 |
|||
|
|
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
Thomas looked up from his work, glancing in the direction of the woman’s voice. He knew who it was before he even saw her standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as the setting sun cast its beam through the fabric of her dress, the shadowy silhouette of her body’s curves moving as she shifted against the stable’s wall. The now-grown daughter of a neighbor, she’d been a playmate when they were growing up, and now she was a constant nuisance to him since her return from college. But, it was a nuisance he enjoyed.
“Hello, Sarah,” he replied.
“I come to visit you for dinner and you’re hiding in the barn with the animals,” she said, entering the stall where he had laid out a series of bridles, collars, and chain, “and just what is so important that you can’t spend a little time with me this evening, might I ask?”
“Just cleaning up some tackle, Sarah,” he said flatly,
The woman approached the man, her gown swishing softly as her heels made a light sound against the rough concrete floor. Her fingers played absently-mindedly with the small, slender buttons that held the bodice of her dress against her chest. He continued polishing the gleaming metal bridle he held in his hands as she neared, stopping only when she wrapped her slender arms around his neck.
“And tell me, kind sir, what is so important about this tackle that you can’t take some time away to play with me?”
“You know as well as I do that there’s a new group of assignees arriving in the morning. Your father is probably just as busy as I am getting ready. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t refer to them as animals. They’re human beings that just happened to have made some bad choices in life. Just because they chose to spend their sentences working on farms doesn’t mean they have to be dehumanized. After all, they volunteered to come here.”
“You always were a sentimental type, Mister Thomas Leighton,” she responded, sighing with mock melancholy, “I suppose that’s why I find you so endearing.”
“Is that why? I always thought it was because you enjoyed my money and my estate.”
“Well, there’s that, too. A girl of my station has to have standards,” she replied with a grin, pressing herself against his chest.
Thomas set the bridle on the work bench, carefully grasped the woman’s arms, and separated her body from his torso. “Please, Sarah…”
The woman pouted and backed away. She turned and casually strode towards a raised wooden platform in the center of the room. A series of heavy pipes in the shape of an X rose from the dark wooden planks comprising the floor of the crude stage.
“Is that where you punish them for misbehaving?” she asked, knowing full well the answer before she even asked him the question.
“Yes, that’s where they go for inspection and correction,” he replied. “I’m sure you’ve seen the process before.”
“I have, on my father’s farm,” she replied, a devilish grin pulling at the sides of her mouth, “but only after I snuck into the attic where he couldn’t see me. He wouldn’t let me watch otherwise. When I asked about it, he said it was too brutal. I suppose he was right. I don’t believe you could punish one of your charges like he does his. Have you ever done it? Or do you delegate that to your foreman?”
“I do it myself.”
“Hmmph,” she said with contempt, “I don’t believe you. You don’t have it in you to punish somebody; not like my father anyway.”
The man studied the woman who now ran her hands along the length of cold metal piping. He knew her games; he knew what she wanted him to do. She was deliberately challenging him. “There are a lot of things I do differently than your father,” he replied.
She smiled and looked at him. “Do you suppose you could show me how you treat your slaves when they’re bad? Bring one out and let me see.”
“I don’t whip my workers for entertainment.”
“Oh,” she said, unconcerned by his response. She began to loosen the buttons on her corseted bodice, starting at the neckline and working her way down. “Perhaps you should punish me, then, for exposing myself to a strange man.”
“That’s not a crime, and even if it were, I’m not exactly a stranger,” he said as she continued to loosen the buttons of her dress.
“Oh,” she said coyly, slipping each button through its hole, “then I guess you’ll have to show me what you would do to me if it were.”
She stepped back from the tubular sculpture in the center of the stall, cocked her hips to the side, and let the dress fall from her shoulders, the material cascading in a heap on the wooden planking. She now stood before the man, clad in only her strapless bra and tiny thong panties.
She held her hands behind her back and cast her face down in subservience. “I supposed you’d have to cuff me.”
“Yes, I would, but only for transport. You would arrive here already handcuffed and chained with belly shackles.”
“Belly shackles?” she said, feigning surprise, “do I look dangerous to you, Mister Leighton?”
“You’re always dangerous.”
She laughed. “And then what would you do?”
“I’d move you to the correction stand.”
“You mean like this?” she said with a false innocence as she positioned herself in front of the framework of metal tubes, centering her hips between the armatures and elegantly raising her slender wrists towards the outer lengths of pipework.
“Yes, that’s exactly right.”
“And then what, Mister Thomas Leighton? What would you do to a naughty girl?”
“I suppose I would need to correct you.”
“I suppose you would,” she replied, holding her hands far out along the stand of dark metal tubing, “and I suppose you would want to do it promptly, like any responsible overseer would.”
