The List 24: Its Head is for Being Stuffed in a Bag

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: He moaned and leaned closer to her, and she bit down on his ear playfully. “I can’t believe I let something as disgusting as you near my cunt. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time your head went into the bag.”

He was lying on the floor on his side, breathing hard. His knees slightly pulled up towards his chest, his arms wrapped tight around his chest.

One black boot pushed him over on his back, and she grinned down at him. “Time for your head to go in the bag boy.” She kicked his legs down straight and squatted down beside him. “I’d hate to make it too easy for you though.” A short length of rope wrapped around his ankles, pulling them together and cinching down tight against his skin. “Now, for your motivation. This should get you moving.”

He groaned as her hand started massaging cream into his balls and along his cock. His eyes clamped shut and he shuddered as he felt the muscle cream start to heat up on his cock and balls.

“Come on, head in the bag.”

He opened his eyes and looked around until he saw her, dangling the empty pillowcase between her hands, the opening towards him. He forced himself to roll over onto his stomach, and shoved himself up onto his hands and knees. His body sank and drool ran from his mouth to the carpet as the heat started to pour into his genitals, and he forced himself to inch towards her.

She stepped back as he moved forward, teasing him with the empty bag. “Get your head in the bag and I’ll try to wash some of that off.” She took another step back as he inched forward. “Of course, it sinks into your skin, so the longer you take the less good that will do.” He shoved himself forward with a groan, and she stepped back with a grin.

He dragged himself through the house, his whole body feeling like a massive bruise. Pain and contusions raced from one muscle to another, trying to get his attention. Little bursts of endorphins floated through his consciousness as his tears started to run down his cheeks from the pain of dragging himself across the floor and the burning in his groin.

She led him through the house, breathing a little harder as he dragged himself across the floor, memorizing the flickers of pain that rushed across his face for later. The clenched teeth as he he pushed forward with his knees, the twitch at the corner of his eye as he walked his hands forward one at a time. The way his arms moved and the muscles warping the skin of his biceps.

His head slumped as he stopped moving. He pushed his thighs together against his cock and balls, trying to do anything to stop the burning. Sounds gurgled in his throat as the heat remained, the sudden pressure doing nothing to stop it. He forced himself not to just fall down, spit on his hands, and frantically rub them on his cock. He knew from past experience that it wouldn’t do any good.

She smiled and let him rest for a minute, then made him clicking sounds with her tongue until he looked up at her through tear stained eyes. She jiggled the pillow case in front of him, then took another step backwards.

He made a sniffing sound, trying to stop the snot running out his nose, and forced himself to put one hand forward, then the other, then pull his knees across the floor towards her. He tried to ignore the pain and focus on the three simple, repetitive motions, and not think of anything else.

She led him through the house, forcing him to drag his body along the floor behind her. They wound through the bedroom, out into the living room, across the pantry and into the garage. She could hear him whimper a little as he crossed the metal door threshold and his palms hit the cold concrete. He dragged himself to the back of the car, and she popped the trunk lid on the car.

“Get in, and I’ll put your head in the bag.”

He pushed himself to his knees, and held onto the bumper as he pulled himself to his feet. He hopped around in an awkward circle and sat back, swinging his legs into the trunk and curling up in the enclosed space.

“Good for you.” She moved his hands behind his back, and cuffed one wrist then the other, chaining his hands behind his body. “You’ve managed to convince me to abduct you.” The pillow case finally went over his head, and he sighed in the enclosing darkness. He could feel the tape securing the bottom of the pillow case to his neck, pulling it down tight and sealing him in the darkness.

The trunk lid slammed close, and she walked around the car to the front. Her purse hit the passenger’s seat with a thump, and she hit the garage door opener as she started the car. They pulled out of the garage, down the drive, and onto the street. She hit play on the CD player and started driving, thinking about what she was going to do next.

Preview: Hair is for being pulled. Pulllllllllllllllled.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 3: Hands and Knees are for Crawling

If you’re just starting, here’s part 1 of the story

From part 2… His hand shook as he scrawled out the big, block letters on his other foot. She nodded when he was done, and thought about the list. “Next is crawling, I believe.” She chuckled then, and smiled. “Maybe you’re smarter than I thought.” One eyebrow bounced up. “Or maybe not.”

“Stay.” She patted him on the head as she walked by, and added a little extra wiggle as she left the room. He slumped a little, and tried to ignore the burning pain in the soles of his feet as he forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. He could hear her rummaging around in drawers, and tried to block out everything but the memory of warm, fuzzy pain and submission. His eyes slid closed.

