The List 23: It Eyes are for Being Blindfolded

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: 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.”

He stumbled back into the bedroom with beads of water on his hairline and chin. She whistled and motioned him over. He walked over to where she stood and dropped to his knees, scooting the last couple of feet.

She wrapped the elastic band of the sleep mask around his head and centered the black pads over his eyes, wrapped a scarf over the mask, and followed with duct tape that clamped against itself and pulled the cloth down tighter.

“We’re going to play a game now, it’s called Mouth or Ass. I’m going to hold up an object, and you tell me if you want it used on your mouth, or your ass.”

He leaned towards her, and thought the words over carefully. “Am I allowed to change my mind, ma’am?”

Her laugh floated across the room. “Sure, but I think the more important question is if you are allowed to try to change my mind.”

“Am I? Allowed to try to change your mind, ma’am?” He turned his head slightly, trying to find her in the darkness.

She bit her lip, and looked at him. Scenarios bounced back and forth in her mind. Did she want to control him, or let him make the choices? Which was more appealing, to own his body and inflict it, or let him make his own decisions and suffer the consequences? Finally, she shrugged and cleared her throat. “If you ask very, very nicely, I suppose I might change my mind. I might even be persuaded to give you hints, if you ask very nicely.” The middle ground seemed best, she could always make the choice on the fly and pretend it was what she had intended all along.

She plowed on before she could start to second guess herself. “First up. Mouth or ass?”

He shrugged, paused, and then sank to his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“Ooh, on your knees? I like you like that, but I can’t get to your mouth easily. Try another position and ask again.”

He stood back up carefully, then leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“How do you like the taste of hair?”

He grinned, imagining running his tongue along her slit, the short hair teasing his chin and rubbing against his lips. “Mouth please, ma’am.” His head jerked as the hard bristles of the hair brush slid into his mouth.

Her mouth clamped down on his hair, jerking his head back into place and shoving her hairbrush into his mouth. She explored his gullet and violated his mouth, scraping the hard bristles along his tongue and cheek, letting them push against his teeth. She slid it back into his mouth slowly, letting stray hairs and debris fall off the bristles into his mouth, and waited until it just barely… triggered his gag reflex. His throat convulsed and she let the hairbrush fall out of his mouth, grinning down at him. “Were you expecting something else?”

His tongue worked its way in and out of his mouth, with his face making a sour frame around it. “Yes ma’am, may it please try to change your mind?”

“Ooh, I suppose.” She clenched her jaw, watching his expression and holding the laugh deep inside her. Her hand let go of his hair, and she stepped back, then poked his chin with the hairbrush. He jumped and the laugh escaped, and she took another step back. “Well?”

He sank back to his knees, then his hands, then slowly turned in what he hoped was a circle so his face was away from her. “Please ma’am, use the hairbrush on its ass. It deserves to be disciplined and beaten.”

She ran the flat part of the brush along his ass-cheeks, and hummed to herself. “It’s a start, but I’m not quite convinced. Why do you deserve to be disciplined and beaten?”

He felt his thoughts getting fuzzy, the humiliating words rushing to get out of his mouth, fighting his instincts not to say them. “I watch disgusting internet pornography — Ah!” The hairbrush crashed into his already tenderized ass, and he lurched forward.

The hard plastic left a bright red imprint, and her words got cold and flat. “Well, keep convincing me. Or I’ll shove this down your throat until you puke.”

“Ugh, I’m a horrible person.” Splat, pain seared across his body again. “I play with my disgusting cock in the shower.” And again. “I actually get pleasure from jerking off that revolting piece of flesh.” And again.

Each sentence, each confession, ended in searing pain. He debased and humiliated himself, cataloging failures and perceived failures, and she administered pain for each one. The beating went on until he was sobbing, gasping the words out between choking sounds. He confessed to being a whore, of fantasizing about women forcing themselves on him, of jerking himself off while thinking of being chained to a urinal where they pissed on him and he licked his food off a filthy bathroom floor, of cleaning the floor with his tongue, licking up mud and piss and the sexual fluids of strangers. Of begging to be spit and pissed on just to wash the taste out of his mouth. Of the chain being unlocked one day, and just crawling to a corner and starting to lick the floor again.

She kept hitting him with the hairbrush, helping him turn the shame and humiliation into a physical pain he could survive, that would fade. His ass turned pink, then red, then black and blue as blood vessels popped and tissue bruised. She listened to him sink lower and lower for her, wondering how far he would go, loving the sounds of his sobs and words, ready to pull him back up if he needed it.