“Yes, it would be irresponsible of me if I didn’t,” he replied as she held her position against the frame.
The man picked up two short lengths of pipe from the bench and strode towards the almost-nude woman. He lifted one of the short lengths of pipe and fitted it over two small studs projecting from either side of her right wrist. He pressed the pipe down snugly against her hand and tightened two screws, pinning her arm in place. He then drew her other arm out as far as she could reach and repeated the process, binding her along the upper length of cold metal piping.
She tugged slightly against the frame, feeling the resistance of the metal restraints against her wrists, testing their hold on her body as the man turned away from her.
He walked over to the bench and selected another, slightly longer, piece of pipe and two more lengths of shorter pipe. He returned to the nearly-naked woman strapped against the evil framework and set the two short lengths of tubing on the floor near her feet; her well-manicured toenails resting comfortably against the wooden platform. Her eyes followed his movements with a mix of curiosity, fear, and playful indulgence as he lifted the metal bar and set it horizontally across the rim of her belly, just above the narrow band of her panties, the metal cylinder pressing against her pelvic bone as he tightened the screws, pinning her hips against the heavy frame.
He then knelt down and grabbed her right ankle and tugged it quickly towards two studded bars just above the floor, causing her to briefly lose her balance as he attached the short, stout length of heavy tubing to the frame, the metal pressing against her ankle. He then shifted to her other leg and tugged it forcefully towards the outer length of pipes on that side, forcing her to spread her legs wide as her ankles were bound to the menacing apparatus.
He stepped back to view his handiwork as the scantily-clad young woman tugged at the restraints around her wrists, hips, and ankles. She was stretched out, spread-eagled, her limbs drawn wide apart, with only a skimpy bra and delicate thong panties covering her modesty. He could feel his cock begin to fill and rise as her muscles twisted with her efforts to free herself from her bondage. His scrotum tightened with the first tingling of arousal.
“Now that you have me, Mister Leighton,” the woman taunted, smiling at the man, “what will you do with me?”
“State law dictates that all workers subject to corporal punishment must be stripped before the punishment is inflicted, to ensure that all wounds are visible and accessible for medical treatment, if necessary.”
“You wouldn’t strip me, would you, Mister Leighton? I’ve committed no crimes. I’m an innocent girl,” the woman said playfully.
“You’re anything but innocent.”
The woman smiled as the man reached out and gently placed his hands against her fabric-covered breasts, his fingers spread wide, gently pressing against her bosom, judging their heft with his palms as his thumbs rested lightly on the clip centered between her young mounds. She pulled nervously at the frame, gasping slightly as the plastic clasp clicked open under the man’s machinations. Her breasts, pulled taut against her body by the tension on her arms, fell only slightly as the pressure of her bra was released. He held the two cups in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes before letting the garment fall away from her torso.
Two perfect areolas dotted the soft, pale skin of her mounds, each dark circle capped by a firm brown nub standing proud and erect in the cooling air of the stables. She stared intently at the man, the bulge in his pants indicating his pleasure at her appearance as she stood outstretched against the cruel metal frame, her breasts swaying gently as she pulled at the bindings around her wrists.
The man turned and reached for something on the bench, fumbled with some loose tooling there, then lifted a set of chrome shears. He presented them to the bound woman and said, “Correctional laborers’ garments are designed to allow full access in any position, at any time. Unfortunately, your garments are not, so I’ll have to make some modifications.”
She nodded her acquiescence as he pressed the gleaming metal shears against her right thigh, the thin string of her panties’ waistband trapped between the large razor-sharp blades. With a snip, the material parted and snapped loosely against her other leg, revealing the bare skin of her clean-shaven snatch. The man then quickly cut the string of elastic around her other thigh and pulled the ruined fabric from her captive body, leaving her completely naked and helplessly bound to the heavy metal frame.
It had been four years since he had last seen her naked. He remembered the first time, when they were both just 15 and playing games in the woods of his family’s back acreage. She had challenged him to a game of Truth or Dare, but her rules favored the Dare, and eventually her game had led to them getting naked and swimming in the clear waters of the spring-fed creek that snaked through the property like a tiny slice of Eden. The sight of her blossoming body displayed openly along the sandy bank had given him an erection that could only be tamed by the chilling waters of the creek. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he had stood in those waters trying to control “it” while she sat on the bank giggling at his situation. Finally, after cajoling him and promising to be kind, she had convinced him to come out so that she could see “it” fully erect. But seeing hadn’t been enough for her. She wanted to touch it, to play with it, and the electricity of her fingertips tenderly brushing against his shaft had brought him to his first orgasm with a real girl.
