Poor Little Rich Slut (11 page)

The unseen guest took over my paddling. Not only did he take over, he finished off the punishment with a flourish, using force more ferocious than Garrison’s heavy-handed style. The change put me over the edge, sweeping aside my sexual arousal, and when he didn’t stop the hard-hitting smacks, the brutal treatment became too much to bear in silence. I began to cry, and was soon overcome by enormous, convulsive sobs. My body twisted in anguish. Screams of my distress bounced off the walls, and when it was over I cried quietly, with my tears soaking the thick cloth blindfold.

Garrison’s unknown accomplice stepped in-between my legs after he finished punishing me.

“You think your ass is ready?” Garrison asked.

“I don’t know.” I shook my head and spoke through a choked sob. Did he have any idea how miserable I was? I wanted to object—a lot of good that would have done—but I was too tired and I sensed he’d have no mercy. He was holding me to my agreement.

“Why don’t we see?” he said.

A pair of fingers slid along my crevice, then ran straight into the vaginal piercing, which was only barely sore by now. I cringed, though it wasn’t particularly painful. Moving deeper into my channel, his fingers gathered my juices and swathed the opening above. He caressed it, working the opening with his digits until he decided I was ready.

I lurched forward when the man plunged into me—he was smaller than I expected. I guess all men are not as well-endowed as Garrison Tate. Not only that, the man was so horny, he was done before I had time to get used to his hard thrusts. He pulled out, still not saying a word, and I sighed relieved.

I was hardly functional when the two men pulled me up on the desk so I was sitting on my handcuffed hands. They spread my legs and carefully inspected my rings. I winced each time they tugged them; although they barely hurt anymore.

“Still sore?”
Garrison asked.

“A little.”

“You’re taking care of them?”

“Yes.” I snuffed.

“Good girl.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, affectionately.

I sensed the two men draw away and then heard them muttering at the door.

When Garrison returned to my side and pulled the blindfold away, my unknown assailant was gone.

“Do I know him?” I asked.

“You do.”

“Oh, why would you!”

“He knows, don’t worry.”

“Knows what?”

“Knows about you, about women like you.”

“What do you mean he knows about
me!
” I was too damned tired to be mad, but this was an outrage. “How the hell is that discreet!”

“He knows because I told him, because he does these things to women, including his wife, who’s virtually a sex slave. If you can trust me, you can certainly trust him.”

“But he works in this building?”

“Yes, right here on the 6
^th
floor.”

“And I’m going to see him every day?”

“More than likely.”

I’d calmed, but I wasn’t happy. “I don’t know about this, Garrison. I just don’t…”

“
Shussssssssssh
,” he put a finger over my lips and pulled me up so I was sitting squarely on his desk. His hands went around me, finding the locked handcuffs, and without having to
look,
he threaded the key in the lock and set me free. His chest was close, warm next to my face. I drank him in like a big gulp of brandy. My arms went around him and I laid my cheek on his chest. Beneath me my sore bottom throbbed—although I didn’t mind that anymore. The sensuous feeling registered somewhere between exhilaration and happiness. I didn’t want to despise him; I didn’t want to run from him or be mad. I didn’t want a fight; I didn’t have it in me now and I certainly didn’t want to get geared up for one later. But I certainly didn’t understand what was happening to me. Why I was doing all these things, letting him do all these things to me as if I’d lost my mind. If he questioned me about the night, I knew exactly how I’d answered, or at least, I
should
answer if I was being truthful.

I was confused, sad, happy, pissed and aroused all at once.

But being overwhelmed and unable to fight off the desire in me, I imagined it was best to let the whole thing ride and not worry. Was that even sane in face of the things that Garrison ordered me to do?

Probably not.

“Why did you do that to me?” This was the only objection I could muster when I finally found my voice again. I still cuddled in his comforting arms.

“Tell me you didn’t like it, Ellie, and it won’t happen again.
If you want to be indignant and miserable, go ahead, but I’m not about to believe your lousy whining.”

“I’m not whining,” I said.

“You sure?”
He pushed me back so he could see my face.

“No. You’re the boss when it comes to this, Mr. Tate,” I said, regaining some of my sassy spirit. “And I’m your dutiful plebe.”

He smiled. “Get dressed, slut, we’re going to dinner.”

I could hardly make it through dinner without going stark raving mad with desire. As I’d dressed in Garrison’s office, he made a few alterations in my attire—like pocketing my panties for safekeeping and making me leave my blouse half open, so that when I moved, the soft insides of my breasts were plainly visible. By current standards, I was still fairly demure in my attire, but for me the small changes only augmented the fierce fire I felt burning in my tormented crotch. My asshole
ached
a bit, but not unpleasantly so. When Garrison told me to park my naked butt on the leatherette seat in the restaurant, I smiled, feeling some of his mischievousness wear off on me. Any anger I still harbored fell away, replaced by sheer exhilaration.

“Here,” he said, as we were settling in at one of his favorite bistros. He’d ordered scampi and fried oysters and salad for both of us. He then placed something on the table and pushed it toward me, his hand covering whatever it was. Underneath, he unveiled a string of silicone beads, each about an inch in diameter.

