Learning to Crawl

Learning to Crawl
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ISBN:  9781907753480
Author:  John Argus
Word Count:  61,443
Format:  eBook

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The InnocentThe Innocent

'Have you remembered your manners?' he asked.
   'Yes, sir,' she said quietly.
   'Then bend over that,' he nodded at the coffee table.
   Gwen felt a new surge of anxiety at the instruction, but turned slowly and leant forward over the low piece of furniture, laying her soft breasts against the enamelled wood.
   'Now I want you to spank yourself,' he directed.
   She blinked at him in astonishment.
   'Now. If you don't like me spanking you, you'll have to do it yourself.'
   Her bottom was still hot and tingling from his spanking, but she fought down a protest. Complaining that her bottom hurt would be too... too childish. So Gwen reached back awkwardly and spanked her own bottom.
   'You call that a spank?' he said, voice dripping with contempt.
   She bit her lip and spanked harder, wincing as her backside flared hotly.
   'Harder, you miserable little bitch!'
   She spanked harder, whimpering at the pain, for it was twofold; her buttocks hurt, but so did her pride.

Gwendolyn Pepperdine is the spoiled stepdaughter of the English lord, until she ditches college once too often to party amid the sleazier elements of the New York jet set. Cut off by her angry father, she tries to seduce a wealthy older man into supporting her until daddy relents.

But the young beauty isn't as sophisticated as she'd thought, and finds herself caught up in what she believes to be a game of submission. Excited to play the part of slave, she exults in a forbidden life high in the glass towers of New York.

Little does she realise that her own stepfather has arranged for her to be trained by a master, to be broken and turned into an obedient slave who will forget all claims to her inheritance. Tormented by men and women alike, Gwen slowly begins to lose herself to the seduction of total slavery. With only a small part of herself remaining, she tries to fight free - before it's too late!