After that, her games had progressed as she explored her fantasies. Sometimes she would tell him to tie her to a sturdy tree, her body stripped and her delicate hands bound tightly overhead as he tickled her, trying to get her to reveal an imaginary secret. Other times she would be staked out naked on the ground under the hot sun while he poured cold water on her warm skin, or stretched over a log with the insects following a trail of jelly across her breasts. It was always her idea to let him torture her, acting out a scene in a movie she said she had once watched, but couldn’t remember the title of. Each time he knew she was lying, but he had gone along with it to see her naked, and the promise of her bringing him to one of many explosive orgasms afterwards. She always fulfilled his wish, so long as he played her games first.
Then she left for college and things changed for both of them. His father died suddenly and he inherited the farm, ending his plans for attending the university with her. Her father, strapped for money to pay her tuition, had applied as a sponsor recipient for the Correctional Labor Program, whereby convicted men and women were assigned to farms as field labor. The farm would then receive payments from the State, as well as own entitlements to any profits generated from the labor, as long as the farms provided food, clothing, shelter, and security control over the workers. The convicts would receive reduced sentences in exchange for volunteering for the program. The jails would benefit by releasing inmates to the farms’ custodial care, freeing up space needed for more violent offenders. It sounded like a good idea and it paid the farmers well, so Thomas had signed up as a sponsor recipient also, accepting low-risk prisoners on short-term assignments. It was a lucrative business when managed properly.
Four years later the Leighton farm had expanded three-fold, making it a plantation in every sense of the word. Her father had tried to keep pace by accepting maximum-security prisoners in exchange for greater payments from the program, a high-risk practice which could generate large payments from the State but required an equally large outlay of manpower to maintain. Her father had turned their pleasant little farm into a maximum-security work camp, while the Leighton plantation still exuded the quaintness of a small farm.
And then Sara had come home as a graduate of the university. Faced with living at a penitentiary labor camp surrounded by hardened criminals, it was little wonder that she spent a majority of her first week back from school on the Leighton plantation, pretending to be the lady of the house while socializing with her friends in his rooms, even when he wasn’t there. He didn’t mind. Four years had been very good to her, giving her the curves of a woman, and he was glad to have her around to keep things exciting.
Now she was stretched out, nude, and helplessly bound to a discipline station in his stables.
Four years had been very good to her indeed.
Young, firm legs curved with soft muscles tapered upwards towards the globes of her bare ass, the petals of her sex beginning to blossom between her wide-forked thighs as she stood spread-eagled on the wooden planking, her toes pressing against the dusty wood for support to relieve the strain on her shoulders as her arms bore a majority of her own bodyweight. Her lean, flat tummy, braced by the cold metal bar across her hips, stretched upwards across her naked torso, her two soft mounds pulled against her chest by the strain on her muscles, her arms extending outwards towards the bars across her wrists, her body stretched between the lengths of cold metal piping.
She smiled seductively at him as he judged the attributes of her nude body, every inch of her most sensitive areas open and available to his touch, exposed to whatever torments he had in mind for her.
“Now what, Mister Leighton?” she asked duskily.
“By law, I would tell you the nature of your infraction and the corrective action I would take, as well as any corrective action I would take for any further infractions you may commit.”
“But, sir, I haven’t committed any crime,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “I have done nothing to warrant any punishment.”
The man smiled. He saw her game. “Then I suppose I will have to give you a pre-emptive punishment session, as a warning on how we treat misbehavers on this farm.”
She giggled and tossed her hair, then tugged at the restraints holding her captive body to the metal apparatus.
The man stepped over to the workbench and turned his back to the woman, blocking her view of what he was doing. She heard the sound of rubber being stretched and knew he was putting on a pair of surgical gloves.
She was going to be inspected.
She smiled in anticipation.
But the man reached for something more. She tried to see what it was but he was deliberately blocking her view. All she could see was a black electrical plug being inserted into the outlet.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
The man ignored her question and simply turned around. In his gloved hands was an electric trimmer. He flicked it on and a loud buzz filled the stall. Her eyes filled with terror at the realization of what he intended to do.
New arrivals were always shaved. Growing their hair back was a privilege they had to earn through hard work and obedience.
“No! Not my hair!” she shouted above the din of the buzzing razor, “Please! Seriously, I’m not kidding!”
The man continued to approach her, the electric trimmer drawing closer to her body, the cord stretching like a long black tail over the rough-hewn bench and across the dusty floor. She pulled at the metal brackets around her wrists and ankles but her struggles were useless. She was securely bound to the metal frame, allowing her only limited movement.
“Please! No! Not my hair! Ok? Please?!” She was begging now, pleading with him.
