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CHAPTER 6
The final appointment of the evening was a short drive from the house where the MacCulloghs lived. The woman was in her middle twenties, was attractive to look at and had a wilful nature. Dawson had already provided the woman with three sessions of corrective therapy and yet she still felt the need for more. So it was that he had spent the past few days considering the therapy that he would shortly be delivering.
The house where Dawson drove to was detached, modest in size and had a single garage. The driveway was empty so Dawson pulled onto it. Scarcely had he locked the driver's door than the front door opened. Jasmine Uhatu stood in the doorway, her dark-skinned body shimmering in the porch light. She wore a silk gown and, Dawson suspected, very little else.
“So, Jasmine, how are you today?” Dawson asked as he approached the door.
“Very well, thank you master, but I do have a problem.”
“Once I'm inside,” Dawson walked past her and straight into the living room he was familiar with. The woman followed him, keeping a respectful distance. Dawson sat down and beckoned the woman to approach him. This she did and knelt on the floor in front of him.
“Right, now we're inside, what is your problem?”
“Well, master, it's the same as ever. I keep having these really naughty thoughts, and I just know that one day I'm going to get into real trouble. Is there anything you can do to help me?”
“Well, Jasmine, your last three sessions have obviously made no impression on you so, as we discussed, I think something more radical is called for.”
“Yes, master.”
“Good, well let's start by seeing if you've learned anything from the previous sessions. Take off your gown.”
The woman stayed kneeling and untied the sash around her waist. The gown slid off her shoulders revealing her naked breasts and the dark-brown nipples that already stood to attention. Her body was slender and the gown fell around her waist, covering her bent knees.
“I see you are learning something. Well, there doesn't seem much point in wasting any time, so you can stand up and stretch your body over my lap. We'll start with some warm-up exercises.”
“Yes, master.” Even as she spoke, the woman stood up, allowing the silken gown to fall to the floor revealing her naked, closely-trimmed, dark-haired bush. Indeed the colour of her pubes matched the darkness of her head of long hair. She stood momentarily and walked round to the side of Dawson . He had already opened his attaché case and left it on the sofa next to him. Now she lay carefully over his lap, ensuring her stomach was placed directly over the man's growing stiffness. She kept her legs together, stretched straight out behind her. Her hand reached down to the floor, paced exactly as they should be, in front of her head. The long, dark hair fell forward and covered her face, preventing Dawson from knowing when the tears started to flow.
He rubbed her buttocks with one hand as if kneading dough. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he delivered six, stinging open-palm slaps in rapid-fire succession. They landed cross-buttock, causing the dark-flesh to reverberate under his hand. She moaned as they landed but Dawson knew he was not inflicting any severe pain, yet. This was warming-up therapy and she knew he could and would be much more forceful as the session progressed.
He massaged her buttocks again and then delivered six, medium-paced swats to her left cheek. Again she moaned but made no attempt to struggle free. Her right cheek was then treated to an identical pattern of treatment before Dawson rubbed both cheeks.
“They're warming up.”
“Yes, master,” she spoke softly and Dawson could tell she was not yet crying.
Dawson paused and rubbed the flesh at the tops of her legs. Then he swatted both of the same areas with a handful of strokes that were medium-paced. The tighter flesh soon had the woman gasping in response to his therapy and Dawson began to feel that the point of the therapy was beginning to sink in. He returned to massage her buttocks, causing the woman to moan more loudly as his none-too-gentle touch increased the pain to her already angered flesh.
Over the next few minutes Dawson rained in another two-dozen medium-paced smacks that covered the dark-skinned cheeks, making them warm to the occasion. By the end of it, Dawson knew the tears had begun to flow, yet still she made no attempt to free herself.
“So you are learning,” he said after the last stroke had landed. “Right, you know the drill. Go and stand in the corner, facing the wall, with your hands on your head.”
The woman pushed herself back to her feet and walked over to the corner of the room. As she did so, Dawson watched her, his manhood already stiff with expectation. She was an attractive woman and though she yelled, screamed, and cried along with the best of them, she was a true submissive, always willing to take whatever punishment was meted out to her.
Dawson pulled the big armchair into the middle of the room and extracted the small flogger from his case. He left the woman standing as she was and walked up to her.
“Right, push your elbows forward, and bend over slightly.”
The woman did as she was told and her change in position exposed her back and shoulders perfectly. She winced inwardly as she felt the strands of the flogger running over her shoulders. Then she heard the swish of air as the flogger was pulled back, only to feel the sting of the straps as they cut into her back a moment later.
