The Inheritance - Ex-Wives 1

CHAPTER 2

It had been a painful two hours for Julia Dawson. She'd been unable to sit on her aching buttocks and confined within the cage she had been unable to get much movement into the area that pained her most. She had spent much of the time on her knees rocking to and fro, trying hard to fight back the tears. As the time passed, her genuine fear of what was to come grew.

The light in the chamber was suddenly turned on, a moment before the door was opened. He stood there in the menacing black mask though now he was wearing black, leather gauntlets and boots. He jumped casually down the four steps into the chamber and ambled over to the cage.

“Your arse still hurting?” he asked.

“Yes, you bastard. When I find out the person who's responsible for this I'll kill them.”

“You have to find out first, but I doubt you will do anything when you do find out. You see, I don't think you have any idea who or what is behind this. Now, this is not a good start to lesson two. You still have to learn to be obedient, speak only when spoken to, and to address me as master.”

He unlocked the cage, but the woman made no attempt to move.

“Out of the cage, bitch,” he hissed.

“And if I don't?” Her defiance was typical. Dawson had five years of miserable marriage to know it for a fact.

“Then you get wet, and cold. I'll give you five seconds.”

She stood her ground. The five seconds passed and Dawson pressed the red button on the wall beside him. From out of the ground, directly below the cage, a jet of icy water sprayed into the cage. A fine spray, it soon covered the woman. She winced at the shock of the cold and in a few seconds had crawled out of the cage.

“Bastard,” she snarled, though it was pure bravado, for she knew he was far stronger than she.

“Master, you call me master, and only when I talk to you. Your cage is wet now. That's tough. Now, get over to that vaulting horse.”

Julia Dawson looked at him, decided she had no choice and walked over to the horse. She turned to face him.

“Turn the other way, then stretch right over it. For your insolence you will now receive lesson two in a more forceful manner than you would otherwise have done.”

She demurred and reached over the horse, her stomach lying across the thin, padded seat. Dawson walked round the horse. On the far side he stretched the woman's hands down and clamped them low down the side of the horse using the leather straps he'd had specially fitted. Secured in this way, the woman had no way of reaching up when the pain started. Dawson walked slowly back behind the horse and stretched the woman's legs open wide. Using the ankle cuffs at the bottom of the horse he similarly secured her legs. Her once pale buttocks were still a mass of bruises from her earlier lesson. Dawson looked at them appreciatively.

“Do you know what a paddle is?” The voice distorter made him sound more menacing than was the case.

“Uh-huh, you use it in a canoe.”

“This is a different kind of paddle. It's a bit like a thick cane, shorter and unlike the cane which cuts your bare arse, this just covers a bigger area, bringing great heat. Now I have a selection, and you are going to taste a few of them.”

“Well, I can't stop you, can I?” She still sounded defiant. She would not do so for long.

“True. To begin with you will feel the ping-pong paddle, made out of leather and named as such because it shaped a bit like a table tennis bat.”

With that Dawson delivered two strokes in quick succession, one to each of the woman's buttock cheeks. She groaned loudly, and Dawson noted, with satisfaction, that although she tried to move, her spread-eagled and bound position prevented any significant movement. For fun, he delivered another ten swats from the small, leather device. With each swat, the woman groaned, and as the count mounted, so her buttocks turned a deeper shade of pink.

“Next, we have what I call the college paddle. This is made from solid wood. It's smooth and doesn't flex like the leather paddle. This is the sort of paddle the college cheerleaders used to be chastised with when they couldn't swing their pompoms properly. You'll soon understand why they learned to do it properly very quickly.”

The wooden device looked awesome. Dawson delivered one smack right across the woman's buttocks. She howled from the pain. Dawson stood back and admired his handiwork. Across the middle of the cheeks, right where the paddle had landed was a fresh, angry pink mark. He added another stroke in the same place and again waited for the colour in her flesh to darken. Four more smacks were added, each causing the woman to howl in pain. She struggled to move from her position but could not. Then Dawson moved lower. Carefully lining up the position of the paddle, the next stroke landed at the top of her left leg, the end of the paddle connecting with the soft flesh of her labia. This brought a fresh howl from the woman, whose face was already strewn with tears. Dawson lashed out four more strokes in rapid fire onto the same part of her body. The top of her leg went bright pink. Then he walked behind her and repeated the action on her other leg until it had turned the same shade of pink.

Smiling beneath the black mask, Dawson stood back for a moment to admire the effect of his treatment. The whole of her buttocks were a mass of bruises and angry, pink and red flesh.

“Now, the third paddle is a little different. Have you ever used a meat tenderiser?”

Between her sobs, the woman acknowledged she had. Indeed, Dawson knew she was familiar with the kitchen utensil.

