Part 1

Breaking-in Brad

       Her name was Kristie and she was 27 years old.  Having inherited a multi-million dollar trust fund, she didn’t need to work, which allowed her the leisure to pursue her sadistic sexual games.  She had been raised with wealth and was used to commanding men to do her bidding.  House servants in her parents’ palatial mansion had learned to dread her games.  Now on her own, she had bought a large house in a wealthy neighborhood and installed a dungeon with different restraining racks and a variety of torture devices.

Kristie was built like a super-model, about 5’8” tall and 110 lbs.  Her measurements were 34DD-22-34.   Her body was a dark shade of brown from hours of tanning in the sun.  Her smooth legs were super-slender and seemed to go on forever.  She liked to wear a thong bikini that accentuated her tautly muscled midriff and her jutting breasts.  They were round and high, like two half spheres, the nipples visible beneath the skimpy top.  Her shoulders, legs and arms were delicate and slender, but on closer inspection, the muscles were well defined from intensive weight training.  Her high-cheekbones and almond shaped eyes gave her a haughty, exotic look.  There was a quiet arrogance to her elegant face that sent a shiver down the spine of any man who had the audacity to try to hit on her.

To staff her house, Kristie had cultivated the head of the local parole office and offered him a $1000 reward for finding her “house boys” who met her requirements.  Her main condition was that if a parolee displeased her in any way, he would end up with his parole revoked.  She also made sure that the parolees wore an electronic anklet so that they couldn’t escape.  She had been perfecting her system for nearly a year.  Kristie only kept these men a limited amount of time, three months being the average.  She spent the first few weeks breaking them in and then drove them hard until she had sucked all the juice out of them.  By the time she was done with them, she’d spit them out, broken in body and mind.  Five men had already passed through the house in this way.

Right now, she had two men in her employ.  The first was Carlos, an Hispanic illegal immigrant who had committed a break-in and was slated for deportation. She had been tormenting him for two months, whipping him repeatedly and threatening him with deportation if he resisted.

The second man was more a kid than a man.  Brad was 20 years old and had served two years of a five year sentence for drug dealing.  Blond and well built, he was relatively inexperienced around women.  He had been working for Kristie for two weeks.  At first, he couldn’t believe his luck at being assigned to such a delectable female.  But he was soon to learn otherwise.

Kristie had interviewed him clad in a skin-tight halter dress that ended just below her crotch.  Her beautiful, long legs were bare, the tanned skin glistening with moisturizer.  They rose taut and sexy above her four-inch heels.  Her breasts stretched the skimpy fabric almost to the tearing point.  Brad was mesmerized.  He had never been around a woman so beautiful.  And to make matters worse, since he had just been released from prison and had not laid eyes on a woman for two years, his libido was cranked up into overdrive.  He was so distracted by Kristie’s body that he barely focused on what she was saying.  If he had, he would have at least been aware of the rules that he was about to break. 

For a little over a week, Kristie ignored him.  Her house manager, a former boyfriend whom she had broken and now employed, gave him instructions every morning on what his jobs were to be that day.  From time to time, he got glimpses of Kristie in her workout clothes, lounging in front of the TV or dressed up in some sexy outfit to go out.  Needless to say, his mind was in constant turmoil and he repaired frequently to the little bathroom off of his narrow bedroom to jerk off.  He noticed that his fellow worker, Carlos, seemed to avoid him, which he figured must be due to his limited English.  He also noticed that Carlos sometimes moved with a waddle or had difficulty sitting still without squirming.  What he didn’t know was that Kristie regularly subjected him to fierce whippings with implements that caused different types of injuries, resulting in problems walking or sitting.

One morning, he was cleaning up around the pool.  Kristie walked out to the patio, paying no attention to him.  She was clad in a long silk shirt and four-inch sandals.  As Brad spied on her, he watched her unbutton the shirt to reveal her razor-slim, tanned body that sported only two tiny strips of cloth over her breasts and her crotch.  He had already seen her at a distance in a bikini, but this was the first time up close.  As she erotically anointed herself with suntan oil, Brad felt an erection coming on.  He quickly turned back to his work, hoping to hide his hard-on from Kristie’s gaze.  But the vision of female pulchritude was too overpowering for him to resist.  He kept glancing over his shoulder at Kristie lying only a few yards away.

