, but from now on no talking. Good pets don’t talk. You can bark or growl, but I don’t want to hear any words. Understand?”

He looked back and barked once.

They grinned at each other.

She moaned deep in her throat, and lowered her hips. “Lick my fucking boots clean while I fuck your ass. I want them to shine.”

He opened his mouth, and moved his head forward, tongue out. Just before it reached the leather he paused for a second, and breathed in deeply, enjoying the smell.

Preview: Another exciting chapter in the Choose Your Own Adventure Story! What fates awaits Navaux this week? Did you remember to vote? Remember, democracy!

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Assymetry

Author’s note: Had a heckuva time with the ending on this one. What do you think?

*thwap* *thwap* *thwap*

She pulled the rubber band back and let it snap into the meaty flesh on the back of his left shoulder, over and over. Blood vessels were pulled to the surface and popped, the skin turned red and irritated. “There we go…” She set the rubber band aside, and picked up a flogger.

She started to hit the same spot with it, lightly at first, then harder and faster. She listened to his breathing, could tell he was deliberately keeping it slow and controlled. Her head tilted a little so she could see the spot she was striking more clearly, and she murmured. “Symmetry really makes this whole thing easier, doesn’t it? I mean, knowing that I’ll do the same thing to the other shoulder makes it easier to process the pain. So I won’t be doing that tonight. I’ll be working exclusively on the left side of your body.”

She heard his breathing quicken slightly, then slow down again to a forced, measured pace and smiled. She switched the flogger for a heavier wooden rod, and started to hit the same spot, watching the flesh bruise and discolor. “Hmmm, this will leave a nice mark.”

She mussed his hair, and sighed contentedly.

“Now, for something a little different…” She went into the kitchen, and came back with a glass of ice water. “Left arm, straight out.” She put the glass in his hand, and kept grinning with hazy eyes. “If that drops below shoulder level, you’ll chug it. Dump it on me, and I swear to God I will kick your ass so hard you won’t sit down for a week.”

He nodded, the muscles in his shoulder tensing. “Yes ma’am.”

She knelt down beside him, and started putting clothespins on his body, occasionally looking up to see the where the glass of water was. She ran the pins down his left side, the tender skin his arm usually covered. When his arm started to tremble she kept a closer eye on it, and when it dipped she cleared her throat.

He brought the water to his lips and started to gulp it down, two clear rivulets running down his chin. When he finished and there was only ice clinking in the glass, she stood up and took it from him.

She walked back into the kitchen and came back with the glass full again. He flinched when he saw the gallon pitcher of water in her other hand. She put the pitcher down, and handed him the glass again, and picked up her clothes pins and started to run them further down his body.

By the time she ran out of pins his arm was trembling and dropped again. He shuddered but brought the glass to his lips and chugged it again. He exhaled sharply as she took the glass and let his arm drop, bouncing it off the clothespins and wincing as their jaws twisted his skin.

She poured slowly, wanting to give him a brief rest, and prolong the torture. When the glass was finally full she handed it back to him, and he braced his feet and brought his arm back up. His body started to tilt to the right, holding the glass higher, and she tsked at him. “Posture. Stand up straight pet.”

He moaned but shifted his body until he was standing straight again, and forced his arm up higher.

She grinned and went back to work on his body. “Some people like to put a whole bunch of clothespins on a person, but I’ve always preferred to use fewer. That way I can take them off one spot…” She pulled a clothespin off the top of the disjointed row. “And put them back on another spot.” She put it an inch below the bottom of the line, and started moving more clothespins down his body, letting the rush of blood where they had been clamped mix with the new pressure as she relocated them.

She could feel his shoulder trembling all the way down his body. The clothespins vibrated as he tried to force his arm to remain rigid, but it slowly dropped again. She watched him, purring, smiling at the sight of him unable to raise the glass high enough to drink from it, and feeling her cunt twitch as he had to shift it to his other hand to pour it down his throat.

He finished the glass, and handed it back to her, breathing hard. “Ma’am?”

She poured more water in the glass, and turned her head to look at him. “Yes pet?”

“I really need to piss, ma’am.”

“Of course you do, you’ve been drinking all this water. But why should I let you?”

“Ugggg…” He tried to keep the moan of despair from escaping, and failed. “I don’t know ma’am, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”

“Hm…” She let him linger on the edge for a little longer, trying to keep his arm away from the clothespins on his body, letting them crush his nerves a little longer and the pressure in his bladder increase. “Tell you what, you have two options: You can piss in the glass, and when your arm drops drink that instead. We’ll switch to the right side and you can use that arm. You’ll have to beg me for the privilege of having your right side tortured, but knowing you’ll be drinking a glass of your own piss will make for a pretty good case.”

His nose crinkled, and she felt a warm flush in her chest. She’d never figured out why he liked drinking her piss, but hated his own so much. Just another cute, kind of gross eccentricity in their relationship.

“Or, you can piss in the toilet, and I’ll keep torturing your left side. I think we’ll start over with the flogger on that left shoulder.”

He hiss through his teeth, and nodded. “I’d like to piss in the toilet, ma’am.”

She took a slow sip of water. “Okay then, off you go. But don’t knock any of my clothespins off or they’ll go on your cock.”

He moved off quickly towards the bathroom, and she took a sip of water. She smiled at him as he shuffled back into the room, and turned to face away from her.

*thwap* *thwap* *thwap*

She pulled the rubber band back and let it snap into the meaty flesh on the back of his left shoulder, over and over. Already irritated skin and blood vessels were damaged, distorted, and broken down further. “There we go…” She set the rubber band aside, and picked up a flogger.

She started to hit the same spot with it, lightly at first, then harder and faster. She listened to his breathing, could tell he was having trouble keeping it slow and controlled. Her head tilted a little so she could see the spot she was striking more clearly, and she murmured. Her fingers itched to torture the unmarked flesh on his right side, to create her own symmetry, but she could wait.

At least as long as he could.

Until he begged for it.

Then she would show him how horrible symmetry could be.

Preview: His body jerked then fell back against the ropes.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.