The Cellar by Reine Woods Claire groveled at his feet, afraid to move, afraid to even take a deep breath. Her breasts hurt from the beating she had received last night, and her ass cheeks were stinging from the beating she received earlier today. A twinge of pain in her breasts distracted her, and forgetting his command for her to hold perfectly still, she looked down at the bruises on her breasts, shuddering at the thought of the pain she felt when he had inflicted them. "Are you having a problem?" he asked her, his voice stern. "Do we need to have a lesson in how to keep still, Claire?" "No, Sir," she said softly, barely audible. A numb feeling washed over her for a second, as she remembered his warning to talk louder. "Speak up." he ordered her. "I'm tired of trying to hear what you're saying. The next time I have a problem hearing what you say, we're going back down to the cellar." "I'm sorry, Sir. No, Sir, there is no problem." she said, louder this time. "Then do you want to tell me why you can't keep still?" he asked. Claire didn't know how to answer that...she felt that whatever she said or didn't say, the end result would be the same. He was toying with her. She kept quiet. "I asked you a question," he said, the patience in his voice disguising what Claire now knew was simmering anger. "Sir, I'm sorry, Sir," she said, her voice again too soft. She realized she had spoken too quietly just as he grabbed her hair and pulled, hard. "Is it so difficult for you to remember an order for more than a few seconds? Is it?" He pulled harder, and with his free hand, slapped her face. "No, Sir," she managed to speak up, in spite of the pain from the pressure he was putting on her scalp. "Claire, I warned you about speaking up, didn't I?" "Yes, Sir." "You were warned, you were told the consequences of disobedience." He pulled her hair still harder. Claire gasped at the pain. "Claire, you were warned, right?" "Yes, Sir," her eyes were tearing from the pain. He sighed. "Claire, you know what this means, don't you?" "Yes, Sir," her voice broke on the words, but she managed to speak loud enough to be heard. "Then get up and go downstairs," his voice turned gentle and patient. Claire wasn't fooled by the softness. She knew he spoke gently and patiently when his anger was reaching a point of intensity. Claire quickly got to her feet and headed for the cellar stairs. "Sir, may I go to the bathroom first?" she asked his permission, hesitating at the foot of the stairs. "No. Keep moving." He struck the back of her legs sharply with the riding crop he was carrying. Claire went downstairs quickly, avoiding another blow. She stood in the middle of the chill room, and looked around. The need to pee wasn't so great that she couldn't hold it for a while. He grabbed her hair again and slapped her face. "Did I say you could look around?" he asked her a rhetorical question. "Kneel." Claire got down on her knees. "Do you remember what I said about not having a safeword when you are in the cellar?" he asked her. "Yes, Sir," Claire replied. "And you trust me that while I will give you very intense pain, there will be no harm, and I won't give you any more pain than I know you can handle?" Claire had endured punishment sessions in the cellar before. She was afraid of them, afraid of him, but at the same time, she had come through each time with only superficial bruises that looked much worse than they actually were. And each time, the session had ended with exquisite orgasms. He slapped her face again. "You answer me when I ask you a question." "Yes, Sir." she said. "Tell me what you are saying 'yes' to." he demanded. "That there is no safeword in the cellar, Sir. That you will hurt me, a lot, but that I trust you not to harm me or give me more than I can take." "And you're willing to proceed?" Claire nodded. He pulled her hair again, much harder this time, and another slap to her face accompanied it. "I told you that a nod is not a reply. Didn't I?" "Yes, Sir," Claire quickly said. "I'm willing to proceed, Sir." "Good, Claire. Crawl to the post," he ordered her. Claire obeyed quickly, hoping to avoid more punishment. Claire remembered what he had said about the post. That if he were really angry at her, he would bring her to the cellar and chain her to the post, leaving her alone in the dark. He picked up a length of chain and wrapped it around the post. He attached the two ends of the chain to the ring in her collar and padlocked them together. He took her wrists and handcuffed them behind her back. "Do you still have to go to the bathroom?" he asked her. "Yes, Sir," she replied, speaking up to avoid giving him a reason to inflict more punishment. He ignored her answer for the moment. "I'm going to leave you down here in the dark to think about your disobedience and the punishment that's coming to you. Do your tits hurt?" "Yes, Sir," she replied. He reached out and squeezed her swollen and bruised breast. He saw her wince at the pain. She was stubborn and defiant. He didn't think that she had intentionally disobeyed him just now. Still, she needed to be taught a lesson, and it didn't matter whether her disobedience was accidental or on purpose. He looked around the room for a cup or a glass, and spotted a chipped mug that was doing double duty as a pencil holder. He dumped the pencils on the floor and without giving the accumulated dirt and dust in the cup any thought, he filled it with water and brought it over to Claire. "Drink it," he brought the cup to her mouth. Claire thanked him politely, but said she wasn't thirsty. "I'm not asking you if you want a drink," he warned her. "I'm ordering you to drink." Claire realized the ordeal she would be experiencing shortly. He knew she had to go to the bathroom. So he was forcing her to drink water, to make her need to relieve herself that much stronger. She also knew she had no choice, so she swallowed the water as he brought the cup up to her mouth. He refilled the cup, and had her drink again. