Gagged

Penance-1

Chapter Four

Penance

The long black length of braided leather arched through the air with a nearly silent hiss and impacted exactly where I intended: the narrow, twenty-three inch waist of the woman with the green scarf and the braided green rope holding her to the overhead beam. Controlling the swing carefully, with timing and long practice, I allowed the whip to encircle her waist twice, with the cracker end coming to rest over her right ribs. The only sound was Penny’s intake of a quick breath as the leather coiled around her and made no mark, caused no pain, but reminded her that a slightly different twist of my wrist and a bit more force behind my swing could leave an indelible mark and bring horrible pain.

Penny was one who knew. She had been there. She still wore the stripes to prove it and they were not all from me. Clark, her first top, was somewhat less considerate of her welfare and in fact had almost zero s****l interest in her. What he sought was the ripe, young body that was always available for his multiple punishments: the hairbrush, the paddle, the cane, the flail, the cat, the horsewhip and the crop, not necessarily in that order. His cellar was a museum of new and ancient devices intended to restrain and torment female bodies. The rack was fourteenth century Toledo, Spain; the Saint Andrews Cross from Victorian London, the strappado rig from Turkey, the boots and finger crushers from some SS interrogation camp and the hundreds of other gadgets were all carefully maintained in working order and used as often as Clark’s whims dictated. That selection of tools posed a repertoire that could not be denied for Penny. She sought the intimate contact with each device in all of its applications, from soft and loving to brutal and harmful. She indulged herself in the flogging, the spanking while bent over a rail, the improvised restraints that served more to exhibit her vulnerability then to keep her from escaping. For a while, it was fascinating. Some of the joint enterprises they participated in were nothing short of arcane, such as stretching Penny’s nude body horizontally in midair and then monitoring the exact amount of tension being applied to each arm, each leg. Whatever the possible actual value might have been found in such a cruel and vicious study, Penny related to it. She simply said that they were attempting to get to record what her tolerance was for this particular torment and what, if anything, might improve the physical ability of the subject to endure it over a prolonged period. She said that she once suggested to Clark that since he kept flawless records of his experimental work, he might publish a book as a guide for future masochistic endeavors.

Clark was not stupid. Nor was he especially creative. Penny knew how to get his creative juices flowing and usually she did so with a particular goal in mind. She decided at one point to ask Clark if he would install some metal in her body. Her intent was to acquire a set of rings in strategic locations on her body where she could either have Clark attach various devices or do so herself. She made up a list of what she wanted and presented it to Clark one night when it was clear to her that they both were bored with the usual suck and f**k, chain and tie routines. Clark quickly agreed and was surprised to discover that Penny already had a large stash of gadgets she wanted installed via piercings in and on her body. He was also surprised to discover that his wife already had a large and varied stash of rings and things to be placed in locations she carefully marked with indelible felt pens. Thus, they began what they called the “piercing exercise.” When the installation was complete a few months later, Penny was happily able to display rings in her n*****s, lower lips and clit, as well as a heavy, solid stainless steel ring in her nose. With these fastenings place and the piercings well healed, Penny spent many nights not only chained in an immobile position but secured by all or some of these rings to furniture, walls and ceilings at Clark’s desire before he flogged her senseless.

At times, Penny would suggest something that wasn’t already on Clark’s pain menu, like a nearly mortal beating with an old-fashioned auto radio antenna or a thin fiberglass final extension of a fishing pole. Both of these items, when eventually applied to her ass, t**s or inner thighs left indelible marks as well as a deeply imprinted chorus of pain that surpassed by several decibels anything she had ever previously endured. Clark, needless to say, thought the piercings were a nice addition and enjoyed using them often. He sought further opportunities as soon as the initial cuts healed. In the times when he found the beatings insufficient to quell his libido, Clark would then avail himself of any or all of Penny’s available ringed ports, usually choosing her remarkably tight, decorative ass for his pleasure.

Penny was ambivalent. She almost relished the punishment, both corporal and s****l, at the hands of strangers, never really knowing how far they would go and always wondering if Clark would allow her to be permanently marked or even maimed if the occasion suited him.

But that fascination soon faded as well. While Penny spent hours and sometimes days lashed to the rack or post, chained in the old coal bin in his dank cellar or stuffed into a cage of rusty, welded rebar, Clark engaged in his s****l enterprises with a long line of men, forcing Penny to watch and on occasion, allowing them to f**k her or use her for other acts in some degrading fashion. When she left, he didn’t even try to follow. He allowed her to take most of her personal b**m gear with her, especially the elaborate Pony Girl outfit that she had paid for herself long before she met Clark. He handed her a check for ten thousand Euros, studied her face for some indication of acceptance or refusal and walked away.

