A Dom's Best Friend Ch. 01

I wanted to howl at the portrait of shattered innocence that she made--even as my secret perversities yearned for more.

Lester's vengeful chuckle echoed throughout the room. Uncoiling the strap, he reared back and then heaved it forward, with vicious accuracy, on the back of her hand. To the sadist in me, her aggrieved cry was a perfect melody. To the man who loved her past bearing, I wanted to fucking kill Lester.

Over and over and over again, the sound of leather whistling through the air, the sound of it slamming into skin, and the sound of Lynne's screams battered my ears.

Finally, after ten crashing blows, Lester let up. "What do you say, slut?"

"Thank you, Sir," Lynne's voice was little more than a shuddery sigh.

Foolish me for thinking Lester would turn to aftercare, that the punishment and the vid would cease.

Instead, he hooked a finger in the D-ring of her collar, effortlessly flinging her up on the bed. "Assume the position," his whisper a vile parody of a caressing lover.

Just as in the previous vid, she bent her knees and spread her legs presenting a dribbling, drooling pussy.

Bed restraints secured her ankles, spreading her legs even wider, and ropes connected her wrists to her ankles. In the back of my mind, I was appalled and fascinated that she consented to this. At no point did she try to avoid the punishment that had long ago slipped into the abuse category.

"Why is this happening to you, slut?" Lester prodded, one hand working his cock while the other reached for a rattan cane, concealed in the folds of the bed spread.

When she saw the stick, she whimpered. "Because I betrayed your trust by fantasizing about another and masturbated to thoughts of him after being repeatedly punished for doing so."

"Do you know what aversion therapy is, pig? It's where I take something you like to do, like thinking of him, and tie it inexorably in your mind to something so heinously awful, that you will never want to do the thing you like again. Like caning your pussy until it resembles raw meat."

I've administered and received canings before. I know the mercilessness of the cane's bite. The misery in Lynne's eyes reflected an experienced knowledge. This was definitely not the first time he had used the implement on her.

"Please, Sir," she wheedled. "Please help me to forget him."

This punishment was far harsher. Lester, with unerring accuracy, found her clit with each deceptively casual tap. With each of the ten strokes, she sobbed silently, other than to count and thank politely after each.

The control of her body, her politeness, and her pleas for more tempted and tormented. As the tenth strike slashed down, semen spewed from Lester's cock, then shot, coating her stomach and breasts.

To my intense shame, my own cock spurted simultaneously.

Carelessly, Lester untethered her wrists from her ankles but made no move further. Lynne looked up at him. "Yes, Sir?" she queried.

"I want you to picture him, and I want you to touch yourself thinking of him." When she looked up dully, he snapped, "Masturbate, slut! Orgasm to visions of him! Show me that you are cured!"

Her right hand slid down her body to her pussy. Eyes half closed, she teased her lips open, sliding two fingers into her streaming cunt. My own eyes rapt, I could not look away from the image of Lynne, still in bondage, minutely focused on self-pleasure.

Soft mewling purrs soothed and inflamed me. I could simply not look away. As her moans became shrieks and she orgasmed, I realized, as she did on-screen, that in following Lester's orders, Lynne proved she wasn't "cured."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she whispered. Screaming and crying had shredded her voice; whispering was all she seemed to be capable of.

Two yelps (whispered ones) accompanied his removal of the nipple clamps. He removed the remaining restraints and turned away, calling over his shoulder as an afterthought, "You are worse than useless. I am releasing you from my protection as my submissive." The video came to an abrupt end as a hopeless-eyed Lynne began to cry.

A rattling at my door dragged me out of my stupor with enough momentum to slam my laptop shut and right my clothes.

In walked Lynne, flustered and out of breath. "I wonder," her melodious tones and professional appearance a marked contrast to the Lynne in the vids of the last several minutes, "if you are ready for lunch now, Mr. Williams?"

I took a few seconds to calm down enough to speak evenly, even cordially. "Of course. Let's go."

To be continued...