Road Rage

“Get out!”.   Blindfolded and hands tied together, she twisted to one side and had to make her legs feel their way through the car’s open door.

An unseen hand protected the back of her neck as she ducked under the invisible door jamb, swinging herself out and up into a standing position.  Her shoes struck concrete.

“I don’t know who you are, but you are going to get into big trouble over this” she called out nervously, to no one in particular.

The reply came from a deep masculine voice, calm and authoritative, someone who expected and demanded automatic compliance,

“Should you get the idea of going to the police, showing the marks you are about to get, and asking  them to take action against us, be advised that they will tell you that with the evidence you have, they cannot be of any assistance.   And be advised that we will learn of your report.   You would not want to come back here for a second dose.   A double helping is far, far  more than twice the pain of a single one.   And I would bet the person assigned to the task would be highly ticked off with you.   You do not want someone carrying a whip to be highly ticked off with you.”

“Marks?  A whip? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You have been very bad, Miss.   And we are going to make sure you're never that bad again.”

“You can’t do this to me!  Just who the hell do you think you are?

“Who are we?   We are employed by a person you tried to kill with your car, last week.”

“I never tried to kill anyone!”

“Thursday afternoon  at 4:48 pm.   A black limo.   Remember?”

She shook her head.   Tried to tug at the rope holding her hands together in front of her.

“Sort of.   That jerk who yelled obscenities at me?”

“Obscenities or not.  You tried to run his car off the road and into the ditch.”

“I never tried to kill him!”

“But you might have succeeded.   Doing things that can kill people, just because they used language you do not like is called road rage.   Which is why you are here.   You made a huge mistake in trying to run our employer off the road.   He does not take kindly to that sort of activity,   So we really are going to hand you  the retribution you have earned yourself by letting your emotions run amok.”

He took off her blindfold.   It might have been the sudden light, or it might have been the emotion of the moment, but she blinked back tears.  

“We can do this easy way or the hard way.   Do everything I tell you, and this will be over quickly and relatively lightly.   Do it the hard way, and no matter how much you kick, scream and fight, we will still deal with  you,   But it will be much longer, and much, much more painful.   Your only worthwhile strategy is to reduce the time and intensity.  Do you understand?”

She looked around.   He was huge.   He could single handedly overpower her any time he wanted.   And around the room, in the shadows there were other men.   At least four, may be more.

“I understand”

“Are you going to fight me?

 “No.   I see I cannot win.   No, I shall not fight you.”

He looked at her.   She was so small, almost frail, almost still a  kid.   And so very pretty.   It really was a shame a nice girl like her could get herself into so much trouble,

“Road rage is an expensive luxury, Miss”

She swallowed nervously.

“And from now on, I assure you, that you will  choose most carefully, as to who you wish to engage with your tantrums when you are at the wheel of your car.”

Her took her by the elbow and led her over to a bench that ran alongside one of the walls.

“I am going to untie you, so that you can take off your clothes.   If you try anything funny, my friends will come over to hold you down while they undress you.   You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

She shook her head.

“You going to behave?”

She bit her lip and then nodded.

He untied her.

“Take off your running gear, and put it on the bench.”

She took off her sweater, stepped out of her shorts, and then pulled her tee shirt over her head.

“Now your bra.”

For a second, a flash of disobedience crossed her face.   Then her hands went up behind her back to unclip it.

She dropped her bra on the bench top, and faced him coldly.   “Do I keep my shoes and socks on?”

He stared at her breasts as if looking for inspiration in their soft firmness.

“No – they go with the rest.   All you keep on is your underwear.”

She clenched her teeth, and forced herself to take of her training shoes and ankle socks.   The concrete floor was crisply cold against her warm feet.

He took her hands and fastened her wrists together in a pair of handcuffs, padded at the wrists so they would not braid the skin.    He threaded the rope that had, until recently, tied her hands together, and used it as a sort of leash to lead her out towards the center of the large, dimly lit room.

There was a single bulb, high above them, that cast a small circle of gold on the floor at the middle of the room.   There was a stand of sorts directly beneath it, but everything else was hidden in shadow.

The stand had two legs, three or four feet apart, fastened to, possibly buried in, the floor.   The tops of the two legs were  joined  to each other by a padded cross bar.

She stood facing the bar.   It was a red cylinder, shiny red, as if made of leather or plastic, and looked as though it would be relatively soft to the touch.

He tugged and pulled at the upright legs on either side, and lowered the cross bar so that it lay quite horizontal , a couple of inches below her navel.

He put his foot between her feet and tapped them side to side, so that she kept  widening her stance until each foot was against two hasps, set in the concrete, one close to each upright leg.

He squatted down, and produced two pieces of twine, one for each ankle.

When he was done, her ankles were tied to the two hasps, so that she stood square, a good  three foot gap between her feet.  In the cold dank air, her nipples had hardened, to stand proud and give a false appearance that she was getting aroused by being nearly naked in front of her captors.

The sudden touch of cold metal at her waist startled her.