Eventually he couldn’t speak, and she kept beating him to the rhythm they had established. Finally, when he couldn’t even gasp or cry anymore, she stopped and gently ran her hand down his spine up to his head. She jerked his head up by his hair, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “My god a disgusting animal.”

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.”

Preview: Heads are for being stuffed in a bag. Wasn’t that a Joe Pesci movie?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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Choose Your Own Adventure 7: Spanking Time

Start here, with part 1, to start at the start: Part 1

“That’s it! Smart boy.” She continued to tighten the clamps, then stopped, letting it hang on his body. His balls flattened between the plastic, his thighs trembling, sweat starting to run down his body. “But now we need to see how much you really want to suffer for the republic.”

“Get down on all fours.”

He moved hid body carefully, painfully aware of the ball crusher still hanging off his pelvis, and got down on all fours. His legs were spread wide to keep from bumping the contraption dangling off of him, and he tried to prepare himself for whatever was going to happen next.

She picked up the wooden spoon, and slapped it against her palm. Her thighs clenched when she saw him flinch, and she slapped it down into her palm again. She let him think about it for a few more seconds, then picked up a chair and set it directly behind him. “Just twenty strokes of the spoon, but you’ll need to count them.”

He sighed and relaxed, then nodded. “Yes, Citizen Ma’am, thank you Citizen Ma’am.” He couldn’t see her smirk.

The first swat thudded into his ass cheek, and he dutifully counted, “One.” Each subsequent stroke hurt a little more, and his voice caught a little more as he counted. By the time he reached fifteen, the methodical beating had turned into a constant stream of pain where the actual hits were just peaks.

Then, there was a flurry of swats, one after the other, the spoon bouncing off his flesh and immediately returning with hot impact. “Six-ouch-fuck-damn-shit!”

She laughed behind him. “Oooh, you lost count. That means we have to start over.”

His body slumped, but he took a deep breath and nodded his agreement.

She smiled, and felt her body tingling at his pain. “It’s only twenty with the spoon, try to keep up with the count this time Navaux, or we’ll be here all night.”

The beating started again.

He started counting again.

His legs started to tremble by the sixteenth stroke. He waited, feeling each thud and counting along. By the time he got to nineteen he was already prepared to sob in relief. Then, the sudden woosh of air, he cried out “Twenty,” and realized their had been no impact. “Fuck…” He slumped down on his elbows, letting his face fall to the floor.

“You missed the count Navaux. A loyal citizen has to be much more careful. We’ll start over with one. Again.”

He didn’t even nod this time, just shifted his knees slightly, and braced himself. The spoon thudded into his ass. As the pain consumed him he became eager for the strokes he counted, both to keep the rush of endorphins going and to bring the beating to end.

The slow, methodical beating continued. Through the single digits, up through the teens, and finally a twentieth impact on his ass. “Twenty!”

She let him sob in relief, then moved around to stand in front of him. “That was nineteen, actually. We’ll have to start over.”

“Huh?” He felt the dull, throbbing pain in his ass, the weight of the ball crusher hanging off his body, and the hundred other aches and pains.

“The first hit, it was with my hand. So that one didn’t count. But I had a lot of fun listening to you count every single hit wrong.”

“Please…” It was a tortured moan. “I don’t know if I can do another twenty.”

She smiled primly. “Well, let’s find out.”

He pushed himself against the floor, trying to create sensations other than the burning in his ass and the crushing pain on his testicles. The ball crusher leaped and jerked every time he moved, and he tried to force his hips to stay still as she began to beat his ass again.

She started again, measuring the strokes, listening to his voice as he counted. Pushing him just a little further than he thought he could go, helping him take a little more pain than he thought was possible. She beat him with hard, measured strokes, watching him sink deeper and deeper into the haze of pain.

His pain took her along with him, and she felt her own thoughts getting fuzzy. The world collapsed until it was just the two of them, the thudding smack of wood against flesh, and numbers. When he reached twenty, she paused for a second, then hit him again. Partially to see what would happen, partially to enjoy it a little longer.

“Twenty-one.” No change in his voice or posture.

She swallowed hard, then walked around in front of him. “That was good, Navaux. I’ll even take the ball crusher off, since you did so well. But first I want to negotiate something with you. I know you’re afraid of them, but I want you to take a needle in your…”

Where does she want to stick the needle? Vote away, for pointy things, and democracy!

1. Nipple
2. Cock
3. Chest

Preview: *swish* *swish* *thud*

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.