The Control Strap Page 10

  "Of course it hurts. So what? She's just a slut, boy. Here to amuse us. Y'all heard Twelve say they were our playthings. So play!"

  Brenda felt them change places again. When the younger man took over, his touch was more firm and aggressive. She clenched her eyes tighter and groaned. He was clearly stronger than the old, paunchy politician, and she wondered how much he was holding back. She wondered if she could take the force of all his strength.

  "That's the way, boy. Take out some aggression on her. Relieve some of that stress y'all're always complaining about. Make her eyes water, boy. She ain't that prissy little girlfriend of yours. She won't make you sleep on the couch if you make her cry."

  Egged on by the Senator, Jeremy bore down on Brenda's helpless tits with all he had. She whined and tried to back away, but her gag-chain was locked in place now. Her bound arms flailed uselessly behind her, unable to come to her own defense.

  As she bucked in pain, the tray bounced and tilted, sending most of its contents to the floor. Her eyes flew open. She glanced down, and found Jeremy staring intently at her, oblivious to the spilled snacks. He was studying her face, watching her reactions to his brutal clawing of her breasts.

  A moment later, though, Sanders appeared next to Jeremy. He did nothing to stop the young man from his continued assault upon her. Instead he clucked his tongue at Brenda and said, “Number Ten, such clumsiness will have to be punished, of course."

  "Miffer Famderz, pweez!” she whined, calling his name, trying to plead her case. “Ih'f mod my fald!"

  He motioned for Jeremy to stop. To Brenda he said, “It's not your fault, you say? But it's certainly not the customer's fault, is it?"

  "N—no,” she answered hesitantly.

  "So it is your fault, Number Ten. And you're to be punished for it, right?"

  Sniffling back her tears, Brenda knew what she had to say. “Yes sir. You're ride. You're always ride. Amd I'm ahways wromg."

  "And?"

  "Huh? Oh! Amd I—I haffa be phumiffed."

  "Yes, you have to be punished. Good girl."

  From the side the Senator added, “See, boy? See what I told ya?"

  Sanders reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of binder clips. The black metal clamps were no different from those found in any office. He handed them to Jeremy and said, “Here. Start with these."

  Whimpering, Brenda watched as Jeremy experimented with the clamps. He opened and closed them, testing the tension. Then he placed one on his finger, winced, and took it off again quickly. “Pretty strong. You want me to put these on her nipples?"

  "That's the basic idea, yes,” said Sanders.

  Jeremy shrugged. “If you say so...” He squeezed one of the clamps open and placed it over Brenda's left nipple. She groaned and shuddered as the cold steel jaws bit down on her. Soon the second clamp was in place on her right nipple.

  Just as Jeremy released the second clamp, the cabin shook with a sudden bit of turbulence. Brenda's clamped breasts jiggled, eliciting a trio of guffaws from the men watching her. Then Sanders pushed a few buttons on one of the remote controls, and Brenda's strap came alive, in punishment mode. Jolts of current shot through her cunt and ass. Squealing in anguish, she jumped instinctively from the source of the pain, causing her breasts to bounce once more, and earning more laughter from her tormentors.

  Finally, Sanders handed Jeremy a wooden paddle. “Use this on her ass. Give her, oh, ten strokes on each cheek."

  "Sure, Mr. Sanders,” said Jeremy, who seemed to be adapting quickly to the Haller Airline amenities.

  Brenda tried to follow Jeremy with her eyes as he stepped behind her. She turned in a pointless effort to keep her unprotected bottom out of range. But Sanders had an answer to that as well. After releasing her gag from its tether, he grabbed her bound wrists and tied another rope to them, leaving several feet free. He guided the loose end through one of the eyebolts embedded in the ceiling and pulled, forcing her arms up. He continued pulling until she had no choice but to bend over, spilling the remaining content of the tray to the floor.

  As he tied off the rope, Sanders said to Jeremy, “Better make that fifteen per cheek."

  CHAPTER 12: THE PADDLING

  This can't be happening! thought Brenda. She was panting hard, bracing herself for a paddling. A paddling! Not even schoolchildren get paddled anymore! She couldn't even imagine what the hard oval of wood would feel like when it slammed down on her.

