Get In Position

While she was kneeling on her aching bare knees, shivering in the cold, cluttered basement, she recalled the brief telephone conversation with her Master.

“Get in position.” Master instructed.

After having been trained by him as his slave for months now, she knew what get in position meant all too well. She was to remove all clothing. Kneel on her knees right behind the six by six wooden, load-bearing basement beam. Place the wide, black leather ringed collar snuggly around her neck and hook the heavy leash onto the front ring of the collar. Stuff the large, bright red ball gag into her mouth and attach it securely. Tighten the bull nose nipple clamps on one nipple, wrap the chain around the beam, and clasp the other side onto the other nipple. Finally, she was to conceal her eyes with the black blindfold.

It normally took Master forty-five minutes from his phone call to pull up in the driveway and he required her to be “in position” for thirty minutes before his arrival. She performed her duties with the concentration of a surgeon, making sure everything was just so for him.

Master also required that his other implements be lined up neatly on the table to her left. The thin white rope, duct tape, red and blue ping pong paddle, leather whip, floggers, dildos, and lube were all in line with the metal storage case full of miscellaneous items including wooden clothespins. She was in charge of clean up and maintenance of all tools and took pride in her assigned duty.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. Was that someone knocking? Was someone watching me? Did I feel something just brush up against my leg? Did I hear a car door? Oh my knees are hurting, she thought to herself, as she idly swipes at the nonexistent thing tickling her leg, the rough concrete floor getting harder and harder as each minute dragged by.

Her nipples are aching, dreading the moment he removes the biting clamps and the blood rushes back into swelling sensitive skin on her breasts. Her entire body is beginning to shake with the cold, the dread, the excitement, and the pain. She keeps leaning her forehead against the beam trying to get her bearings straight, the blackness of the blindfold making her seem off balance, making her not trust her judgment, her sense of sight having been removed. She jumps with the bark of a distant dog, the mutt sounded as if it was right beside her, the restrictive chains jingling in the night. She could hear her own broken pants as a neighboring car nears the dark quiet house, her ears straining to hear the acceleration of Master’s car up the steep driveway. She relaxes when the humming car passes the house and remains on its journey.

Oh my God, she thought, her eyes rolling behind the blindfold, her head cocking to one side, letting out a short gasp. Am I crazy? Am I going to scream before he gets here, releasing tension in my own warped twisted mind? Her panicked thoughts rambled on, her palms sweating despite the cold temperature in the damp basement.

She realizes her pussy is aching, wet with desire, and her hips are moving in circles. How long have I been kneeling here? Hasn’t it been thirty minutes yet? What will he do to me once he arrives? Have I done everything he asked? She thinks to herself, longing for his arrival, as the minutes continue to drag on. She rolls her head from side to side, as much as the collar will allow, trying to relax and enjoying the feel of her long dark hair tickling the very top of her ass.

She mentally checks off items in her sick and confused mind, hoping she followed her Master’s rules, trying to pass the time away. She begins from the top and makes her way down. The blindfold, yes, the gag, yes, the collar, yes, the leash, and here she abruptly stops. OH MY GOD I FORGOT THE LEASH, she screams inside of her head, the beginnings of a low, crying whine emitting from her gag-stuffed mouth. Her brow furrows and her head jerks from side to side, her blindly glancing at nothing.

She is uncertain of what to do. I have to put the leash on but what if he arrives NOW and catches me getting back up or what if he is already in here watching me, she ponders her options as her body begins to shake uncontrollably.

She takes the chance and slowly removes the right side of the nipple clamps from her pulsing nipple and the shooting white, hot pain is almost unbearable. “Oh, oh, OH” she moans into the echoing basement, her voice deep and muffled from the gag in her mouth, air pressing through her clenched teeth and over the round ball as she draws in her first full breath. Will he know what I am doing? She wonders, as her face crumbles into a dry cry. She pulls the blindfold up past her forehead so she can see, blinks her glassy eyes not accustomed to the bright overhead lighting, nervously looks behind her and in all directions, achingly tries to stand, her knees ache so, holds on to the beam while her crumbling weak legs get used to the unexpected weight, until she finally stands up. Both of her legs crack and pop and she cannot fully straighten either one, the minutes of inactivity in an uncomfortable position had taken its toll.

She quickly limps over to the box of implements, fighting the cramp beginning in her middle left toe, most of the instruments lined up on the table. She digs through the clothespins in the storage case hurriedly, looking over at the closed basement door, stopping to listen for any sounds of his approach, and finds the leash on the bottom of the case. DAMN how could I have been so STUPID, she thinks, hoping he doesn’t burst in the door and catch her.

