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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“Go jerk off.”

His hand stopped, a french fry halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“Go jerk off. Stop eating, go jerk off, have an orgasm, and then come back.”

He looked at her face carefully, searching for a tell-tale upturned corner of her mouth that would tell him she wasn’t serious. “I thought we were doing the thing?” He rubbed his hands on the legs of his pants and licked his lips.

She took a drink and nodded, then put one finger on the straw and pushed down slightly. It bent a little, ice cubes moving around it. “We are. Go jerk off, and we’ll talk about it.”

“In the restroom?”

She shrugged. “Unless you want to spend the night in jail, I’d recommend the restroom, yes.”

His eyes stayed on her as he stood up and shuffled towards the restroom, waiting for her to laugh and call him back. She was stealing one of his french fries when he turned the corner and she disappeared from view.

He walked down the length of the bathroom, choosing the last stall that wasn’t handicapped. The door swung shut behind him, and he jiggled the flimsy chrome lock until it slid into the frame. His hands were sweating as he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. He started slowly jerking himself off, thinking about that morning.

“How would you feel about doing orgasm control again?” He tried to sound casual while he spun the garbage around and cinched a twist-tie down around the top.

“Hm, might be fun.” She flipped the new bag up and down until it billowed open, then stuffed it into the can and set the lid down. “Buy me dinner tonight and it’s a deal.”

A quick hug and a kiss and they left the house, the bass from her car thumping as he dropped the garbage in the dumpster and walked to his own car.

Thoughts flickered through his head the rest of the day. Of not being allowed to orgasm, of fucking her until he couldn’t stand it then begging to eat her cunt instead, of her writhing and shouting mixing with his moans of frustration. Of the firm pressure of a cage around his cock as it tried to get hard.

The back of his legs tightened and he felt his back begin to arch. He pulled a handful of toilet paper off the roll as his cock started to jerk, and held it in front of him as semen spilled out. He waited until he was done, then dropped it in the toilet and waved his hand in front of the sensor. The toilet flushed with an anemic roar, and he zipped his pants up. He paused at the door, turned back, washed his hands, and dried them on his pants as he walked back to the table.

The black vinyl folder with the check was waiting on the table, and she was standing by the exit, flicking a finger across her phone. He opened the check, figured out the tip, and dug through his pockets. A few bills and he dropped the folder back on the table, sighing at the spot where his plate had been. He walked over to the door and leaned against the wall next to her. “Ready Freddy?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yep, let’s go.”

They pulled out into traffic, and she hummed along to the music as he looked from her, to the traffic, and back. She was going to force him to bring it up, and he knew that after the first few minutes. He would open his mouth, then close it, until finally they hit a long stop light on red. “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

She rolled her shoulders to the music and mimicked his slow, careful words. “Well, I am the M. Night Shyamalan of kink.”

“I just thought we were doing orgasm control?” It was only half a question.

She grinned at him and nodded. “We are, but control isn’t denial. You’re going to come when I say, and how I say. What you do on your time is your business, but you better come when I tell you to.” She leaned over and punched his upper leg, hard. “And if you can’t, because you’ve been jerking off, things will be very unpleasant until you do have an orgasm.” She raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her.

He nodded and frowned, looking for traps and loopholes. “May I please wear the chastity cage to help me keep from jerking off ma’am?”

Traffic crossed in front of them and she looked up at the clouds through the windshield. “Hmmmm…” The song ended and another began. “No, then I’d have to unlock you or find a key when I wanted you to have an orgasm, and that would inconvenience me. I prefer to just be able to tell you.” She looked back at him, poker faced. “Is that all right?”

She moved her hand towards the console to skip the song and he flinched. She laughed and pushed next, then put her hand back on the wheel.

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.”

“Oh…” She melted a little, and reached over to pat his cheek.
“Maybe after you’ve proved you can control yourself for awhile, I’ll lock your cock up. But only very good boys get that privilege. So if you’re very good, and come when I say promptly and without complaint, maybe I’ll reward with you a nice cage. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.” The words were the same, but they could both feel the change in tone, the barter of dominance and submission working.

