The Control Strap Read online

  Soon her hips began to rise. Then her waist. Then her shoulders. With only her head in contract with firm ground, she pleaded in desperation, “Please! Why are you doing this to me? Wait! Don't! Uh!” And then she was completely airborne. Her blonde tresses dusted the floor as she tossed her head wildly.

  For a moment, the terror of dangling helplessly with her head a foot off the hard ground let her forget about how exposed she was. When it hit her, she let out a squeal and stared “down” at her legs.

  Fortunately, she saw that she was not as naked as she feared at first. The rope between her legs actually provided a bit of cover and it also kept her skirt more or less in place. With a sigh of relief, she let her head relax and, for the first time, took in a more complete glimpse of the room she was in.

  It was a large open space, with a high ceiling. She decided it had to be the basement of the building where the airline's office was. Her time in the trunk was a little fuzzy, but it didn't seem that she'd been in it that long, and no part of the short journey had been in a motor vehicle.

  Adjusting for her inverted point of view, she glanced around and noticed several other winches attached to the walls at various points, with ropes and chains extending up to a network of pulleys and cables along the ceiling. She also saw several chains and ropes stretched horizontally a few feet off the floor between posts. The purpose of these complete baffled her.

  Along one wall, though, was the first indication she'd seen that she was actually “working” for a real airline. It was a full-scale replica of an airplane passenger cabin. The tubular section of fuselage was very realistic, as if it had been cut right out of a real plane. But, she thought, with my experience, I should have no need for training in a mockup.

  Not that it mattered much right now! she said to herself, snapping back to her precarious and humiliating predicament. In the few seconds it took her to scan the room, Sanders had found himself a pair of scissors. Brenda's eyes widened in horror when she saw him approach her with them.

  "What are you going to do with those?” she said, her voice rising in alarm. “Please don't hurt me!"

  Sanders said nothing, letting her babble and plead as he snagged a finger under her crotch rope. She gasped at the renewed pressure on her unsatisfied pussy and winced as he angled the sharp blades directly at her.

  Holding her breath, she tried to remain completely still, while assuring herself that he couldn't possibly intend to harm her with the scissors. Sure enough, he tugged again at the rope and held it clear of her sensitive flesh, and then he slid one blade of the scissors under the rope. A few snips later and the rope came loose.

  Which in turn allowed her skirt to fall away from her naked pelvis, hips, and buttocks.

  "Oh my God, please, no! I'm completely naked there now."

  Fully exposed, her muff, trimmed and bikini-waxed to a narrow blonde strip, greeted her employer like a shy schoolgirl. He patted her as if the junction of her thighs was the head of a kitten.

  "Oh! Mr. Sanders, please—"

  "Hush, Ten. You have nothing to complain about. This pussy is mine. The company's, that is. We own it now. And you. It's all right there in your—"

  "-Contract! I know. Fine."

  By now she wasn't so sure she wanted him to stop petting her anyway. His touch was firm and self-assured, yet at the same time almost ... tender. And after her time in the trunk, she was still in a state of wanting.

  "Mmmm...” she sighed, despite her efforts to keep quiet.

  "Yes,” he said in a soft, contemplative voice. “This one is quite eager, this hungry little cunt we have here.” He petted her for a moment, and then, abruptly, in a normal tone that sounded like shouting in comparison, he said, “Twelve! The mirror."

  The other girl trotted off and returned with a small hand mirror. Sanders took it and held it close to Brenda's crotch, angling it downward.

  "Look at it, Ten."

  "Please, no, Mr. Sanders. I—"

  "Look at it!"

  "Yes, sir!” she whimpered. Obediently, she angled her head forward and focused on the reflected image. Of course, she had seen own sex plenty of times before, but she had never seen it quite like this. She had never seen the supple pink folds of flesh so wet, so swollen, so ... ready.

  She moaned at the sight of herself, as he continued to pet and tease her. The ache she felt inside, the burning need to be filled, was visible right there in the mirror. And her position, helpless, suspended upside and spread, only seemed to heighten her need.

  "Eager and hungry,” repeated Sanders. “Say it, Ten."

  "Do I have to? Please, Mr. Sanders."

