THE PUNISHMENT CROSS
I followed him willingly down the stairs to the same room that we had been in
last weekend. Not pulling to hard on the leash. Good posture, easy motions.
Proud carriage with my eyes down. We entered the playroom and what I saw
stunned me so profoundly, I stopped dead in my tracks. I just could not believe
my eyes. Jon gave a short hard jerk on my lead to draw my attention to his
needs. His face flooding with anger. I was appalled that I had let my
attention be distracted from him. He spoke, harshly.
"No whip for you tonight, slave. You'll have to earn it." I felt tears in my
eyes. There was no softening in his gaze. "Now, pay attention to me, Anne. I
will draw your attention to what I want you to see. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master. This slave begs forgiveness for her curiosity." He seemed
satisfied when I fell to my knees next to him. We walked over to a chair near
the front of the crowd. Surprisingly empty, or maybe they knew that it was
Jon's chair. Either way he had a place to sit to see the show. Jon made full
use of it. Putting his hand on the back of my neck under the heavy shaft of my
braided hair. Cupping it gently to feel the fever of my skin.
"Take a good look at Adam, Anne. You'll be where he is one day." I wasn't
really looking forward to that, but Adam was suffering so perfect. His face was
blazing scarlet. His jaw clenched to iron hardness. Adam's breath exploded
from his chest in short bursts of sharp acrid pain. Tears leaking down his face
in a soft torrent. The muscles of his thighs were like tight cords with
exertion. Beautiful. Terry had mounted him on the Punishment Cross with a
black phallus peeking between his spread thighs. The training harness strained
across his chest. Clamps decorated his body wherever there was loose skin.
Reddened marks from the whip decorated his torso like the fine lines of lead in
a stained-glass window. His face was flushed and his jaw was clenched. His
well-defined organ strained against the thin leather pouch that my two shaking
hands had encased it in. Picture perfect. More dampness seeped from my cleft
in unrestrained jealousy. I moaned in sympathy.
The Punishment Cross was not designed for any other purpose but to make the
person on it uncomfortable. That was it and that was all. It was as tall as a
man, shaped like an X, with four-inch beams. It had quick-release leather bands
and slots for hooks to widen the legs, or just to give added support to the
body. Supremely humiliating. Others milled around the room. Stopping and
watching or giving little suggestions to the man tormenting Adam on the
punishment cross. I did as I had been told to do. I merely watched with
longing what Adam was suffering. Wishing it was me. My gaze as avid as any
Shriner watching a stripper at a weekend convention. I was enthralled. Jon
continued touching my neck with a steady palm. I knew that I was boiling with
heat and need. A nuclear reaction taking place in my body. Bringing me into
harmony with the sexual attitudes of the people around me.
"Would you like that to be you?" I felt my breath catch in my throat. My head
was nodding before the words were even formed in my dry throat.
"Yes, Master." My voice was low. A low sound grating around the lump in my
throat. My eyes becoming bright with suppressed emotion. Honesty had a
tendency to do that to me. It seemed that I only felt profound sensations, or
experienced deeply held emotions, when they were forced from my breast with a
strap or an orgasm. There was no happy medium with me. It was all or nothing.
"Kneel up and present." I hurried to do it. Turning my back to him and placing
myself on all fours. Legs wide, eyes tightly shut. My hands clasped together
on the floor with my head resting on them. I quivered violently in front of Jon
with fear and desire. The subtle mixing of emotions turning me on even more
than I had been this whole weekend. "Very good, slave." He put the toe of his
boot into the wet nest of hair between my legs, forcing a low submissive sound
from my lips. I felt the flesh growing fuller and hotter under the rough
ministrations of his boot. "I see the wetness on your thighs. Your body is
more than willing to betray me, isn't it?"
"Only if it should please you, Master." He laughed at the deep-throated misery
in my tone.
"Keep watching the spectacle, Anne." He practically whispered at me. A low
hiss of sound floating hotly into my ears. "I will have you up there soon, but
you will have to be very good to deserve it." I vowed to be good, but it was so
hard to remember all the rules and regulations that were necessary to this life.
I wanted so much more. I wanted to be perfect. That was the essence of how I
was now reacting. This feeling flowed through my aroused body, but I was so new
to this behavior I faltered. I failed at my attempt and knew that I needed
instruction. It wouldn't really hit me until later that this was slave
thinking. The willingness to humiliate myself to garner favor from the man who
was my Master. Truth be told. I would be shocked to realize that this was
exactly how I was supposed to be feeling. That every reaction was readily
recognized as a phase of training. I was what they considered above `normal'
for this stage of my development. My natural responses were more finely tuned
than many who had been in their kind of training program.
"My boot needs to be cleaned." I turned around and licked my salty juices from
the highly polished tip. Letting him pull me up afterwards to pet me. My
breasts, my throat. The soft skin on my back. I groaned with need and he let me
go. Drawing my attention back to Adam and the intense man tormenting him. I saw
the man shake out a bullwhip, cracking it expertly over Adams head. Adam pulled
against the cross, but said nothing. The man ran the whip softly over his chest
and over the leather bag holding his organ. Adam almost lost it. I could see
the shudders of his body as he fought to control the spasms threatening to spill
over him. Terry growled at him, voice low.
