topazladys
Posts: 7
Joined: 9/11/2012
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Complete fiction, not quite finished yet.
After putting the last box away under the table I looked back at the display. It had been a long day, the long drive, lifting and carrying boxes and heavy stand equipment to and from the van, unpacking and setting up. Tired, hot and sweaty I was looking forward to heading to the hotel grabbing a quick shower and an early night. I should have known there was a surprise in sight when pleading a headache my business partner arranged for another exhibitor to take me to the hotel when set-up was finished.
I felt a presence behind me, “It’s looking good, I’m done if….” my words trail off as I turn and see you standing behind me. Short dark hair with just a sprinkle of grey, twinkling blue eyes, a little taller than me, my heart skips a beat, my legs feel a little wobbly but your next words bring my world crashing down.
“It’s time to leave T”
Family and friends think T is a diminutive for Trouble, an affectionate pet name. It’s our secret that it means so much more than that. T is how you tell me when we are in public and in private that I’m not your partner, significant other or girlfriend any more. I’m Topaz, your sub, your slut your anything you want me to be.
You knew immediately that something was wrong, something not quite right. There is a flicker in your eyes, curiosity, interest, a hint of steel creeps into your gaze. “Let’s go T, I have your bag, the car is just round the corner.”
My hand clenched in yours you guide me towards the door, we say our polite good byes to the last remaining exhibitors and walk out into the gathering dusk. As we walk, you can feel the hesitation in my step. You are not dragging or pulling me along, but my stride is not my normal loose free confident step. Your grip shifts, instead of holding my hand, it encircles my wrist like a cuff. Firm, unyielding, not cruel but no chance of escape. You don’t say a word as we walk across the carpark, to your car almost hidden from view underneath the trees in the furthest corner.
Shielded by the car you release my wrist and open the boot. Inside I can see our overnight bags and your travelling toy bag. The toy bag pulled askew by something long and thin hidden in its depths. Next to it is one of the dresses you had made for me when we first met. Nothing fancy, not expensive, just a simple long wrap around dress with a twist. Sewn inside the yoke a small loop for a leash.
“Strip” just one word, short and sharp in tone.
My gaze leaps from the floor to your face, I think there is a twinkle and a smile in your eyes that belies the severity of your tone. As I hesitate those disappear as your eyebrow lifts.
“Now” I nod and I my hands lift to reach the buttons of my shirt I draw breath to speak, to explain, to apologise. Your thumb invades my mouth pressing down on my tongue as your fingers hold my jaw. “You may not speak except when spoken to. You can say yes, no, thank you red and green and count. You have no amber this weekend. You will say Sir when we are alone. Do you understand?”
My head is held completely immobile by your hand I can’t nod. Somehow I manage to form the words “Yes Sir” against the thumb invading my mouth and I suck frantically trying to contain the saliva collecting there.
“Oh that’s nice T, is that what you want. Knees now.”
You release my jaw and immediately I drop to my knees in front of you. Hands crossed behind my back, I wait.
“Do you want me in your mouth T? Do you deserve me in your mouth?” Before I can say anything you guide me back to my feet, capturing my eyes with yours “No T, it’s not that easy, you have to earn that. Eyes down, strip.”
I’m torn, grateful for the reprieve but dreading the moment when I take off my jeans. As I unbutton my shirt my eyes fill with tears. With my head bowed you can’t see them but somehow you know they are there. “Red and green T, remember red and green. Where are you now?”
Somehow I manage to control my breathing and the incipient sob,” Green Sir”.
There is a rhythm and a dance to how you want me to undress. First my shirt, undo all the buttons, open it slightly, let you get that first glance of lingerie before I remove it completely, dropping it at my feet. Shoulders back, head still bowed don’t slouch or slump trying to distract attention. Next step out of my shoes, turn around, undo the button on my jeans, and slide down the zipper. Pause for a second, at this point you often step closer, reach around and slide one hand in my trousers, checking how wet I am as the other reaches inside my bra, pinching and twisting the nipple making me gasp. I love this moment, leaning back into you as you explore me with your fingers, feeling your excitement behind me as I begin to ride the endorphin fuelled rush of pleasure and pain.
You step closer and I feel your breath on my neck, “Not today T. “
My heart sinks, now is the moment, now is when I disappoint you. I grasp the waist band and as I slide the jeans over my hips I bend at the waist, guiding my jeans down my legs towards my ankles. I have not got them past my knees when the first strike catches me. First one cheek, then the other, then in between. Count, remember to count. Get it wrong and the punishment is repeated, again and again until the number is correct. My eyes fill with tears and I begin to sob, the pain is nothing, nothing at all to do with why the tears are spilling down my face and I’m struggling to breathe through the sobs. Straight in no gradual build up in intensity, these blows are at maximum and a little beyond. With no orange to save me I have to either endure it or call red and I can’t call red. I won’t call red.
Fifteen on each and you pull me upright by my hair. Still behind me your disapproval and disappointment evident in your voice, “Take those off” my face scarlet I step out of my jeans which have fallen around by ankles with the strength of your blows and quickly shimmy my panties over my hips so they can fall around my ankles. “Give them to me.” Instinctively I know this is not the time to crouch down and pick up the panties discarded on top of my jeans. I bend down from the waist, assuming the position and mentally preparing myself for the remainder of the punishment I know I deserve. As I pick up the panties it’s almost as if a line of fire stretches across the back of my thighs. I did not hear the whistle of the cane as hit me the first time, or the last time or at any time in between. I come back to myself as you drag your nails over the welts, “Now those are pretty” you say appreciating your cane work. “Where are you?
Shuddering and gasping for air through the pain I somehow manage to keep my voice even with just a hint of the devastation I feel. “Green Sir. Green”
“How many? Come one don’t keep me waiting?”