So it continued for the next twenty minutes.  Every time Brad’s erection started retreating, Kristie would caress her skin in such a suggestive way that Brad had the feeling that she knew exactly what was going on inside his pants.  Suddenly, Kristie took off her designer dark glasses and motioned to Brad to come closer.  Panicked at what she might discover, Brad tried to hide his stiff rod with his hands.

Kristie glanced amusedly at her new victim.  “What’s your name, again?” she asked imperiously.  The patronizing question was designed to make him feel invisible.  “It’s Brad,” he replied, a bit of a catch to his voice.  “You don’t seem to be working very hard, are you Brad?”  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m trying my best.”

“Don’t you dare argue with me, young man!” Kristie spat at him.  “And what are you hiding with your hands.”  “It’s, it’s …nothing,” Brad sputtered.  “If it’s nothing, then get your hands away from there and let me see it.”  Brad had no choice but to reveal the tent inside his pants.  And his proximity to Kristie only made it harder.

“Just what do you think you’re doing walking around like that?” Kristie demanded angrily.  “Of all the nerve, coming into my house where I’ve given you a job and acting like an ape in the zoo.  Drop your pants right now!”

His face a deep shade of red, Brad obeyed her command and dropped his pants to his knees. “Those, too,” she ordered, pointing a long-nailed finger at his boxer shorts.  Biting his lip with embarrassment, Brad lowered the boxers.  “Now put your hands on top of your head.”

A long minute passed as Kristie examined her victim’s equipment.  She was suitably impressed, but, of course, didn’t show it.  She rose slowly from her chaise lounge and walked around Brad, inspecting him from all sides.  With a smile that was more like a smirk, she suddenly slapped him viciously on top of his cock.  He doubled over in surprised pain.

“You will not get an erection while you work in this house unless I give you permission.  Is that clear?  I’m going to show you what will happen if you do.  Give me your belt,” she ordered.  Brad didn’t know what to make of this new command.  “What do you want my belt for?” he asked naively.  This time she slapped his face, combining two parts humiliation with one part pain.  “Don’t you dare question me again or I’ll slap you where it hurts much more.  And if you give me too much trouble, I’ll have your parole revoked and ship you back to prison!”

His face burning, Brad unlooped his belt and handed it to Kristie.  As soon as he did, she kicked him without warning in his shins.  Since his pants were bunched around his knees, he lost his balance and fell heavily on the concrete patio, skinning his knees in the process.

“Get up on all fours,” she ordered.  By now completely terrified, he did as commanded.   He had obviously misjudged this she-devil.  He realized that if he tried to resist her, he’d end up back in the awful hole where he had spent the last two years.

“I’m going to punish you now for your disgusting, perverted behavior,” she said. “You’re going to get twenty-four strokes with your belt.  You’re to count each stroke and if you miss one, I’ll repeat it.  So, if you want to have any of that flesh on your ass left by the time I’m done, you’d better keep count.”

Kristie doubled the belt up and stepped behind Brad.  WHAP! The first stroke cracked loudly on his right cheek, the first layer of leather followed almost instantaneously by the second.  It left a broad, rectangular mark of flaming red skin. Brad couldn’t believe how much it hurt.  WHAP!  Kristie followed up the first with a backstroke on his left cheek, again leaving a flaming mark and this time eliciting a howl of pain.  Needless to say, Brad had forgotten to count.  After the third stroke, again on the right cheek, Kristie inquired: “How many was that?”  Brad searched his terrified brain and answered: “Three??”  “Wrong,” she replied gleefully, “that’s one – you didn’t count the first two, so I get to repeat them.”  Brad sobbed pitifully, “Please don’t.” 

