I kind of like the result. Hopefully, so will you.
Silent Witness
I could hear the doorbell, and
imagined what was going on. He’s probably standing out there with that big
goofy grin on his face, excited about the scene he thinks he’s about to get. I’m
sure he’s ready for a bit of pain, ready for some bondage, for some nice
leather play. But he has no idea what he’s really in for.
The sound of her heels should be
warning enough. I’ve heard her walking around all night, ever since the snick
of the padlock on my hood cut off any hope I might have of actually looking at
her in those beautiful boots, in those tight leather pants, in those elbow
length fingerless gloves, in that corset that gives her such perfect shape.
Ever since then, I’ve heard her walking around, moving things about, setting up
for when he finally arrived. She’s walked casually, her heels clicking on the
floor with a gentle rhythm as she moved from one room to another.
But when the bell rang, the sound
changed. The pace, the cadence, took on a whole new tone. I heard the slow and
sensual click of each step, the purposeful stalking pace as she moved towards
the door. I could almost hear the smile I knew was plastered on her lips, a
smile that will probably make his blood run cold when he sees it. I hear the
soft tap-tap of the riding crop against her leg as she walks, each step
deliberate, each little slap a taunt. I would probably jump at the sound, if I
could move that much.
I hear the door creak open; somehow,
I feel like she made it creak just for me. He starts to say hello. Maybe he
didn’t see the smile. Maybe he just didn’t understand it. Whatever the case, he
doesn’t get the word all the way out. I hear the first half of the first
syllable, then the loud smacking sound of her palm across his face.
“Speak when spoken to,” she says,
her words dripping icicles.
“Yes Mi-“ his voice is cut off again
with an unmistakable thudding sound. There is a twinge of sympathy pain between
my legs as I hear the sound of his feet coming back to the ground, of his knees
hitting the floor, of him flopping on his side, probably curled up in fetal
position. I know he didn’t feel the impact on the floor. He might have nasty
bruises tomorrow, but he won’t remember getting them. All he’ll remember is
that lance of pain, that electric burst of agony as her knee tried to reach up
through his cock and balls and into his stomach. I’ve seen her hit like that
before. I’ve felt her hit like that before. I’m still a bit sore, and still
half convinced she was trying to knee me in the chin, and just decided to take
the scenic route through my body to get there.
“When spoken to,” she says again,
her voice quiet but harder than diamond. “Take off your clothes before I decide
to cut them off you.”
There’s the sound of shuffling, then
I hear a rattle of chain. Her boots tap on the floor, slowly beating out a
rhythm of erotic terror as she half drags him into the room. I hear him choke
as the collar tightens around his neck. The noise gets louder and louder as
they come close. When I hear a door close, I know that we’re now all in the
same room.
I can almost feel his eyes on me,
and I know he wants to ask about me. He wants to know what I’m doing there, if
I’m going to play a part in what’s about to happen. He wants to ask so badly.
For his sake, I hope he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut. She’s not in the
mood for questions. She’s not in the mood for the slightest hint of
disobedience.
There’s another sound of a hand
against flesh, then of leather thudding into flesh. I hear the sound of his
body hitting the floor, then another sharp kick from her that jerks a gasp out
of him. I bite back my own whimper, not sure I could handle her displeasure at
this point.
“When spoken to,” she says again.
Her voice is like slate. I don’t hear the next part, but I know what she was
planning. Her hand is probably laced through his hair as she yanks him across
the room and throws him down on the little table she had me set up earlier. I
hear the bonds click shut and idly wonder if he is face up or down. Then I hear
the sound of chain ratcheting and the light tapping of her crop, and the gasp
of pain that comes unbidden from his mouth tells me exactly how he’s
positioned.
She’s standing over him now, I know.
His ankles are attached to a bar over his head, his chest strapped to the table
along with his arms. He’s looking up at her, and if there isn’t fear on his
face yet then he clearly has no idea what’s happening. She’s slapping at the
erection I’m sure is there. The sound of ripping Velcro tells me that she is
looping around his balls, pulling them tight and separate, available for her to
abuse as casually as she wants to. A few more little slaps from the crop tells
me that he now knows just how casual her torture can be.
“Tonight is not going to end well
for you,” she says. “Especially if you didn’t follow my instructions. Did you
follow them?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I
hear the crop slice through the air, the stinging impact, and hear his screech
of pain.
“I asked you a question, pig.”
“Y-yes mistress.”
“You better have,” she says. “Because
if it’s not completely clean in there, I’m going to fuck your face afterwards,
and you’re going to clean my dildo with your whore mouth. Actually,” she takes
a breath like she’s considering, but I’m not fooled. “I think I’m going to do
that anyway. So you’d better hope that you cleaned yourself out well enough.”