I eventually learned that Penny once posed in her full pony rig for a major bondage magazine. She told me that they usually paid next to nothing for such photo sets, but in the months that followed the editor got so many letters and emails demanding a return engagement with Pony Penny that he hired her for a full spread in a forthcoming issue of the magazine. This time, she said, the job and compensation were on her terms, so she got paid well for what turned out to be a photo spread that was, in those years, considered too extreme. The shots were never published, but Clark, enterprising asshole that he was, ran some discrete ads in several publications and websites, eventually recovering his photo investment.

“I saw those,” said Diane one night while we stayed up in the party room discussing the old days. “You looked fantastic, but at the time I thought the midair suspension was faked….some sort of magic trick. The collection cost a couple of hundred Euros, but was worth it and individual outtakes from the shoot turned up everywhere. People who bought sets copied them and resold single photos. You were famous,” she said

“Want to see them?” Penny asked after she finished her story.

“Sure,” most of us in the group echoed.

“I have done the best job I could to preserve these, but as you can see, travels and humidity have taken their toll,” She left the room and quickly returned with a large portfolio that she spread out on the floor for us to peruse. There were nearly forty black and white, eight by ten photos and at first glance I realized why they had not been published. Penny was totally nude in every shot, except for riding boots, and there were many photos with her full frontal exposure in such a manner that in those past years, no editor in their right mind would have printed the pictures and not gone to jail. The head shots were especially fine with Penny in full bridle, with snaffle and various bits stuffed into her mouth. Blinkers and some very authentic looking ears added to the look. The full body harness was an elaborate version of the simpler version she now work to retain twin plugs front and back. Obviously custom made and must have been worth a fortune. It could hold a set of dual dildoe plugs in Penny’s ass and cunt, exposed as they were while someone in the background applied a buggy whip liberally to her ass and t**s. Never published. Too bad. Penny at her pony best. End game. Move on. And she did.

We had been together a whole year since she first arrived with the construction crew and was doing the lowest job in the team, driving nails in two by fours as the frames went up. She learned, albeit slowly, that she could have her sweet submissive cake and literally feast on the s*x too. Late at night, when she was cuddled up on her side of the bed, her collar chained to the post and her wrists and elbows snuggly cuffed behind her back, she told me many times of her initial confusion, being in the house with just Mel and me. She was challenged to find the satisfying means with which to subject herself to whatever forms of degradation I could provide or to degrade herself without me and at the same time remain within the physical and virtual boundaries which I set, all while pleasing me.

The best part, she said, was the visits to the crypt in the yard and the long periods of enforced bondage and isolation there, with only her mind to keep her company and the chains or harnesses to remind her of her subjugated status. She found that her present situation was, she said, much like the one with Clark, but without the brutality and the physical damage. Still, the crypt held its own fascination and after I initially introduced her to it, she sought and usually got my permission to go there alone and do whatever occurred to her at the moment. Our deal was that she had a limited amount of time to spend there and if she didn’t report back when time was up, I would send Mel after her and maybe even take myself down the overgrown, woodsy path to the ancient marble memorial in the pines to see exactly what sort of demonic activity Penny was engaged in this time.

Penny was smart enough to know that going to the crypt was a privilege that I could revoke at any time. She also knew that if she screwed up in her self-bondage exercises she might not live long enough for me or the dog to rescue her. Thus, her usual entertainment was uncomfortable, restrictive, but not impossible to get out of when she had enough. Like so many humans who seek restrictive bondage play, Penny was accomplished at tying, strapping or chaining herself and reveling in the orgasmic physical and emotional trappings of such indulgence. The tightness of the ropes on wrists, ankles and other body parts was a major influence on her entire mental and physical state. A wrong loop or knot could screw up the entire scene and maybe require a restart from scratch. And there was something else: somehow I knew when she had gone too far and accidentally misplaced the keys to the cuffs and locks, or just fallen asleep while chained and totally entombed in an ancient vault when the lid closed and amazingly locked, trapping her inside. Something communicated to me that she was in danger and Mel and I trotted down the path one densely dark night to find no sign of Penny, other than her clothing strewn around the marble floor.

Sure enough, Mel, sniffing noisily, indicated that the heavy stone vault in the rear chapel was of interest. The lid was locked with some sort of mysterious clockwork lock which I could not operate, so I used a handy ancient battle axe leaning against one crumbling wall and broke the rusty latch with two blows.

There lay Penny, chained, hooded and wearing an antique metal helmet over the hood, making “get me out, please” noises, wrapped in a heavy, ancient suit of chainmail that seemed to fit her quite well. Her breasts were cuffed and chained around her upper torso, but they made an interesting impression on the chain mail top. Her wrists were chained behind her with an encircling chain belt that locked to additional heavy chains around her waist, thighs and lower legs. The locks she used were of present day design, fortunately and getting her free was just a matter of removing the discipline hood under the steel helmet and asking her where the keys might be. She looked a bit dazed, but soon came around and told me the keys were, (no surprise here), in a hollowed out butt plug, covered with a condom, that was presently up her ass