She pulls out the leash, each link of the chain grating over the side of the metal case and tries to attach it to the collar suffocatingly tight around her neck. Her fingers are numb and she cannot seem to make them work and in her haste she drops the leash to the cement floor. She cries out in frustration and panic and bends down to pick up the leash piled in a heap, and to her horror the free end of the nipple clamps still attached to her left nipple tangles with the chain of the leash. She is almost to her limit and yells out “NO” and wildly beats her hands into the empty air, surely looking like a child not getting its way. Why me? Why why why?

She simply has to fix this problem before Master gets here and he cannot know what happened to her. In a slow, calm manner she separates the nipple clamps from the leash. The black rubber tip almost pulled off in the process, a thought of that little plastic piece flying through the air and lodging in an inaccessible place makes her thankful for the little blessings. She takes a deep breath, looking skyward as if she is praying to a nonexistent God floating above her. She lunges toward her parked car’s side mirror to check her work. She finally finds the hook and makes her fingers move slowly until the leash is attached to the ring on the collar. She glances at her reflection in the mirror and tries to forget the unforgettable view of her scared face.

She runs back to the beam, a full speed sprint, and slams down on her bruised knees feeling the immediate pain, reattaches the nipple clamp to her right nipple around the beam, ignoring the stinging tears in her eyes, pulls the blindfold over her wide open eyes and waits for her Master, inadvertently holding her breath before letting the air out in short gasps.

Her heart is pounding out of her chest and she uses deep breathing techniques to slow her heart. What actually took just a couple of minutes to correct seemed like hours to her. The booming in her ears is deafening and her breasts bounce ever so slightly with the rushing pump of blood through her heart. Her gasps sound raspy and she is close to hyperventilating, Master surely knowing she broke the rules if he felt of her chest. She kneels very still and tries to silence her heart, having trouble taking slow, deep breaths.

HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN, her overworked mind screams.

She is sitting there trying to calm down when she hears her telephone ringing upstairs. Her heart immediately jump-starts again and she almost starts crying, literally almost a flat out bawling. Should she get BACK up to answer it? Is it Master? Is this a test? She worries to herself. The phone rings and rings and rings and she knows the thirty minutes have to be coming to an end. Finally the ringing stops and she stays put. She kneels there for hours it seems waiting, she is confident everything is fine, she hasn’t forgotten anything else, and he will be here soon to dole out his discipline.

She begins to think of his rock hard dick, his horrendous paddling but yet soft hands, his quiet way of tormenting her, wondering what he will do to her tonight. She flinches while thinking of the consuming paddle and starts to get wet and hot. She is breathing heavily and the pain endorphins are beginning to take over her, those wonderful little shots of hormones through her body. She moves her hands down to her already-wet pussy and starts feeling of herself, moving her fingers over her swollen, throbbing clit. She never hears the barely audible moan escaping from her lips and never realizes her tongue traces over the rubbery surface of the bulbous gag between her wet lips.

She slips in a finger and her head falls back placing pressure on her already aching nipples until she remembers to stay close to the beam, having only about an inch clearance for movement.

AHH this feels so good, she thinks, her finger sliding in and out of her wet hole, dreaming of her Master.

She is in a fantasy world when she hears her Master pull up in the driveway, the squeak of the door springs and the shutting of the car door. He will be so mad at me for pleasuring myself…or will he? She is nearing orgasm so she foolishly decides to continue fingering herself. She hears the basement side door opening and she looks in the general direction even though the blindfold did not allow her to see anything but blackness. Her finger is moving quickly and she can sense him pausing to watch, closing the door, hears the rattling of the locks, and he walks over to her and rubs her ass-length hair fondly, stroking the thick brown strands at the back of her neck, grabbing handfuls of the long tendrils and caressing. She lays her head alongside his leg, much like a trained dog does to their master, rubbing her cheeks against the roughness of his jeans, her devotion to him obvious to both, nuzzling his knee.

Her pistoning finger is crudely slapped away from her oozing cunt and her head is yanked back by his hand full of hair, held on close to her scalp, some of the strands of hair being pulled out of her head by the roots, her face parallel to the rafters. The movement eats up that one-inch clearance around the beam and her nipples stretch away from her body, the clamps unyielding, and the pain slicing through her soul.

“STAND UP,” he barks, his lips brushing against her left ear.

She rose quickly, the chain from the clamps catching on the splintery wooden beam, her not caring and ripping it over the rough edge, her abiding by her owner’s wishes. She stands there on crippled legs and aching muscles, hearing the leash chain unfold its links and settling between her thighs, the end swinging left and right.