“Argghh,” she cried out from the pain the single strike had inflicted.
Dawson was undeterred. The flogger was pulled up and away and a second strike connected with the woman's shoulders.
“Arrgghh,” she cried out a little more loudly than before, yet she still maintained her position as best as she could. The third and fourth strokes were not quite as hard as the first two had been, but they still drew gasps from the woman. The next two strokes landed in the middle of her back, the straps creating new bruises and drawing more cries of pain.
“Okay, stand up and turn round, it's time to give your front some treatment. Now, push your elbows right back and thrust your chest forward.”
The woman did as she was told, and Dawson could see both the fear in her eyes and the tear stains that had already formed on her cheeks.
Dawson teased the flogger over the woman's breasts, causing the ends of the straps to caress her nipples, making them stiff.
“Swish, crack!” The first stroke of the flogger landed across her left breast,
“Yeooww,” she screamed. “That fucking hurt.”
“It was meant to hurt. It is all part of your therapy, and it does you no good unless there is a degree of pain involved. Now, get back in position.”
The woman obeyed, fearing the worst. The worst happened as the second stroke landed directly on top of the first, intensifying the pain already surging through her breast. The third stroke followed before Dawson turned his attention to her right breast. She already carried a scar across the tissue, the result of something that had happened earlier in her life. Now, as the flogger striped across the scarring the woman howled in pain.
With both breasts similarly in pain, Dawson ordered the woman to walk over to the back of the armchair and bend over it.
“Right, tonight we are going to do something a bit different,” he said once she was in position. “It is evident that sheer pain is not enough to turn you away from your bad habits, so tonight we'll try something else. Keep those legs straight at the knee, and keep your feet apart.”
Dawson walked over to his case and withdrew a number of items that the woman couldn't quite see.
“First off I am going to apply a bit of cream. It will feel a bit cold, but in a minute or two it will soon warm you up.”
The woman felt the blob of cream as it landed between her buttocks. Dawson carefully rubbed it into the area around her anus and then between her anus and vulva. Finally, applying another blob of the cold cream he rubbed it into her vulva and the bud of her clitoris. She shuddered as he touched her. His touch was almost clinical, definitely not the touch of a lover, and his firmness of touch was unnerving.
Dawson knew that, as had happened earlier that evening, he had to wait only a few moments for the cream to start working.
Suddenly the woman quivered.
“God, what's that around my arse?” She questioned. “It's burning me and, oh fuck, it's spreading down to my sex. What is it?”
“Just cream, a special cream, designed to make you aroused.”
The woman was totally exposed and Dawson could seethe first traces of her juices as they appeared at the entrance of her vagina.
“Oh God,” she said, “that feels so good. I won't be able to take much o this, it's so hot! Fuck me, I need to come, fuck me.”
“Later.”
“No, I must have it now.”
“Why?”
“I need to cum.”
“All in good time, but for now we must get on with your punishment, and don't worry, you won't come until the time is right.”
“But I want to climax, I need to climax, it's burning me up.”
Her abdomen was contracting strongly, yet for all her efforts the woman could not reach the peak of sexual excitement.
“Yes, I know. Right, this will hurt a bit.” Dawson positioned the butt-plug over the woman's anus and pushed it firmly until it had been fully inserted.
“Arggghh,” it's ripping me.”
“No, not yet, but it will do. Right, it's time for ten of the best.” The butt-plug was buried deep in the woman's arse. Dawson took one practice stroke with the metal cane before bringing the instrument down across the woman's buttocks. As the cane landed it connected with the plug, forcing it further into the woman.
Although still in the unwanted throes of sexual arousal, the woman screamed with pain, the combined agony of the thin metal cutting into her cheeks and the added pressure of the enormous plug as it was pushed into her, tearing the edges of the sphincter, making it impossible for her to stay silent.
Dawson waited ten seconds before delivering the second stroke. A little lower than the first it missed the plug but cut into the flesh at the top of her legs. She cried out from the pain yet managed to maintain her position.
The third and fourth stroke landed across the plug, pushing it further into her body, increasing the tear at the point where it entered her.
Dawson changed position and delivered the final two strokes in a vertical direction, vertically upwards, causing the tip of the cane to strike against the woman's swollen, aroused clitoris. The pressure of the strokes was not that great, it was not a natural angle from which to deliver punishment, but the woman still cried out as they landed.
Dawson left her bent over the chair for a full minute after he had finished, the plug still inserted deep into her.
“Right, back to the corner, and put your hands on your head.”