  "Don't question my orders. Just do as you're told."

  "Sorry, sir. Um, it—it's eager and hungry."

  "What is?"

  "That! In the mirror. My ... my..."

  "Cunt,” he prompted.

  "Yes. My cunt."

  "Indeed. And those are fine traits for a cunt, Number Ten. But a cunt must be disciplined as well. This one is company property now, and you are not to use it for personal pleasure."

  "But it's part of me!"

  "No matter. You were using it without authorization in the trunk, and for that both you, and it, must now be punished."

  "Punished! But Mr. Sanders, just being in the trunk was punishment enough, wasn't it? Please!"

  He chuckled. “Nice try, Ten, but I'm afraid not. Five lash-spanks are the normal punishment for a first offense. But for you...” He pulled his hand away, causing Brenda to groan at the sudden loss of stimulation. “Well, I think as a Ten, you should get ten."

  Twelve giggled as Sanders handed her the mirror. “Now get the you-know-what,” he said.

  Twelve left with the mirror as Brenda tried to grasp what was happening. And what was about to happen.

  "Wait. Please,” she said. “What's a lash-spank? What's Twelve getting? What's a ‘you-know-what'?!"

  Even as Brenda babbled on, the other girl returned with a small, multi-tasseled whip. Sanders took it from her and held it over Brenda's exposed pussy. He let the tips of the leather thongs dance lightly across her throbbing labia.

  "Oh my God!” exclaimed Brenda. “You—You're not going to use that on my—I mean, you can't. You just can't use it ... there!” Twisting madly, she tried to make eye contact with Twelve, who stood behind her now. “Twelve! Tell him. Please, tell him he can't whip a girl there. It's—It's—"

  "It's just part of your punishment,” said Twelve, with a shrug. “Don't be such a whiner."

  "But—but—Wait! Part of my punishment? Only part?"

  "Allow me to explain,” said Sanders. “This little whip is the ‘lash’ part of the lash-spank. Twelve will handle the ‘spank’ part. And you even carry out a part, Number Ten. Your part is to say ‘bad pussy’ with every stroke. In fact, that's the only reason you're not gagged right now. And if you don't do your part ... Well, that will prolong the punishment and make your first day with the company really quite unpleasant."

  "It's already unpleasant! Please, can't we discuss this? I promise to be good from now on. I won't play with myself ever again, I swear!"

  "On three. Ready, Twelve?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Ready, Ten?"

  "No, wait! Please!"

  "One ... Two ... Three!"

  Whap!

  The simultaneous sting of Twelve's open palm against her ass cheek and the snap of a dozen strands of leather across her naked pussy shot through Brenda like an electric shock. She jerked and yelped. Tears sprang from her eyes and fell ‘up’ across her forehead.

  "Ow! Oh, God, that hurt!” she screamed. “Please no more. I learned my lesson."

  "Number Ten! One more outburst like that and I get a gag. One you'll like even less than the panties and tape. Now, that stroke doesn't count because you didn't do your part."

  "What do you mean it didn't count?! But I—” She bit her lip, forcing herself to remain quiet. This was already bad enough. She didn't want to find out w
hat kind of gag he had in mind for her if she kept complaining.

  Without hesitating, he began counting off again. “One ... Two..."

  This time, Brenda braced herself. At least she knew what to expect. She just had to remember to say her phrase.

  "...Three!"

  Whap!

  "Ow!" Despite her effort to be ready for it, the sharp pain still caught her by surprise.

  "Say it, Ten!” warned Sanders.

  "Oh right. Um, bad pussy,” she said half-heartedly.

  "That's pathetic, Ten,” said Sanders. “First of all, you need to say it at the same time the strokes land. And secondly, you must say it like you mean it. All right then. Starting all over again. One ... Two ... Three!"

  "Bad pussy!" shouted Brenda. But...

  There was no lash-spank. Squirming in midair, Brenda glared up at him, accusingly. He grinned back down at her.

  "That was a test,” he said. “To see if you'd say it. Now, we can start the punishment again."

  He counted off once more. Brenda closed her eyes and waited for “three,” determined to say her phrase, no matter what. Even if it was another test. When he said “three” she was ready.

