The Scenario

The Scenario, an event by Professor Challenger.

[This was a play scenario I had been working up for some time. First, I wanted to receive a hundred strokes on the buttocks, something we hadn’t done before.  Second, my Mistress had acquired a sexy new Steampunk outfit I wanted to incorporate--.]

The Prisoner has been pulled off the street by the Secret Police. He has no idea why or what he is suspected of. Perhaps it has something to do with his sketchbook? He hasn’t sketched anything that looked secret. He was stripped and sprayed down with some chemical that took most of the hair off his body. He heard someone murmur ominously about “electrodes.”

[I had shaved closely that day.]

Naked, he was locked into a set of chains that left him barely able to move. Much to his consternation, he was gagged. Didn’t they want him to talk-about anything? Lastly, they screwed on a cage enclosing his genitals, over his grunted protests. Perhaps they had mistaken him for some sort of sex criminal?

[I had also put on my Lori’s number 18A chastity device—very restrictive and very secure.]

If at this point he had been thrown into a cell or a dungeon, he would not have been surprised. Instead, he was taken to a well-appointed drawing room. Once there, he was tethered by the collar to a heavy piece of furniture, and left standing in an uncomfortable hunched-over position.

[This point got a bit realer than I had intended. I looped rope though the d-ring on my collar, and crouched down to tie the ends to the legs of our sofa.  While there, I finished my bondage, putting myself into hinged handcuffs that were ziptied closely to my waist belt, and thumbcuffs. In this rig, there was no getting out on my own, even if I had the keys, which were upstairs in the bedroom.  When I got to my feet, I discovered that I had mis-estimated how much rope I had used tying off the ends, and left myself a much shorter tether than I had intended. I could not straighten up at all beyond ninety-degrees bent over—parallel to the ground! This was a much more stressful position than I had planned, which left me with a substantial dilemma.

Did I call for help (I could have made noises through my gag which would have attracted my Mistress), which would break the mood of the scenario, or own my error and tough it out? I initially decided to tough it out, something I reconsidered when I made a couple of other discoveries. Number one, I couldn’t use my hands to support myself, they were too tightly tied to my body. Number two, I couldn’t lean both elbows on the sofa arm simultaneously to support myself, either, although by twisting my body I could do one or the other. Number three, I had a chain running from my collar which normally attaches at the waist belt, runs from there down to the ankle shackles, and has a short chain attached at the waist level that connects to a handcuff that locks around the base of the cock and balls. I had forgotten to attach the lock at the waist, so that part of the weight of the collar-waist chain, part of the weight of the waist-ankle chain, and all of the weight of a padlock were hanging from the cock cuff, all of which pulled down quite uncomfortably on my caged genitals.

So, I had really put myself into a predicament bondage: I had no comfortable standing position, and shifting caused the weight on my balls to shift uncomfortably. I was both thrilled and dismayed. Not wanting to break the mood (or admit to Mistress I had screwed up--), I decided to stick it out. After all, that was the idea: once we started I was in for the full ride. It took about ten additional minutes (or so it seemed) for Mistress to finish dressing and come down to me, in which time I became intimately familiar with the discomforts of my position.]

The Agent was called from the Guardroom and given the assignment of a pre-interrogation “softening up” of the Prisoner. She was to administer a beating on the buttocks of one hundred strokes, ten with each of ten implements. After that, the Prisoner was hers to do with as she would for the night—the only conditions being that he be capable of talking in the morning.

Regulations required that the Agents start masked, but not specifically that they remain that way, to her relief. She understood the psychological effect of the mask, but did not like to wear it. Uniform regulations were somewhat flexible. Preparing, she stripped off her breeches and boots, putting on low-heeled pumps she could move in. 

The Prisoner was somewhat startled when the Agent came into the room. He had not expected to be left alone in this uncomfortable situation too long, but was surprised when a lone woman came in. He was also surprised by her attire. From the waist up, she was a soldier, attired in a close-fitting black uniform jacket, and wearing the ominous mask he had seen on some local troops. From the waist down, she was an image of seduction, wearing only semi-sheer black tights and low shoes.

[Given my strict position and the blinkers attached to my bit gag, I had to work to see her. It was worth it--.]