The man took a step towards her.
“Please! No! No, no, no… I’ll do anything; anything you want. Just not my hair. Don’t cut my hair. I’m serious, ok?” She wasn’t pretending. She was frightened he might actually do it.
The man replied, “It will grow back” as he continued to approach her.
The woman let out a frightened whimper and pulled against her bonds. “Please! Please, please, please! I promise; I’ll do anything you want. Anything! I swear! I’ll do whatever you want. Ok? Please! Just don’t shave me! Please, please, please…” She let out a fearful cry and turned her face to look away, tilting her head back to avoid the buzzing silver blades of the electric trimmer as he raised it towards her head.
The man stopped. An evil grin slid across his face as the woman hung from the frame naked and helpless. She had given him the opening he wanted. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”
She realized what she had said; she had made an offer he couldn’t refuse. Now she had to wait to see what his fiendish mind might be contemplating. She tugged at the restraints around her wrists, feebly testing their hold on her body as she hung against the frame.
The man switched off the trimmer, set it back on the bench, and unplugged it. He was going to enjoy this very much.
He approached her spread-eagled body, this time empty-handed.
“What are you going to do?” she asked in a tiny voice, concerned about what he might be thinking.
“All prisoners are inspected upon arrival. You know that.”
She flashed a nervous smile. The game was back on, but the rules had changed. He wasn’t going to tell her what he had planned for her. He was in control now. She just had to trust him. It was the first time she truly felt helpless, and it thrilled her.
The man stepped behind his imprisoned captive and began to run his fingers through her thick, luscious hair; the dark brown strands glistening in the light of the stall, her subtle highlights sparkling as he brushed her locks out with his hands as if searching for contraband. She smiled as he pushed her head forward, then back, turning her left and right as his fingertips massaged her scalp. She giggled slightly as his fingers slipped behind her ears, tickling her a bit as she stood naked on the discipline station.
His inspection of her hair complete, he swiftly ran his hands down her back and across her ribs. She tensed up, laughing and giggling as he tickled her torso, the captive girl twisting as his hands ran along the sides of her chest, across the undersides of her breasts, then upwards along her arms, her wrists helplessly pinned outwards away from her body.
She twitched and giggled and writhed on the frame, her breath thrown from her lungs by her reaction to his stimulation of her nerves. She fought to control herself, trying to resist as he continued to excite her body, leaving her squirming and breathless against the bars. She laughed and tugged at the restraints holding her fast as he continued to torture her with his fingers, the muscles of her chest and tummy tightening until she thought she was going to suffocate and pass out.
He let his hands fall back along her bare skin, softly brushing the torso of the squirming woman before bringing them around to the front of her chest. Each hand cupped and squeezed her young breasts, gently massaging her soft mounds, judging the firmness of her mammaries as she hung panting from the shackles around her wrists. He teased each hardened nipple with his rubber-covered fingers, tugging at them as if to milk her, feeling her squirm as he manipulated her teats, pressing and squeezing her as he pulled at the dark areolas capped by her tight brown nubs.
She moaned and smiled and turned her face towards her lover, the smell of his aftershave mixed with the aroma of leather, polish, and sweat as he dabbed at her nipples. She winced when he deliberately twisted and squeezed her tiny nubs hard, pinching them cruelly, testing her sensitivity. She pulled at the bonds around her wrists as he gave her a final tug and moved on with his inspection.
His hands drifted downwards across her lean tummy, feeling her cords of muscle dancing with excitement under his fingertips as he brought his hands back along her flanks, teasing the erogenous zones of her bare hips, avoiding the metal bar holding her to the frame. He playfully spanked the twin globes of her ass, each one bouncing and trembling from the impact of his gloved palms against her mounds of muscle, eliciting a yelp of surprise from the girl as she squirmed on the punishment frame.
Then he grasped each reddening globe and painfully spread them wide, opening up her posterior cleft for his inspection. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube, uncapped it, and dabbed some gel onto his finger.
She jumped and gasped with surprise as his fingertip nudged at the opening to her anal cavity, smearing the cold gel of lubricant around the puckered hole in preparation for her examination. “Just relax,” he warned her, “and it will be less painful that way.”
She nodded and took a deep breath as he pressed his middle finger against her dark hole and slowly inserted his digit into her orifice, eliciting a squeal of pain from her in response to his intrusion. She could feel his finger probing around, just inside the opening to her cavity, searching blindly like a worm. After what seemed like an eternity, she felt him begin to pull out, and she started to exhale, thinking that he was done with his search.