  As she struggled to hold back her tears, a long line of spittle formed from the corner of her mouth all the way down to the floor. It seemed as if she'd been leaking from one or more orifices all day long, but the drool was especially degrading. She wished one of the men would wipe it away, but none of them appeared at all inclined to do so.

  Meanwhile, Jeremy had pulled up the hem of her dress, baring her bottom for all to see. She bore down on the rubber ball that filled her mouth, hoping she wouldn't cry out too much.

  "So I should just whack away at her?” asked Jeremy.

  "For starters,” said Sanders.

  Starters? thought Brenda. What else did he have in mind? But her worries evaporated with painful abruptness.

  WHAP!

  The paddle landed hard upon Brenda's left cheek. Her eyes flew open and her body lunged forward as if shot from a gun, but it had nowhere to go. The rope connecting her wrists to the ceiling held her firmly in place. Ready for the next one.

  "Ow-ow-OW!” she wailed in misery. If that was one, how could she possibly stand thirty? The tears she had been struggling to hold in, gushed in a sudden torrent.

  "Was that too hard?” said Jeremy.

  "Yeff!” she yelled.

  "I wasn't talking to you."

  "Well,” said Sanders deliberatively, “you probably don't want to make them all that hard. In fact, once the spot is primed, additional strokes will be quite effective even if they're not delivered with maximum force."

  "Okay, I think I understand,” said Jeremy.

  Whap! The next stroke fell in the same spot.

  "Ow!” squealed Brenda. She could tell the second blow was less forceful, but Sanders was right; it stung just as bad as the first.

  The next three strokes were like the second. Not brutal, but painfully efficient, leaving Brenda sobbing all the more.

  "One suggestion,” broke in Sanders. “Add a verbal component. Remind her why she's being punished."

  "Oh okay, sure. Um, this is for spilling the tray."

  "No, no,” said Sanders before the next blow landed, extending Brenda's momentary reprieve. “That's too tame, Jeremy. Make it degrading and humiliating. Don't be afraid to put her in her place. Something like—” Brenda could hear him whisper in the young Congressional aide's ear.

  "Right! Gotcha,” said Jeremy. Then, changing his tone and addressing her, he said, “This is what happens to clumsy little sluts!"

  Brenda winced at the words. To herself, she protested his unfair assessment. But I'm not clum—

  WHAP!

  Again Brenda cried out in agony. Jeremy was proving all too accurate at hitting the exact same spot each time. It felt like her ass was aflame.

  "Make her thank you for it,” advised the ever helpful Sanders.

  "Say ‘thank you', slut!” demanded Jeremy.

  "Fang-oo!” panted Brenda.

  Whap!

  "Say it again,” said Jeremy. He sounded like he was beginning to really enjoy this.

  "Fang-oo!"

  "Now here's more paddle for a careless little bitch,” he declared.

  WHAP!

  "Fang-oo,” sobbed Brenda without prompting.

  "Now,” said Jeremy, “you tell me what the paddling is for."

  "Very good,” agreed Sanders.

  Brenda swallowed and forced herself to say what she thought he wanted to hear. “I'm fwumfy!"

  "What was that? You're clumsy?"

  "Yeff. Fir."

  Whap!

  "Fang-oo!"

  "You're a clumsy w
hat?” demanded Jeremy.

  "A—A fwumfy fwut!"

  "You're a clumsy slut? Is that what you said?"

  "Yeffir!"

  "Say it in a complete sentence, lazy bitch."

  "Oh!” fumed Brenda. It was bad enough that she had to be roped into such an awful pose and displayed to the whole cabin while getting her paddling, but this constant verbal humiliation was making it even worse.

  "Say it!” said Jeremy and Sanders together.

  "Yes, say it!” The Senator and Sheik joined in as well.

  They're all watching me! she realized. Watching and enjoying her punishment, and now demanding that she degrade herself as much as possible for their twisted amusement. It was almost too much to bear, but what choice did she have other than obey?

  "I—I—” She paused to sniff back a sob. “I'm a fwumfy fwut!” she gasped at last.

  WHAP!

  "OWWWwww! Pweez!"