“But, you've left something up my arse,” she protested though not too strongly.
“I know, and in about two minutes you'll see why. Now, get into the corner, only this time you can face into the room. Whatever you do, keep those hands on your head.”
The woman was still sobbing, and her abdomen was contracting form the arousal of the cream that she was feeling. She hobbled over to the corner of the room and dutifully put her hands on her head. She waited, Dawson waited and the seconds passed.
Their wait was not for long, for Dawson had timed the administration of her punishment to perfection. Within a couple of minutes she felt the arousal intensify. Involuntarily she shifted her feet apart, and Dawson knew the time was near.
“Okay, it's about to happen. Whatever you do don't move or you will regret it.”
“Master, oh fuck, my God it's so intense, oh wow, this is bloody marvellous. Please let me finger my cunt.”
“No.”
“Please, I need to rub my cunt so I can cum, just like I do when I'm on my own. Oh God, it's building, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
She reached up on tiptoes as if trying to escape the incredible feelings of arousal. Beads of perspiration appeared on hr breast and forehead as she continued to become more aroused.
Her hand left her head and started to descend towards her crotch.
“I said keep your hands on your head.”
“I can't, I've got to do it.” Desperately she reached between her legs and found the spot she needed to touch. In a moment it was happening. Her eyes closed, she panted loudly and then groaned as her body convulsed. Then, with the strength in her knees completely gone, she sank to the floor.
Dawson came and stood over her.
“You were disobedient,” he said, clearly annoyed with the woman's performance. “Now, you will regret it.”
Dawson picked up the woman and carried her to the dining table. He lay her on top of the cold, bare wood and set about the process of tying her arms to two of the chairs. When he'd finished he took her legs and spread them wide apart, tying them also to two chairs. When he'd finished she lay there completely spread-eagled, vulnerable and unable to resist anything he might do by way of further punishment. The plug had fallen to the floor during the throes of the woman's orgasm and Dawson noted there were traces of blood on it at the widest point.
He went to his case and withdrew a small metal box and a device that looked a little bit like a miniature riveter's gun. Without further word he walked round to the woman's right breast. She was still coming round from the post-relaxation phase of orgasm, and her incapacity to move suddenly made her nervous.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Punishment. You have to learn to be obedient. Now, this will hurt a bit, but not half as much as what will happen to you if I have any more disobedience after today. Now, breathe in.”
As she did so, Dawson took the nipple and placed it between the flat plates of the device.
“Now, slowly breathe out.”
Dawson waited until he could hear the start of the exhalation. Then he simply squeezed the trigger. The ‘rivet' went from the gun, straight through the nipple and out the other side.
“Excellent,” he muttered, apparently oblivious to the woman's cry of pain the instant the needle had penetrated her flesh. “Now,” he said after a few seconds, “breathe in again and hold it.” The woman did so.
“Okay, and exhale slowly.” This time Dawson extracted the ‘rivet', pulling with it the permanent fixing for the nipple ring. Again the woman howled as the ring was pulled into position. Finally the rivet was cut off at the stem and the ring was in position. Dawson tweaked it playfully, ensuring it was secure.
“Good, and now we will do the other one.”
“No, master, please no, I promise I won't misbehave again.”
“I'm sure you won't but I'm not taking any more nonsense. I reserve this treatment for my most severe cases and your need for therapy is as severe as any I have ever had to give.” Dawson was now standing by her left breast and squeezed the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh God,” she muttered as he touched her.
The procedure was repeated and a few minutes later Dawson looked on with a self-satisfied grin at his handiwork.
“Right, that's two done. Now all we have to do is complete the trio.” He walked round to the bottom of the table and stood between the woman's legs. For a moment she seemed to fail to realise what was about to happen.
“No, please no,” she spluttered, “not my cunt. I'll die if you do one there.”
“No you won't, and any way, it's needed for what is finally going to convince you to behave.”
“No, please no, I will behave. You can do whatever you want, only don't stud my cunt. Please, master, I'm begging you.”
“Sorry, it is necessary. Now, I suggest you lie as still as possible.” Dawson reached forward and with one hand he parted her labia. He found the still-swollen bud of her clitoris and smiled to himself. He loved this kind of torture, and he loved what he would do later. He touched the clitoris gently, causing it to swell further. Then he placed it between the cool plates of the riveter.
“Now, breathe in,” he said, quite softly.
“No, please no, I don't want you to do this.”