“Off the bed.” He opened his eyes and slid forward. Her back was towards him, and she was fiddling with something on top of the dresser. When she turned, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of the knee pads they had bought last year to redo the floors. She squatted down and set them carefully in front of him. His breath hissed through his teeth when he saw the grains of uncooked rice in each plastic cup.

“Lay down, face on the floor.” He looked up at her with pleading eyes as he lowered his nude body to the floor. Her hands grabbed his legs one at a time, lifting them up and slipping the pads under his knees. The nylon straps wrapped around his legs, cinching down tight. She curled his leg up and pushed down, testing the tightness. He gasped as the hard grains but into his knees, and she smiled. “And to think not that long ago you thought people used cooked rice for this.”

He grunted as she repeated the process with the other leg. “You have to admit it does help get rid of left overs.”

She snorted and slapped his ass. “Not if you order extra fried rice with every meal, it doesn’t. Roll over and sit up.”

He turned over and did and awkward situp while she retrieved more items from the dresser. “Put these on.” She carelessly tossed him two heavy leather gloves stained with sweat and varnish, leftovers from the same project, and walked back over with the box of rice and a roll of tape.

He pulled the gloves on each hand and held them out. She pushed his hands down, pulled the wide mouth of the gloves open, and dumped a generous portion into the gloves. She grabbed the leather palms and pulled them out so the rice could settle between his skin and the leather, and then picked up the roll of tape. “I don’t need you wasting my good rice spilling it all over the floor, and I certainly don’t feel like running the vacuum later.”

She started the tape and began wrapping it around the opening of the gloves, sealing them against his skin. The adhesive pulled the glove down tight against his skin. She stood up and grinned down at him. “Well, you said your hands and knees were for crawling. Crawl.”

“Yes ma’am.” He rolled over, wincing as his knees hit the floor and grains of rice dug into the thin skin and hit bone. He pushed down with one hand experimentally, and grimaced as the rice ground into the meatier flesh of his palms. It wasn’t as bad, but still an annoyance, a reminder that each movement would cause pain.

Her foot hit his ass and he rocked forward and back, hissing as his weight shifted and the rice found new spots to torment. “From one side of the room to the other, until I come. Then you can stop, but not before.”

He nodded and started a slow, shuffling crawl, forcing himself to pick up one knee and move it forward, the extra weight on the other knee bringing a sharp twinge of pain. Then a hand as he balanced on his knees and other hand, then the other side of this body. She grinned down at him, then shimmied out of her panties. The green cloth slid down her thighs then her legs until it emerged from the bottom of her sun dress. She raised one ankle and pulled them the rest of the way off, and considered carefully.

“What the hell, you were good through the caning, I’ll give you a little reward.” She caught up to him easily and pulled the wet cloth over his face, letting the crotch dangle over his face. One eye looked up at her from a leg hole, and he grinned. “Thank you ma’am.”

She grinned back and put one foot down on his hand, slowly increasing her weight, driving the rice into his hand further. “You’re not crawling.”

He turned his eyes back down and started a slow shuffle forward again. She hopped on the bed, lying on her side, and pulled her dress up around her hips. Her hand started to play with her clit, rubbing gently in a small circle. She watched him crawl across the room, his hesitant, jerking motions as the pain shifted across his body from one point to the other.

The rice bit into his knee when he moved his opposite leg forward, and she pushed down a little as she saw the pain in his eyes. She let up as he moved his hands forward carefully, testing carefully before he put them down. She rubbed faster as he turned around and she saw his semi-hard cock hanging below him as he tortured himself for her. Despite his protestations, he was getting off on this, and the thought made her smile and slide her fingers up and down her slit.

He could hear her gasps and the wet, fleshy sounds of self-pleasure as he forced himself to move across the room. When he wanted to fall over on his side and let the pain fade he listened to her breathing, getting faster and more out of control, and focused on that as he forced his limbs to keep moving. He tried to block out his pain and focus on the sounds of her pleasure, to catch glimpses of her from the corner of his eye, to memorize every detail of her half-closed eyes and her fingers working on her cunt as he reached a wall and turned around in an awkward semi-circle.

She grinned and shifted her hips, putting on a little show for him each time his eyes wandered over. “Faster, crawl faster, or I’ll go take a cold shower and order a pizza. You’ll be doing this for an hour before I come back.” She made her hand slow down then stop, linger over her pussy without touching it.