"Do you have any idea what I'll do to you if you come before I'm finished with
you, boy?" His face was hard. The whip handle resting under Adam's chin,
forcing his eyes up to the Master's cold countenance.
"Yes, Master." His voice was frantic. "Please." He begged, his whole body
with him. "I can't take anymore, Master." There was gentleness then as Traci
spoke into his ear. Leaning into his hot skin, stroking it slowly. Soothing his
tears with soft hands. I wished it was me, wanted it to be me. I heard low
moans coming from my throat in commiseration with Adam's torment.
"You will take it though, won't you?" Adam's nodded, unable to speak.
Swallowing sobs, deep in his chest. The way men do when they really don't want
to cry but simply cannot help it. His tears flowing freely now in pain-filled
liberation.
"You are a slave. I am your Mistress. Your suffering pleases me. It is
pleasing for your Mistress to see and she loves you for it." More deep sobs, as
the sentiment moved the core deep inside of him that I was sure no one ever saw
in real life. `Much like me.' I thought suddenly in surprise.
The man shook out the whip, backing up. Adam tensed in the bondage. His neck
arched. I saw the man wind up his arm. Flicking the soft skin under a clamp
pinching into Adam's flesh. When the whip hit it, it flipped off. I almost
orgasmed where I was kneeling from imagining what that felt like to him.
The stinging bite of the whip and the rush of flow to the blood starved tissues.
I reeled with him. The hair on the back of my neck coming to immediate shivery
attention. The sound was a steady rise and fall of resounding vibration. A
sharp cadence in the heated air. There was not one person unaffected by the
display before us. It was intoxicating. The proficient artistry of both men
before us. The sharp writhing of Adam. The artful prowess of the whip in the
hands of Terry. The self-evident desire of the people watching. Increased
pressure from Jon's fingers on my skin told me that he wanted something. I
looked up and made some small sound that drew his full attention to my plight on
the floor. I didn't look in his eyes, but I did let him know that I was more
than willing to service his needs. I couldn't care less about the eyes of the
others in the room, or the watchful intermittent gaze of the man with Adam. The
crowd before us was non-existent to me. I was so focused on the heat between my
legs and the pounding of my heart. There was no one else near me that I really
truly cared about.
"Take care of me." Jon ordered and I eagerly moved to do as I was bid. Turning
quickly to settle my hands on the his thighs. Seeing his organ tauten under his
leather pants. "Open them." I did so. Hands urgently pulling the tab on the
zipper. Reaching into the pants and easing his penis from the confining folds
of leather. He took the fat tail of hair from over my shoulder and opened the
end. The long mass flowing over my back as he pulled the braid free. Smoothing
it in a wave, around my red face. It was concealing and appreciated. Looking
down at the stiff organ before me I knew what he wanted from me. What's more,
he wanted it now in this crowd of strangers. Jon wanted everybody here to
observe my willingness, my compliance to his command. I put those thoughts out
of my head, and concentrated on my task. A pleasurably frustrating endeavor as
I became immediately hot for him as I contemplated sucking his organ. Taking
the tip of his penis into my lips and moistening it with my tongue. I went down
to the very root in one smooth motion. Pushing him into my mouth for the last
delicious inch. Feeling him tense under me and sigh with voluptuous abandon. I
went into action. Motions that would lead to his completion with determined
effort and now easy oral skill. Tasting his flesh in my mouth in a sweet burst
of salt and heat. I was taking my time with him. Teasing the underside of his
organ with quick cat-like licking motions of my tongue. Stroking the big vein
underneath lovingly. Nipping gently at the head until I tasted the beginning of
his orgasm in slow drops melting in my urgently sucking mouth. I let his body
rule mine. The delicate signals that told me what he was feeling, better than
any words ever could.
Jon took a firm hold of the hair at my damp temples, gripping me quickly to
guide me for the last few moments. Up and down against his organ. Feeling it
swell to orgasmic proportions in my tightening throat. Near to the time when
his balls pulled closer to his body in preparation for release. When the smell
of male animal flowed over my senses in heady perfume and I became caught up in
the tension of the moment. Struggling to control the burgeoning rush of urgency
in my own body. I wanted to let it go. Let it flow over me in a rush of
passion, but knew that I couldn't. I had to learn to control it. Jon drew my
attention from my own torment with subtle movements of his hips. They jerked in
readiness and suddenly arched a bare inch from the chair he was in with abrupt
discharge. His penis impossibly hard. Cum shooting into my throat with each
spasm. His groans music to my suffering ears. Hands inflexibly rooted on my
head as he pulled me nearer to the dark curls at the top of his thighs. His
orgasm seeming to be endlessly punishing to my starved core.
I kept moving on him, feeling the gradual lessening of the tempo. The soft
jerks of his organ that told me he had no more to give me at this time. The
twitching of his body as it remembered the feel of something he particularly
liked me to do with my mouth. He released my hair gradually and guided my face
up to his.
"Look at me." He ordered and my eyes were wide when they met his. I leaned
over his lap, his damp penis bumping into my waist. Jon pulling my face up to
his to kiss my lips softly. Moving his left hand down my body, rubbing my
breasts slowly. Traveling down my waist and brushing, just barely, against the
moisture between my legs. "You want me." He stated, bluntly.
"Only if it pleases you, Master." I breathed against his mouth, half-moaning
with surging passion.
"Back in your place." I went back to his left and waited in expectant wetness,
once again.
