Getting Out of It

Only five minutes of the educational film have elapsed when she gives me the signal.  Her hand squeezes mine significantly, and her eyes, in the dim light from the screen, are eloquent of her need.

       My free hand comes up to brush her hair back from her face and grip it, pulling her head back and slightly to the side, and baring her ear for my mouth. “Poor little slut,” I whisper. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” I watch her shift in her seat. I know her so well—I know when I disentangle our clasped hands and grasp her wrist instead, just that subtle change has her nipples hardening under her dress. She’s stifling a whimper now. “You know what will happen if you make me use you before we get home.”

       I move my hand to the back of her neck, and she nods, her eyes big. She holds out until about half the movie is over, but then she capitulates—drops her head on my shoulder, her sweet lips moving against my jaw as she whispers, “Please.”

       I should admit that it really isn’t a fair challenge for her, poor darling. For one thing, I kissed her thoroughly in the elevator. Secondly, she is wearing an elegant, but thick, vibrating anal plug, for which I possess the wireless remote, and which I could not resist activating a couple of times already, on the train. The poor thing always gets uncontrollably horny when her ass is filled, and I’d been stimulating it as well.

       But none of that would stop me from following through on my threat from earlier in the day. It was a lazy weekend and we’d spent the morning in bed. She would have spent all afternoon there, as well, if I hadn’t finally put my foot down. “Do you still want to go to the museum, you insatiable animal?”

       “Mmm, yes, let’s,” she’d murmured, wriggling against me. I’d managed to get dressed by that point and held her naked body at arms’ length. She was still trying to rub her tits against me, smiling mischievously, so I gave her a light slap to get her attention. “Listen to me, slut. Do you think you can go out in public without getting so horny you disgrace me?”

       “But I’m horny now.” She tried to wrap her arms around my neck. I twisted them behind her back. Reaching for a roll of bondage tape conveniently placed nearby, I used it to quickly bind her forearms, wrist to elbow. When I was finished, less than a couple of minutes later, I turned her to face me again, loving the sight of her cute, hard little nipples pointed at me.  She was breathing through her mouth, her eyes shiny with anticipation.

       “Let me ask you again. If I let you cum one more time right now, do you think I can take you to the museum without you behaving like a disgraceful slut?”

       “Yes… Yes, please,” she breathed.

       I had to put my hands on her then, so I grabbed her ass with one and tweaked her tempting nipples at the same time. “What a little bitch,” I taunted her. “Just a little bitch in heat. Aren’t you?”

       I could see the flush come into her cheeks—unbelievable that she could still blush, after all the things I’d made her do. “Yes, I’m—I’m a bitch in heat,” she whispered.

       “And that’s how you’re going to cum—just like a little bitch animal. On your knees, now, sweetheart.”

       She had whimpered a little, but obeyed me immediately, as usual. “Okay, now, sweetie, you can cum—on my shoe.”

       I’d had to encourage her a little. In fact, I pulled her into position straddling my shiny Oxford by her nipples. But once her hungry little cunt made contact with the smooth leather, she couldn’t resist rubbing herself on it for very long. I knew she’d do it. “Look at you—poor little desperate bitch, humping yourself on my shoe like a dog.” My voice was gentle rather than derisive, but she still moaned and tried to hide her face against my leg. I settled that by pulling her head back by the hair, making her look up at me. “Go ahead and cum, little baby.”

       She had, leaving a shiny mess on my shoe, which I’d made her lick up before I cut the tape holding her arms in place. Then we’d made our deal.

       “Okay, I’ve taken very good care of you this morning, haven’t I, angel?”

       She had agreed.

       “So I think I can expect to have a very well-behaved and proper little lady accompanying me this afternoon. Doesn’t that sound reasonable?”

       “Yes…” she’d said, sounding apprehensive. She knows me well, too.

       “Good. Because, sweetheart, if you find yourself having to signal me, and I find myself with a little needy slut on my hands instead, I’m afraid you will be due for quite a severe punishment when we get home. In fact, I would have to beat that little ass of yours for at least thirty minutes. Is that understood?”

       She had given me that melting look, showing me her fear and desire, and how it thrilled her. “Ohhh. Yes, Daddy… I understand.”

       I took her by surprise with the butt plug a few minutes later, grabbing her and slipping it in while she was getting dressed. If she’d known about it, she might not have agreed to our bargain so readily. Well, I never said I fought fair.