She clasps her hands behind her at the curve of her lower back and waits. She can sense his slow movement around her, reviewing her work. Master then tightens the left nipple clamp, her momentarily swinging backwards with her head falling back and immediately straightens again, a sudden moment of nausea overcomes her and she wills herself to get past it. He also tightens the right clamp and chill bumps pop out all over her body, that nipple already very sore from her earlier shenanigans. She hears a low “mmm” coming from him, he noticed her prickling reaction, and almost smiles, her checking herself, he would not like a cocky slave. He slips his finger between the collar and her neck, checking for tightness. Then he is at her neck with both hands, undoing the buckle-type restraint, and he cinches the collar tighter, to the next hole in the belt. Her neck becomes straighter with the binding, and her throat has a feeling of closing up, the collar almost completely asphyxiating her, as she struggles to calm down and train her body to take shallow breaths.

She hears his footsteps moving away in the direction of the table then coming back to the beam, her sense of hearing magnified, probably because her sense of sight had been removed for so long. She feels the swish of wind his movements had stirred up in the air on her naked body, and smells his manliness, that raw earthy smell, mixed with oily fumes from the garage.

She could hear the zinging of the ping pong paddle before she felt it, could imagine his upturned arm striking down on her, making a full arc from high to low, as he connected to her bare ass, the sound reminding her of a golf club cutting through the air.

“UMPH,” the sound came out of her overly stuffed mouth naturally, the force of the blow knocking it out of her. Drool spews out from around the gag and a string of spit lands on her chin. Her knees buckle and her hands grab onto the beam for support, her body swaying from the sudden pain, bubbles of saliva escaping from around the gag with each gasp. Before she could recover from the first blow another smack fell on the same side, her left cheek stinging from the two blows.

She moved her hands to her ass, in an attempt to rub the sore spot and cover up the sensitive buttocks area before another paddling could fall upon it, a natural reaction but also a big mistake. Master lets out a growl, audibly angry, and moves to get the handcuffs. He places them roughly and tightly over her wrists at the small of her back and yanks her tethered wrists upward until her arms are screaming with pain.

Master strikes her, again in the same spot, and the paddle gives off a loud “pow”, the sound reverberating through the hollow basement, him still holding her hands up in an unnatural position, the cuffs cutting into her wrists, bruising that would last at least a week. Does he somehow know I forgot the leash? How could he possibly know? Why is he hitting so hard?

Pow, pow, pow, pow, goes the paddle, him thankfully changing sides, and paddling both sides now right after the other, not giving her time to even breathe in between strikes.

POW! The eighth blow, the hardest yet, flattens her red ass and makes ripples across the cheeks from the momentum of the force, and she panics from the immense pain, her fight and flee reflex taking over, and without thinking pulls away from the beam, to try something, anything, to get him to stop, inadvertently kicking her leg towards him, fighting his restraint on her arms. That inch clearance around the beam is yet again taken up quickly and her nipples are stretched out, further and further until the right clamp pops off of her already throbbing nipple, the chain swinging around to the left side of the beam with centrifugal force and lands, dangling from her left breast.

The pain in her nipple is unbearable, the pain in her ass temporarily forgotten, and her guttural short scream is cut off by her own feelings of near fainting, tears spill out from her eyes after cinching them shut, he lets go of her hands, and she falls to her knees, making absolutely no sound and barely breathing. Fireworks are dancing in her head and she cannot hear or think, cannot feel or cry, as she floats with the endorphins coursing in her body, “zoning out” as she liked to call it, not wanting the wave to stop. Riding that wonderful, glorious, addictive wave. She was smiling and nodding her head yes as each pounding from the paddle struck her reddened ass, feeling like a broken horse but yet in the middle of intense pleasure, her back arching more and more to allow easy access for her Master, her left cheek pressed against the cool floor.

The next conscious thought she has is of his dildo, that big life-like version with the ripples along its length, being pumped inside of her moist cunt. Short quick pumps, striking her clit and her G-spot simultaneously, pump-pump-pump-pump, chills coursing through her trembling body, her hips moving against the rubbery rod. As drool drips out of one side of her mouth, she realizes he doesn’t know…he doesn’t know about the leash. She would not be pleasured for weeks if he knew about the leash, and she feels the contractions of the first orgasm of the night, her knowing the evening had just begun, pump-pump-pump, quicker now, and the sounds from her throat starting as a low hum to a loud scream as the full-body orgasm spasmed her entire frame.

Feeling quite guilty from being pleasured, she realizes she will probably confess, she will tell him about the leash.

She has to.

Have mercy.