  Whap! “Bad pussy!"

  The whip came down every bit as hard as the first two times. And Twelve's hand landed with just as much force. But somehow it didn't hurt as much. Perhaps, thought Brenda, shouting helped somehow.

  As she wondered about it, Sanders paused, taking a moment to pet her again. At his touch, a shudder of helpless delight rippled through her. After the cruelty of the whip, the warm softness of his flesh against hers was almost too delicious.

  Then he set the whip down, balancing it across her spread crotch, and reached into his pocket. Staring up at him, Brenda watched him retrieve a set of four shiny metal balls, about an inch each in diameter, connected by a thin chain. He set the whip aside and proceeded to push one of balls between her engorged pussy lips. She gasped as the cold steel made contact with her hot skin, but it quickly absorbed her heat.

  She gasped again as he pushed the second ball into her. And then in rapid succession, the third and the fourth balls followed. She was soon crammed with the shifting, weighty balls and chain.

  Sanders took the whip again and pressed the handle against her slit while he massaged the front of her pelvis with her other hand. Spurred on by the pressure of his hands, the balls jounced and jostled inside her. They seemed to seek out nooks within her that she didn't even know existed.

  "Oh. Oh, oh!" she moaned.

  Suddenly, he removed his hands and let her sway and writhe. “See, Twelve,” he said, “how wet it is."

  "Yes, sir."

  "How it glistens in the light."

  "She's a slut, sir."

  Brenda wanted to protest. She was not a slut. She was good girl. But Sanders was touching her again, and instead of protests, she could only manage breathless moans.

  "But enough of this,” he said, pulling his hand away. Brenda had no time to recover, as he began counting off at once. “One ... Two..."

  On three, Brenda cried out “bad pussy” loud enough to drown out the sound of the lash-spank itself.

  Chuckling, Sanders started the next count immediately. “One ... Two..."

  "Bad pussy!" she blurted out.

  "So eager!” laughed Sanders. “But wait until I say three, Number Ten."

  "I'm sor—"

  "Three!"

  Whap!

  "Ow! Wait. I wasn't ready that time. Can I say it now? Bad pussy?"

  "Not quick enough, Number Ten. We'll have to do that one over. At this rate, we'll be here all day."

  "Oh!” she whined. “Please let that one count.” She knew even as she begged him that it was no use.

  "One ... Two ... Three!"

  Whap! “Bad pussy!"

  "See?” said Sanders. “It's not so hard to do it right."

  The next three strokes went smoothly enough, except for Brenda's mounting confusion over her own response to the rough treatment. Despite her best effort to quell her reaction, she just got wetter and wetter as the punishment continued. It felt like a veritable puddle had formed in the valley between her inverted thighs. She tried not to think about it.

  She tried as well not to think about how impatient she was becoming now. Why was he pausing? Why not keep going and get it over with? She found herself wiggling her hips, making herself sway, anything to get his attention. It was maddening.

  But the reason for the pause soon became clear. Sanders and Twelve were exchanging places. Brenda glanced from side to side, watching them step around her. As Twelve accepted the small whip from Mr. Sanders, she said under her breath, “Yesss!"

  "Sh—she's going to whip me now?” asked Brenda nervously.

  "That's right, Ten,” answered Sanders. “While I do the spanking. And strange as it may seem, Twelve's whip strokes pack more of a wallop then mine."

  Twelve giggled. “It's true! Of course, Mr. Sanders could hit harder than me. Much harder. He's way stronger. But his strength actually makes him hold back. Mustn't damage the goods, ya know.” As she spoke, Twelve repeatedly dragged the leather thongs across Brenda's crotch, causing Brenda to twitch and writhe at the tantalizing touch on her hypersensitive pussy, and its effects on the balls shifting about inside her.

  "Oh,” added Sanders, “you have a new assignment also, Ten. Instead of saying ‘bad pussy,’ you're now to say ‘naughty cunt'."

  "B—But that's worse than ‘bad pussy'."

  "Yes, I thought so, too,” said Sanders. He immediately began counting off again.