He groaned but forced himself to move faster, move less carefully. The rice drove itself into his skin and bones as his hands and knees came down harder, and the pain came in hot spikes that wracked his entire body. The kneepads made lot cracking sounds as the hard plastic collided with the floor, and the leather gloves made meaty slaps as they hit the floor and drove the grains of rice into the palms of his hands.

She moaned and started jerking herself off faster and harder. He lurched across the room, and she saw the spasms of pain cross his face faster, each one distorting his features a little more. His movements got awkward as his body started to instinctively flee the pain, and it became harder for him force himself forward. He flailed and slapped his way across the room like a crippled animal, and she sighed and rubbed her clit a little harder.

“Ugggghhhhh…” She moaned and came, timing it as he was halfway across the room. He turned his head as far he could and rushed forward, nearly colliding with the far wall before he started turning in a slow circle, eager to see her come.

She carefully pulled her fingers away and let her dress fall. Her body slumped on the bed, and she listened to her heartbeat and gasping breaths, and the sounds of his crawling in the background. “Oh, take a break.” She smiled magnanimously at him, and rolled over on her back. “Lay down on your side. You earned it.”

He stopped and carefully lowered his body to the floor, laying on his side, his knees and hands still raw and burning from where the rice had gouged its way into his flesh. He looked across the room at her and smiled, until…

“Besides, next up is kneeling, and you’re going to need the breather.”

Preview: The List 4: Knees are for Kneeling

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Learning to Crawl

She stood in the doorway, watching him slowly read the titles on the spines of her books, thinking about last night. She imagined what the bruises looked like under his shirt, and wondered how long they would take to heal. Finally, she whistled to let him know she was there.

He turned away from the bookcase, saw her, and grinned. “Hey, you feel like breakfast?” He glanced at his watch. “Or brunch? My treat.”

She shrugged. “Sure. There’s a few good places within walking distance.”

They pulled on shoes and shuffled around each other in the doorway, walking down the hall, each glancing at the other, opening their mouths then closing them. The elevator arrived and she saw the ghost cutout on the back wall looming above them, and cleared her throat. “You going to be anything for Halloween?”

His nose crinkled. “Yeah, a grown-up.”

She tried not to laugh, and snorted instead. “Oh, so sorry if I offended your dignity, mister maturity.”

He rolled his eyes. “Halloween is a totally fucked up holiday. If it were late March and I told you to dress a kid up in a costume, bring them by my apartment, and I’d give them some candy, how would you react?”

She punched the meaty bicep of his arm once, twice, then again. He flinched and laughed each time, leaning away from her in the small enclosure but always moving his body back before the next punch landed.

She frowned, but stopped punching. “See, this is why I like you. I don’t feel bad about hurting you because you say the most god-awful things. I feel like I have a duty to hurt you just for the horrible things that come out of your mouth.”

He adjusted his jacket and shrugged. “Luckily, I like being hurt.”

The door dinged and they stepped out of the elevator. She bit her bottom lip, then raised one eyebrow. “So you’re okay with what went down last night?”

“Yeah, totally.” He slipped an arm around her and gave her far shoulder a squeeze. “Did you have a good time?”

“Oh yeah.” She sighed and closed her eyes, counting the steps down the hallway to the door.

*thud* *thud* *thud*

The flogger smacked into his back, over and over. “Having trouble?” She shifted her weight back, putting more pressure on his lower legs which were trapped in the space behind her knees. “I thought I told you to crawl?”

He pushed forward with his elbows as his hard he could, but with her added weight only succeeded in dragging them a few inches further across the floor. The flogger thudded into him again until his straining muscles collapsed and he hit the ground with a sharp exhalation of breath. She started hitting him faster.

“I’m definitely sure I told you to crawl. You get beaten more if you’re not even trying to crawl.”

His brain got soft and hazy as his muscles burned and protested. He shoved his body off the floor again and dragged it another few inches. He could feel the heat and friction scraping at the skin, wearing it off.

She slowed down, letting the blows fall more slowly as he pushed against their combined weight. She could feel him under her, feel his back pressing against her cunt, felt his need to crawl across the floor for her, even when his body tried to refuse. He collapsed and she started hitting him harder and faster, driving him across the floor.

His body flattened out on the floor and she could hear his hard, gasping breaths. Finally, he pushed himself up and dragged them a few more inches. She slowed down her strokes but inevitably he collapsed again.

She hit him harder and faster again. “Come on son, you’re never gonna make it to my bed that way!”