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as Claire drank up the fourth cup of water. "If you pee," he warned her, "You're going to lick it up. Understand?" Claire could barely get the words out. "Yes, Sir." But she made sure she was heard. "What do you understand, Claire?" he asked. "That if I pee, Sir, I will have to lick it up." "Good, Claire," he smiled. "Now think about why you're down here and what you're going to do to keep me from getting this angry again." He went upstairs, and Claire heard him lock the door. A second later, the lights went out, and she was left in the cold darkness. Now that she was alone, Claire gave full vent to the tears that she had been trying to keep in, and her body shook with their intensity. It didn't take long for her to feel the effects of the water she had been forced to drink. Would she able to hold it in? She had to, she thought. Claire couldn't bare the thought of having to lick up her pee if she had an accident. And she had learned that he always followed through on his threats. Claire was feeling very miserable. Her breasts were tender and throbbing. Her thighs were squeezed tightly against her need to relieve herself. It was cold in the cellar. And Claire was very much dreading the beating she knew was coming to her when he came back. Thinking those thoughts, Claire somehow fell asleep. She awoke with a start as the lights in the room suddenly blazed on and she heard him unlock the cellar door. Claire tensed herself, trying to prepare herself mentally for the pain. He came downstairs and stood before her, a heavy wooden paddle held casually in his hands, and a whip tucked into his belt. She shuddered. "Claire, the paddle is for your ass. I am going to use it to give you five blows on each side. They will be hard blows. They will hurt you. Then I'm going to use the whip on your tits." He paused, then asked, "Do you remember what you are being punished for?" All Claire heard was his saying he was going to whip her breasts again. "No, please, no," she moaned. "Please, look at how bruised my breasts are," she pleaded. He sighed and shook his head from side to side, a note of disbelief in his voice. "Claire, you're breaking all the rules today. Those are tits, not breasts. And you are to call me Sir at all times, right?" Claire stopped her pleading and turned white with fear. Her breath came in quick gasps. She tried to get out the words of apology, but she couldn't get her mouth to work. He savored her terror. "Do you know what this means, Claire?" he asked her. "Yes, Sir," she managed to answer, and loud enough to be heard. "Tell me," he ordered. "Sir, you're going to add to the punishment." She knew what to expect.. "That's right, Claire. Now, you have a choice. After I whip your tits, I can use either a riding crop or a cane. Which do you prefer me to use on your tits?" At the thought of this further abuse to her already painfully bruised breasts, Claire lost it. She felt the wet warmth of her urine between her legs, and she could smell the very obvious, telltale scent. Claire kept herself perfectly still, her head bowed, tension showing in every muscle in her body. He let her savor the terror, prolonging that moment where she realized that her predicament had significantly gotten worse, and that her punishment had not only doubled, but now, possibly tripled. And that it was inevitable. "Lick it up," he ordered her. "All of it. And since you didn't choose, you get both the riding crop and the cane on your tits." The dread of the coming pain overcame all of her senses and abilities. It was difficult for her to get her tongue down to the floor to lick up her piss, both physically as well as emotionally. But she knew she had to do it. He wouldn't let her get away without cleaning the floor thoroughly with her tongue. As she positioned herself to clean the floor, she caught the strong and acrid scent of her urine, and gagged. He was waiting, and if she didn't obey him soon, there would be consequences on top of consequences. She ignored the smell and the taste and the thought of what she was doing, her aversion and humiliation overwhelmed by the thought of what her breasts would be forced to endure, and began to lick the puddle on the floor. He watched her approvingly. Claire was proving herself to be very submissive, yet she presented a challenge. Her submission was real, but it wasn't yet instinctive. He would change that. "All of it, Claire," he said. He leaned over to unlock the chains that bound her to the post. "Then I want you to crawl to your water bowl and rinse your mouth. Crawl back here, and go over the spot where you pissed. If I catch even a hint of pee, Claire, you're spending the weekend chained down here." Claire licked at the floor diligently. Though the floor was painted, the paint was chipped in some spots and bare cement showed through. The cement was porous. Claire