 |
|||
|
|
Prologue
I'll never forget that Saturday night. Jerry and I were at Leo's warehouse.
Leo's an importer of sex toys. Not just the plain vanilla stuff, but real kinky stuff
too – if you want to get a dildo with electrodes built-in so you can light someone up,
Leo's your guy. Compared to some of his wares, that's pretty tame.
As a promotional gimmick he has shows practically every weekend in an unused
section of his warehouse – he calls them 'product demonstrations' – where the
attendees are encouraged to try his products on a live 'model.'
Leo's 'models' are co-eds that he recruits from the local University. He somehow
persuades them to strip naked and then allow themselves to be tied up so they are
helpless to prevent dozens of perfect strangers from assaulting them with dildoes,
vibrators, and other toys, some pleasurable, some not.
We're regulars at Leo's on Saturdays – we demonstrate the heavier-duty whips
on the naked 'model.' Not every Saturday – our schedules don't permit that – but at
least once a month.
Leo's instructions to us are always the same: we're to deal that night's model a
metered amount of pain with a minimum of physical damage – they're college
students with classes on Monday, after all. In a few minutes, Leo's guests are
entertained by watching some naked girl, suspended in mid-air by her wrists, her
legs lashed wide apart, writhe to the rhythm of our whips while shrieking at the
top of her lungs. Later, some would buy the demoed products, presumably taking
them back to their basement dungeons to play with their kinky lovers.
It's just a job. I don't 'get off' on whipping anyone, much less defenseless
women. Really, I don't. In fact, it's pretty revolting. As far as I'm concerned men
who batter women are cowards and there's a special level in Hell reserved for the
men who abuse women for fun. Call me old-fashioned, but the bigger the man, the
greater his responsibility to defend the weak, which includes women as there are
few women who can single-handedly defend themselves from a fit man. It's just a
job, and I'm just a mercenary.
But this situation isn't quite so simple. First – and this will sound crazy – but the
girls at Leo's signed up for it. They know what's going on and they not only strip
and get up on that stage anyway, but most come back again and again. Second, I
don't think I have to tell you that my tools can do a lot of damage. I don't even want
to think about letting a roomful of Leo's yahoo clients get their hands on one of
these whips to use on some poor girl with practically no restraint. A few of Leo's
attendees are almost good enough to be Pros, but the rest... Man, they'd cheer a
sack of potatoes getting flogged if it'd writhe and shriek and bleed enough. It'd be
damned irresponsible to let them anywhere near my tools. Like giving a loaded .45
to a toddler. They either don't have the sense to know what they're doing (or when
to stop) or they simply don't care. Either way the lucky girls whose skin wasn't
flailed away completely would be scarred for life instead, and I mean that literally
as well as psychologically. You might think I'm crazy to say this or that I'm
rationalizing my sins (and who knows – maybe I am), but those girls would get
flogged anyway – the only question is “who's going to do the deed?” – so in a very
real sense Jerry and I are actually doing them a favor.
Most of the time the girls are already naked and secured in position when we
arrive, but sometimes Leo lets them watch us arrive, and afterward leads them
over to where they're secured. They know exactly what's coming next, and not one
has ever bolted.
But there was one girl...
We don't know her name (or the names of any of the others for that matter), but
even with that hood over her head, we always knew it was her. I'd seen that body
more times than I could remember offhand. Maybe thirty times … maybe more …
who knows? … often enough that I recognized the body even though I'd never seen
the face or knew the name that went with it. Jerry and I called her “The Bunny”
because she was so tough; she kept going, and going, just like the fuzzy little
battery-powered toy in the TV commercials.
Our Bunny is almost intimidating when she isn't already secured when we
arrive. She gets off her pad in the corner of the platform, casually strides to the
center, then stands there, boldly facing us, with her hands on her hips, her feet
planted shoulder wide, silently daring us to do our worst. Leo has to drag her away
so we can set up! Her defiance continues all the way through our set. All the others
almost immediately start crying, then screaming, which fades to constant sobbing
towards the end. Not our Bunny. She grunts mostly, although sometimes we can
get her to hiss.
This particular Saturday evening we arrived and saw our Bunny get up and start
walking towards us. I glanced around, but I didn't see Leo. Terri neither. She
passed her usual mark and kept shortening the distance. We've never actually been
confronted by any of Leo's girls, not even our Bunny, so we had no idea what to do.
I dropped my satchel, in case I needed both hands to defend myself. I wasn't
prepared for what happened next. It was the surprise of my life.
