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Valentine

I

The chair was uncomfortable, high backed like a dining chair with elegantly carved arms but made of some kind of dark, cast metal. The cold of the cushion-less seat bit into the flesh of her bottom and thighs hungrily. Goosebumps were erect all over her body. Even colder were her equally bare wrists and ankles, shackled with heavy steel cuffs to the arms and legs of the chair almost symbiotically for there was not one inch of room to maneuver. For extra protection, a large chain from the leg shackles had been pulled tautly across the bare stone floor connected to an enormous, heavy ring, not dissimilar to those seen at the side of harbour’s for large fishing and pleasure boats to secure themselves against; anything that held a trawler in its place would surely suffice for her, despite her surprising strength fuelled by her core fierce rebelliousness.

There was no room for rebellion here; escape impossible. Even if she managed to kick over the heavy chair, she would not be able to free her self of that ankle chain and shackle. There was no need therefore to secure the doors or windows; they were tantalisingly left open. The reason? Twofold; to ensure as many inspectors had as clear a view of her as possible and to maximise the chill in the air. The winter had been long and dark, snow had fallen heavily the week before and icy was the air, it tore into every inch of her exposed skin – a throw back to the oft remembered climate of the 60’s, now obliterated of course by our environmental stains and sins, when the summer sun blazed, spring arrived in March, not January and the snow covered roads for weeks on end.

She was hooded; a rough sack like material was forcefully pulled over her head and tied in place with a ribbon or cord. Once her k**nap had been successfully orchestrated and she was safely transported to this, the most carefully chosen compound, the ribbon was untied, giving a little more breathing room for of course no one wanted her to be asphyxiated (there was far too much fun to be had). Her suit, terribly expensive and practically brand new, had been cut off her body using sharp seamstresses scissors. The pencil skirt was slowly opened at the back following the centre seam, revealing the pale softness of her arse first, insuring total humiliation from the very beginning. Next the jacket, again along the back seam and then each arm was forcibly torn away from her body. She was outraged at first but ignored and soon her yells softened into a defeatist whimper. Barely utter did she when the silk blouse was, at an excruciatingly slow pace, gently removed, the cutter taking pains to touch most thoroughly every part of her exposed flesh; wrists, inner arms, armpits even, collar bone, belly, arse and then of course her fine, firm breasts. She still wore her bra, well part of it. The front had been ripped open; the scissors had been abandoned in favour of eager masculine strength. The scissors, so cold by now, where employed again to slice a gaping hole in her beautiful expensive French silk knickers, revealing her pussy and exposing her further. Practically naked was more humiliating than being fully so. She could not pretend that she felt at home in her skin, comforted or indeed confident enough to attempt to restore her usual dominant aura in this room. No; she sat there feeling broken and exposed; shackled and hooded. There was no need to gag her; she knew no words could get her out of this, as of course they usually got her out of anything. Words, and the intensity of those amazingly expressive eyes, the delicious swing of her hips, the merest glance at her impressive cleavage. Oh no, now she was silent, shocked and shamed. She was helpless and readily submitted; it was her only choice, she could not fight. She did not own herself any more. She was a possession. This she understood, but only this, for the cold seemed to have penetrated her heart and mind too, silencing any thoughts of protest or feelings of rage.

As her teeth started to chatter, she suddenly became aware of noises. The hood muffled them and must have confused them she thought, as it sounded like there were many people moving all around her which was surely unlikely. It continued for some time, she was incapable of determining how long. Eventually, a throat was cleared. The sound appeared to have come from behind her, causing a powerful flood of fear and panic to rise and surge within her, overwhelming her completely.