was giving those spots extra effort, when he stopped her. "You can finish up after you're punished," he said. "I don't want to waste my time watching you lick your piss off my floor." Claire stopped licking the floor, but remained on her knees, her head down. Her breath was shallow and rapid. He stepped behind her. Claire felt him lightly tap her ass with the paddle, positioning himself for the punishment he was about to give her. Claire tensed herself and whimpered in anticipation of the pain. He swung the paddle and caught her across her right ass cheek, pushing her forward with the intensity of the blow. Claire bit her lip and stifled a scream, wanting to protect her ass with her hands, but unable to reach because of the handcuffs. He swung again, and this time Claire couldn't maintain position through the pain. She fell to the floor and rocked herself back and forth in a futile attempt to minimize the agony she was feeling. And there were three more blows to go across that cheek! Mercifully, he gave her a few seconds to get back on her knees and lower her head to the floor. He switched to the other cheek. Two painful whacks with the wooden board, and then back to the first cheek for another two. Then the other side again. "One more on each cheek, Claire," he told her. "Brace yourself. I'm going to make sure that you don't forget these last two blows for a long time." He swung with all his might. The white-hot pain seared into her ass, into her brain, every nerve ending screaming at the intensity. "Oh, oh, oh, oh..." Claire rocked herself back and forth, crying out in pain. He gave her a couple of minutes to calm down. "Now kneel up so I can whip those tits," he said to her. Claire's eyes were tightly shut...why that seemed to help the burning pain in her ass cheeks, she didn't know, but it did. She knelt up as ordered, trying to take slow, deep breaths...trying to distance her mind from her body so that she could endure what was coming next. He didn't tell her how many blows she was going to get across her breasts. Defiantly, Claire thought to herself that although he may force her to call them tits, she would continue to think of them as breasts. It was as if he could read her mind. Claire noticed that about him before. "I know you still think those are breasts, Claire," he smirked. "But they're tits. And you're going to realize that, sooner or later." The blows across her breasts...her tits...alternated between very painful and unbearably painful. Each strike followed the other in quick succession. Claire didn't know how many blows she had received...she kept trying to glance down to see how much worse the bruises were becoming, but each time, he would slap her face, and tell her to look up, otherwise it would be the whip across her face and not his hand. He finished with the whip, and tucked it back in his belt. Claire saw him pick up the riding crop, and she began to shake with fear. He noticed. "Four blows, Claire. Two to each tit. And I'll spare you the cane this time." Claire was surprised that he was capable of some compassion. She could take four blows. But he made up for giving her only four blows by making each strike count. Claire was screaming loudly by the time the last blow was dealt to her bruised breasts. Claire curled up in a ball, and rocked back and forth, trying to ease the pain. Her face and hair were wet with her tears, her nose was runny, and her wrists were on fire from where she pushed and pulled against the metal of the handcuffs as he dealt her each blow. He reattached the chain to her collar and then the post, but left it long, so that she could reach the water bowl in the corner of the cellar. "I'm going upstairs to shower and check my email," he told her. "Finish cleaning up the floor." He went back upstairs. Again, she heard the door lock but this time the lights were left on. Claire's mouth was dry, and she needed to drink some water before continuing the clean up. The water in the bowl was left over from last week. Claire knew it was distilled water, so it was still potable. Dust had settled on the surface of the water, but at least it was wet, and Claire lapped it up gratefully. She only gave herself a minute to rest before continuing her cleanup task. She didn't know how much time she had before he returned. And Claire was positive that he expected her to be done when he did. Her task was now that much harder since some of the urine had seeped into the unsealed concrete. Claire kept returning to the water bowl to get small mouthfuls of water that she spit out on the problem spots, desperately trying to eliminate all traces of her "accident". As she suspected, it didn't take him long to return. Claire had just finished licking the floor where she had peed for the third time...she didn't want to chance missing a spot...when she heard him unlock the door and come downstairs. Claire quickly got to her knees, her head down. She couldn't put herself in the "submit" position as she was supposed to when in his presence because her hands were still cuffed behind her back. He walked over to her, and ordered "Kiss my feet." Some of the tension left her. Punishment sessions usually ended with a command to kiss his feet. Claire tried to show the proper reverence as she placed a kiss on the instep of each foot. Inexplicably, the pain and humiliation she had just endured coupled with the relief that it was over for now triggered a spontaneous orgasm in