She lurched as he suddenly shoved his body forward, then shoved again and again, blinking sweat out of his eyes, forcing his body across the floor in a series of rapid jerks, dragging her along. Her body bounced with the frantic jerking motion, and she felt herself getting warm and fuzzy as he collapsed at the edge of the bed.

“Not bad, but I think you need a little more practice.” He groaned and lay perfectly flat as she grinned and stood up. “And motivation.” He felt the cool, wet sensation of lube being spread on his ass, then the tip of a buttplug violating him. He whimpered and she slowed, twisting the plug, pulling it out and pushing it in a little further each time.

She pushed a little faster than was comfortable, enjoying his yips and whimpers. His ass cheeks clenched and relaxed as he fought the instinctive reactions of his muscles until the widest part of the plug was inside him and his asshole was clamping down on the narrower neck of the plug. “Come on.”

She grabbed him by his hair, and dragged him across the room to his started point in the doorway. She settled back down on her knees, clamping his lower legs between her own legs, and sighed happily. She ground her palm into the butt plug once, pushing it firmly against his skin, then picked up the flogger.


He dragged himself across the room again. Then back across with nipple clamps attached, pushing into his body every time his chest hit the floor, then with an O-gag in his mouth, prying his lips open and leaving a trail of spit that he pulled himself through. Finally, when the muscles in his arms were spasming and he couldn’t move another inch, she picked him up and threw him on the bed.

His body was spent and helpless, except for his cock. She had ridden him, enjoying the feeling of control, knowing she could do anything and he was helpless. His arms were useless, weakened appendages he could barely control. They fucked until they were both exhausted, then collapsed into an exhausted, satiated sleep.

She opened her eyes just as they got to the door, and saw him smiling at her.

She smiled back. “This could really get of hand.”

He opened the door for her. “God I hope so.”

Preview: “Today’s science lesson: magnets!”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Time is on Your Side

She grinned, then started and looked around the room. The curtains were still tightly closed, no way anyone could see in. She looked back at him, and forced the words out. “Hey, like my boots?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” He laughed a little from across the room, then paused and rubbed the palms of his hands on his slacks. “I mean, yes mistress.”

“Mistress?” Her eyebrow arched, and her voice rose an octave. “I’m not some weekend bang in a rented city apartment full of fake fur. Think of something better.”

He swallowed hard, “Yes, bride? Wife?” His brow furrowed as he tried to think of synonyms. “Partner?” Mike and Arthur from the fantasy football league had used “partner” to describe their relationship, but they got married last month, so he wasn’t sure if it still applied. “Goddess? Ma’am?” He chuckled nervously. “Sir?”

She made a little cooing sound, and tilted her head. “I like that one.” She leaned forward, and licked her lips. “Call me ‘Sir.'” She thrust a boot out, and wiggled it back and forth. “Come over here on your hands and knees, and kiss my boot.”

“Yes sir.” The words felt strange and electric in his mouth as he slid from the chair to the floor. He winced a little as his knee hit the floor, the familiar shooting pain lancing up through his leg.

He started to crawl, and she felt a little thrill each time his knee hit the floor. The look on his face sent jolts of pleasure through her, and made her fingers itch. She forced them around the handle of the riding crop, making her fingers close, ignoring the throbbing pain in her own fingers.

The boot stopped as he crawled up to it, the tip pointed at his lips. Callused, lined hands sank into the carpet as he leaned forward and gently put his lips on the toe. His lips lingered, and his breath rolled across the black leather.

The end of the crop smacked into his left shoulder, then the right. She wasn’t sure how hard to hit him, and the strike made the arthritis in her hand flare, but the jolts of pleasure deep insider her drove them out of her mind. She alternated sharp slaps of the riding crop back and forth from one shoulder to the other until she couldn’t ignore the protests of her hand any longer. “Lick them.”

He had focused on those boots while the stinging pain popped through his shoulders and down into his chest, making his cock twitch. His tongue dropped out of his mouth, and he leaned forward and slid it across the top of her boot. The smell flooded his nostrils, and he felt his tongue slide across the smooth surface. He liked the toe of one, then the other. His eyes were closed, and he was someplace warm and soft.

She was slumped back in the chair, eyes half closed and wearing a dopamine grin. One finger rubbed the handle of the crop, the tip sliding over the rough texture of the leather. She felt it pressing into her leg, and wanted to him again, to make him call her sir again, to see his tongue on her boot again, and to do so much more. But where to start?

She reached forward, and carefully stroked his hair. He sighed, and she knew it didn’t matter where they started, just as long they started somewhere. They had time.

Preview: “Isn’t this what you had in mind?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.