“Fifty Five Sir, fifteen left, fifteen right, fifteen pussy and ten across the thighs Sir. I struggle as I say pussy, I despise the word, the language you insist I use, cunt, clit, pussy, arse. I loathe referring to my body in language I find degrading and humiliating.
Except you take that one step further. Mildly as your continue to trace the contours of the welts on my thighs and glowing bottom, “That’s not the correct way to count is it T? Do you really want me to start again?” I hate referring to my body as yours, your cunt, yours, not mine, just yours. You love the look on my face, the way my voice wobbles and the sheer determination it takes for me to force those words out of my mouth, my first act of submission and one I fight still.
“No Sir, Sorry Sir. Fifty five total Sir, fifteen on the right arse cheek Sir, fifteen on the left arse cheek Sir, fifteen on your cunt Sir and fifteen on the thighs Sir.
I stand on shaky legs, still with my back to you as you undo the clasp on my bra. As I turn you step back to the boot and I wait with my head down for you to return. With my head bowed I can just see that you are holding my dress and I slide the bra down my arms. It is only now that I can look up and see your face. Stern and distant, no hint of the man I adore, just a cold unforgiving almost stranger. Legs open, just a shoulder breadth apart, arms clasped behind my back. At happier times, your eyes alight with good humour you will stand close to me, run your hands over me, teasing me bringing me closer and closer to the edge until I’m begging you to let me cum, begging you to fuck me and let me feel you inside me. But not today.
With cold eyes and a blank face you drop the slender lightweight curb chain over my head and attach the discrete nipple clamps with their seemingly delicate chains, just a bit tighter than normal. I automatically turn and hold my arms behind me for you to slide the dress up my arms and on to my shoulders. Turning again I bend over and grab the end of the leash resting between the cheeks of my glowing arse, standing up straight again as I pass you the clip. The chain around my neck and the leash between my legs a suitable reminder that I am owned I am yours and in these moments I exist purely to obey you.
Without saying a word you attach the leash to the curb chain and connect the chains from the clamps. The chains are not to prevent my embarrassment should they come off in a crowded or public place, just a mechanism to ensure that these don’t get lost if they do. Handmade and hugely sentimental they are more than just toys to play with. Normally at this point you would hold me close, letting me feel your excitement through your clothes, letting the yearning to get rid of those barriers between us to expand and fill me, increasing the anticipation of what is to come, you would kiss me and whisper , ”the best is yet to come”, corny I know but that short phrase with its promise makes my heart sing and sends a pulse of pure pleasure through the rest of me.
As I tie my dress closed the last of the exhibitors and organisers vans leaves the carpark in a cheery cavalcade of horns, shouted good byes and careless wave of hands aimed at our heads just visible over the roof of your car. My face burns as I wonder have they seen or noticed the scene unfolding here. Have the seen me, or heard my sobs and cries. The lack of intervention reassures me, nothing seen, nothing heard but the possibility burns through me.
One last toot of the horn as the last van moves away prompts a flurry of new more shocking and abrupt behaviour. Grasping me firmly by the scruff of the neck you force me over and lift the dress out of the way. “This is for me not for you, you may not cum” These are the words I hear as you force my legs apart and rip into me. No finesse, no consideration I’m just a hole to use, somehow the position I’m in and my emotions short circuit my brain. I feel worthless, valueless, a piece of meat to be pounded. It’s over quickly, just a short sharp fanny wank, a way for you to shoot your load, dump and move on to the next thing.
I don’t notice the piece of ginger. I’m still lost in the maelstrom of self-castigation running through my mind and enduring the brutal physicality of your assault. As it begins to warm and tingle, it is simply another purely physical indignity to be endured.
As you tidy yourself up and straighten your clothing you leave me bent over holding my calves, shuddering with my sobs and the spasms in my legs. “Don’t spill a drop” you instruct. You pull me up by my hair and watching me bite my lip and hold my breath as the heat from the ginger builds inside me. “Where are you?”
“Green Sir, green” I reply as you walk me around to the passenger door.
“Get in” This discombobulates me completely. I’m not allowed to open the door, old time courtesy and manners dictate that I always wait for you to open the door. As you gesture impatiently to the door, I open it and gingerly sit down, clamp my thigh together allowing my muscles a little relief. As you buckle your seat belt and check mine you see my thighs firmly clenched together and I think I hear a sigh. Immediately I open my legs allowing you a clear view of first one thigh and then the other as I move my dress aside. When the car starts to move the combined pressure and discomfort caused by the ginger and my clenched muscles causes me to gasp.
By the time we reach the hotel my jaw is rigid and the tears run freely down my face. My hands which were laying gently either side of my legs are now clutching at the sides of the seat as I desperately try to lift myself, easing some of the pressure and pain battering my senses from between my legs and my arse. Everything hurts, my heart, my soul and the physical hurts just compound this. As you unfasten you seat belt and mine, I keep my eyes fixed firmly down, I think I catch a glimmer of something, but I’m not sure what.
“Stay here”, the words are soft, less of the steel than earlier but still I can hear the disappointment in your tone. I watch you make your way across the carpark with our bags and into the hotel. I know I look a mess, hair all over, tear streaked face and large panda eyes from my mascara, and my nose is running. Part of me cares that I look awful but most of me doesn’t. I disobeyed, disappointed you and I’m paying the price.
I try to fix my hair and my face as much as I can do before leaving the car when you return for me and your hand holding mine as you lead me into the hotel becomes my life line. As you lead me through the hotel to our room my anxiety increases, alone together away from the gaze of others I wonder what else is in store for me.
To be continued….
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Punishment - 
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