A voice spoke.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the compound. I trust you are all warm in the coats provided. As you can see we have a fine specimen for you. A truly beautiful bitch, a prize for any master, if they could control that fine temper. You see,” he said as he ripped the hood off her head was such force she cried out, her eyes stinging and watering by the sudden exposure to light, “this cunt thinks her self above you. She has such illusions of grandeur, she is a female supremacist, she feeds off pathetic little worms’ blind devotion to her, she falsely believes herself powerful, that education, wealth, a career has somehow reversed the natural order of life. She even has filthy little cuckolds cleaning her house and running round after her, like she is the husband and they the wives! You see what she is, forced into this position, weakened by our strength. She does not even struggle. She is cunt. That is all. Cunt that has too high opinion of itself. She needs to be punished – that is the only way she will learn. Arse, pussy, tits. That is all. Aren’t you?” he bent and whispered softly in her ear so only she could hear. “Nothing but a dirty filthy cunt that needs to be punished hmm.”

“She needs to learn this lesson gentlemen. I am sure you will all be very happy to oblige.”

Throughout this speech her eyes slowly accustomed themselves to the light and she saw what lay in store for her. She was surrounded by men, all different ages, heights, weights, class even judging by their clothes. They all had two things in common however; they all wore thick coats or parkas and all had their cocks out, erect and ready to deliver unto her lesson upon lesson.

II

“Apologies to those who we could not accommodate inside, however I thought you would enjoy watching from the door ways and windows nonetheless. And so without further delay, for I can see how eagerly you all want to show this,” he said, pulling her hair violently, so that her head was pulled upright and she could not avoid the sight of the men and their cocks encircling her, “dirty bitch what she really is, the filthy little cum slut.”

The speaker then moved around the group, selecting some men to move forward. She could see clearly now and guessed there were about thirty men in the bare stone walled and floored room, assuming the same number were behind as in front of her. She was unable to take her eyes off the speaker; he moved easily, powerfully exuding confidence and assured of his control, over her and the group. He settled finally in front of her, surrounded by the 7 other men he had selected to move forward. The other men parted easily so he could assume his position at the lead of the group. They all began to massage themselves more furiously now, excepting the speaker who remained calm and fully clothed.

The breathing became heavier all around her. Even those not yet selected to stand near became further excited eagerly watching all the others’ cocks rise to her. “Gentlemen,” the speaker interrupted the tense silence, “you are charged with an important responsibility here, you must teach her a lesson. Make her understand her place,” he instructed.

One particularly keen young man, who was clearly struggling to contain himself, required no further permission. “I am going to cover you in my cream. I’m going to coat your proud pretty face with my cum, I am going to watch you lap it up! You will won’t you, you dirty whore!” and with the last word, a virile powerful stream of cum spurted through the air and indeed coated her face. This powerful display was all that was required for the others in the group to also loosen themselves. Amidst cries of ‘whore, bitch, cunt’ she was showered in cum. It was in her hair, dripping all down her cheekbones, strands had fallen onto her magnificent breasts. The men now fully spent removed themselves from the circle and the others waited for the speaker to select replacements. Before doing so however, he stepped closer to her, constantly sneering and calling her a cum slut. “Did you enjoy that you cum slut? I bet you did, I can see it in your eyes you filthy bitch. You loved it didn’t you?” He grabbed her breasts forcefully, squeezing the nipples tightly so that she gasped aloud. He rubbed all of the intermingling cum all over them so that she was thoroughly coated. The cum was however starting to dry and began to feel sticky and uncomfortable on her skin.

“Drying up are we?” the speaker leered. “I bet your pretty wet here though aren’t you, in your filthy cunt?” he said as he inserted one, then two, fingers into her open pussy. He delved into her deeply until she began to moan, then quickly desisted. “Dripping!” he exclaimed to the room, showing the inspectors and participators his glistening fingers, “what a dirty whore she is, she’s actually turned on by you all humiliating her like this.”