“Too late, I'm afraid.” He squeezed the trigger and the needle went clean through her bud. Jasmine howled as it pierced her, and howled again as he secured the ring to her extremely sensitive flesh.
When he had finished, he stood back and admired all that he'd done. A thin trail of blood seeped out from the new wounds. It trickled down the side of the woman's breasts and also between her legs.
“Right, and now I am going to show you just what will happen if you continue in your old habits.”
“No, master, I can't take any more today.”
“That's too bad. You haven't learned anything from previous therapies, so now it is time to learn.”
Dawson attached some fine twine to the three rings, using a loop knot so that two strands of twine hung from each ring. Then he released the woman and ordered her to stand. Carefully he measured the lengths of twine, ensuring they all ended about eight inches below her labia. At this point he tied the loose ends together.
From his attaché case he extracted his set of hanging weights. Removing the weights from the spindle he clipped the top of the spindle over the strings. The weight of the spindle pulled the threads taut.
“Now stand still and don't bend over or you will be flogged.”
There was a sense of gravity in Dawson 's voice, a gravity that made the woman realise he was serious.
“This is only a sample of what will happen to you if you don't mend your ways.” Dawson began adding the weights. As he did so, Jasmine felt the rings pull at the fresh wounds made where the studs had penetrated her dark, tender flesh. The weight increased and so did the tugging sensation on the rings. The ring between her legs hurt the most, perhaps because the clitoris had less “give” in it than her nipples, though she knew he had tied the twine from her breasts in such a way that her nipples were already on the brink of being stretched.
When Dawson had attached all the weights he tested the twine. They were all taut and under tension.
“Okay, now we apply a little movement. Don't move your body or I will flog you.”
The woman groaned as Dawson set the pendulum in motion, the gentle motion causing the rings to pull even more against the flesh they had pierced. The arc of the pendulum was increased, making the woman cry out louder. She fought valiantly to maintain her upright position but the pain was intense and she could sense Dawson was willing her to fail the test.
Dawson applied more force to the pendulum, increasing the arc of swing further. As he did so, the woman sank to her knees, causing the weights to touch the ground, relieving the cruel pressure on her body.
“I warned you not to move. Now you will be flogged.” Dawson spoke evenly, almost coldly. He unhooked the pendulum and helped the woman stand. “Come with me, into the bedroom.” As he walked past the attaché case, Dawson picked up his thin, metal cane and the flogger. There would be no mercy now.
In the bedroom, Dawson knew that the woman had two hooks mounted a few inches above the doorway. They had originally been used to hold a heavy drape against the back of the door, but they had long since ceased to be used. Dawson rearranged the twine, pulling the twine round the nipple rings over the woman's shoulders. He closed the door and ordered her to stand facing it.
He pulled her hands behind her back and secured them with a length of rope in such a position that they could not interfere with any further torture he applied to her backside. Then he tied the twine tightly to the two hooks. The woman's breasts were stretched into an upright position by the taut thread, meaning she could not slump down or sink to her knees. Indeed any movement from her position would cause severe pain to both nipples.
“Okay, we'll start with the flogger. You're going to get ten strokes for your disobedience.” With that, Dawson raised the nine-tined instrument and brought it down across the woman's back. It cut across the back of her arms, with the tips of the tines lashing against her bare back. She groaned with the pain, but her attention was focused on standing totally still.
The second lash connected slightly lower than the first, cutting into the bonds holding her wrists behind her mid-back. The third lash was the first painful one as the leather tines all striped across her lower back. The fourth followed, almost in the same place, and Dawson knew she was feeling the heat from his ministration. She yelled as the fifth stroke caught her on the very top of her buttocks though her yell was not so much from the flogger as from the pain in her nipples as she tried to instinctively move away from the door. She knew any attempt at movement was futile, but her natural desire at self-preservation made the reaction inevitable.
She howled again when the sixth stroke landed on top of the fifth and Dawson knew real tears of pain were streaming down her face. He waited for a moment, shifted weight on his feet, adjusted his stance and brought the seventh stroke down right across the woman's already glowing buttock cheeks. She had descended into sobbing now, her mind still focused on trying not to move.
Dawson smiled to himself as the eighth stroke landed just below centre of the cheeks. They were certainly looking bruised now and he knew she would be totally compliant after her torture was over, she always was. The ninth stroke cut into the top of her legs, its pain adding to the still-throbbing pain from her tortured clitoris. Dawson waited for what seemed like ages, but was only about ten seconds. The final stroke would really count. He withdrew his arm, took aim and swished the instrument of pain down across the full centre of the woman's tortured arse.
