Previously: She licked her lips, and wiggled in the hard plastic chair. “The break is over, and your nose gets clamped, my friend. My advice: Drive slow and enjoy these errands.”
He wriggled his nose as the clamp bit into his septum, and the bucket swayed underneath him. Finally, with a shuddering breath he let it sink to the floor, clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
Coins fell from her hand and clattered into the bucket, bouncing off the change already there. She walked around him, planted her feet, and smacked him hard on the ass with the wooden paddle. Her lips were compressed into a hard, tight line, and her eyes were flat and emotionless. The paddle cracked against his ass over and over until he sobbed and forced his spine upright, picking the bucket off the floor by the thin rope that ran from the bucket handle to the clover clamp on his nose.
She stopped beating him when he was finally standing upright, and walked back to the desk, getting another handful of change out of the jar and watching him out of the corner of her eye.
His shoulders slumped, then straightened as she turned and walked back in front of him. The coins rasped between her fingers as she dangled them over the bucket. The pressure built, the clamp biting into the soft inner tissue of his nose, tickling him, begging him to bend over and let the bucket rest on the floor for, relieve the pressure for just a minute.
The bucket sank closer to the floor and she rolled the coins across the palm of her hand. When the tension on the chain finally eased, she dropped the coins in the bucket and started beating his ass again.
The paddle thudded into his body with the wet, smacking sound of wood hitting muscle, and his shoulders tensed. He took several deep breaths, shifting his weight from leg to leg to try to minimize the pain, then when he couldn’t bear it anymore forced himself upright, dragging the now heavier bucket up into the air. She kept hitting him until his back was straight, driving him up the last few inches, stopping mid-swing as his posture finally straightened out.
She walked back to the desk, got some more change, waited, and smiled at the tears forming in his eyes. One finger trailed along his cheek, collecting the moisture, and slid into her mouth. No real taste to speak of, maybe a little salt, but still delicious. “I want to collect a whole bottle of those pretty little tears, and carry it around in my purse. Look at it when I’m bored or frustrated and remind myself of the horrible things I get to do to you. Maybe it will inspire me.”
He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, and tried to ignore the claws biting into his inner nose. His tongue came out and slid across the lips.
She wrapped her hand around the chain and lifted the bucket up slightly, then let it fall back down. The claws bit into his body and his knees buckled as he gasped and blinked his eyes. Fresh tears rolled down his cheek, and she murmured softly.
“There we go.” She slid a finger down the other side of his face, and gently touched the tip of her tongue with it. “So tasty. Be glad I don’t have a funnel and a jar, or I’d have you on your hands and knees, seeing what got you to cry the most. I think I’d start with jamming a nice big cucumber up your ass, twisting it and fucking you with it until you broke down and sobbed.” She stood up on her tiptoes and leaned in, running her tongue up his cheek to just below his eye, then whispered in his ear. “Or maybe I’ll just smear some icy hot on your balls and watch you screamed and cried. How long do you think it would take to get a whole bottle of tears?”
He tried to keep the thought of that horrible burning spreading across his balls as he slouched and the bucket sank towards the ground. The paddle crashed into him before the slack even entered the chain, hard and fast. The pain was overwhelming almost immediately, and his back straightened almost as soon as the handful of coins hit the bottom of the bucket.
She kept beating him this time, kept smacking his ass even after his legs were straight and locked and his back straight. The beating was merciless and seemed to last forever. His mind floated away as endorphins floated across the cells, and everything faded but the sense of her.
The muscles in her arm worked mechanically, automatically, her mind totally focused on his reactions and her connection with him. The overwhelming sensations flashing back and forth between them, breaking down walls, tearing them apart and reassembling them into one person. The paddle splatted into his body, the force traveled through both of them, and they both started breathing harder and louder.
Finally, somewhere, the sensation started to fade. It couldn’t last, never did, but it would be there again. She dropped the paddle on the floor, and moved in front of him. She lifted up the bucket again, but this time worked the clamp loose and pulled it out of his nose. “Ugh.” Her face crinkled and she tilted her head back. “Go wash your face, blow your nose, and hurry back. I need to do something about those pretty eyes.”
Preview: Eyes are for being blindfolded. Blind folded. Weird word when you think about it.
Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.