The punishment continued and the speaker was ruthless in his encouragement of the participants. They covered her in cum; covered her feet, legs, breasts, face, one group even covered her in unison. There was a sticky, glistening pool on the floor around her and the feet of the chair legs. And during each round the speaker stood in front of her, or behind her, pulling her hair back so her face could get better coverage. But he never revealed his own cock. And at the end of each round he tested her wetness again, taking care each time to bring her ever closer to the edge of orgasm before abruptly removing his fingers and inviting another group forward. She was desperate for release; there seemed no level of humiliation she would not readily accept, she begged him to keep going, she begged him to let one of the men do it instead, begged that they all could touch her, fuck her, anything just so long as she came. The Speaker had instructed the disciplinarians well however; not one of them attempted to touch her, not even in the slightest. As her begging became more desperate and she pulled against her shackles, the more intense their insults and taunts became; cum slut, desperate whore, bitch, fucking cunt, how much she must want to suck their dicks, how she was begging them to fuck her, how desperate she was to have her arse filled with cum, over and over, filled right up with all of their cum, how she needed to be spanked, tied up, how she wanted to be fucked oh so very hard, how she wanted them to make her cum. The air was heavy with their scents but the chilliness prevented any headiness or confusion. He wanted her senses to remain keen. When the final group spent themselves and the speaker had inserted a whole fist into her eager, soaking, buzzing cunt, so excited it was by the final covering of cum that she cried aloud, unashamedly, a****listically, frantically pulling against her restraints shuddering at the power of the speakers touch. The speaker abruptly, once again, removed himself before she could climax and then roughly pulled the hood back down over her head.

Her shackles were undone and gently she was lifted out of the chair, the coldness and tension had stiffened her muscles. She was leant against a wooden cross, its touch surprisingly warm and comforting after the chair and her wrist shackles connected to chains hanging from more large metal rings bolted to the cross. She was relived to be held up right, her body could not hold its own weight, so exclusively focused it was upon release. During this movement, she felt several pairs of hands on her but none lingered, and the room filled with the sound of all the men moving around. Soon after her wrist shackles had been secured however, the room became completely silent.

Warmth flooded through her body. He pressed his body against hers, absorbing the coldness. He massaged the skin on her back, buttocks and thighs, aiding the circulation of warming blood. She stirred, pressing her hips and bottom into his body, desperate for connection.

“Oh, I see you are feeling warmer now, eager and hungry too. Well, I’m not sure, I think you could feel warmer…” and he brought his hands down together firmly upon her bottom cheeks. “Yes, definitely could be warmer. Besides, you deserve further punishment after demonstrating so clearly your enjoyment during the previous lesson. Didn’t even try to hide your delight did you, your eagerness? When will you learn, you dirty little cum slut?”

III

The hood was still obscuring her vision, but she was glad of it. Usually the spanker, she had never been on the receiving end of such vicious blows before. At first she delighted in the touch, knowing from the heavy way that he was breathing that it was the speaker delivering the final punishment. The hand action was helping to warm her cold ravished body; she felt electric and so wet, still desperately eager for release despite her ordeal. As she pushed her arse out invitingly, her head was flooded with images of all those hard cocks, encircling her, cumming for her, under her command. The room was however quite silent, apart from the sound of her blood pumping harshly around her body and of course the echoes of each resounding thump of the speaker’s hand on her lovely round bottom. Were they still there? It was too hard to determine, but she hoped they were, desperate and hard and begging to be allowed to watch her cum this time. Oh yes, there was a fierceness in her thoughts now, her natural feelings of domination and defiance were returning to her oh so sweetly. The speaker must have anticipated this, or perhaps he could just tell from the way she was opening herself, legs spread and arse pushed hard out, welcoming touch. He knew she had to be broken.

Hence her gladness of the hood; she bit into the rough material, staggered by the level of pain she was experiencing. Her body shaking, she needed to bite down so as not to scream. She knew what was happening here, understood this to be a final act of punishment, to train her to abandon all dominant thoughts and free herself, submit herself to the whim of the speaker. She was defiant to the last, as he in turn subjected her to canes, paddles, floggers; the worst was a rattan cane with five separate flexible wooden strands, each reverberating off one another and biting into her beautiful creamy white flesh raising blood to the surface and leaving nasty red welts. The speaker did not persist too long with that particular item of equipment however knowing how incomprehensible the pain created was, although he had worked up quite a sweat by now and was becoming frustrated with her insolence. He began again calling her the most lewd and insulting names he could imagine but still she endured even whilst he repeatedly flogged her bottom, the leathery weight biting into her now too hot skin. But why did she not scream aloud and submit to his will? His patience waned, he violently removed the hood from her head, snatching it out of her teeth. Once he realized she had been using it to gag herself, to prevent audible signs of her broken will escaping he was invigorated, seized by a determined urge to push her until she crumbled.