  During the three-second countdown, Brenda realized she had no choice but to say what they demanded, no matter how crude or humiliating. When he got to “three” she did her best to call out “naughty cunt,” but her words were muffled and cut short by a shocked gasp. She had almost forgotten that Twelve now wielded the whip.

  The girl had aimed it so the very tips of the leather braids, rather than their lengths, made contact with Brenda's exposed sex. When they snapped against her it was like so many individual stinging hornets. The effect made Sanders’ strokes seem like gentle caresses in comparison.

  And from behind, Sanders’ open palmed smack was much more forceful than Twelve's. It sent Brenda swinging back and forth as the pangs of the whip rampaged through her body.

  In that instant, not only could Brenda not finish saying the required phrase, but no sound at all emerged from her throat. She had no air left in her lungs, having forgotten to breathe.

  Behind her, Sanders clicked his tongue. “We'll let that one count, Ten, but it was just barely understandable."

  "Please!” cried Brenda when she finally found her voice. “I can't take any more like that. I'll do whatever you want, but—uh! Mmm, oooh..."

  As she pleaded, Twelve began to finger her clit, cutting her off again, this time with pleasure. But as soon as Brenda had quieted, Sanders began counting again.

  "Oh God!” groaned Brenda, as Twelve's finger pulled back.

  On three, Brenda forced herself to say “naughty cunt” as loudly and clearly as she could.

  But the final three strokes were a blur. Brenda found herself just mumbling “naughty cunt” over and over without waiting for the count. Sanders didn't seem to mind, and the lash-spanks kept coming. Whether from the punishment itself, or her inverted position, or a combination of both, Brenda became more and more lightheaded. By the end, she was barely able to fight off the narrowing tunnel of blackness that began to close in on her.

  Or perhaps the blackness did win out. After the last stroke, she heard Sanders say, “Good girl,” and then the next thing she knew, she was on the floor again. Nearby, she heard Twelve saying, “I think she's awake, sir."

  "So she is,” came Sanders’ voice. “Good. Now we can continue."

  CHAPTER 6: THE CONTROL STRAP

  Tom Sanders gazed down at Number Ten's semi-conscious form as Number Twelve busied herself changing the bindings on his lates
t “hire.” The sight of leather cuffs being locked tight around slender feminine limbs never failed to arouse him. And the soft sighs the delirious girl breathed as Twelve went about her task only added to the effect.

  Shortly of course, Ten would come to. She'd become aware of her new restraints and begin straining, to no avail, against the cuffs’ unyielding hold. The mere anticipation of watching her struggle sent a fresh surge of blood through his already hard cock, and intensified his own internal struggle to refrain from ravaging her right then and there.

  The self-imposed tension was inevitable; in keeping her on edge, he kept himself on edge as well. It was a delicious, delicate balance he never tired of. Indeed, he relished the sensation of his inner wolf snarling and snapping at its leash. He savored the feel of its feral strength as he held it back, barely keeping it from sinking its figurative teeth into the fresh meat in front of him.

  But he would only need to restrain the wolf a little longer for this one. It had been almost a year now since he'd first set eyes on the striking blonde flight attendant on a redeye out of Dallas, and the time had gone by relatively quickly. But these last few minutes were always the hardest. To have her now so close, so helpless, so vulnerable...

  He remembered the first moment he made eye contact with her. That flicker in her crystal blue eyes, just a momentary hesitation, barely perceptible. And then the sudden glance away, as if she realized, subconsciously, that she had revealed something and needed to hide it again, even if she didn't quite know what it was. But it was already too late, for in that instant he had seen all he needed to see.

  And now she lay at his feet. As perfect a ten as he'd come across yet. Better even than the last, Brenda Alexander's craving to be controlled ran far deeper. It came as naturally to her as breathing itself. Yet he would still need to develop it, coax it to full fruition, as society's pressures had forced her to deny and suppress it for so long.

  Smiling now, he recalled one of Harry Haller's guiding principles, a quotation from the philosopher, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. The airline's founder had become familiar with the iconic German's writings by way of his fascination with the novel Steppenwolf, in which his fictional namesake is visited repeatedly by Goethe's spirit while inside the Magic Theater.