|
Dava Dominates Teddy
From: Dava Kingsley To : Teddy Subj: time for some CORRECTION here! T>>> do you need a whip for the galley slaves? you've been GOOD? we can't have that, can we. oh no. ah, this is gonna be FUN.
At the barely-audible sound of his `ahem', I turn from contemplating the mass of idiotic crossposts in alt.sex.bondage and level an imperious glare at him. He shrinks back in fear, the ankle-chains rattling. "This had better be good, slave," I murmur. He cringes even further. "T-t-teddy's here for her disciplinary action, Mistress," he stammers. I smile; I stand, move over to the rack, select a riding crop and do a few practice passes in the air, making an impressive `swish' sound. I'm pleased to note that he has learned to call me `Mistress' with a capital `M'. "Send her in." He backs out, almost tripping on his chains. I make a mental note to order Admin to remove a few links. I wouldn't want him breaking any of the furniture if he fell over. Moments later he brings her in; her hands cuffed, a black silk hood covering her eyes. I frown; why hasn't she been prepared? She's still wearing her street clothes. I gesture curtly and he removes her hood; she glares at me defiantly before my expression cows her. Good. Breaking her spirit will be entertaining. I gesture again; he marches her over to the rack and then hastily departs, clanking. I remove the handcuffs, gently massage the reddened areas where the metal had pressed into her skin, hold her hands out to either side and whisper in her ear: "I hear you've been good." She knows what's going on, and is smart enough to behave. "Well, yes..." she says quietly. Viciously and without warning, I slap her behind. "Yes Mistress," I snarl. "Yes Mistress!" she says quickly. I smile. "That's better. Now, I haven't looked into the echo for quite a while, but I expect you've been ignoring your Cabal directives to be Bad for at least a fortnight. Do you know what that means?" "N-no. Mistress." My eyes narrow slightly at the pause between her words. Gently, I push her up against the wall-mounted rack, press her hands to the fur-lined cuffs and secure her wrists, pressing the velcro home, pulling on her shoulders to test the hold. I press a button on the control panel; the rack folds inward at waist-height, bending her over. A couple of sprays from an aerosol can of Duds-Be-Gone (no Domina should be without this!) loosens the seams in her clothes, allowing me to rip them from her quivering body with ease. I brush the fingertips of my left hand down her back and around the smooth curve of her behind, while raising the riding crop in my right. "I'll be generous and assume it's only been one week. The current exchange rate is one stroke per day. If you lose count, I'll start again." I pause for a few seconds; I've found it more effective if they can't tell exactly when it's coming. The crop descends, cutting through the air with that lovely swish, hitting her behind squarely. the sharp, biting sound of leather-bound cane hitting human flesh, followed by her squeak of surprise. I wait until she realises that she's supposed to be counting. "One! Mistress." I smile and deliver the second blow, almost an afterthought, nowhere near as hard as the first one, hitting about an inch above the first. "Two, Mistress." The third stroke hits just below, a fraction harder than the second. "Three, Mistress." I pause here to run my fingers over the red welts, feeling the heated skin, marking where her spine shows and tracing down a few inches from there to locate the fourth and fifth strokes, which are successively stronger and are laid diagonally in an X-pattern over the second stroke-mark, forcing gasps from her as she counts. The sixth stroke is soft, almost a caress, laid diagonally and slightly to the right of the spreading mass of red which is aligned with the divide of her buttocks. I pause for almost ten seconds - waiting until she visibly relaxes - before delivering the last stroke, a vicious downward slash over her left buttock, almost strong enough to break the skin. She gives a little shriek as it hits, but manages to count it off. I release the velcro and hug her, stilling the shakes, smiling as she flinches when I run my hand over her abused behind. I pass a black velvet gown to her and help her into it. Resisting the urge to slap her on the bum as she leaves, I caution her: "No more of this `being good' nonsense, do you understand?" Her eyes are suitably downcast. "Yes, mistress." I smile warmly. "Now, send in that penguin. I hear she's been very good." |
|
|
( top )
All work on this site is © Nikolai Kingsley unless otherwise stated. |