She stopped her advance, only about two yards in front of me. “Cecil!” she said
loudly, addressing me directly.
We don't use our real names at Leo's – we're known there as Cecil and Harvey.
I'm 'Cecil' and Jerry's 'Harvey.'
Even so, I was taken aback.
“Kick it over here!” She was pointing to my bag.
I guess I didn't move fast enough. She shoved me aside like I was a girl (and I've
got to have at least 100 pounds on her), dropped in front of my satchel, and, sitting
on her heels, rifled through it. She froze and started breathing through her mouth.
She slowly pulled one of my collection out. At first she just looked at it and
trembled. It was 'The Tickler.' It has frayed ends – fingers – that tear the skin in
addition to being intensely painful. I don't even know why it was in there. I'd never
used it at Leo's. She got up, “Here!” and threw it at me.
“I can't use this on you – it's against the rules... It'll rip you to shreds and I'm
not allowed to really hurt any of you...”
I looked around. Leo and Terri were still nowhere to be seen.
“Fuck the rules! Just do it!” She pointed to Jerry. “You too, Harvey!”
I crouched down and put my hands on my knees so my face was more level with
hers. Through the perforations in the leather, I could see her eyes. “Not until you
tell me why.”
She blinked. I could see her eyes were teary. Her mouth quivered. She grabbed
the lapels of my leather jacket and pulled me closer. “You're the only ones I know
who can help me. I need you to make the pain go away.” The tone of her voice had
changed as if she was on the verge of crying. She was shaking. “Please!”
I held up the Tickler's business end. “This doesn't make pain go away...”
She glanced at the instrument in my hand and held back a sob. “Oh, I can
handle that pain.” Her voice was steady and I believed her. “But this...” She put her
hands over her heart and started to cry. “Cecil...” She looked back up at me. “...he
ripped it out. Make me forget.” She fell to her knees. “Help me feel something
again. Just do it. Please!”
I looked at the tip of the whip she'd selected. I knew what it could do to a man
and I didn't want to be the one to do it to a twenty-something young girl. Not to
that body. Not to her. I looked down; she was kneeling, her arms wrapped around
my knees, crying. I thought of the stories I'd heard of girls who cut themselves with
razor blades and knives, just to feel something. I sighed. Maybe this is better. At
least I'd control how much damage was done...
“OK,” I said, reluctantly.
I helped her up and saw a glimmer of a smile. She turned and walked away.
I wished I knew who drove her to this.
She stood unrestrained (another first) between Jerry and me. Feet well apart,
hands on her head, facing me. Did I mention how stunning her body was? Damn,
she was gorgeous! Anyway, Jerry hit her first. She winced, hissing through her
teeth as she inhaled, rotated her hips away from the assault and instinctively
dropped her hands. “Owww.” A few seconds later, her former posture restored, he
hit her again, and she hissed and rotated again, this time the other way. Then she
stood up straight and dropped her hands to her hips. She looked at me, defiantly.
“What's the matter, Cecil? I thought 'Real Men' like you got off on torturing
women... Or do you need someone to tie me up first?”
The audience gasped. She had everyone's complete attention. The defenseless
naked girl had just publicly emasculated the big brute threatening her with a whip
(me). I'd had second thoughts, but now I was pissed. I caught myself before I
reacted without thinking. “I told you I don't want to do this.”
“Me neither, but here I am. Get on with it! You promised!”
I paused. Yeah, I promised, but that didn't make it any easier. Or right. I took a
breath and moved a couple of steps closer. “OK, I'll do it, but only as long as you're
standing, OK?”
She straightened up and put her hands back on her head. “Deal!”
I really didn't want to do this. I stepped back and loosed 'The Tickler.'
Was she smiling?
Like I said before, she'd been under my lash dozens of times before, but I think
that this night she let her guard down for the first time as if she actually wanted to
feel every bit of it. She wanted the pain I dealt her, the physical pain that she could
manage, to wash over her and fill her up until there was no room left for the
emotional pain she didn't want to bear. Well, that's my theory. I'd never heard any
of Leo's girls let loose such chilling screams before that night. It was as if she was
setting a demon free. An exorcism.
In time she was weeping non-stop, standing unsteadily with her legs spread,
knees bent, and leaning forward at the waist with the tips of her fingers barely
touching her head, not at the top like she did at first, but closer to just above her
ears. Each strike caused her to jolt and briefly emit a shriek that became less and
less piercing as the event wore on. Sometimes a knee would buckle and she'd
stagger to keep on her feet. She'd resume crying and raise her hands back up. It
took more and more effort for her to keep standing, you could see, but she did it.