He desisted with the flogger and paused to catch his breath and think. She thought she had won, he could tell from the slackening of her muscles, so taut before with the force of withstanding such blows. She was wrong and that delicious look of pity mingled with power in her eyes was dangerously misjudged. She did not think he had it in him. How she misunderstood, still. He picked up the rattan once again, and without pausing between blows for the sting to be absorbed into the skin, he relentlessly pummeled her bare reddened skin. She had no time to become accustomed to the pain, to allow her body to accept it and her brain to whisper to itself that it could not last forever, as is the way with women, hence their higher pain thresholds. Oh no, she had no time for anything, for thoughts, for reactions, for resistance. Her body melted and all strength and power dissipated instantly as all she could see, think, breathe even, was white hot pain. She screamed aloud or bit into the skin of her lips so endearingly, each taste delivering a bittersweet concoction of her own salty tears and the mingled dried creamy cum of her instructors. She was removed from the world, removed from the room, but most importantly, removed from herself.

It took several moments before she realized what was now going on, for the pain persisted even though the speaker had long since dropped the cane and had been merely rubbing the cheeks of her bruised bottom and the tops of her thighs soothingly. Her thighs were coated as her face before had been, but this time with her juices alone. It was quite remarkable that such a deluge still poured forth from such a tight punished pussy but pour forth it did, running down her thighs from her plump, straining, silken lips. It wasn’t until the first sweet rumblings of an orgasm penetrated through her pain that she realized what was happening, that the speaker, was finally, taking the last part of her. Once again her hunger for release became a****listically powerful as she rocked against the hardness inside her, opening her legs wider, u*********sly so his that cock could delve in further, deeper, harder. She was nothing. She had dissolved into his being, surviving, thinking, living only to feel his magnificent cock inside her. To be its vessel was her only purpose in life, to bring it pleasure her only pleasure.

He took pains to ensure that she came too, several times in fact, before he himself gave her what she most desired in the world. He wanted to ensure that all was released from within her, that no hungry, eager, fierce or forceful feeling remained, that all that resided within her was pure submission to him. When he filled her pussy was with his hot wet cum her state was bliss. She had no desire to be released from her shackles, to be able to sit down, to be warm even. She had no desire except that which pleased him. Gently he unshackled her and lifted her into his arms. He carried her from the cold stone room into the next, far warmer room, with an open fire already blazing away. There were no more inspectors or instructors to witness her new submissive state, not that she cared, she cared only that the speakers wishes were fulfilled. He placed her, gently once again, into a bath that was positioned in front of the fire and left her to soak. Slowly she regained possession of herself, left alone, relaxed and satisfied for the first time in hours, hours that felt as if they had been days. Slowly she regained her usual ways of thinking, yet she now knew something else, had experienced something fresh which inevitably would leave marks, on her arse and her mind set. After 30 minutes, he returned, bearing a glass of wine, ashtray and cigarettes. He passed her the glass, inserted a cigarette between her reddened swollen lips and lit it for her. He then dropped to his knees, one hand holding the ashtray for his Mistress’s convenience.

“Happy Valentine’s Day my darling,” and with a smile he added, “I hope I fulfilled your wishes in a way that pleased you my Mistress? You can not imagine how hard it was to enact all of your instructions my love, to speak to you so crudely, unthinkable!”

“You did very well my slave,” she paused and took a long draught from her glass. “However I would have preferred more cocks. Remember that for next time.”

Copyright c Polly Brunswick 2009. All rights reserved

Polly Brunswick xx

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