Suddenly he pushed harder against the resistance of her anal muscle, plunging his finger deeper into her body as she fought to control a scream building in her throat. She remembered what he had told her and tried to relax, but the shock of his intrusion was too much and a yelp of pain escaped from her mouth. She pulled, hard, against the frame holding her in position, and could feel his finger pressing deeper against the walls of her bowel. A feeling of fullness emanated from her lower regions, and she felt like she was going to cramp.
Then, just as sudden as he had started, he was finished, leaving the girl gasping and squirming as he pulled his gloved hand from her anus.
He stood up and walked over to the workbench. Again she heard the sound of rubber being stretched as he pulled off the gloves and tossed them in the trash can alongside the doorway. He squirted some hand sanitizer into his palm, and then rubbed his hands together until the anti-infection cream had dissipated.
Then she heard the sound of rubber being stretched once more, and she knew her inspection wasn’t over.
The man stepped over towards the captive woman and raised his hands to her mouth. “Open”, he said.
She started to speak, “What…”.
He slapped her face gently, as a warning, and said sternly, “Open.”
She complied, relaxing her jaw as he inserted a dental bit into her mouth, stretching her jaws as wide as she could go. He then pushed a finger into her mouth, tugging at her cheeks as he examined her teeth. He quickly swiped along each gumline, checking for anything hidden in her oral pockets. Without warning, he slipped three fingers across her tongue and deep into her throat, causing her to choke. Her abdomen contracted sharply, her diaphragm spasming as he deliberately triggered her gag reflex. She thought she was going to vomit as a feeling of nausea washed over her. Her abdomen twitched again and an inhuman sound exploded from her gut, but nothing physical came out.
Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding anything in her digestive tract, he withdrew his fingers, removed the dental bit, and said “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She choked and swallowed. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“It’s just part of the process,” he replied, “I do it to all of my charges.”
She swallowed again, and scowled at him.
He saw her displeasure and said, “Don’t be mad. Maybe this will help take your mind off things.”
The man then reached down under her outstretched body and gently patted her vulva, feeling her most private region with his rubber-coated fingers, her labial lips full and inviting. His fingers slipped between her two fleshy guardians, probing the tissue just above her entrance, searching for her little bud nestled in its hiding spot. Her reaction told him when he found it.
He leaned in closer to her, like two lovers embracing, as he tenderly cupped and fondled her sex. He could smell the aroma of her perfume mixing with her body’s natural chemistry, forming her own unique scent. It had been four years since he had smelled her like that and he had missed it.
“Let me know when you’re ready to continue with your processing,” he whispered gently in her ear as his fingers toyed with her clit and massaged the swollen petals on either side, her breath shallow against his cheek.
She gasped, swallowed, and gave a quick nod.
“You should know,” he said as he stepped back, “that I don’t normally give my charges the opportunity to compose themselves during their inspection. It might make them think they can get away with something later.”
She looked at him, exhaled, and said “Thank you.”
He nodded and turned back towards the workbench.
She watched as he reached for a gleaming silver tool resting on a sterilization tray inside a clear acrylic box. She recognized it instantly and knew what was going to happen next. She tugged at the bonds holding her to the frame and steadied herself, the waves of nausea beginning to build again as she trembled in anticipation of her next examination. He turned to her and approached her outstretched body, his hands cradling the vaginal speculum, its duck-billed blades innocently closed.
She shivered nervously as he knelt in front of her and positioned the cold, flat beak of the instrument against her slit, letting the tension build as she waited for it to be inserted into her. The blades looked enormous, centered between her hips.
“Aren’t you going to warm those up first?” she asked.
“There’s no need. The coldness helps prevent the spread of disease.”
She braced herself for the impending inspection, a look of concern on her face.
Slowly, he inserted the oversized instrument into her body, the two metal blades piercing her mound, sliding silently into her tunnel. She squealed at the pressure, the chilled metal uncomfortably cold against her vaginal lining as he pressed the device deeper into her cleft. She squirmed with shock, surprised at just how cold the instrument really was. She threw her head back and exhaled deeply, her hands making fists as she silently absorbed the intruding object, the chill of the metal magnified by the warmth of her blood-infused tissue.
“Don’t fight it,” he warned, “you’ll just make it more unpleasant for yourself.”
She tried to relax as the metal blades slipped deeper into her.
Satisfied that he had pushed the silver tool as far as it would go, he slowly squeezed the handle of the speculum, opening up her vaginal cavity for inspection, causing her to squeal with discomfort. Taking a small penlight from his pocket, he flashed the beam around inside her tunnel, the illuminated tissue glistening and pink with health. He could see the puckered hole of her cervix buried deep inside her snatch; a little bulls-eye hidden within her body.