  "Hear that?” the Senator chimed in. “Not only does the little lady agree she's a clumsy slut, but she's begging for more of the paddle."

  "No!” she pleaded. “No more!"

  "Oops. My mistake,” chuckled the Senator. “Guess she's just being a clucky hen then. Better let me get in a few strokes now, boy. Y'all can't have all the fun on this trip."

  "Sure, Senator. Here you go."

  Brenda turned her head and watched anxiously as Jeremy handed the paddle to Senator Morrison. He took it and ran his hand along the broad smooth surface, whistling admiringly.

  "Now that's a right nice paddle! Reminds me of the one my Daddy had when I was a pup. I don't reckon my behind ever looked anything like this one, though! Be worried if it did!” The men laughed, and then the Senator added to Brenda, “Y'know, little lady, before my Daddy used to whup my ass, he'd say, ‘this'll hurt me more'n it hurts you'. Yup. That's what he'd say, every time. But, gal, y'all can be sure that does not apply in this case."

  Again the men laughed, their merriment abruptly punctuated by a resounding “Whap"!

  Brenda yelped and wobbled as the paddle stoked the conflagration still raging upon her ass. The Senator whistled again. This time she knew it was in appreciation of her helpless reaction.

  "Now that," he said, “is walkin’ in tall cotton."

  And so the paddling continued. All the men eventually got a turn, even the Sheik and Mr. Sanders. Each of them made a point of reminding her how clumsy and careless she had been, and making her repeat it, admitting her guilt, and thanking them for her punishment, mumbling the humiliating words again and again until she believed it all herself.

  Toward the end, or toward what she hoped was then end, having long ago lost count, the plane entered a pocket of mild turbulence, but no one took their seat. Instead she simply had to endure the added torment of being jostled while they completed her paddling. Now, besides the sting of the paddle, her clamped tits bounced with each jerk of the cabin, sending their own painful reminders of her incompetence throughout her tormented body.

  But at last, no more blows fell. Sighing, she realized it was over. Mr. Sanders switched off her control strap. It had been jolting her so steadily, for so long, that she had almost forgotten it was there.

  After setting down the paddle, he released the rope connecting her wrists to the ceiling and helped her straighten up. She glanced around, bleary-eyed, at the faces staring at her. The Senator grinned like a contented cat. The Sheik regarded her with a cold, calculating stare. Jeremy's eyes roamed hungrily up and down her body. And the other two young men, whose names she didn't even know, looked on with similar expressions.

  Only when she gazed up at Sanders did she find a hint of warmth. He carefully brushed her hair away from her face. It was matted and tangled and she hated to think how it must look. Then he took out a handkerchief and dabbed the tears from her cheeks and even stanched the dribble from around her gag.

  As she gazed at him appreciatively, he leaned forward and whispered, “You held up well, princess. I'm proud of you.” He stood back then and reached down toward her breasts. “These have to come off now."

  She nodded and steeled herself. With one swift movement, he released the clamps and slipped them into his pocket. Brenda groaned and doubled over. Her nipples seemed to throb. They burned as if immersed in an open flame. Her face, dried off only a moment ago, was quickly streaked with fresh tears.

  Sanders waited patiently until the initial wave of agony passed, then he again wiped the salty streams away. Brenda sighed in gratitude and pressed her face into his hand, starved for a gentle touch. But to her shock, he pushed back at her and clasped his fingers into her cheeks. He shoved her back against the bulkhead and glared down at her.

  "You presume too much, Number Ten. I'm just tidying you up a bit before you clean up the mess you made. Is that clear?"

  Confused, Brenda nodded and mumbled her understanding, although she didn't understand at all. He'd just whispered encouragement to her, but now he recoiled at the merest hint of affection on her part.

  Roughly now, he squeezed her breasts and pulled the unlaced top of her dress back in place, tightening the laces even more than they were before. He scowled at her and spun her around. In short order, he had her arms untied, but it was only for a moment. He turned her to face him again, snatched her wrists and locked a pair of leather cuffs around them. After connecting them in front with a short chain, he led her back into the center of the cabin.

  "Tell the nice gentlemen one last time now that you're sorry for spilling the hors d'oeuvres."