But Kristie was determined to get her pound of flesh.  WHAP! WHAP! She applied the strokes with remorseless cruelty, raising her arm up high and bringing the belt down with all of her considerable strength and consummate skill.  She knew exactly how to crack the leather for maximum effect.  After she had meted out twelve strokes, six on each cheek, she laid on the second twelve on top of the first.  This exponentially increased the pain that Brad was forced to absorb.  He continued to miss counting the strokes, so that by the time she had finished, he had earned an extra ten.  Several times, he bolted forward or his knees collapsed from the pain.  Kristie pitilessly ordered him back up on his hands and knees, threatening that if he didn’t, she would double his punishment.

When she finished the whipping, Brad was mentally broken and in terrible shape.  He had collapsed on the patio, sobbing uncontrollably.  His buttocks were a mottled red and purple and looked like they were on fire. 

“Now listen to me carefully,” Kristie said, poking at his wounded ass with her razor-sharp heel.  “If I see you with an erection again, I’ll give you twenty-four of those on your cock and balls.  And if I ever catch you masturbating in this house, you can kiss your balls good-bye.  Is that understood?”  Too terrified to respond, Brad cowered on the ground.  “I said, is that understood?” Kristie raised her voice as she cracked the unfurled belt across his shoulders.

Brad screamed in pain, but managed to mumble: “Yeah, I get it.”  “When you address me, I expect you to call me ‘ma’am’ or ‘Ms. Kristie.’  Now speak up and tell me exactly what I just said to you.”  “Yes, ma’am,” Brad repeated submissively, “You said that I’ll be punished if I get an erection or masturbate.”  “Good,” said Kristie, “if you follow those instructions, then nobody will get hurt.”  As Brad would learn to his detriment, that was the last thing Kristie had in mind.  “Now, get your ass off the ground and get back to work.”

Under Kristie’s imperious gaze, Brad pulled on this underpants and pants and moved in a state of shock back to where he had been sweeping.  He suddenly realized why Carlos had been walking with such difficulty over the last few days.  The waddle that he had found so ridiculous in someone else was suddenly unavoidable as his pants burned against his flaming buttocks.  As he tried manfully to go back to work, Kristie put on her dark glasses and returned to her magazine as if he didn’t exist.

The rest of the day was sheer agony and so was that night.  Brad got very little sleep as he tossed and turned trying in vain to find a comfortable position.

The next day, Brad got himself painfully out of bed and went to make the coffee as he had been trained to do.  Kristie came waltzing in, clad in a pair of tight shorts, tank-top and sky-high heels.  “Make me a bowl of granola with a cup of coffee,” she commanded.  Brad hurried to comply.  After taking a sip of her coffee, she ordered him to return to the table.  “Taste this,” she said, thrusting the cup at him.  He took a sip.  “Do you call that strong enough?”  she demanded.  He didn’t know what to answer.  “Turn around and bend over,” she ordered.  She stood up and sharply spanked each of his ass cheeks.  What would have been mildly painful in other circumstances, felt like a branding iron on his inflamed butt.  He cried out involuntarily and tried to protect his hindquarters with his hands.  Kristie stepped in front of him and barked, “Straighten up!”  He stood upright, his hands continuing to massage his wounded rear. 

Without warning, Kristie pulled his pants out from his waist and poured the coffee into his underpants.  The hot liquid scalded his genitals and he danced, screaming in agony.

At that moment, the doorbell rang.  “Go answer the door,” she instructed.  The front of his pants soaked to the bone and his crotch on fire, Brad waddled out to the entry way and opened the door.  A gorgeous Asian with long black hair in a figure-revealing sun dress stood outside.  She looked with amusement at Brad’s steaming wet pants.  “What’s a matter, big boy?  Had an accident?”  she asked sarcastically.  Deeply humiliated, Brad said nothing.  “Where’s Kristie?” she asked.  Brad led the Asian woman to the kitchen. 

“Hi, Teanna,” Kristie greeted her friend, “sorry I’m not quite ready.  This dork couldn’t make me a proper cup of coffee.”  “So you gave him the hot-coffee-in-the-pants treatment?” Teanna guessed accurately.  Kristie laughed, “Right.  He doesn’t look too comfortable right now, does he?”  “Well, we’d better hurry up so we don’t miss our flight,” Teanna replied, “We can get something to eat at the airport.