“In your cunt,” he said.

“Now?”

“Now.”
He smiled and sat back watching my face change from elated to
worried
to slightly panicked within the next sixty seconds.

Realizing that the waiter was headed toward us with our breadsticks and wine, I snatched the beads from the table and held them in my hand.

The damn scoundrel couldn’t do anything but grin a mile wide at my distress. By the time the waiter left, I was smiling myself and thinking sexually, while trying to decide exactly how I was going to discreetly insert the beads into my cunt. It only made matters worse that I was facing the dining room, not facing the wall.

“Could we switch seats?” I asked.

“Not on your life.”

Taking a deep breath, I adjusted the large cloth napkin on my nap,
then
reached in-between my slightly parted thighs with one hand clutching the end of the five-bead string. I’m not sure how it looked from afar, or if anyone noticed. Perhaps I have the low lighting in the restaurant to thank for being able to pull off my lewd crime rather easily. Once I started, it only took about thirty seconds to have the five beads shoved inside my cunt. I felt quite full as if it were a cock there and not beads.

“Wiggle on them,” Garrison said.

That went without saying. For the next five minutes the beads seemed determined to push themselves out of my cunt. In time I relaxed and they nestled deeper inside, allowing me to eat my scampi and salad hardly noticing their presence. The leatherette seat cushion was becoming quite wet from my leaking pussy juices, but by then, I really didn’t care; I was horny and wanted more.

“Now this,” he said, as he again laid an object on the table with his hand carefully covering it.

When he moved his hand away, another erotic wave passed through me as I stared at the small anal plug he left there. I swiped that quickly and held it in my lap.

“You don’t really mean…” I started, already blushing.

“In your ass.”

“Right here?”

“Right here, babe. It should be easier than the beads.”

Easier than the beads, right!

“You might want to lick it first…or maybe you could smear it with butter?”
I took the suggestion to heart, knowing that my body might well fight the thing if I tried inserting it in dry.

Gazing around the busy dining room, everyone seemed engaged in conversation and oblivious to us. So far, so good, I thought as I contemplated the anal plug and the butter dish for nearly a minute. Finally drawing the dish toward me, I pulled out the plug—held inconspicuously inside the palm of my hand—and swiped it through the soft butter. Just as fast, I raised my ass, sat up a bit, as if I were adjusting my skirt and wedged it in the cleft between my bottom cheeks. Feeling the tip at my anus, I then sat back down, feeling the plug slide into my rectum. Although it widened at its center, it managed to slip inside with little difficulty and my anus closed around where it narrowed at its base. The flat end fit snuggly against the opening.

I was, thusly, double-penetrated. I felt as if I was about to explode!

Garrison smiled smugly and shook his head.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, suspiciously.

He laughed. “You really want to know?”

“Yes, I really want to know.”

“I’m thinking how you’d look now with your mouth stuffed too.”

I blushed, red as beet, as the picture instantly came to mind.

“You want to do that too?”

“And why not?”

“You are cruel.”

“And
you’re not loving
it?”

As full as I might have been, my arousal crept through me
stealthily,
disturbing any indignation I might have pretended to feel.

“Know what?” I asked.

“What?”

“I’d really like you to fuck me,” I whispered.

“Then you did miss me.”

“I missed getting fucked.”

“Hmm.
All that from a woman who barely knows what it’s like to take cock.”

We finished our meal saying hardly a thing. Our eyes and my barely audible groans seemed to feed us as much as the food. I could see that Garrison was aroused, as was I.

“Imagine what it’s going to be like getting punished for this scandalous act?” he finally said, amusedly.

“It would have to be hard and hurt really bad,” I said in a flushed whisper. My heart was beating a little more rapidly and with every slight move, my crotch seemed to explode a little more.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Because this is bad…really, really bad.”

“That’s right, Heiress,” he said exultantly. “And I have just the thing to deal with your shameful behavior.”

We continued with our intimate repartee for several minutes, but when the food no longer satisfied our clamoring hunger and we couldn’t take another moment repressing our demanding hormones, Garrison moved to his feet and nodded to the waiter.

“On my check,” he told the man.

“Yes, sir.”

Garrison reached for my hand, and with my lower body clenched tight, I stood up. For a moment I felt the plug and the beads shift, but as I settled, they both seemed safely lodged inside. I’m not sure I walked all that smoothly to the door, but I managed, then sighed relieved when we finally slipped outside.

“I think it’s time we test how much pain you can endure,” he whispered to me as we walked in the direction of his car.

I could feel the wine working on my body to relax my apprehensions. I hardly responded to Garrison’s suggestion with anything other than a shudder of excitement. Pain, as in getting spanked, seemed like little more than an aphrodisiac for me. But what exactly he meant by pain I wasn’t sure of.

We walked some distance before I realized that we’d actually passed by his car and were now moving into a marginal neighborhood where I’d never walk by myself.
Seemed both risky and intensely thrilling.
I clung to Garrison’s arm as fiercely as I was clinging to the intruders in my body.

“Where are we going?” I asked. I might have been sobering up as I viewed the squalid surroundings and wondered exactly where we were going.