He inserted his hand into her spread tunnel, his gloved finger nuzzling against the mucus-coated opening to her uterus, softly stimulating the sensitive tissue there.
She jumped at the sensation.
He recognized the signs. Years of animal husbandry had taught him well. She was at her most fertile, and her most horny.
Having completed his inspection of her body, he snapped the jaws of the speculum closed and slowly pulled it from her cleft, the engorged lips of her labia curling back away from her opening as the gleaming silver blades were withdrawn. He turned towards the workbench and set the instrument back in its box, closing the lid securely before pressing a button on the case. Almost instantly a foggy vapor filled the little plastic container and a tiny red light began to blink, indicating the sterilization process was engaged.
Next he reached above the bench towards a row of hooks set into the wall. Hanging from those hooks was an array of whips, crops, and floggers.
Her pulse quickened when he selected a familiar short, multi-tailed flogger and turned towards her.
He spoke with a commanding tone. “You are now a resident of Leighton Acres, a restricted security facility authorized by the State to manage your behavior during your term of incarceration. I am Mr. Thomas Leighton, but you will address me only as Mr. Leighton and nothing else. You will answer every question asked of you with either a simple ‘Yes, Mr. Leighton’ or ‘No, Mr. Leighton.’ Do you understand?”
She smiled. She’d never seen him this way; so strong, so forceful. He was playing the game to the hilt.
“Do you understand?” he asked again.
“Yes, Mr. Leighton,” she responded.
“State laws do not apply here. I and I alone have the final say in everything that happens to you. You do not have any rights here, only privileges, and you will earn those privileges based on how hard you work and how quickly you learn. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”
“You will be provided clothing. You will not intentionally damage this clothing in any way, and you will not allow this clothing to be damaged by others, nor will you allow others to damage the clothing provided to them. This clothing is the property of this farm as you are the property of this farm. This clothing is a privilege and may be taken from you by me at any time and for any reason. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”
“You will be provided sleeping quarters. You will keep your sleeping quarters in a tidy manner at all times, and you will assist others in keeping their quarters tidy. Your assigned quarters are a privilege and may be taken from you at any time, for any reason, by me and only me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”
“You will be provided food for your personal consumption. You will eat only the food provided to you by myself or the guards. You will not eat food provided to others for their consumption, nor food provided by others to you for your consumption. You will not allow your food to go to waste, and you will not allow others to waste their food. You will not consume food from the fields of this farm. Everything grown on this farm is the property of this farm, as you are the property of this farm. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”
“You will be watched by guards. Those guards are here for your protection and the protection of others from you. You will treat the guards with respect and obey their instructions because they are giving you instructions that I have given to them. You will obey them as you would obey me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”
“You will conduct yourself in a manner that preserves and provides for the safe operation of this farm. You will do your tasks diligently and to the best of your ability at all times. Any deviation from this practice, whether real or imagined, will result in your being disciplined as I see fit. I and I alone will have the right to discipline you. You will not question the manner in which you are disciplined; fair or unfair, it does not matter. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”
“Do you consider these rules fair?”
“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”
“This evening you were observed allowing your clothing to be damaged in violation of the rules I have given you. You will therefore be punished for incorrect behavior. Do you agree?”
“But, Mister Leighton, it was my own…”
The flogger whistled through the air and smacked against her chest, the strands of leather lashing her breasts, stinging her nipples as her soft flesh quivered from the impact. A gasp of shock escaped from her mouth, her lips curling into a smile from the sensation in her tits.
“You have violated another rule by failing to answer properly. You have compounded your punishment and will be disciplined accordingly.”
She squealed as the flogger whistled through the air three more times, each blow falling against her chest, lashing the soft mounds of her breasts, the pale skin beginning to redden from the impact. She pulled at the bonds around her wrists, her hands clutching at the air as the man whipped her exposed nipples.
It had been four years since she had last asked him to whip her, but he could still remember it clearly. The first time he did it, they had been young and inexperienced, still exploring each other’s bodies. It was her idea to try it. She was bound naked; wrists tugged high by a length of rope knotted around a tree branch at their secret spot. He had tickled her until she was out of breath, something they had done before. Then she had asked him to make a switch and use it on her.
He had been cautious, afraid of hurting her, scared that he might do something wrong. She had understood his trepidation and gently talked him into hitting her harder, teaching him how to build up the intensity at just the right pace to keep up with her endorphin rush. The green switch was too intense, they both soon learned, and after a series of trial and error with belts, ropes, and even a stocking tied to a stick it was replaced by a flogger he had made himself from leather straps cut from a still-born calf, the braids wide for maximum effect without breaking her skin, each strip tanned in his barn and wrapped around a hickory handle carved from a tree behind the stables. It became her favorite torment. He used it on her many times before she left, the last time being at their secret spot as a going-away celebration of sorts. As always, it had been her idea, and the leather still carried the unique aroma of her chemistry. He had kept it to remind him of her, even though he knew it wasn’t necessary. He could never forget her.