Kristie called in Mike, her house manager, and gave him instructions for how to run the house while she was away.  Then she instructed Brad to go get her suitcase from the bedroom and drive her and Teanna to the airport.  The two women sat in the backseat and talked and giggled between themselves as if Brad wasn’t there.  He was able to learn that Teanna was well informed about Kristie’s use of the parole office and that she was also a practitioner of sexual sadism.

Teanna and Kristie had met five years earlier during spring break in Cancun when Teanna was a junior in college and Kristie a senior.  They had quickly discovered their mutual obsession with sexual domination and had spent the week together cock teasing and otherwise tormenting a series of men.  Now, Teanna worked in the film industry and she and Kristie were best friends.  Every year, they spent part of spring break week down in Cancun reliving their joint college adventure.  They always had a great time at what they called their yearly “fuck fest,” but the men they picked up had, shall we say, not such a good time.  By now much more experienced than they had been five years earlier, they particularly enjoyed turning the younger college boys into whimpering victims. 

Since the purpose of the “fuck fest” was to fuck as much as possible, Kristie and Teanna had developed a technique that allowed them maximum pleasure and their partners maximum pain.  They bound the men’s cock and balls with a leather or rope noose, which prevented them from cumming but kept them hard.  Then, the women could extract multiple orgasms for themselves, while their victims at best leaked out a little cum.

This year’s fuck fest was a particular success.  In three days and four nights in Cancun, the girls bedded eleven guys, four a piece and three together.  The climax, so to speak, came the second night when they tied up a frat boy to one of their beds and fucked him so many times that he fainted dead away.  Afterwards, they did to him what they did to all the rest of their victims: they broke his balls and kicked him out.

For Brad, the four days while Kristie was away were also anything but pleasurable.  For a good 48 hours, he had difficulty sitting and even after that moved painfully.  The burn in the area of his crotch also continued to be very sensitive, even when he smeared it with Vaseline.  It was hard for him to keep up with his chores, but Mike showed him no sympathy.  “It’s your ass or my ass,” he told Brad.  “So, get to work or I’ll report you to Ms. Kristie when she gets back.”

On the other hand, he continued to have erections whenever he thought about Kristie and it was hard not to since everything in the house reminded him of her.  It was especially hard the morning of her return, when he had to go into her bedroom and straighten up her room.  It was strewn provocatively with her lacy underthings.  Touching her bra was the worst: he couldn’t resist pulling out his cock and jerking off into one of the DD sized cups. 

In the afternoon, he was ordered to drive to the airport and pick up the two women.  As soon as he saw them, tanned and relaxed in their mini-dresses and heels, he got an involuntary hard-on.  Fortunately for him, they ignored him and continued their conversation about their sexual exploits during the trip.  But the tidbits of conversation that Brad picked up didn’t help him to get his erection under control as he foolishly wished that he could have been on the receiving end of what Kristie and Teanna were describing.

When they got to Kristie’s house, she ordered Brad to transfer Teanna’s suitcase to her car.  The two women kissed and Kristie said with a laugh: “Better give that cunt a rest.”  Teanna laughed and tossed her long, black hair:  “No chance of that.  I’m still hot and wet down there.”

About two hours after they got home and Teanna had left, Mike called Brad in.  Kristie wanted to see him in her boudoir.  Brad reluctantly went down the hall and knocked on the door.  “Come in,” a musical female voice said.

Kristie was sitting at her makeup table touching up her eyeliner.  She was wearing a low-slung sarong that accentuated her tiny flat waist and slender thighs, a tiny bikini top that left little to the imagination and her usual high heels.  Her blond hair was piled high on her head.  She motioned to Brad to approach her.  As he did, he noticed that an 18 inch braided black crop with a small leather loop at the end lay ominously on the table.

“Why are you hesitating?  Didn’t you miss me?” she asked sardonically.  Brad didn’t know how to answer.  Part of him – the part between his legs – certainly did miss her, but another part – the part he sat on – certainly didn’t.   “Well, don’t keep me waiting.  Did you or didn’t you miss me?” she repeated insistently.  “Uh, yeah, I did,” Brad stuttered.  “So why are you acting as if you didn’t?”  This was vintage Kristie: posing a question which her victims didn’t know how to answer and then tormenting them for giving the wrong answer.  Sometimes she used this technique with men who couldn’t help getting erections around her.  She would punish them for their erections, but if they ever appeared without one, she’d punish them for not showing their attraction to her.