It was a pair of scissors.   Snip!  And he had cut through the waist band of her panties.

She felt the muscles in her groin, pelvis and bottom clench in dread anticipation, at the second Snip! and then having to stand totally naked before him and the audience hiding  among  the dusky surroundings.

 “Please, this is not necessary,”

“The next thing most young women say at this point, is that if I let them off, I can have any sort of sex I want in return.   They have no idea what a willing executioner I am.   And how much more satisfying it is when it is a pretty little bottom, like yours, that it I get to deal with.”

“Please.”

“For your sake, do not offer me money.   I get very angry when I am offered money, and this is going to be painful enough for you without you adding anger to the tally.”

He pulled the handcuffs straight ahead  by its attached rope, so that her flat, almost hollow, stomach was pulled tight against the red plush bar.

And then he ducked down, and threaded the rope down and back between her spread legs.

He walked behind her, picked up the rope and strode back five yards or so to the stanchion.   He pulled on the rope, making her double over the bar, and extend  her arms back between her knees so that her manacled hands pointed straight to the wall behind her.

He tied the rope securely to the stanchion, and then returned to look clinically at her splayed body, naked, softly bare,  and  now open, exposed and vulnerable to his wish.

Her head was about level with the height of her knees..   He liked that a lot, when a young lady was able to present her bottom high in the air, by far the highest point of her whole body.   Much more than a school girl bent for the cane, more like a slave waiting to surrender all of herself to her master’s pleasure.

The way he had secured her meant that the muscles in each of her buttocks, and their surrounding flesh, was so taut that not a flicker of movement was possible.   Her cheeks could not be clenched, nor any private part hidden from view.   There would be no twisting or turning, no way of avoiding each cut.

Satisfied that no adjustment was needed, he walked around to inspect her from the front.

He stood in front of her bowed shoulders.  “This is a good position, don’t you think?   Both humbling and humiliating - both at the same time.”

“Just get it over.  Please stop making it go so slow.”

“My job is to make your bottom as sore as it possibly can be.   Your buttocks are going to become so sore, that you will not even walk in comfort for the next couple of days.   The welts will burn with all the intensity of a freshly scraped knee until the day after tomorrow.   But the pain should all be gone in a week or so.    The main marks in a month.   Some little white scars might last a year or two, but they also will eventually fade.   So.  You might want me to start now, but when I do start, you will wish against wish that you had delayed it just a little bit  longer.”

“Oh god” she whispered.

“But it is actually time that we really did get started.”

He walked across the room to a chair that she had not noticed before now.   Something was lying across its seat.   He picked it up.

It was leather, black leather.   Braided, shiny.  Probably over six feet long, starting at a thumb’s thickness at its handle, and tapering down until it was much less than a little finger’s width at its tip.   As he walked back, he held it horizontally.  It drooped less than a couple of inches along its entire length as he carried it by its handle.

And at that moment, a tear trickled down on to the ground directly below her.

He took up his position at about 45 degrees to her body.   The stiffness of the whip allowed him to adjust his position until he was able to touch the outside of her right buttock with the tip.   He intended to land squarely across both buttocks, and then draw across them both to intensify the agony to its maximum.  He decided, as he always decided, to land the first stroke a little higher than the target set by her anus, and lower each subsequent stroke by a fraction.   Should he reach the base of her buttocks with stripes left to give, they would land on the flesh level with and on either side of that anus.

As the tip brushed her buttock he could see that her body cringed in reaction to the sure knowledge that it was now about to begin.   No more delay, just unbearable pain.

The back swing was not that dramatic.   A slow movement, bending the right arm into a right angle, the hand and the whip pointing straight up to the ceiling.   Then a clenching movement before the arm flipped back straight and the whip accelerated, whistling, unerring to its target, cutting and biting in a split second that ignited such intense fiery agony.

The first crack brought an instant flood of tears, and a half strangled scream.  

And each subsequent stroke raised the pitch of her voice until it became an unintelligible animal cry. 

She took the last two in near silence – just moaning and spitting , her  senses shocked into silent and stunned disbelief.

When it was done, he dropped the whip to the floor and  quickly untied her.

As she stood up, another shock wave of pain ran through her bottom.  She staggered.

“You two!   Quick!  Front and center,  I need the stretcher.”

They ran across carrying an army style field stretcher.  A moment later she sank down onto it.

He held a short conference with the men, issuing commands and instructions.

She lay on the stretcher face down, half way to a fetal position.   A single white sheet covered her nudity, and  the dreadful scarlet wet welts that paralleled across her bottom.

“These men will take you home, now.   Your car will be in your drive.   Everyone is out, and should not get back home until well after ten.   With luck, you will be fast asleep by then.   And if not, I do advise you to keep your description of this evening to an absolute minimum.   Tomorrow, you might want to claim a bad migraine and stay in bed all day.   Then the day after, any residual stiffness can be passed off as the result of spending a whole day in bed.”

She ignored him, apart from the tiniest hint of a nod of concurrence.

“I mean this in the nicest possible way, but I really do hope that we do not meet again.”