  Brenda hung her head and tried to form the words around her ball-gag. As each garbled syllable emerged, she felt her face grow redder and redder.

  "Good enough,” said Sanders, when she finished. “And now,” he announced, “she will clean it up. And serve more when she's done with that."

  "Yeffir,” she said before hobbling back to the galley. There she located a broom and dustpan, and headed back into the middle of the cabin. Restrained as she was, sweeping up the spilled snacks took much longer than it normally would. Around her, the party atmosphere had returned to the cabin, and the men had resumed playing with the other flight attendants.

  So, she thought, I'm back to being the odd one, the exception. No one paid her any attention as she struggled with a simple broom. As she did so, she puzzled over Sanders’ treatment of her. It simply didn't make sense to her. One minute he made her feel so special, as if she was the girl he'd always been looking for, the most beautiful addition to his “staff". And then the next minute, he was telling her she was a worthless, clumsy slut.

  The final apology was especially galling because everyone knew it wasn't her fault. It was patently obvious. But they were only too happy to go along.

  But then she remembered Sanders’ rule. He was always right. And she was always wrong. So if he said it was her fault, then it was her fault. He was right, as well, when he gently wiped her face and called her princess. And he was right when he derided her and treated her like a servant. Somehow she was both these things at once. She was a worthless clumsy special slut princess.

  Thus Brenda occupied her thoughts as she swept up the spilled hors d'oeuvres. She was just about done when the cockpit door opened. The captain stepped out and took in the scene in the main cabin. She remembered her brief encounter with him just before the flight, especially his brusque manner, and she hurried to finish so she could get to the rear galley and, hopefully, avoid him.

  "Sorry about that rough air back their, folks,” he announced. “I hope no one was too inconvenienced by it."

  Brenda glanced up at the mention of the turbulence and found him staring back at her meaningfully. Was he aware that she was in the midst of a paddling at the time? She stood with her dustpan full of ruined snacks and started shuffling toward the back of the plane.

  But she took only a couple steps when her control strap buzzed her with a painful jolt. Immediately, she froze.

  "Not so fast there, Number Ten,” said the pilot.

&nb
sp; The buzzing stopped, replaced at once with the pleasure stimulators. Brenda gasped and almost dropped the hors d'oeuvres again as the hidden massagers went to work. She closed her eyes to steady herself.

  When she opened them again, the pilot stood in front of her. His brown eyes were crinkled in a smile and she noticed that the gray at his temples extended further back than she thought at first. He took the dustpan and broom from her and set them aside. Then he pulled her close to him.

  "Just thought I'd take a minute to get a little better acquainted,” he said. “My name's Jim, but you can call me Captain Sir."

  "Fang-oo, cabdan fir,” she mumbled, trying to be polite.

  He pulled her even closer, crushing her breasts against him. With her wrists cuffed in front of her, she had nowhere to put her hands. They were trapped between her body and his at just the right height to feel his erection through his trousers.

  He grinned down at her and placed his own hands firmly on her ass, giving her a hard squeeze. She winced and groaned at the pressure on her freshly punished cheeks. But combined with the stimulation of the control strap, she was suddenly on the brink of coming. Her knees felt like rubber. Unconsciously she gripped his cock to keep from falling.

  "Nice,” he sighed. “Just keeping doing that. Yeah. Good girl. Y'know, I saw the whole thing, Ten. The paddling. We have full visual and audio monitoring up front.” He winked at her. “Quite a show. Pretty distracting, though. You should really be more careful."

  "Yeffir. I'm sorry if my punishment distracted you.” She hoped her muffled sentiments were comprehensible.

  He said nothing, but let her continue massaging his crotch for a few moments. “Well,” he said presently, letting her go, “I'll let you finish cleaning up. We can chat more later. I don't think we'll have any clients on the return flight."

  "Fang-oo, cabdan fir.” He started to leave, but she said, “Pweez term off my fwap, fir."

  "Turn off your strap? Does the stimulation bother you, Number Ten? Does it make you horny without giving any relief?"

  "Yeff!"

  He chuckled. “Well, in that case we'll leave it on."

  "Oh!” she whimpered.