After she let him squirm for a while, she ordered him to turn around and drop his shorts.  “I need to see how you’re healing from the whipping I gave you last week.” 

“I’m fine, ma’am, really I am,” Brad insisted with a note of desperation in his voice.

“That’s for me to judge, not you,” Kristie replied sharply.  Her voice brooked no objection.

Brad turned around and dropped his shorts.  “Bend over,” she demanded harshly.  He did as commanded.

Brad’s butt cheeks still showed signs of the ferocious flogging he had suffered five days earlier.  The skin was a mottled yellow and purple where the doubled belt had caused internal bleeding.  Kristie examined the bruises with the fingertips and nails of her long, slender hands.  The instant her fingers touched his flesh, he flinched and whinnied in fear.  Kristie spanked his tender flesh sharply and ordered him to hold still. The sting of the slap had its intended effect and Brad did his utmost not to move.

But Kristie’s goal this time wasn’t pain.  Her purpose was to exploit his lack of sexual self-control.  The caress of her fingers was extremely erotic and Brad almost immediately developed a huge erection.

“Amazing how much damage a simple belt can do on male flesh, don’t you think?  You’ve got a ways to go, but you’re healing up nicely,”  she declared.  “In the future, I hope you won’t forget what I can do to you if you misbehave.  You can pull up your shorts.”

Brad was in a quandary.  His enormous, stiff cock was bound to be visible to Kristie once he turned around.  He desperately wedged the head of his penis under the elastic waist band, hoping against hope that she would somehow miss it.

“Well, turn around already.  I haven’t finished with you.”  Brad turned towards his tormentress, his face beet-red.  But although Kristie immediately sized up his predicament, she wasn’t yet ready to call him on it.

“Did you behave yourself while I was away?” she demanded.  “Uh, yeah.”  “Speak up, Brad. Yes, what?” came the imperious question. 

“I’m sorry.  Yes, ma’am.” 

“You’d better be sorry.  I don’t want to have to remind you again.  And I hope for your sake that wasn’t an insolent tone in your voice.  Because if it was, then I’ll make sure that you really are sorry.”  There was a long pause, while Brad looked down at  his feet.

“So, you say that you behaved yourself.  I hope that means you kept your hands off that little wiener of yours.”  Brad flushed a deep shade of red.  “Well, did you or didn’t you?”

Now Brad was trapped.  If he admitted masturbating, Kristie would punish him severely.  On the other hand, if he said no and she figured out that he was lying, it would go even worse for him.  This was the classic dilemma in which she loved to catch her victims.  Brad naturally chose what seemed the easy way out.  “No, ma’am, I swear I didn’t touch it.”

Kristie was pleased.  This was exactly what she hoped for.  And he wasn’t even a very good liar.  He was sweating and stammering like anything.

“Good,” she said as if she believed him.  “But if you’re lying, you know what’s going to happen?  I’ll punish you once for jacking off and then give you an extra punishment for lying.  And I can assure you that it will make what I did to you last week seem like a butt massage.”

Brad bit his lip and hoped that it wouldn’t show.  Meanwhile, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Kristie’s oversized, jutting breasts that seemed to want to burst out of her bikini top.  Her glistening cleavage seemed to beckon his cock to slide between her smooth brown breasts.

Of course, Kristie noticed immediately.  ““I think I know what you’ve been doing the whole time I was away.  You’ve been fantasizing about my tits, haven’t you?” Brad stared at her, unable to formulate a reply.   “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s impolite to stare at a woman’s breasts?”  she asked.  “I … I … I,” Brad stuttered wordlessly.  “And it’s also impolite to exhibit your erection like that in public.  But since you seem utterly unable to control yourself, I’m going to let you see what you’ve been fantasizing about.  Maybe it will cure you.” 

She lowered the strings covering her breasts so that the bikini top now lay under the tits, framing them as they jutted out at Brad.  He was mesmerized by his first sight of her now-naked breasts, perfectly conical, gravity-defying globes with not the slightest hint of sag.  Kristie caressed their undersides with her long, slender fingers and then teased the nipples until they stood erect.