“Well, this little baby is a bit like a tenderiser. It has a surface that has been carved into hundreds of pyramids.”

Dawson picked up the paddle. It was about eighteen inches long, and the surface he intended to use really did look like an over-sized meat tenderiser. He drew the paddle back and aimed it straight at the middle of her buttocks. The hundreds of pyramid apexes bit into her already swollen and angry flesh. The woman howled and yelled with the pain, aware that the intensity was almost more than she could bear. The second and third strokes followed, each feeling like a thousand needles being inserted into her tender flesh. After the third stroke had landed, Dawson paused. He saw the feint evidence of cut flesh, pockmarks where the woman's blood was starting to seep out of the tiny holes that had been drilled into her flesh. He waited for some moments, fascinated by the appearance of blood on the already crimson flesh.

“Just what it's supposed to do,” he muttered to himself. Putting down the paddle he picked up a bottle of surgical spirit and a cloth. “This might hurt a bit,” he said, in the kind of voice that implied what he had already achieved was not really pain. He poured some of the spirit onto the cloth and then applied the cloth to her wounds. He could only imagine the suffering she was feeling, the intense stinging pain of the cold liquid mingling with the dull, throbbing ache of her battered rear. It thrilled him as she screamed with the pain of the spirit. He felt his cock rising, but knew it would have to wait for the final session of the day.

“Right, your arse has taken enough for now. It's time to get into the final part of this lesson.” As he spoke, Dawson released the bindings round her ankles and then her arms. She straightened and reached round to gently touch her bruised rear. The tiny drops of blood still seeped out of the holes made by the tenderiser. She winced as she touched her buttocks, tears still falling down her cheeks.

“So, what's the final part, master?” She struggled with the last word, but her spirit was being broken and she decided not to prolong her agony for more than was necessary.

“Something you'll love. Take two steps away from the horse.” She did as instructed. He tied cuffs to her ankles, leather cuffs that had a metal ring on the outside of them, a small ring that looked like it should attach to something.

“Now, open your legs about three feet apart.” The woman did as she was told. Dawson reached down and placed the metal pole between her legs. Using the auto-locking clamps, he soon attached the rings. “Feet wider,” he commented, and she obeyed. He helped her to achieve the position he wanted. Then, he inserted the peg into the hole in the pole, securing the woman in position, her legs splayed wide apart for him, her vulva open and available to him.

He stood up and walked behind the woman. He took hold of her left arm and flicked the handcuff into place, the motion locking the device securely around her wrist. The right wrist followed. Satisfied she could not interfere, Dawson stood back. He gazed carefully at the neatly trimmed pubes that formed a triangle leading down to her labia. He smiled to himself as he reached a hand behind her legs and firmly patted her sex. She was in for a rare treat, one she would not forget.

He turned and walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. He selected half a dozen clothes pegs, the plastic variety used to hang out the washing, and returned to the woman. Bending down he carefully drew his finger up between her labia, separating the lips. Starting at the bottom of the lips he attached a peg to the left and then the right labia. The pegs hung downwards, pulling the flesh they gripped. The woman gasped and gasped again when he attached the second pair of pegs. The final pegs were attached either side of her clitoris, the plastic ends of the pegs rubbing against her sensitive bud.

Dawson returned to his desk and extracted a vibrator. It was about eight inches long and nearly an inch and a half thick. He tested the batteries. Satisfied the device was working correctly, he returned to the woman and played the tip of the machine over the pegs. The noise of the vibrator intensified as it sent the vibrations into the pegs. The woman groaned from the combination of the vibrations and the pulling effect of the pegs on the entrance to her vagina.

Dawson listened carefully for the signs of arousal, all the time teasing the woman by playing the tip of the vibrator over her clitoris.

“You like that, don't you,” he said.

“Mmm,” she responded.

“What did you say?” He withdrew the pleasure from between her legs.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, master.”

“Okay, well we'll see just how much you like it.” With that Dawson picked the woman up by her waist and carried her over to the wall bars. He stood her with her back to the bars and firmly lashed the leg-spreader to the bottom rung. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back but he wanted more restraint. He took a length of cord, placed it around her neck and secured it firmly to the bar behind her head. Now she could not move more than a few centimetres. It suited his intentions.

He spent the next few minutes working between the woman's legs. The small ratchet-driven device clamped easily onto the bar. Onto this, in its lowest position he fixed the vibrator. On the base of the vibrator was a small opening with a circular lip. Onto the lip he forced the small tube and watched as the liquid in the jar in which the other end of the tube rested was sucked through the tube and up into the vibrator. Finally a small glob of the thick, almost clear, liquid appeared at the business end of the device. Satisfied, he smeared the end of the vibrator with the liquid and turned the wheel on the side of the ratchet. As he did so, the vibrator began its journey of the final couple of inches until it touched the woman's sex.