And now it was being used on her again.
The flogger landed against her chest, the skin becoming an angry red as the braids wrapped around the curves of her tender bosom, licking at the sensitive brown nubs standing erect in the centers of her twin ovals. She turned her head away as the draft from the swinging flogger brushed against her face. She squealed, her mouth open as she tried to catch her breath, the wind knocked out of her lungs by the blows of the whip.
She tugged at the metal brackets surrounding her wrists. And smiled.
He paused, absorbing the image of her, naked and panting, hanging from the network of heavy pipes, her nerves responding to the blows against her body as the endorphins began to answer their call to duty. The whip dangled from his hand as he watched her gasp and squirm, the braids of the flogger gently swaying as he limply swung the flogger in front of her, waiting, impatiently, for her to settle a bit before continuing her punishment.
A pleasured moan indicated her readiness for more.
He gently swung the flogger upwards between her legs, letting the braids swish between her wide-forked thighs, the petals of her vulva swollen with arousal as the strands reached out and kissed her tender flesh.
She jumped at the sensation. The flogger could be cruel, but it could also be tender as it caressed her skin, gently brushing her labia, massaging the warm, pink tissue surrounding the entrance to her pussy.
He brought the flogger up between her thighs again, the braids wrapping in a cluster around her Mound of Venus, snaking between the crevice of her snatch. The muscles of her tummy tightened in response, causing her to lean forward, the curves of her breasts growing larger as her body shifted on the frame.
Again and again he brought the flogger up between her thighs, and each time she jumped in response to the stimulation of the leather against her pussy. He increased the tempo of her whipping with each strike, letting the pain build slowly in her sex, letting the impact of the blows reach deeper into her body, knowing that with each strike of the flogger her clit, swollen and hiding under its fleshy hood, was growing angrier and more alert.
He brought the whip up harder now, the tail whistling through the air as it sped towards her captive body, impacting against her mound, the skin pink and tender from its abuse. She leaned her head back and grunted with each blow, fighting the tension on her body, shuddering with pain and pleasure as tears began to form in her eyes. She didn’t see him loosening the buttons of his jeans, or his erection as it sprung free from its blue denim prison.
Suddenly he was on her, pressing his organ against her opening as she hung, naked and sweating, on the metal apparatus. She gasped and moaned as he pushed himself into her, feeling her vaginal wall parting as he plunged into her warm tunnel. Slowly he began to pump, his hips grinding against hers, the metal bar across her belly the only thing separating the two of them as he took her passionately.
He could feel her breath on his cheek, ragged and wet as she accepted him into her body, the muscles of her vagina grasping his cock, stroking it as he pumped his seed into her belly. Her toes struggled to maintain their grip on the floor as she gave herself to him, each thrust of his hips pushing her against the metal pipes as she hung exposed in the cool night air of the punishment stall.
Her breathing became long and labored; her body tightening as she worked towards her sexual release. She grunted and tried to rock her hips as much as the metal bars would allow. The man pressed against her, each thrust driving his swollen cock deeper into her, the purple head straining towards the puckered hole at the end of her tunnel,
She gasped and a small squeal slipped from her parted mouth as she began to reach her climax. He could feel her muscles spasming and he quickened his pace, pushing her higher and deeper into her dreamstate of love. He reached behind her and spanked her ass, stimulating her more, bringing her farther onto his cock as he pushed towards her little bull’s-eye. She shuddered, squealed again, and then tensed up as every muscle in her body contracted simultaneously in orgasmic reflex. She inhaled deeply, her mouth open as she held onto the tempest, riding the waves of pleasure as long as she could. She was suspended in mid-air, balanced on the end of the man’s shaft.
Then, it was over, the waves receding back to their place deep within her. She closed her mouth as a pleasured moan emanated from her throat, her breath whistling through her teeth as she collapsed onto him, her body held tenderly in his arms. She leaned forward, letting her cheek nuzzle against his as he made two final thrusts before withdrawing from her slit.
He kissed her face softly and she turned her head towards him, sharing a kiss as she hung weakly from the shackles around her wrists, her body spread between the metal posts in her post-coital glow. She whispered her love for him, the words barely audible above her heaving, gasping breath.
He reached down and tucked his cock back into its home under his clothing, the flesh softening as her smell wafted upwards from his organ.
It had been too long. For both of them.