“Not too bad, don’t you think?”  she murmured mockingly, staring him in the eye.  Brad gave a strangled moan and tried desperately to keep his hands from grabbing his ramrod-stiff cock.

“You’re really hopeless, Brad.  I can see I’m going to have to teach you some manners,” she said patronizingly. 

After enjoying his torment for a long minute, Kristie snapped the strings back in place and covered up her nipples. 

“There’s something else I’d like to show you,” Kristie said in a light, chatty tone as if she intended to show Brad a new dress.  She walked over to her computer and turned it on.  Brad tried to figure out what he was seeing until he realized that it was a picture of Kristie’s bedroom, the very room in which they were standing.  Why was she showing him this?  He watched as a figure entered the camera’s field of vision. 

With a horrified start, he realized that he was looking at himself cleaning up the bedroom that very morning.  A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he watched as his virtual double picked up a pair of jeans and placed them in a bin.  Then, the figure picked up a pair of tiny thong panties and sniffed it for Kristie’s pussy perfume.  As he watched himself pick up a lacy bra, a deep red flush started at the base of his neck and spread across the top of his head and his face.  He instinctively recognized the feeling that he had experienced when he had been caught selling drugs to an undercover narc and knew that he was well and truly fucked.

He looked away, hoping against hope that what was about to happen would somehow disappear from the computer.  “Look at the screen,” Kristie commanded sharply.  Trapped, Brad stared at the pornographic scene that showed him extracting his cock from his pants and beating it off into Kristie’s bra.  The camera’s microphone picked up his involuntary gasps as he shot his wad into the DD-size cup.  He swayed back and forth until the orgasmic spasms ended.  Then, he opened the bra up and examined the load of sperm he had deposited in it.  After looking around the room, he bent over and shoved it under the bed.

Kristie turned the computer off, put her hands on her waist and slowly and deliberately focused her gaze on Brad.  He was totally paralyzed, rooted in place and mortified by what he had just been forced to see.  Kristie fixed him with an unblinking stare, her eyes cold and pitiless.  A long moment passed in silence.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded in a low, dangerous voice.  “It looks to me like you not only beat your meat, but you also had the temerity to soil one of my best bras.  And then you lied about it.”

But Brad was struck dumb.  He couldn’t even stutter.  All he could think of was the riding crop sitting in front of him on the table slashing his still-tender butt.  He was certain that he wouldn’t get away without some seriously vicious punishment.

“You’re a really dumb fuck,” Kristie spat out contemptuously.  “Instead of just standing there looking like an idiot, the least you could do is get it out from under the bed.”

Given the choice of doing something besides wilt under Kristie’s withering gaze, Brad dove to his knees, stuck his head under the bed and fished out the crumpled piece of lace.  He got to his feet, not sure what he should do next.  Kristie stretched out her hand and took the incriminating piece of evidence.  She opened it up and looked with disgust at the still-wet puddle of grey-white slime.

“You’re a dirty, filthy, jerk-off, aren’t you?”  Brad nodded stupidly, hoping that maybe if he admitted his crime, Kristie would go easy on him.  But the next moment, Kristie smashed the cum-infested bra onto his face, smearing his eyes, nose and mouth with smelly, sticky sperm.  Brad moaned in anguish.  Kristie wasn’t done with the bra, though.  She took the two straps and tied them snugly behind Brad’s head, forcing his nose to inhale the salty, rancid smell of his ejaculate.

Then she yanked his pants down around his knees.  His cock was still miraculously rock-hard.  “It’s time you learned your lesson!”  Kristie spat at him.  Then, she picked up the short crop, raised her arm and brought it down with devastating force on the top of his erection, still sensitive from the hot coffee treatment.  Brad screamed in agony and grasped his injured cock between his hands.

“I thought I told you not to touch that thing,”  she rasped.  Brad pulled his hands away from his organ as if it was radioactive. 