She winced as it touched her, but Dawson kept on turning the wheel until the head of the vibrator was more than five inches inside the woman. The humming sound was faint but audible. Satisfied the device could not come out of the place he had inserted it, he stood back and waited for her reaction to intensify.

He knew it would not be long in happening. The liquid, a home-made concoction of lubricant mixed with menthol, would ensure the vibrator provided the woman with the intense pleasure of such a large device, whilst the menthol would add a touch of pain and sensitivity within her, rekindling the sexual fire burning between her legs after each time she peaked.

Dawson watched as her breathing became sharp. He watched as her whole abdomen contracted in the first throes of orgasm. He watched the beads of perspiration form on her face as she struggled in vain to prevent her arousal. He waited and watched, the thin, fine flow of liquid from the vibrator lubricating and teasing her in her helpless position.

Dawson watched as she reached her peak, tears of frustration falling onto her cheeks. She was still gasping as the whole process started again. First came the signs of arousal from her breathing, then the abdominal contractions and the gasping, and then the release of orgasm.

After her second climax her body tried to slump down. The vibrator, being fixed in place only plunged itself even more deeply into her body, still humming, still rock solid, and still slowly pumping the liquid of torture into her. Now, she tried to reach up, in a vain effort to remove the object from her body.

Satisfied she was unable to prise her aching vulva away from the instrument that combined intense pleasure with pure torture, Dawson turned away from her.

“I'll be back in an hour,” his distorted voice sounded from beneath the mask. “Have fun.”

As he opened the door to the chamber he looked back, to see the woman's body was already responding to the next wave of pleasure. She would, thought Dawson , be totally wrecked in an hour's time. He closed the door behind him and walked up the flight of stairs into the house proper. There he made a sandwich and took it into the living room, with a cold can of beer and sat down.

The remote control unit played through the channels of the television until Dawson reached the one he was looking for. He watched the woman writhing on the instrument of torture as he munched the sandwich, his cock hardening at the thought of what would happen at the end of the hour. The woman had tears streaked down her cheeks and Dawson could tell that she had struggled with her bonds. Yet now, she was stretched, her back arched as her body responded unwillingly to the intense waves of pleasure that were vibrating through her. The bud of her clitoris was on fire from the effects of the lubricant and menthol, the fiery sting adding to the sensitivity of the whole area of her body. She could not help but writhe, even though this only intensified the sensations.

It was going to be a long hour, one in which her whole body would be utterly drained of every ounce of energy as, for the first time in her life, she was powerless to control what was happening. Then, after about ten minutes, she cracked. She stopped fighting against the weapon inside her, and instead she began to ride with it. A new sense of release filled her body, the kind of release only a woman can experience. She drifted from a state of battle to a state of ecstasy. No longer did the menthol sting. Sure the sensation was the same, but now it added to her excitement. She felt the hard object inside her, and though her ability to move was restricted, she began to ride the instrument as it hummed inside her.

She felt the pleasure welling up again, and knew this time it would go further. Her whole abdomen contracted as she sought to extract every last possible microbe of pleasure from the experience. She felt as if she would burst. Then, suddenly, it was happening. With a great cry of relief she rammed the vibrator as deep into her body as she could, and she screamed her way to orgasm.

The lubricant from the vibrator's head seeped out of the side of her vulva and trickled down the inside of her leg. It had been doing this for some minutes, but now it was mixed with something else, the juices of her own orgasm. The creamy, white liquid added to the volume of the clear liquid, as it flowed out of her, trickling down her legs and dripping onto the floor. This was the end, she could go no further.

Up in the lounge, Dawson watched mesmerised. Never before had he seen her act like this. Never before had he experienced her total capitulation to sexual pleasure. It even began to annoy him that she should yield at this time. After all, he had planned she would suffer for a whole hour but now, with the flow of her orgasmic juices, her senses were reeling and she could no longer feel the pain.

Dawson waited to see what happened next. After all, the vibrator was still humming, still inserted deeply inside her body. It took her nearly five minutes to recover from the orgasm, five minutes during which she hung limply, held in place by the bonds he had placed around her.

Then the pain started again. Her vulva was aching from its exertions. The bud of her clitoris was still swollen and ultra-sensitive, and now she needed the persistent vibrations to cease and to be left alone. It had been nearly half an hour since her captor had left her and now, as her vulva reacted angrily to the continued intrusion, she began to dread the remaining half hour he had promised her.

She was crying again from the pain of the hammering going on inside her. No longer did the sensations arouse her. No longer could she find any source of pleasure.