       And now she’s fallen victim to her own lust already, and we’ve been at the museum for less than an hour. As the film ends, and the handful of other viewers shuffle out of the tiny theater, we stay behind, my hand on her neck keeping my little slut in her seat. The usher turns on some very dim lights and stands at the door gesturing the way out for a few minutes, but as I’d thought she doesn’t seem to notice us in the near back corner, and I know the next filmisn’t showing for another hour and a half. Soon we are alone in the deserted room.

       I stand up and move out of aisle, standing at the end of the row of seats. I beckon to my girl, then point at the floor next to my feet. Gracefully, but biting her lip in nervousness, she moves to kneel before me. I smile at her and put my finger to my lips to indicate that we’ll have to be very quiet. She is smiling back, and I think I can detect a glimmer of mischief in her expression, the naughty creature. Then I open my pants.

       What a darling girl—the second my cock is free her mouth is open, panting, needy. I take full advantage by ramming it straight into her throat in one violent move, holding her face to my groin with my hands on the back of her head. Her hands come up, not to push me away, but to cup my balls reverently in her nimble fingers. When I pull back to let her breathe, she starts to suck, her tongue fluttering and stroking along the underside of my shaft. I can’t resist pulling her dress down, exposing her pale, perky breasts, squeezing them alternately with one hand.

       After a couple of minutes, I yank her head back off of my cock and direct her mouth to my heavy sack. She beams—I can see the white of her teeth gleaming in the dim light—and goes to work. She would do this for hours if I let her. She sucks one of my balls into her mouth and lets out a muffled moan.

       At this exact moment, I’m startled by a bright light flashing across my face and the sound of a masculine voice, someone clearing his throat. I turn my head to see a uniformed security guard playing the beam of his flashlight down my body and over my little slut’s saliva-wet face and exposed breasts. She is a little slower to react, belatedly releasing my ball sack from her lips and gasping in shock. She looks up at me, then stares at the guard.

       “Let’s clear out of here, folks,” he says, a sarcastic edge to his tone.

       I am tucking myself back into my pants, and she seems to suddenly realize that her breasts are exposed, and hurriedly crosses her arms over her chest. She stands up. At this point I am mainly concerned about getting out of this situation with minimal hassle and consequences, and am focused on assessing the security guard and his attitude. He seems to want to hustle us out of there, so I take my girl’s arm and start to follow him.

       But she hesitates. “Wait,” she says, and her voice is surprisingly strong and clear in the hushed space. “Please.” She still hasn’t fixed her dress, and has one arm crossed over her tits. “What are you going to do?”

       I recognize the signs. There’s a reckless light in her eyes, she’s breathing through her mouth, trembling a little. I frown and my grip on her arm tightens warningly. But then I look at the guard, who has turned back, the beam of his flashlight glancing over her, and something in his face makes me keep quiet. “I have to report you,” he says. “Public indecency.”

       He’s an older man, probably in his late fifties. He looks like he might be part Latino or even Italian, though his accent is pure New York. He’s probably a pretty tough guy, most of the time. But my little slut is pretty sure she has got a handle on him.

       I feel her take a deep breath, then she drops her arm, revealing her tits, her beautiful pink nipples still achingly stiff.  “Oh, please,” she pleads, keeping her eyes on the now-mesmerized guard, “don’t do that.” She takes a couple of steps towards him, and I let go of her so she can get there. “We’ll never do it again.” She smiles at him, at her most charming.

       She has the grace to blanche when she looks back at me and sees the absolute rage in my expression. I am ready to skin her alive, after I murder the security guard, and she hasn’t even offered him what I know she’s about to offer. But I don’t stop her. Perversely, my erection is harder than before.

       The guard clears his throat again, seems about to speak, perhaps to argue, and she acts quickly, stepping forward and stopping about a foot away from him. “Please, Sir,” she says, in the sweetest voice a man could ever hope to hear, “it was my fault. I just needed something…” Without missing a beat, she slips fluidly to her knees before him. “I can show you, if you want.”

       If it hadn’t been before, I am pretty sure the guy’s head is ready to explode by this point. It is hard to tell in the dim light, but I think his face is red, and he’s lost his composure. “You mean you—you’ll—”

       He looks at me, as if for confirmation, or permission.

       “If it’s all right with Daddy,” she says. She looks over her shoulder at me, smiling tremulously, but I can tell she’s excited—thrilled, even, the dirty whore!

       I feel my hands forming involuntary fists. The guard has a massive hard-on. “Fine,” I manage to growl. “Then we’re walking out of here.”

       “All right,” he agrees—his voice sounds strangled.