“Hands on your head,” Kristie snapped.  Too terrified to resist, Brad put his hands on his head.  Kristie raised her crop again and held it suspended in the air several feet above his rampant cock while she stared into Brad’s eyes.  He looked at the instrument of torture in horror.  She waited a long moment as the full terror of what she was about to do seized him. 

Then, when he thought he could no longer bear the anticipation of the pain, she snapped the crop down and across his shaft, striking the same tender spot she had hit a moment before.  The redoubled agony was more than Brad could bear. “Aggh!” he screamed and collapsed to the floor, gasping.  When he examined his penis later, he would find an inch-and-a-half swollen red welt on the highly sensitive spot just below the corona.  Kristie’s punishment was measure for measure: it would hurt like hell to hold his cock even to pee, much more to try to masturbate. 

Brad stared up at Kristie towering over him in her four inch heels, the crop raised again, poised and ready to strike.  Unable to help himself, he began to sob.  “No, no, please don’t!”

“Stand up this second!”  Kristie commanded.  In shock, Brad struggled to his feet.

“Stop sniveling.  You’ve already earned a double dose of punishment for beating off and lying about it.  If you don’t obey me, I’ll triple your punishment.” 

Brad had no idea how he would stand up to a double punishment, much less a triple.  All he knew was that he had better obey Kristie from now on because the alternative was too awful.

“Hold out your hands!  I’m going to give them each ten strokes of this crop for masturbating against my orders.  After that, I’ve got a special punishment for you for lying.”

Brad passively held out both hands, resigned to his fate.  Kristie grasped his right wrist with her left hand and held it tightly so that his palm was facing up.  She raised the crop over the hand and once again paused before striking.  Brad stared at the raised crop in terror, the anticipation of pain adding torment to his torture.  SWAT!  Kristie whipped the leather instrument down suddenly, snapping the two-inch loop across his defenseless palm.  For Brad, it felt like a hot iron on his flesh.  He screamed and shook the hand wildly as if he could get rid of the burning pain by doing so.  Kristie calmly waited for him to settle down before instructing him to raise the other hand.  SWAT! Once again, she grasped it by the wrist and only when it was perfectly rigid did she strike his left palm with the same force that she had used on his right.  The result was identical: Brad screamed and shook the hand violently.

Now both hands had bright red rectangles decorating their palms, small patches of intense burning agony.  SWAT!  SWAT!  Kristie remorselessly administered second strokes to each of the hands in the same way as the first ones.  She took her time, letting the pain recede before striking again.  After the fourth round, Brad suddenly broke and tried to bolt for the door.  Unfortunately for him, Kristie was faster: she stuck out a slender leg and tripped him as he passed her.  All Brad got for his efforts was a sharp bruise on his knee.

“Get back up here right now,” she snapped.  “I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen, but if it happens again, I’ll whip the bottoms of your feet.  I can guarantee you that after that, you won’t be able to run away.”

Brad had no idea how he survived the rest of his punishment.  By the fifth stroke, each hand was completely covered with flaming welts.  The rest of the strokes fell on top of the first ones, which exponentially increased the pain.  Towards the end, Brad was screaming and sobbing non-stop and stamping his feet in agony.  Tears streamed down his face as the pain overwhelmed him.  Both palms were now swollen into puffy, red mitts.

Kristie put down the whip, grabbed Brad by the ear and pulled him into her bathroom.

“Now it’s time for your punishment for lying.”  She took a bar of soap, wet it and ordered Brad to open his mouth.  He shook his head vigorously, but, if course, that didn’t stop Kristie.  She seized his scrotum and squeezed hard.  “Scream!” she ordered and Brad screamed as if on cue.  Grabbing his tongue with her left thumb and index finger, she pulled it out as far as it would go.  Then she rubbed the wet soap over the meaty, red flesh, the lye burning his taste buds.  Finally, she pressed her razor-sharp nails into his tongue until the white of the soap mixed with the red of his blood.

She watched in amusement as Brad gagged and spat the vile mixture of soap and blood into the sink.  “That should teach you never to lie to me again,” she declared triumphantly.  “And, by the way, I still owe you a punishment for ruining my bra.  I’ll save that for another occasion.”  With those ominous words, Kristie walked out of the bathroom, leaving Brad in agony.