She was tiring and her cries became less and less shrill.
Her body glistened bright red where it wasn't already turning a deep purple.
Sometimes I could make out the fine red mist that floated in the air with the latest
'tickle.' Yet she remained on her feet. The crowd fell silent as they watched the
savage spectacle, a battle of determination between a defenseless naked girl
standing defiantly alone against two men armed with whips, a battle everyone
knew she would lose...
She didn't wobble or sag – her legs just suddenly gave out. She fell to one knee
just as my last strike arrived. I missed her thigh as intended and caught her lower
back instead. She was too exhausted to make a peep. An instant later she dropped
the other knee, then fell forward to all fours, still crying. I watched her chest heave
with each heavy breath. I heard her bawl. I was glad it was over. I coiled my whip
and tossed it in my bag. Never used it since.
Leo and Terri materialized and helped her up. Where the hell did they come
from? With their support she was able to get back up and walk; they came my way.
She looked up to me wearing a crooked smile. Weakly grabbing my lapels, she
tried to pull me down to her. She didn't have the strength, so I bent down to her.
She kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks.” I could see her eyes sparkle from behind
the mask. She was actually smiling! It was unbelievable! Then her expression
transformed to one of laser-focused determination “Later!” she said as she turned
and left a trail of crimson footprints on her way to Leo's office.
Leo told me later that Terri stripped to her panties (yet another first) and joined
her in the shower where she helped clean her up. They wrapped her in a plush
bathrobe and shuttled her off to one of Leo's 'discrete' (Mob) doctor acquaintances
to get her patched up.
Outside, as we left, Jerry could barely contain himself. “Mike! We did it! We
finally broke her!” He was ready to bust open a six-pack and party.
“No, we didn't. She was already broken.”
We hit her when she was already down. There was nothing to celebrate.
The next time I saw her was about a month, maybe a month-and-a-half later, at
Leo's (where else?). She was suspended in mid-air, hanging by her wrists, her legs
secured wide apart. Naked, of course. I walked up and examined her body and was
surprised (and inwardly thankful) that there was hardly a trace of her ordeal. Leo
must know some master wizard medical people. I walked around to face her. Twin
nipples greeted me at eye level, standing at attention. She looked spectacular, as
usual. I stroked a flawless thigh, then looked up at her. I spoke to her as a person
for the first time ever. “How're you doing?”
A hooded head looked down and nodded, smiling. “Better. Thanks.”
Thanks for the whipping, or thanks for asking? I presumed the latter, but the
former was possible too. “I'm sorry.”
“That's OK. You don't have to send me flowers or chocolates or anything.” She
grinned. “But if you really want me to feel better, why don't you slide that hand of
yours up and to the right a little...”
Her inner labia hung exposed, parted slightly and glistening – her sex
conveniently easy to access. I wouldn't have minded either. It was a damned
tempting offer. I wished our date was not here and now.
“You know I can't do that. But in a few minutes I can caress you with this...” I
held up the coil of braided leather in my other hand.
She chuckled. “Buster, you only think you know pain!” She paused and
continued after my annoyed reaction, “You don't know shit compared to Leo's
sadist doctors. Let me tell you something about antiseptics and open wounds in
sensitive places...”
Good Lord, that must have hurt like Hell! “No need,” I chuckled back, nervously.
“They had to tie me down!”
I like to think I've got a good sense of her pain threshold, and they had to
restrain her. I gulped. I think I managed to maintain my stoic poker face, but I'm
not sure. “I get the picture.” We shared a brief silent moment, and then I saw Leo;
he was looking at me and frantically tapping his wristwatch. “Well, it looks like it's
time for the slacker dude who doesn't know shit about pain to get to work
whipping a naked girl.”
“Good thing for you she's tied up” she fired back. I stopped and looked up at
her, a little annoyed, but mostly amused. She just grinned. “Wake me when you're
done...” She was the only one of Leo's girls who could have gotten away with
saying that.
There was something about my Bunny that I always liked, right from the start. I
think it was her grit; she always fought us and never just gave up. But that
Saturday night I knew I'd fallen in love with her. I don't know what demon ripped
her heart out and drove her crying to me for an exorcism. I only wish that he'd
been standing in front of me instead of her on that Saturday night.
|
|
|