       I watch, unsure how to feel, as she opens his pants and takes out his cock. He seems incapable of doing anything but standing there helplessly, his arms dangling at his sides, his flashlight still on, the beam pointing forgotten at the floor. As she performs an excellent, expert blow job, I’m painfully aroused watching her lips and mouth go to work on another man, but so maddened with jealousy it’s all I can do not to grab her and put a stop to this whole thing.

       It only takes him a couple of minutes before he’s thrusting his hips and his hands have come up of their own volition to fist in her hair. He grunts as he comes, and I’m pleased, if not mollified, to see that although she takes it in her mouth, she spits it out once he pulls out. She has never done other but swallow for me.

       She seems prepared to be gracious about letting the guy recover his composure, but I suddenly want out of there more than I can even comprehend. The second he’s decent again I am yanking the slut up by her hair, roughly jerking her dress back over her tits and dragging her out of the theater. Her face is red, her hair mussed, and her lips swollen and shiny from the oral sex. There are other people in the elevator with us, but as soon as we’re out on the street and around the corner, I shove her up against the side of the nearest building.

       She looks worried, as she should. I don’t say anything, but wait for her to start. Sure enough, after a few seconds the silence and my heavy stare gets to her and she sputters, “Please, Daddy, I was just trying—”        

       “Shut up,” I interrupt, covering her mouth. She whimpers against my hand. “I know exactly what you were trying, you filthy, filthy whore. You were already getting punished tonight, remember? What do you think I am going to do to you now?” She can’t answer, of course, but she looks at me helplessly, her eyes pleading. “What should I do to my little slut who sucked another man’s cock in front of me?”

       Looking at me, seeing my anger and how deeply I’ve been affected by her actions, the thrill wears off completely and remorse starts to set in. Her eyes fill with tears. I’m unmoved—she’ll be crying a lot more by the time I’m done with her. Shaking my head, I release her and begin walking quickly towards the subway stop that will take us home. She hurries to catch up with me. I feel her arm slip through mine as she starts to clutch it while we walk. I stop and disengage her hold, looking at her assessingly. I don’t want to give her comfort at this moment—she has been way too naughty.

       “Put your arms behind your back,” I say, and she does, looking at me nervously in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. “Hold your elbows—you know how. Good. Now don’t move them until we get home.”

       Her mouth falls open in dismay, and she looks like she’s about to argue, but I don’t give her time to think about it. I just grab her arm above the elbow and march her along. I have to swipe her train card for her, but she behaves perfectly all the way home, gripping her elbows behind her back like her life depends on it, though her face stays red with embarrassment and guilt and she keeps darting glances at me, looking for any signs of softening. It’s not likely to happen. I doubt she’s ever deserved to be thoroughly punished so much in her life.

       To be honest, I am not sure what I’m going to do. On the way home, I am trying to stay calm and clear my head. I know if I think about the sight of her with her mouth on that guy, I’ll feel that peculiar rage taking over again. I’m not sure I’ve ever been disappointed with her like this. I’ve given her real punishments, to correct behavior we both agreed was unacceptable, but not when I was livid like this. I am realizing the importance of whatever I do next, though—I can’t let her think for a minute that I’ll ever tolerate her choosing to make an exhibition of herself. Not to mention putting her goddamn slutty mouth…

       But I won’t think about that just yet. Arriving home, I push her through the door and barely spare her a glance as I order curtly, “Take your clothes off.” Then I leave the room, and take several minutes to myself. I’m sure the long wait will increase her apprehension—but that’s not why I’m doing it. I feel I have to experience the full thrust of my anger alone, and at some distance from her. I don’t know what I am capable of when enraged like this, and she trusts me. I don’t even know if she would fight me, if I crossed a line, and hurt her too much. Right now, feeling a surge of red energy that makes my blood roar in my ears and my hands clench into fists, I am not sure I can draw any lines.

       In the end, what gets me to a saner place is reminding myself how much she clearly needs me, my wild, naughty girl. I have to pull myself together so I don’t fail to correct her—or to make a powerful impression, so she’ll be absolutely sure never to make this particular mistake again. Poor wayward creature, counting on me to teach her, and discipline her—that’s what I’m telling myself, and I can breathe calmly again. But I know she’ll be able to see my residual anger, and I’m glad about that. I want her to see it. I want her to be afraid of me, this time…

       When I return, bringing a few supplies with me, she’s standing exactly where I left her, just inside the door, naked, her arms positioned behind her back the way I’d told her to keep them. She looks at me with apprehension in her features, and her eyes are speaking her desire to apologize, but there is something else—the sheen of exhilaration and arousal, already. The little slut. She thinks part of her wants this punishment. I think this will be one time she won’t enjoy it.

