Theladystouch First Level 3 Assignment

[theladystouch]

I've mulled your suggestions over, and here is my second try. I'm going to go find a nice red apple for the teacher, now.


“Here he is,” one of my captors reported, shoving me forward. I collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. My back and ass throbbed from their brutal beating, blood smearing the concrete where I fell.

A pair of red high heels stopped a few inches from my face. I didn’t glance up. I knew what I would find: a pair of triumphant green eyes gazing down at my torn and naked body.

“Michael, I’m so glad you decided to join us after all,” she purred. “It seems you are having difficulty accepting your new status. No matter. I have arranged a reminder for you.”

A cold, sinking feeling hit my gut. My second escape attempt had failed. I knew that anything she had planned for me would be humiliating and painful. Known as “The Boss Lady” to her face and “The Bitch” behind her back, she was vicious and creative. This was not going to be fun.

The red heels turned and moved away from me, toward the center of the basement. “Bring him,” she ordered.

The two big bruisers who had captured and caned me each grabbed an arm and dragged me across the floor. Finally looking up, I saw The Bitch standing next to a hospital gurney. She was twirling a lock of her long red hair around one finger, tapping her toe impatiently.

“On his back, just at the edge of the gurney.”

My handlers flung me onto the foot of the gurney on my back. After three days on the run, without food and with little rest, I hadn't the energy to resist.

The rough, impersonal hands held me while The Bitch secured my wrists to the top bars of the side rails, stretching my arms tautly above my head. They forced my legs apart, knees bent and raised toward my chest, while she secured my ankles and knees to the rails. The goons let go of me, stepped back and stood, silently watching. The Bitch completed her task by fastening and tightening a couple of two-inch-wide webbed straps: one cutting across my throat and outstretched arms, the other low across my abdomen and pelvic bones. In pain, with my limbs splayed wide and tied down, I felt more exposed and helpless than at any other time in my life.

“Ah, Michael, I see I now have your attention,” she drawled, standing at the foot of the gurney, towering over my vulnerable form.

My heart was pounding in my chest, my breaths ragged, this time from fear.

The Bitch raked her long red nails across my ribs, drawing blood. Then she attacked my nipples. She pulled, twisted, and pinched them. I was tied down so tightly I could barely flinch and couldn’t escape her hard fingers at all. As I groaned in pain, her eyes narrowed and she smiled.

I stared back at her defiantly. I imagined her trussed like a Christmas turkey, served up on a silver platter, an apple forced between her crimson lips. Oh, how I’d like to make that fantasy come true!

She viciously twisted my nipples again and I winced. “Good boy,” she crooned. “I want you to hurt. I want you to remember this.”

My arms jerked reflexively, trying to protect the poor, tortured flesh. The throbbing of my abraded wrists and back barely registered in comparison. She tormented my nipples until I was reduced to thrashing my head back and forth, whimpering. Finally, helpless and in torment, I was forced to beg: I just couldn’t take any more.

“P-p-please, Boss L-lady,” I gasped brokenly. “I’ll behave. I’ll obey. I’ll do whatever you want.” Exhausted and weak, I had no reserves to fight off the pain. I would have promised The Bitch anything to end the ordeal.

She cupped my cheek in her soft hand, staring into my eyes. “I know you will. When I’m through with you, Michael, you will beg me to allow you to serve me. I will make you a model slave…once I’ve had my fun.” Her lips curved into a cruel smile. She was enjoying herself.

I groaned, tears leaking from my eyes in despair. I tried to turn away from her, tried to hide my pain and fear—my weakness. She slapped me hard on the cheek, once again forcing my gaze to meet hers.

The Bitch reached for something on the metal tray one of her goons was now holding. She held up and admired an odd medical clamp with small holes in the tips. Before I could form a question, she attached the forceps to my right nipple. I screamed, arching my back off the gurney. It felt like she had just amputated that tender bit of flesh. Her look of concentration never wavered as her hands continued to move against me.

The agony paled, however, when a bolt of fire suddenly blossomed in my chest. She wiped a gauze pad across the area and drew it away, bloody. My stomach flip-flopped. The Bitch had pierced my nipple! Outrage warred with revulsion as I absorbed the reality of my mutilation.

“No! Please, no,” I begged.

Ignoring my anguished cries, she turned her attention to my left nipple. I writhed against my restraints, bringing my full strength to bear, futilely trying to break free. Tears streaming down my face, I choked and swallowed a sob as she clamped my left nipple.

Knowing what to expect made it worse. She pierced that nipple with the same calm concentration.

Next, to my amazement, she began stroking my cock. In spite of the pain, I responded to her immediately.

“You see, Michael, how obedient you can be?” she taunted.

Humiliated, I felt my cheeks heat. Lowering my gaze, I gritted my teeth, willing my penis to wilt. It didn’t. I lay bound, exposed, cock rampant, and totally under her control.

Reaching again for the tray, The Bitch picked up another pair of forceps. Locked into its jaws was a large, curved needle. Oh, God, I thought in desperation.

As the needle neared my erect cock, I passed out.

All rights reserved.  theladystouch 2008