Rachel was no longer watching me show off my collection of bondage furniture. Her eyes were locked on what looked like a section of black chain-link fence adorning the wall. From this fence hung several nefarious-looking implements: nipple clamps, paddles, canes, floggers, cuffs, whips, a selection of dildos in various sizes. I crossed over to where they hung, taking in her wide, panic-filled eyes. Selecting a leather flogger, I swung it casually by my side, waiting for her to notice me. Her eyes swept over mine quickly, dropping instead to the device held in my hand. “Oh no. Oh god no. Please.”
“Take off your clothes, Rachel.”
“I’m really sorry.” She was crying now. “Please, not this.”
“Take off your clothes, Rachel.” Her head flicked towards the door, although a quick calculation told her she wouldn’t make it there before I was on her. I swung the flogger at her, striking her on the hip, the tails wrapping around her to lash against her ass. She yelped, rubbing the sting from her hip with one hand. I swung at her other hip. She tried to counter by dodging, the leather tips slapping against her stomach instead. She lifted her shirt, not undressing, simply surveying the damage done to her tender flesh. I brought it down hard against the tops of her breasts, driving her to the floor.
Finally, from her knees, she stared up at me and slowly removed her shirt. Standing up on wobbly legs, she slid her shorts down her legs, letting them pool at her ankles. She stood before me trembling, trying vainly to cover herself with her arms. She didn’t move, other than to turn and follow me with her eyes as I closed the door. It was installed with a deadbolt, and I inserted a key that, despite not having been in this room in quite some time, always stayed on my person. Having denied her any illusions of escape, I directed her attention towards a device on the far side from the door. “That, Rachel, is a St. Andrew’s Cross. One of my wife’s favorites. Used to spend hours in here.”
She collapsed on the floor, sobbing, still clad in her bra and panties. Clearly terrified, she nevertheless offered no resistance as I lifted one arm, fastening a leather cuff around her wrist. Similarly, she allowed me to place one on the other wrist. As I grabbed one ankle, pulling it away from the tight little ball she had tried to twist herself into, she yelped, trying to scoot away from me. I held her leg tightly, and she soon stopped. I tried lifting her to her feet, but she was wholly unable to stand, so I instead dragged her by one leg towards the base of the wooden cross. She began fighting as soon as I had the first ankle cuff secured to it, struggling to keep her other leg free, but she was no match for me. I now had her legs secured to the cross, so that, if I could get her back on her feet, she would be pressed face-first towards the wooden boards.
I tried pulling her to her feet, but, for a girl of no more than 105 pounds, she did a remarkable job of turning that all into dead weight, resisting any of my attempts to find a better grip and haul her up. Finally, I dropped her, letting her body thud against the hard floor. From a large metal cabinet next to my impact toys, I retrieved another device. Rachel had just enough time to identify it and begin screaming before I pressed the taser to her hip, activating it. I enjoyed watching her spasm, her breasts bouncing in her flimsy bra, her face contorted, before releasing the trigger. Now compliant, Rachel was much easier to lift, and I was able to easily secure both arms to the top of the St. Andrew’s Cross. Reaching down, I was able to readjust her ankle cuffs so that she was now leaning against the cross, her weight supported from her wrists, her feet inches off the ground. I plucked a blindfold from a shelf and, satisfied that it was in place, pulled a seat into the middle of the room to watch. “No need to act for the cameras today, Rachel. I want you to scream, cry, beg, whatever you think will get you out of here faster.”
It didn’t take long for Rachel to start panicking again. She tried kicking out with her feet but managed to only stub her toes against the wood. She tested her upper body next, finding her arms similarly bound. The pain in her shoulders quickly ended those struggles. That’s when the screaming began. For the most part, it was unintelligible, save for a litany of “Help” and “Please.” I let this die out before I got up from my chair, taking care to scrape the legs against the floor, reminding her that I was still here. I slowly perused my wall of toys, picking up a leather belt, swinging it through the air, and then replacing it. I considered a solid oak paddle, hefting it carefully before smacking it firmly against my open palm. It stung, and the skin reddened immediately, but the sound had its desired impact: Rachel stopped. Stopped everything. She stopped crying, stopped struggling, she was even holding her breath to try and capture any minute sound I made.
I replaced the paddle, instead selecting a thin rattan cane. I tested its flexion between my hands, producing a whistling sound as I swung it through the air several times. Rachel screamed as I poked her with the cane, digging its point into her ass cheek, still covered in a neon pink pair of panties. I drew the cane across her lower back, watching her shiver as it traced its way across her. I lightly tapped it against the clasp of her bra before sliding the tip of the cane in between the garment and her body, running it under the fabric against the side of her chest.
“You need to listen better, Rachel.”
“I did, I did everything you asked. What do you want from me?”
“If you had listened, would you still be wearing these?” I gave her a quick slap with the cane against her ass.
“Please, just untie me and I’ll take them off, I swear.”
“Oh, no need. I’ll do it myself.” Gripping her panties with both hands, I tore them violently from her body. She jumped as the fabric wedged between her sensitive lips, digging into the skin. After pulling them from her body, I was pleasantly surprised to find a small damp spot in the middle of them. “Does this turn you on, Rachel? I think it does.” Her bra clasp was on her back, directly in front of me, but rather than simply undoing it, I pulled a knife from my pocket, slicing through the straps across her shoulders. Reaching around her, I viciously mauled one breast while sliding the knife between the two cups, the flat of the blade against her bare skin making her shiver. “Be very careful,” I warned her, pulling the blade away from her, her bra coming with it. “You wouldn’t want me to…” The knife slid through the material and it fluttered to the ground, “slip.”
“Now,” another slap across her ass, this one far more vicious. She jerked against her bonds, screaming. Once she had calmed down, I continued. “Since you seem to have me all figured out, tell me why my wife isn’t here.”
“Oh please, I don’t know, just don’t hit me again.”
“No idea? Very well then.” The next blow landed across her upper thighs, drawing a deep red welt across the smooth flesh. “What about now?” Nothing but hysterical cries and sobs, so I struck her again, right across the ass. “ANSWER THE QUESTION, RACHEL.”