       The first thing I do is tie her arms again. I don’t say anything, just roughly jerk her arms into position—wrists together, elbows straining towards each other—and wrap the rope around them. That’s her first clue that I’m not planning gentle discipline—normally if I bind her, I take my time, letting her savor the feelings of the rope or cuffs or tape, and we both enjoy the process of her becoming more and more helpless. She is passive for now, her head lowered and her hair falling forward around her face, not even whimpering when I pull the bonds tight and bring her elbows in, though her breath catches.        

       A smothered gasp does escape her when I suddenly plant my shoulder in her midsection and heave her off her feet. I only carry her a few feet, over to one of the dining chairs, but when I sit down and pull her forward onto my lap she’s already breathless, her nerves singing in anticipation. I use my hands to pull her legs apart, but then just rest my hands there, covering her slim thighs. It takes only half a minute before she starts to squirm, biting her lip, her bound arms rubbing against my chest, as she grows hornier and more nervous.

       Now I let my hand creep up to her hair and tangle my fingers in it at the back of her neck, gripping gradually tighter and tighter until I am pulling her head back hard against my shoulder. By now the tension between us is so powerful she has started to tremble.

       I slap her. Not hard, but she cries out. I know it is partly an expression of relief that the violence she’s been anxiously waiting for has finally started. Keeping my grip on her hair, I grab her face with my other hand, my fingers spreading across her jaw. “Now, little girl. You know you’re in for a rough time, don’t you?”

       Looking up at me, she blinks back sudden tears. She just whimpers. I give her hair a sharp tug and harden my tone. “Answer me, slut.”

       “Yes, Daddy.”

       “Good. But let’s review a couple of things first.” I bring my face close to hers, murmuring close to her skin, and drop my free hand to gently cradle her left breast. “I wonder if you remember…just whom, exactly, these little tits belong to?”

       Before she can answer, I stop being gentle and I’m crushing her small breast in my hand, then I grab for her nipple and pinch it mercilessly. She tries to be stoic at first, but she whimpers and squirms soon enough when I start pulling the sensitive little bud and twisting it between my finger and thumb. She strains her chest after my tormenting hand as best she can, moaning when I switch to her other nipple and repeat the treatment. My girl’s nipples are extremely sensitive, and this is as about as rough as I can be while any vestige of pleasure remains to her. She gasps in relief when I stop pinching and pulling.

       “Whose tits, baby?”

       “Yours! They’re yours,” she cries, her limpid eyes lifting to mine again, and her voice already taking on the pleading notethat characterizes it anytime she knows I have pain in store for her.

       “And whose filthy fucking mouth is this?” I snarl. My fingers are on her face again, digging into her cheeks. I can feel her struggle against my hold. I shove two fingers into her mouth, into her throat, and listen to her making desperate little sounds while her eyelids flutter. I feel my control slipping. “Huh? Are you gonna tell me that’s my mouth, too, that this dirty little whore mouth belongs to me? Even though you’re happy to give it away?” My thumb is hooked over her bottom teeth, rubbing over her tongue, and I’m still holding her head tightly with my grasp on her hair, but she’s trying to shake her head.

       My hand goes to her throat. She stills, but I can still feel her hands wiggling in their bondage, and her chest, thrust out temptingly and topped by her hard and reddened nipples, rises and falls rapidly with her frightened breathing. After an intense moment, during which I calm down somewhat, she whispers, “It is yours, Daddy.”

       “We’ll see,” I growl, and suddenly shift her position, bringing her face down over my knees. I’m sure she expects to be spanked, but instead I reach for the base of the anal plug that is still securely buried in her ass. Before she can assimilate or react, I yank it out, producing a shocked cry. I give it a quick wipe with the paper towel I’d stashed in my pocket, careful that she doesn’t see me do it, and then, pulling her head up by her hair again, stick it deep into her surprised and gasping mouth. “I think that filthy mouth is an appropriate place for this,” I say, and another time I would laugh at the dismayed look on her face. “Don’t you dare spit it out.”

       She does look ridiculous, with the base of the plug protruding from her lips, and I can tell she’s straining to keep from touching it with her tongue or choking on the tapered end when I sit her up and rise from the chair. I push her back into it, carefully lifting her bound arms so they fall over the back, which thrusts her chest out even more markedly. When I start binding her arms to the back of the chair this way she certainly has an idea of what I have in store for her.