The Agent appeared to be sizing him up for a minute. Then, she stepped behind the Prisoner. He was startled again when she firmly grabbed his buttocks from behind and kneaded them thoughtfully.

The Agent thought the Prisoner had potential. He was generally well built, and the arresting guards had made sure he was clean.  He had good buttocks, muscled underneath, but with enough cushioning that he would make a good subject for spanking. His reaction to her testing showed he was both reasonably sensitive and not used to being a subject. The Prisoner huffed in annoyance as she stepped away, and began to study the implements set out. She smiled under her mask. If the Prisoner was annoyed now, just let him wait a bit. She looked over the selection of implements that had been set out for her to use, and chose one of the less severe ones that looked like a boot sole.

The Agent stepped to a good working position, and gave the Prisoner a playful smack to begin with. The Prisoner flinched with a gratifying start, and made complaining noises through his gag.  The Agent delivered the next nine swats firmly and in a businesslike manner, ignoring the Prisoner’s squirming and mumbling. Beginning to feel a bit warm, the Agent undid the top button of her jacket and took off the lower half of her mask. She picked up the next tool, and administered ten strokes with that as well.  She stepped around to survey her subject. The Prisoner glared at her, and she smiled sweetly back.  The Agent noted that the Prisoner’s cheeks were red above his gag, to be expected, but noticed that his penis was swelling up within its cage also. Interesting! So, he was turned on by this, was he? That would make it all the more amusing for her.

Going to get the next tool, she discarded the upper half of her mask, and unbuttoned her jacket a few more buttons. As the Agent proceeded through the rack of tools, she grew warmer in more ways than one. The jacket was unbuttoned totally unbuttoned, and then discarded so that she stood in her corset, tights, and shoes.

The Prisoner was in a state. His buttocks were flaming, and the heat spread irresistibly to his groin. His sweat smelt animalistic with arousal.  His mind switched continually between lust, anger, embarrassment and pain, but kept coming back to lust.  He strained against his bonds. If he were free, he would-what?

Coming to the last three implements—a crop, a rattan cane, and a walnut cane, which the Agent knew were most severe—she also ramped up her alternate assault on the Prisoner’s senses. She made a show of checking his bondage, which gave him a good view of her naked body, her heat, and her scent. She traced out the glowing marks on his buttocks. She pressed herself against his naked back, reaching around and pinching his nipples. Although he had quit making noises (except the occasional involuntary one) in response to the beating, attempting to be stoic, this made him moan aloud.

When, after the last but one set of strokes, the Agent fondled the Prisoner’s straining genitals and tugged on the cage enclosing them, he made a protesting noise and tried futilely to pull away, at which time, she spoke: “Look you! I don’t care who you are or what you might have done! What matters is that, once I have finished my assignment, you are mine to do with as I will. I can beat you as much more as I want, if I want. I can leave you just as you are all night if I want. Or, if you will promise to behave nicely, I will take you up to bed with me, and you can enjoy the night as long as it lasts. Think about it!”

She took the last tool, the walnut cane, and applied the last ten strokes with a firmness that left no doubt who was in charge of the situation. Then, she faced the Prisoner, noting with some sympathy his moist eyes and damp cheeks. “So,” she said, “Will you come with me?” After a moment, the prisoner nodded.

“Good!” the Agent said, and untied the rope holding the Prisoner in place. She looped the rope through the Prisoner’s collar, and used it as a leash to guide him up the stairs. “You might as well know,” she went on, “that these stairs lead only up to the bedroom, and down to the guardroom, so there is no escape from here.”

Once upstairs, the Agent began to undo the Prisoner’s bonds. Taking his gag off, she put her fingers to his lips. “Your mouth is not for talking now. I don’t care what you know, and don’t want to know it. We will find better use for it--.”

[The scenario played out gratifyingly closely. Once upstairs, Mistress got me unlocked (except for the chastity) with minimal help, and we hugged and kissed while I thanked her. We got in bed, and made love, which was very satisfying for both of us in different ways. We had started early in the evening, so sat up reading and unwinding for a while afterwards. We went to bed to sleep two hours later, and my buttocks were still warm and tingling. My cock ached dully from straining against the chastity cage, and my balls were tender from the weight dragging on them. I was totally happy, and drifted off to sleep planning the next session.]

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01.03.17