by John Savage
Melinda faces a lifetime of ropes, handcuffs and whips, but for her it is a promising career as a submissive at The Castle, a professional house of domination and submission where men and women pay for the privilege of treating her as the submissive she really is. But she is kidnapped and sentenced to torture by a man who thinks she is a dominatrix who corrupted his son. Still she faces a lifetime of ropes, handcuffs and whips, not as a paid professional but as a true slave, owned and abused by a sadistic Master. And then it becomes worse.
For the first time, he spoke, “Turn around and bend over.”
I swallowed hard and considered refusing. But if I had learned anything from Diane and The Castle, it was that a tied and chained girl should not refuse her captor anything. I slowly turned and bent forward until my head was against the wall. My bottom, which I was sure was the target, was pointed towards him and exposed.
The first stroke, when it came, was what I had expected: terrible. This man was strong and he had swung the crop with his full strength. It crashed across my bottom and I cried out as loudly as I could with the inflatable gag in my mouth.
I jerked upright and snubbed my neck on the chain. “Bend back down,” he said quietly. I sucked in air through my nose and looked pleadingly at him. I whined pitifully. He shook his head and gestured towards the bench with his riding crop. I whined some more and bent until I was back in position. He took his time and warmed up my bottom quite well. I could not see it, but I was sure that every square inch of it was bruised and inflamed. Each time the crop lashed my bare flesh, I jerked and cried out. Soon tears of pain were racing down my cheeks to fall upon the wooden bench in large, dark stains.
I did not count how many strokes I got. I am not sure he did, either. Suffice it to say that is was a good whipping and my bottom burned something terrible.
Before I realized the whipping was over, his hands were on my shoulder, urging me into an upright position. Then his fingers were turning a tiny screw on the valve and my inflatable gag was deflating. I cried as my jaw closed, for moving muscles that have been held strained until they ache can be a pain in itself. He pulled the rubber balloon from my mouth and tossed it towards the trunk. From his pocket he took a small rubber bulb with a short tube attached and tossed that after the gag. I figured that was the pump.
“Why?” I managed after a few seconds of working my jaw.
“Because…” For a while I thought that was all he was going to say, and remembered my Mother constantly telling me that “because” was not an answer. But he continued, “Of what you did to my son.”
“You son?” I was puzzled and sure it showed in my voice.
“You ruined the boy,” he said. “Messed up his mind. He’s not what he should be now.”
This man seemed to be referring to something I was unaware of. “I don’t know your boy,” I said, then added, “Do I?”
“Of course you know him. He visited you at that place entirely too many times.”
“The Castle?” I ventured.
“The Castle,” he confirmed. “You are responsible for ruining my son, and I’m going to make you pay for that. You’ll deserve every bit of punishment you get.”
“Hey, wait a minute! I didn’t ruin anybody’s boy! I just work there.”
His face turned hard. “I don’t mind kinky sex,” he said carefully. “That’s okay. But when done properly. You perverted my boy into a wimp, a milksop who worships the ground you walk on. That’s not right for a man to do. You ruined him.”
Where I come from, it is the girl whose father complains about her being ruined, and that always means that she is not a virgin any longer and a shotgun wedding is coming soon. But I did not think this man was saying that I took his son’s virginity.
“I didn’t do anything,” I protested. “I’ve never turned any boy into a wimp. I don’t even know how.”
He snorted, and I knew I was not doing this right. “Please, I don’t know what’s happening, but I think you’ve got the wrong girl. It’s true I work at The Castle, but I only started there a month ago. And I work as a submissive. If anybody gets ruined, it’s me and my bottom.”
“Liar,” he said simply. “You know that you’re caught now, and you’ll say anything to get out of the punishment you deserve.”
“No, I won’t! I mean, I don’t deserve any punishment. That’s all I get all day long at The Castle anyway. Mister, you got the wrong girl.”
“My name is Matt. You can call me Master Matt. Might as well get off on the right foot. You are my captive, and I’ll do with you as I wish. And I wish to punish you for what you did to my son.”
“Please, I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong girl!”
“My son, when he was enthusiastic about The Castle, described you and told me your name. I’ve got the right girl, all right, Mistress Monique of the long shiny black hair and deep green eyes.”
“But you’ve got the wrong girl!” I continued the protest. “Mistress Monique does have long black hair, and her eyes are green, like mine, but I’m not her! You’ve made a mistake.”
“Do you take me for a fool? You’ve tasted a tiny part of the pain you’ll get here, and you’ll say anything to escape from it.”
“My name is Melinda Crosby. You can check my purse.”
“That might be your real name, but you girls always use a different name when you’re working at a place like that.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. Samantha said it was standard practice to use a different name. I went by the name of Gwendoline at The Castle. Samantha told me that it was the name of a famous submissive.
I could see that arguing with this man was getting me no place fast. Perhaps it would be best to let him whip my ass and be over with this punishment for ruining his boy. “How long is this punishment to last?” I asked timidly.
He laughed. “My boy has been ruined for life. I figure that punishing you for the rest of your life would be fitting.”