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Subject: {ASSM} The Governor's Wife - Part Twenty-three
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Warning: This story is about non-consensual domination. It is
fiction, but it is erotic - despite or perhaps partly because it
is non-consensual.
Copyright: Victor Bruno.
http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html
The Governor's Wife
by Victor Bruno
Part Twenty-three
Frank's eye's closed. He didn't think he could stand
much more. His mouth champed on the sodden ball in his
mouth. Her knickers. Did she know, or care, that already
they were half choking him?
A fist thumped Frank painfully on the nose. "Eyes open,"
snapped Hettie. Then she began to unbutton her black
blouse. "So I'll want complete freedom" she went on.
Frank gazed helplessly at the high, rounded breasts
revealed. They thrust prominently, held in a lacy
half-cup brassiere, the dark nipples pert. It was, of
course, ridiculous to suggest that the blouse hindered
her in any way. Frank realised that, once again, Hettie
was taunting him with her so-desirable body. The short
red skirt was unfastened and slipped down. The
long-legged Hettie stepped out wearing a pair of panties
of the same lacy material as the brassiere. They were so
brief they might have been classed as a G-string.
Smiling provocatively, Hettie gyrated her hips, rather
like some stripper.
"Nice, eh Frank?" she enquired. "Make you feel you'd
like another toss, Frank?"
No one could have been more aware than Frank of the
effect this cruel temptress was having on him. The steel
ring about his organ was cutting agonizingly as he
swelled uncontrollably. He whinnied with pain.
"O.K. Frank, playtime's over," said Hettie with sudden
sharpness. "Now you're going to get what you deserve."
Every nerve in Frank's body seemed to scream silently.
Even more so when his swollen length was gripped again.
"My God .... even now, you're still lusting!" cried
Hettie in mock amazement. "Oh yes, wanker, you really do
deserve what's coming to you!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Hettie laid on the first six strokes from Frank's left
hand side.... using, as she had promised, all the force
at her command. She grunted with effort as, at
five-second intervals she whiplashed the rod down,
ensuring that the whippy tip bit cruelly into Frank's
right flank. She started at the centre of Frank's rump
and worked down, spacing the strokes about an inch
apart.
As each vivid, twin-tracked weal leapt up from the flesh
(or so it seemed) Frank's head jerked back and forth and
he tugged frenziedly at his bonds. Unable to bellow his
pain, the sound was converted to high-pitched jetting
sounds down his flared nostrils.... sounds not unlike
short blasts on a pea-whistle.
He had known it was going to be bad .... But not as bad
as this!
How was he possibly going to stand twenty four?
After the sixth stroke, Hettie walked round to Frank's
right hand side. Her rounded breasts were heaving, her
eyes bright with sadistic joy.
"Just a warm-up, wanker," she said. "It's the last dozen
which are really going to hurt!"
It could not be true! Nothing could hurt more!
Surely .... surely .... not ....
In the same measured way, Hettie laid on another six,
the zippy tip this time biting into Frank's left flank.
She covered the same area and, with consummate skill
born of experience, she contrived to place the new weals
between the old ones. Frank's jerking and tugging became
even more frenzied; but no matter what he did, it was of
no avail and his hindquarters remained securely and
squarely presented.
The white slip across his mouth was sodden with tears
when Hettie came round to the front after the twelfth
stroke.
"Feel like wanking again, Frank?" she demanded, seizing
him by a hank of hair and shaking his head. Frank turned
his head wildly from side to side to indicate he
certainly did not. Hettie smiled. "No ...." she said,
"and you won't ever do it again in my home, not when
I've finished with you."
Frank's eyes were out like organ-stops, quite frantic in
their silent pleading .... and he whimpered and whined
without ceasing. A gutless creature, reflected Hettie,
certainly compared with Robert. Still, she'd known
others equally gutless and, in any event, twenty four
from her was no laughing matter. Tapping the cane in the
palm of her hand, she walked slowly back round the
block. One long urgent whine was now coming from Frank's
nostrils.
"Now," said Hettie, "as I say, this is when it really
hurts. Because you get them in the same place, all over
again...."
URL <a href="http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html">Bruno
Books</a> Email <a
href="mailto:VictorBruno@MsChristine.com">Bruno List</a>
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