“Well done, but we're not quite finished. I want you to understand that pain is a direct consequence of disobedience and your unwillingness to learn from experience. I think you need six strokes of the cane, but not here.”
He untied the twine holding the woman's breasts in a vertical position.
“Kneel on the edge of the bed, with your legs wide apart.”
Her hands were still tightly bound half-way up her back, and she struggled through the pain to locate her legs on the edge of the bed. Dawson waited patiently, his erection pushing hard against the cloth of his pants. It knew that the time was almost right, almost but not quite. The woman too now knew how the session would end.
She poked her buttocks into the air, a feeling of helplessness descending upon her. Strangely, through the pain, she began to feel aroused. Indeed she was open and waiting for him, and even while he stood admiring her dark, bruised flesh, he noticed the labia around her vulva open slightly, and traces of glistening liquid appeared.
He unzipped himself, ready for action and his purple-headed member leapt from behind its covering. He stroked it three times in anticipation and then made up his mind.
The cane was in his hand and he delivered six strokes in rapid succession right across the anal area of the woman's buttocks. She gasped at the speed with which he delivered her punishment and knew he was as on fire for her as she was for him. Despite the earlier orgasm she was now ready for what he was going to give her. She knew it would be hard, forceful and even brutal. It was, after all, why she had employed his services to begin with. The bondage, the canings, the spanking, the torture, was all part of the ritual, a ritual designed to whip her into a state of frenzy whereby she would find ultimate pleasure in being forced to take him any way he chose.
In the past she'd been made to swallow him, all nine, thick inches. It had almost made her sick but she'd managed. She'd had him inside her on two occasions and each time he had tortured her as he had excited her.
Tonight, though, she knew he had other plans and though she was frightened, the ritual had left her demanding release and now she needed this final act of torture.
She heard the feint humming sound a moment before she felt the cold plastic against her vulva. The device was not large, oval in shape and it slid easily into her wet sex. She felt his finger as it guided the vibrating egg deep inside her. Her abdomen contracted as her arousal increased, Dawson watching every moment. He playfully tugged at the ring piercing her clitoris. The pain added to the woman's arousal, and soon she was gasping and panting her way to a climax.
Dawson was good at this, bringing a woman to arousal. He knew he could deny her the culmination if he wanted, simply by removing the source of pleasure, but tonight and now, that was not his intention. He was seeking release himself, his pulsating purple-headed cock reminding him that the time was now right.
He took up position behind the woman, adjusted her position slightly and pressed his cock against her anus. Her muscles tautened momentarily, a natural reaction, but one that made Dawson even more determined. He was like an iron girder, rigid and immoveable. He pushed hard against her, breaking open the entrance, re-opening the ripped flesh and plunging deep inside her.
As he did so he felt her whole body convulse. It was the very action she had been dreading, yet at the same time it was the action her body had been demanding and now she reached her peak, gasping loudly as she came, grinding hard against the root of her assailant, making sure he could feel every last spasm of her contractions.
Dawson partially withdrew and thrust again into her opened body. He could see the feint trickle of blood on his manhood and it excited him. Then it was happening. As the woman's contractions ebbed his own began until he felt the first pulse of semen being squirted into her arse. He pulled her back onto him, determined she should not wriggle away from his jerking, pulsing orgasm. Only when his orgasm had subsided did he release her, untying her wrists as he did so.
Dawson retired for a few minutes to the bathroom. When he returned she was lying on her back, her newly acquired jewellery shimmering softly in the light of the room.
“Right, Jasmine. I think that ends the session. You know how to contact me if you are in need of further therapy, though I hope the events of this evening will have taught you something.”
“They have, master, and thank you.” She smiled sweetly at him and licked her lips. She was in pain and it would be some days before the wounds healed, but it was worth it – she just loved being dominated, being tortured, being taken with force but not, if you understand, against her will. She loved being forced to submit, and she relished the fact that she had finally found someone who could satisfy her needs, someone who came with no strings attached. She smiled sweetly at the creator of her ultimate pleasure and she knew she would be talking to him again in a few days. What she did not know was the danger that lurked not far below the surface, a danger that she would one day face in reality, a danger that would turn her pleasure into excruciating agony.
She smiled sweetly after he had cleared up his “kit” and bade her farewell. He smiled to himself as he descended the stairs to his car, knowing that Jasmine's Inheritance was almost upon her.
Now, as he drove home, back to the secret house in the country that only he and very few others knew about, he contemplated the other Inheritance issue he was dealing with – his own ex-wife.
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