Someone behind them honked. The light had finally turned green and she slowly pulled back into traffic, keeping him in her peripheral vision. “Poor boy, he’s going to have to learn self-control. How many times can you come before your dick can’t get hard anymore?”

He shuddered and thought carefully. “Four or five times, depending ma’am.”

“Good. And you’ve had one today. So when we get home you’re going to jerk off, hm, I’m feeling generous, three times, and then you’re going to come fuck me. Understood?”

He nodded groggily, and spoke a few seconds later. “Yes ma’am.”

She punched his leg again, and her voice flattened out. “Do you? I want your cock to be sore and tired when you fuck me, I want you to have to make sure fucking me is the only thing on your mind to keep it hard, and when you come, I want to know it’s the last possible orgasms you could have. I want to feel like your life is falling out of your cock into my cunt. Do. You. Understand?”

He rubbed his palms on the legs of his pants and nodded again. “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

She reached over and jerked on his hair. “Good. I think I’m going to like controlling your orgasms.”

“Me too ma’am.”

He grinned at her, and she grinned back, then sped up to make it through a light on the yellow. They couldn’t wait to get home.

Preview: “You’re not very bright, but my oh my you are pretty.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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Kid Games

She grinned up at him. “That’s two for flinching.”

He whimpered and she brought her knees up into his balls, letting him almost recover than doing it again. He sagged against the bonds, his thighs trembling. The spreader bar held his legs shoulder width apart, and the raw sickness of pain in his balls filled his stomach.

She brought her knee up again and his body jerked, then slumped as he realized her knee had stopped right before impact. She laughed and patted him on the arm. “Two more for flinching. This is almost too easy…”

Her eyes locked on his as she slammed her knee into his balls again, then again. The way his entire face contorted, the brutal honesty of the pain flickering across his features.

She waited for his breathing to slow back down, and then jerked her knee up again. He exhaled, but held his body still, forcing himself not to move.

“Good boy, you didn’t flinch.” He nodded, then she brought her knee the rest of the way up into his balls. His body jerked then fell back against the ropes.

She shook her head as she laughed. “That wasn’t really fair, was it? Okay, I suppose you win that one. But I can still win at… purple nurple!” She grabbed his nipples and twisted, pinching the flesh and jerking it one way, then the other, contorting it with pain.

His body writhed in front of her, bouncing back and forth, bucking like an animal trying to escape the pain. She leaned in close, rolling her body and keeping her hands still, then twisting further with her wrists. She was relentless, twisting and turning his flesh.

He felt the searing pain in his chest, tried to move his body with her but couldn’t, and finally gasped out “Uncle! Fuck! Uncle!”

She gave one last twist, and then let go of his chest. “Damn, that looked really painful.”

He nodded wearily. “Yeah, it definitely kind of sucked.”

“I’ve got something that will take your mind off of it.” She walked out of the room, and a few seconds later he heard water running. He hissed out of his teeth when he saw her return, a wet towel twisted along the diagonal in her hands.

She raised her eyebrows and grinned at him, then flicked it at his thigh. The wet cloth slapped into the sensitive skin leaving a stinging, burning pain. She worked methodically but without any set pattern, covering his body, sometimes hitting the same space several times in a row, sometimes jumping from spot to spot seemingly at random.

But they all hit him.

It was a sharp, stinging sensation. Not painful, but incredibly annoying, especially with his hands bound. She started circling his stomach, working around it, bring the towel closer and closer to his cock.

Finally he cleared his throat, and through gritted teeth growled out the word “Uncle.”

She hit him one last time and did a little dance, “I win. I win. Who wins? I win!” She was still chortling when she grabbed the velcro around one of his wrists and pulled it loose. His arm fell to his side, and she wadded the towel up in her hands. “Two out of three bitch, you take out the garbage this week.”

He grinned and started getting himself loose, trying to ignore the aches and dull thudding pain he still felt. “I am so not letting you pick the games next week.”

She shrugged. “I’ll still win.”

Preview: Tune in for the next chapter of the Choose Your Own Adventure Story!

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.


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.