       When I’m finished, she can’t move her upper body at all, except her head, but her legs are trembling in nervousness. Her tits are pointed straight at me, perfect and white, and her nipples, bright red from their earlier torment, are beckoning little targets. I take off my belt.

       She struggles. I can see she wants to speak, possibly to beg already, probably to apologize. But she’d have to hold onto that plug a lot less gingerly for that, and anyway, it won’t affect me right now. I’m doubling the belt, and then I run it over her exposed tits a couple of times, getting a feel for the height where I’ll be swinging it. She closes her eyes and a whine escapes her.

       “When I’m done with you, slut, I expect you won’t soon forget again whose tits these are—or be tempted to share them with anyone.” With that, I pull my arm back and land the first blow. It covers the tops of both of her tits, and within a few seconds a distinct red slash appears. She grunts with the impact and wiggles as much as she can against the bondage. The next one, at nearly my full strength, catches her across both nipples, the doubled-up end of the belt landing powerfully and squarely on the far one.

       She gives a muffled shriek, and I can see her biting the butt plug. She shakes her head desperately and tries to draw her legs up to her chest to protect it. Without hesitating, I bring the belt down over the tops of her thighs. “Keep your legs down,” I snap.

       She is crying already. Hot tears spill over her eyes as, whimpering in fear, she flinchingly watches me draw my arm back again. This one also lands solidly on her nipples, and she flings her head back and gives a wail, drumming her feet on the floor. While she’s not looking, I swing and catch the undersides of her breasts.

       Her legs come up again, and this time I give her a moment to recover. She’s sobbing now, and I can hear the sound of her clogged nose, so I reach down and take the plug from her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she sniffles, predictably.

       “Move your legs, baby,” I reply, and my voice is gentle, but she can tell I am still implacable, and with a fresh sob, she lowers her feet back to the floor and tries to brace herself.

       I hit her three times in a row, with no reprieve, and now her tits are mottled red, with purple bruises and welts already starting to appear, and the belt marks crossing her chest in between them. Her nipples are dark red, swollen, and angry-looking. They look extremely painful.

       “Please,” she gasps, when she can breathe for sobbing. “Please, Daddy. Please, I’m sorry.”

       “Two more, baby girl,” I say, brushing her hair back gently from her wet cheeks. Her fresh tears on hearing this are heartbreaking. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?” I murmur.

       She nods, helplessly, but still crying hard.

       “All right, then, just take these last two and we’ll be done.”

       “O-okay…”

       I only hit her about half as hard as I had been, but I doubt she can tell the difference. She does beautifully, though—can’t stop herself from flinching and cringing, but keeps her legs down and actually makes less noise. It always helps when she knows when it’s going to be over.

       I’m not very angry anymore. I know how difficult it is for my poor darling to suffer breast punishment, and she is going to be feeling this for a week, or longer. I drop the belt, and move behind her to start undoing the ropes. She can’t seem to stop crying, but she’ll be all right in a few minutes, when I can hold her. I press kisses under her ear, on her bare shoulder, against her hair, while I work, and she does calm down a little, knowing forgiveness is forthcoming.

       At last I am able to lift my baby in my arms and carry her to the bed. As I predicted, she calms down almost immediately as I sit back against the headboard, cradling her back against my chest. She is just sniffling and hiccupping occasionally when I say quietly, “You know, I was very, very disappointed with you today, angel.”

       One last sob breaks from her, and her hands clutch the sleeves of my shirt. “I know,” she whispers.

       “You understand why that is?”

       “Yes, Daddy.”

       “And will you be exposing yourself to a stranger without my permission again?”

       “No!” She’s gazing up at me now, and I think I can see a transition starting to occur…

       “And will you be using your mouth to give pleasure to anyone other than your Daddy?”

       Sure enough, she licks her lips. “No, I promise.”

       Very carefully, I lift one of my hands to her battered chest and lightly touch my fingers to the marked skin. She sucks in her breath. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” I murmur.

       I return with a soft, cold cloth, which I lay over the worst of the whip marks after coaxing her onto her back. She can’t bear for me to touch her nipples, so I avoid them. But as I’m ministering to her, she moans quietly, deep in her throat, and our eyes meet, and without hesitating I slip one finger down between her legs and smoothly, slickly up into her cunt. Wet.

       “What a twisted little slut you are,” I say, shaking my head, but I’m smiling.

       Her mouth curves in answer.