“Sarah,” he said, “you said you’d do anything if I didn’t shave your head.”
She gasped. “I remember.”
“I want you to marry me.”
She looked at him, her mouth open but no words coming out. She wanted to shout ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. She choked, and swallowed, and tried to speak as tears formed in her eyes. She wanted to wrench herself from the metal frame and hug him and scream and jump and dance and shout how much she loved him. She blinked and coughed, but still the words wouldn’t come.
He saw her struggling to talk and smiled.
“Before you say anything, there’s something I want you to know first,” he said.
She forced herself to calm down, fighting to control the tears in her eyes, swallowing as she cleared her throat.
“When my father died, and you left for college, I… I saw my future slipping away. I was afraid you’d go off and I’d never see you again because I was trapped here. I knew you’d meet other guys with more education than me, guys from nice, well-pedigreed families that could offer you a better future than a simple dirt farmer like me. So I changed myself, and how I viewed this farm. This place wasn’t my coffin; it was my future, and I wanted it to be your future, too. I studied courses on my own. I took business management and military leadership classes. I learned how to manage a company, how to change and adapt to business opportunities, and how to manage people. I did that all for one reason. You.”
She stared at him, awestruck.
“Everything you see here,” he continued, “the land, the house, the groves… everything… I did it all for you, because I wanted to build a place that you would love as much as I love you.”
She began to cry. “Oh, Thomas…” she croaked, her throat tight with emotion.
“If you say yes, you will become the mistress of this plantation. And it is a working plantation; I want you to remember that. Our marriage will give you equal power over how the business is operated, and how the assignees are managed. It took me four years and a lot of mistakes to learn how to make this place run smoothly. I wish you could have the luxury of time to learn it all, but I don’t want to wait; I can’t wait. I’ve waited for four years and I can’t wait any longer.”
He paused, collecting his thoughts.
“This is not an easy business. It’s not the type of work that has regular hours. There may be times where we have to miss vacations and holidays and appointments with friends. You may not have the luxury of going on glamorous excursions or holding fancy cocktail parties when there’s a situation that needs our attention. That is the reality behind the picket fences and pretty orchards. It takes a lot of work, and a lot of love.”
She swallowed, hard, and blinked as tears began to roll down her face.
“I love you, Sarah. I want us to get married as soon as you are ready. But you won’t be ready until you’ve learned, and understand, what we do here. You’re going to have to learn this operation from the inside out. That’s why I gave you the same examination that I give to all assignees, and gave you the same speech about the rules, so you could see what they go through when they first arrive here. The stripping, the probing, the vomiting… it’s all very much real. We have to do that for their own safety, even if they don’t like it. You called them animals, and that nearly broke my heart. You can’t look at them that way. They’re the reason this place exists. They are our students and I want you to see them as human beings that just need to be trained, trained by someone who cares about them and can give them the structure and guidance they want, even when they resist. Your university would fail you in a class and it wouldn’t care. It would keep going and run right over you. But here, if an assignee fails, I care. They don’t move on until they learn, even if they don’t want to learn. That’s why we have to have discipline as part of their training, so that they can learn to discipline themselves. I want you to see their training first-hand, as one of them, so you can understand. So, starting right now, if you accept my proposal for marriage, you will become one of them. You will become an assignee of Leighton Acres, and will be held to the same standards as all the other assignees. You will live by the same rules, and be punished for the same infractions, as they are. You will live with them, eat with them, bathe with them, and work with them in the fields; every day, for a week, with no special treatment. Not even the guards will know who you really are. If you obey the rules, you’ll be ok. But if you disobey, you will be punished. It can be as easy or as difficult as you make it.”
Her jaw dropped. If she hadn’t been restrained she would’ve collapsed on the floor. Live with them…. She couldn’t fathom it. She had a college degree. Her father was the second-wealthiest man in the community. She had been a prom queen in school. Live with them? No. They were criminals. She was not. She had other options. She could leave. She could go back to her father’s or move away someplace else entirely. She wanted to cry out, to refuse; but she loved him. She loved him with all of her heart. That’s why she had come back. And she could see the truth in what he was telling her. His rules were simple and fair. Could she do it? It was only a week. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad… at least not as bad as her father’s place. And she knew him, probably better than he knew himself. She knew the love he carried for her in his heart was forever strong. The evidence was all around her, and had been for all of her life. He was ready to fulfill her lifelong dream and make her the happiest woman in the world. Everything she wanted was right there for her if she dared to accept it. It was Truth or Dare again in their little slice of Eden and it was the biggest Dare she could ever make. It was a Dare she was making to herself. I dare me.
She nodded her consent.
He turned and reached for a set of belly shackles.
***
|
|
|