“Just some friends,” he said.

Not more than a block later, we moved into what looked like an old warehouse building, and found ourselves in a dingy, yellow-lit stairwell, climbing up. With every step, I risked expelling the beads; the particular motion of climbing seemed to shift the things even more. I stopped along the way. “They’re going to fall out,” I warned him.

“They’d better not,” he warned right back.

I took a deep breath, tightened my inner muscles and prayed that we wouldn’t be going much further. He’d said something about pain, testing my endurance. For some reason this seedy building seemed like the perfect place to do just that. He’d said friends. What kind of friends would meet us here?

At the top of the last flight, several floors above the street, Garrison opened a heavy metal door that led to the smoldering darkness of a deserted, open warehouse. I nearly choked on the strong scent of cigar smoke that filled my nostrils. As if that weren’t enough, my body seemed to go rigid with fear for a good sixty seconds. Then my eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, and as the foggy smoke lifted, I saw the shapes of several men on the far side of the warehouse. They milled about under a pair of high windows, waiting for us, I suppose.

The sound of my heels clicking on the hardwood floor seemed to echo through the entire space, while my nervous heart pounded hotly at my temples. My palms began to sweat and I could taste the desire on my parched lips, a desperate, needy, hungering desire. So overwhelmed, I clung tightly to Garrison’s arm for support.

I don’t think I’d ever been as excited or scared or wanting. Just the atmosphere of the seedy building raised
goosebumps
of anticipation across my flesh.

The shapes of the waiting men loomed ever larger as we closed in on them. However, they soon closed in on me, taking me from Garrison with no effort and covering my eyes with a scarf to blind me. They wore leather gloves and smelled strongly of smoke, with a hint of garlic and wine, perhaps from their evening meal. Suddenly one big, firm hand shoved me against a cold metal surface. My ankles and wrists were chained to the wall. I could barely move. Trembling with fear, I lost the ability to hold the sex toys in my pussy and rectum. The beads slid out, a fact not lost on one member of this frightening number. He tugged the end and they all fell out, giving me a jolt of sexual stimulation I hardly needed, while letting loose a trickle of pussy juice that was as obvious to him as it was to me. It tickled my inner thigh as it slithered down my leg.

Moments later, I felt the warmth from a spotlight bearing down on my back with a powerful heat. The strange combination of cold metal and hot light had me wriggling thoughtlessly inside my bonds. I’d begun to sweat and my pussy was nearly orgasmic now and threatening to explode any second as it ground lewdly against the metal wall.

But any climax was stopped short moments later when I felt the first of many teasing and terrible strikes of a leather whip against my backside. With this threatening menace and a new experience of pain for me, my fear ran rampant through my being—my mind and body were on overload. “Oh, God, please!” I cried.

The whipping stopped and someone grabbed my hair, jerking my head back.

“You been a bad girl,” the fellow scowled. I know only that it was
not
Garrison speaking. Not his manner, not his voice. “Say it!” he ordered, gruffly.

“S-say what?”

He slapped my butt real hard. “I’ve been a bad girl, say it!”

I panted heavily, hardly able to talk. “I-I’ve b-been a bad girl,” I finally repeated, in a voice so shaky, I could hardly be heard.

The man was not pleased. “I’ve been a bad girl! Say it again, louder!”

“I’ve been a bad girl,” I tried to raise my voice, but I’m not sure that I was capable of anything more than a frightened squawk.

“Yeah, that’s better. Tell me you want
it,
want it hard, really hard. You want to get hurt, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I said, my voice a breathless but unwavering whisper.

“Then say it, slut! You want it hard. Tell me that.”

“I want it hard!” I practically shouted now. I so wanted to please him—for lord
knows
what reason. None of this made sense. “I want it really hard, please!” I practically pleaded to be punished.

“Yeah, and what else?”

The desire seemed to ignite from my own words and I began to clip them off hardly thinking about what I said, but feeling every word. “I want you to hurt me, please, hurt me really bad, whip me hard.” I don’t think I ever felt anything
so
true as that. From deep in my gut, as far as my hungering spirit could travel I needed to be hurt. I wanted him to take me where I didn’t matter anymore. “Please! Please punish me!”

I could sense him scowl with pleasure as I gave him all the consent he needed.

“You heard that, boys? You got that on tape, huh? Miss
Richbitch
, hoity-toity Eleanor Rule wants us to punish her.”

Yes, yes I did.

The play of the whip resumed as the man backed away from me. All across my upper shoulders, across my back and my ass and the back of my thighs, the painful strikes scorched my skin. It hurt, just as I desired it to and I screamed. Still I wanted more, something meaner and more ruthless, to absolve me of my guilt. To balance some internal scale by which I judged myself a worthy woman or a contemptible slut.

Hurt me harder!
I felt my soul yearning from its depths. I wanted to feel the pain, hard, vicious, agonizing pain.

Yet as the pain came on me, as the torment of my body became almost too much to bear, my endorphins suddenly kicked in and took me flying to that magical place where pain morphed into pleasure and the ghastly whipping became pure joy.