“Yes mistress.”
There’s a thud and a cough of pain
as she hits him again. “I didn’t tell you speak,” she says. “When will you
learn?”
For his sake, I hope he doesn’t
answer. Then again, I’m not sure it matters. She’s going to keep beating him,
whether he answers or not. If he says something, she’ll say he’s being a smart
ass. And if he stays silent—
“I asked you a question,” she says,
her voice venomous. I hear the rattle of chain and the choking sound as she
pulls tight on the collar around his neck. At least she isn’t using the barbed
one; that would already have pierced his skin. He doesn’t have thick fur like a
dog. Of course, that means the choking is more effective too.
She holds it tight, cutting off his
air while her crop cuts through the air with a mighty and terrifying swoosh,
cracking hard against his ass again and again and again. When she finally
stops, maybe ten lashes later, his gasp of air and his sob of pain are so
intense that I can almost feel them.
“Do you like my decoration?” she
asks. I know she means me. “He can hear everything. If you do a bad job, he’s
going to take your place. This is his audition. And yours. Be a good little
pig, or I’m going to toss you out like old garbage.” She swats his ass open
handed, which I’m sure sends new lines of pain where she used the crop like a
cane. “Worthless trash. That’s what you are, aren’t you pig?”
“Yes mistress.”
“Say it.”
“I’m worthless trash.”
The last word comes out as a gasp,
and I can imagine what she’s doing. I wonder if he enjoys the feel of the
leather against his balls, or if his focus is too taken up by the pain as she
squeezes. “Did you really just refer to yourself as I?” she asks. “Do you think
you’re worthy of being considered a person?”
“N-no mistress.” His voice is
strained, like he’s trying to push a car out of the mud while he speaks.
“Then say it again, pig.”
“This pig,” he swallows hard
enough for me to hear him. I can smell the sweat that has broken out all over
his body, even over the leather. “Is worthless trash.”
“Good,” she says, and I can hear the
relief when she lets him go. The gasps of air get cut off a few seconds later
as she walks around the table and, I’m sure, squats right over his face. I hear
the zipper sliding down and know that her pussy is now fully available to his
tongue. And if he slices his tongue on the metal of the zipper? That’s the
price he pays. That’s what she told me, anyway.
I don’t know how long she leaves him
there, or if she lets him breathe. I just hear her make sounds of pleasure for
a while. Not enough to put her over the edge, but enough to bring her close to
it. Then she stops, takes a few breaths, and then starts again. And again.
She keeps doing it until he moans,
until he makes the slightest sound, the tiniest hint that he’s enjoying
himself. Then I hear him grunt as, I assume, she twists his nipples hard enough
to almost pull them off his body. He’s soon whimpering in pain, just barely on
this side of sobbing.
“You weren’t supposed to enjoy that,”
she says. “Now I feel all dirty. I need to get clean. Sterile.”
Oh, I know what’s coming.
“It’s your fault, you know,” she
says. “You’re the one that made it dirty. Unclean. I suppose I’ll have to
sterilize you too. Get your mouth nice and sterile. Yes, that’s a good idea.” I
hear her adjust herself, probably pulling the sides of her leather pants away
from her pussy, just to keep them clean. Then I hear the sound, a light trickle
at first, then a long stream. “Swallow it,” she says, and I hear him gulping down
as much as he can. He doesn’t get it all, though. I can hear it splash against his
face, and the smell of it tells lingers long after I hear her walk across the
room and start strapping on her harness.
“You’re doing very well,” she says.
I’m not entirely sure who she’s talking to. I assume it’s him, but I hope it’s
me. I haven’t made a peep. I could just be a statue, swaying in the wind. Just
a mindless piece of equipment, an object instead of a person.
Still, I think she means him.
She takes a few steps closer. “Now
that your mouth is all clean and sterile, we’ll see if your ass is just as
clean.” There’s no preamble, no gentleness to it. She just pounds her way in,
and I hear him gasp in surprise and a little bit of pleasure.
“I hope you can hold out,” She says.
“Because I’m going to keep going until one of us cums. I’m guessing it’ll be
you.” I hear him grunt as she starts moving in and out. “Which is good. You’ll
cum, and you’ll spurt your filth all over yourself. That’s why I have you like
this. Open your mouth, pig. You really should catch as much of this as
possible.
“And keep it open. Remember, you
have to clean it off when I finish.”
She laughs.
“Oh, I hope you’re ready for this.”
Another pound, a moan from him, and
another laugh from her.
“Actually,” she says, “I don’t care
if you are or not.”
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