Claire, and she cried out as waves of pleasure washed over her. He laughed out loud as he saw her arousal and its quick satisfaction. It was not a cruel laugh, Claire noticed. It was a genuine laugh of pleasure. "Kneel up," he ordered her, as he pulled down his zipper and released his cock. Claire took his cock into her mouth, lightly running her tongue all over it. She was careful to keep her teeth away from it. He made it clear to her the first time she made the mistake of lightly running her teeth over his cock that he didn't like it, and that if he felt her teeth again, he would hurt her. Claire alternated licking, sucking, and taking his cock as far into her throat as possible. He grabbed her hair with both hands and used it to guide her head up and down his cock, pushing her head down on it as he thrust deep into her throat. Claire started to gag, but he didn't ease his hold on her. She gagged some more, but he relentlessly fucked her throat with his cock. In spite of the discomfort, Claire found the feel of his cock in her mouth and down her throat very, very erotic. She felt herself get wet, and she started to contract the muscles in her vagina...her cunt as she had been told to call it...to match her arousal to his. Claire thought she could taste his cum, but she wasn't sure...he was deep in her throat. He went limp, and for a moment, Claire was afraid that she had made him lose his erection. She continued to lick his cock, but it remained soft. He pulled out of her mouth. There was no blow to her face, no threat of punishment. She realized that he must have cum when he was deep in her throat. He let go of her hair, unlocked her handcuffs, and walked away. Claire felt her body scream out in frustration...she needed to cum badly. Then he was back in front of her, handing her a vibrator. "Finish yourself off for me, Claire," he ordered her. "On your back, your legs wide open, so I can see your shaved pussy while you fuck yourself with this. Cum for me, Claire." He watched her place the vibrator into her cunt, then move it around so that the "rabbit" was pushing up against her clit. She turned it on, and he could hear the hum of the vibrator, as she writhed on the floor in front of him, legs wide spread, her pussy lips shining wet with her juices. She was beautiful...her eyes swollen from her tears, her lips puffy from crying, from being slapped, from biting down on them against the pain he had given her. Her tits and ass were marked with angry red welts. Her nipples were red and engorged with her arousal...large and hard nipples. He knelt down on the floor behind her head, and leaned over her, taking each nipple into his mouth and sucking on it, biting on it, making it redder and harder still. From his pocket, he pulled out a set of nipple clamps. He positioned them on her nipples, and turned the screws to tighten them, watching her face for reaction to the pain, pushing her to accept even more as he kept tightening the clamps. He reached over and took the hand that held the vibrator, and pulled it away from her body. The vibrator remained in her cunt, but now she couldn't put pressure on it or guide it and keep it against her clit. She cried out in frustration. She had been ready to cum...it would have taken only a few more seconds. Holding her hand tightly, he reached over with his other hand and withdrew the vibrator, putting it on the floor next to her. His fingers replaced the vibrator on her clit and in her cunt, and he renewed her arousal, bringing her to the point of climax, then taking away his hand. Again, she cried out. Claire started to beg him, "Please...Sir, please...please may I cum, Sir!" He didn't answer her. His eyes swept over her body again, taking in his marks on her. He smiled at her, suddenly. "I think you've earned it, Claire," he said. He let go of the hand he had been holding, and gave her back the vibrator. As soon as the vibrator was back, pulsing against her clit, Claire came, her body shuddering as before when he had beaten her, only this time, in pleasure instead of pain. She held the vibrator in place, and in seconds, she was climaxing yet again, offering up her pleasure to him, giving herself to him. She didn't need to use words. He could sense her surrender, her submission to him. He gave her both intense pain and intense pleasure...the pain yielding pleasure, the pleasure giving her pain when he held back her climax. He had chosen well. Claire was not the most beautiful submissive he had taken into training, though she was pretty and the lust in her eyes when she was scening with him transformed that prettiness into beauty. Nor was she the youngest. But her responsiveness, her will and her ability to submit to him, to take as much pain as he wanted to give her and always come back for more far outweighed her appearance or her age. And although he had humiliated her over and over, punished her, broken her...each time she returned, she was whole again...her submissiveness virgin territory to be explored and pushed to its limits. She was cuming again...how many times had she climaxed? Was this the fifth time? He removed the nipple clamps, and as the blood rushed back into her nipples and she screamed in pain, she came. The intensity of the orgasm caused her to scream again, her cry of pleasure blending with the cry of pain as she was overwhelmed with the beautiful intensity of her climax.
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