'Grovel, you slut!'
   Gwen panted as she crawled frantically along the hall trying to escape the lash of Richardson's switch, hearing the laughter of his two companions as they herded her towards the dungeon. She had already performed oral sex on all three men, but that was merely the warm up, and a part of her trembled with suppressed excitement at the anticipation of what they would do to her next.
It had been several days since she found out about Richardson's plan, but she had not yet been able to do anything. Richardson had taken to shackling her in place as often as using the leather restraints. It was apparently easier and he was growing more complacent about his use of her. The locks on the shackles were simple affairs, for they were made more for play than for seriously restraining prisoners. The keys to many were interchangeable.
   She had managed to take one such key, a small thing little larger than her thumbnail, and somehow contrived to hang on to it, hiding it in her mouth, tucked beneath her tongue.
   But he never shackled her at any time when he was asleep or out. He used the tighter leather restraints with their unreachable buckles. She knew she was running out of time, for sooner or later he would find the little handcuff key and then she would be in real trouble. Worse still, she was starting to have lapses where she forgot what she was planning or even why. Even hating him as much as she did she still found her body responding to his touch, to his punishments and restraining methods, even to his presence. Her mind was sinking again into the role of compliant sexual slave ever ready to please and obey her master.
   The key was safely under her tongue, and she had developed the skill of keeping it there even when having to fellate a man, which she just had - three of them.
   Richardson turned to her and unceremoniously dragged her up to her feet by the hair, then placed her between two beams and raised her arms. He spread them apart and clipped her leather wrist restraints to chains in the beams, forcing her to stand very straight.
   Then he picked up a strange U-shaped metal pipe and carried it back to her. He laid the legs down on the floor then pushed it into her lower abdomen, forcing her feet to shift backwards. The cold steel pushed harder and he eased the lower legs into two postholes set in the floor, and then gave a final shove.
   The effect was to push her hips back from the beams, which meant her bottom jutted back and she was forced to bend forward a little, rising to her toes. Her bottom was thus perfectly posed for any use they cared to make of it.
   'I ask you, gentlemen, is this not a magnificent bottom?' he boasted.
   'It truly is,' one of the men replied.
   'Yes, gorgeous,' the other said, nodding sagely.
   Hands moved across her bottom, squeezing and lightly slapping.
   'This is a backside made for punishment,' Richardson said.
   Gwen moaned softly and he slapped her bottom again, sniggering contemptuously. 'The slut knows what she likes,' he said.
   He was a real snake. And yet her pussy was starting to thrum excitedly and her breathing was growing more ragged - and it grew worse when he grinned at her and displayed an odd looking little metal triangle. One side held a narrow strip of some material that looked like suede. He reached beneath the horizontal bar pressed against her abdomen, and she felt that side of the triangle pushing up against her pussy. Then it snapped into place on the underside of the bar and she moaned anew at the pressure it exerted, pushing up firmly against her clit.
   Richardson moved away, then returned, holding a crude plastic phallus. He fed it into her pussy, working it in slowly but not terribly gently, he and the other men sniggering at her distress as it penetrated deep into her body.
   A pair of weights was then clipped to her nipples, and the men were ready to get started.
   Richardson offered the first go to the thinner of the two guests, and he picked up a strap, positioned himself to one side of her and swung it horizontally.
   Crack!
   Gwen groaned as it struck her bottom. The pain was not great, but the impact made her jerk helplessly. Her groin jammed against the suede strip and her pussy clenched sharply around the thick dildo inside.
   The heat of the blow had barely begun to subside when another followed, then another, then another still. The man rained abuse on her as he strapped her, asking how she liked it and if she knew how much she deserved it.
   Her bottom grew blotchy and hot and her groin began heaving more purposefully against the strip between her legs. She told herself not to - told herself she must resist. Several times she almost lost control, forgot completely about the key and almost let it slip from her mouth.
   Her bottom was aflame when the man stopped, and then the second stranger moved in, holding a long switch. The blow was sharper, lighter, yet more painful, the sting deeper and more acute. She yelped and jerked more violently, gasping and panting as she tried to hold herself still. The pleasure grew and the sexual haze began to cloud her mind.
   So what if he kept her there forever? She'd be a real slave then - a sexual prisoner!
  She ground herself against the strip angled so perfectly in beneath her and squeezed her vaginal muscles around the thick intruder wedged there. The thinner man reached in and slapped the base of the dildo that protruded from her, and she cried out as her body was thrown forward. The switch bit into her soft buttocks, angling lower, snapping at the top of her thighs, and she whimpered and squirmed in a vain attempt to avoid its bite.
   Then Richardson set to work with a riding crop. The blow was heavier now, and the pain had much more bite to it. She cried out with each strike, tears filling her eyes as the pain mounted. Again and again she was driven off her toes to hang there against the bar wedged into her abdomen, the angled strip jammed in hard against her clitoris.
   One of the men moved forward in his eagerness and opened his trousers. With one lunge he thrust himself into her bottom, rutting furiously, jamming her sex against the strip of material wedged there and driving her into an incredible climax. Only chance stopped her from swallowing the key or it dropping from her slack lips as her mind disintegrated under the maelstrom of sensory exultation. She spasmed and jerked as his groin pummelled her ravaged buttocks and his hands mauled her breasts.
   He finished with her and stepped back, and Richardson struck her with a cane. Her head rolled back and she just had the presence of mind to embed the key safely under her tongue again as a little sanity returned with the pain, and held it there as another blow followed, then another, and still more. She was sobbing openly, tears dropping to the floor below, but none of the men appeared to feel any pity for her.
   The second stranger moved behind her and penetrated her bottom, and when he was finished Richardson took his turn, using her as roughly as always as he forced her into another climax.
   And it was glorious.
   Again she told herself she did not care if she remained his prisoner forever, did not care if he passed her around to friends and acquaintances, to be bound and beaten and fucked endlessly. What a sensuous, hedonistic life that would be!
   But the sexual haze retreated as he finished, and as they set her down. She tried to comfort her aching, burning bottom, but this drew nothing but laughter as her arms were lifted behind her and attached to the ring set in the back of her collar, and she was led to a new frame she'd not seen before. For some reason it reminded her of the sharply angled roof to a well or doghouse, sitting on a pair of blocks. It was roughly waist high, and Richardson and one of his guests lifted her up on top, forcing her to straddle the thing, spreading her legs wide.
   The straps fastened her legs to each side at thigh and ankle, and then while one of the men bound her hair in a tail the other fed two narrow wires from the wall in front of the frame to the rings in her nipples. She grunted, leaning forward, thrusting her chest up in an attempt to ease the pain. A moment later her ponytail was pulled, arching her head and shoulders back.
   The thin wedge at the top of the frame pressed into her pussy lips, forcing them apart, and leaning forward to ease the pull on her breasts dropped all her weight directly on her sensitive pink flesh. She whimpered softly, easing a little way back, but this stretched her nipples even more painfully.
   'Have a little rest now, Gwendolyn,' Richardson said, clearly amused. 'We'll get back to you.'
   At first, though the pressure between her legs was heavy, the pain was quite tolerable. However, every minute her weight rested on the delicate flesh of her mons the pain grew worse, a powerful throbbing which spread throughout her groin and up into her abdomen. It grew and grew until it became unbearable, and she found herself sobbing and moaning, trying to roll from side to side or back or forth to somehow lift herself free from the terrible pressure.
   But it was hopeless. She could do nothing but sit there straddling the awful frame, crying with anguish and frustration.
   It was much worse than when she was hung by the elderly Japanese man - although that was bad enough - for the rope was flexible and moulded to her body, whereas the wood was immoveable and pressed directly against her pussy. It was such a simple device, and yet so horrible, something clearly made with the female body in mind, and she felt a black rage at the thought of Richardson placing her upon it, giving her such terrible anguish simply for his amusement and the amusement of his pathetic sycophants.
   And when she considered that the whole idea was her stepfather's that rage grew even more intense. She thought of him lounging back comfortably in his leather armchair at the club sipping his aperitif as he read the paper, wearing that smug expression - the one that always made her want to slap him.
   And here she was, tears spilling from her eyes. And if he knew would he be… no, she could not even contemplate that. And yet she could not keep the awful thought from seeping into her tormented mind: would he be… turned on?
   Gwen shook her head, trying to rid herself of the ghoulish thought, more salty tears meandering down her red cheeks as she did.
   After an interminable time Richardson returned alone, smiling at her angst. But he did release her and let her lay in the cage to recover, wrists bound behind her back, planning violent retribution on him and her stepfather...

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