Donna knew that she was in for trouble this weekend as soon as she saw Cleo arrive. Cleo was an evil bitch who always succeeded in planting the seeds of wicked ideas in the head of Donna's Master, convincing him that they were actually HIS ideas.
She could expect this time to be no different, for Cleo had connived to get herself invited for a long weekend and here she was on the doorstep and it was only Friday morning, not yet noon.
Style! That was the word. The bitch had style. Friday morning in suburbia and here she was dressed up like she was about to attend a fetish party in long, thigh-length black leather boots, a tarty short leather skirt and a fitted cream silk blouse that showed off her breasts to perfection. Donna could not help but feel a pang of resentment, for if this was her reaction upon seeing Cleo, she could imagine what her Master would think.
"Donna! Whatever are you thinking of? Don't leave our guest standing on the doorstep. Invite her in - take her bag." Managing to spread her lips in what she hoped passed for an acceptable smile, Donna took Cleo's bag and almost dropped it as the full weight was transferred to her. Cleo's eyes gleamed as she leaned forward and kissed Donna full on the lips and her tongue probed forward into Donna's mouth. Donna blushed as she realized that she had opened her mouth to receive this kiss and Cleo smiled as she saw the blush.
Cleo turned to Peter and greeted him like a long-lost friend and they were still embracing as Donna carried Cleo's bag through to the guestroom. The bag was bulging at the seams and Donna could not resist a peek inside to see what Cleo considered as essential items for a long bondage weekend.
Pushing the door closed with her backside, Donna unzipped the bag and pulled out the top items of clothing to reveal an assortment of kinky equipment and fetish clothing. One item that caught Donna's attention was a leather catsuit, laced at the sides of the arms and legs and at the back. This was made in beautiful soft glove leather and would no doubt fit her like a glove. Donna held the suit up to her own body. They were roughly the same size - well, OK, Donna was a little heavier but she was sure she could squeeze into this little beauty if the opportunity arose. After all, what was the lacing for if not to reveal an expanse of flesh?
In her fascination with the catsuit Donna had not noticed that Cleo and her Master had joined her.
"Bad slave! Put that catsuit down immediately and STAND AT INSPECTION!" Donna quickly placed the catsuit on the bed and adopted the position as commanded by her Master. This involved standing with her feet wide apart and her hands clasped behind her head. When nude, this was an excellent position from which to look over a slave. Fully clothed, it was merely embarrassing and served to remind Donna that she was her Master's possession, to be used by him as he saw fit.
"What shall we do with her, Cleo? Her opening of your bag is unpardonable and I look to you to suggest a suitable punishment." Cleo whispered into Peter's ear and he smiled grimly as Cleo poured in her wicked message. She smiled cruelly as she looked at Donna and her tongue flicked over her lips in a cat-like motion as she stood, never taking her eyes off Donna's body.
"Cleo has suggested that she tests you on your learning of the slave positions and I concur. You will obey her EVERY instruction. Go to your room, remove all your clothes and report to the dungeon in two minutes." Donna padded away quickly to carry out her Master's bidding and it was with some trepidation that in little more than two minutes she entered the dungeon.
"You're late, slave!" Donna was surprised to see that Cleo was alone in the dungeon. Her Master had never left her alone with Cleo before and Donna did not like the direction in which events were moving.
"KNEEL AT INSPECTION!" Cleo lost no time in exerting her new-found authority and as she walked slowly around Donna she tapped a riding crop in her hand. Donna knelt on the floor and placed her hands behind her head. This time the position was more humiliating as her arms behind her head thrust her breasts forward and she had to look up to see Cleo.
"Keep your eyes averted, slave! I will tell you if you are to look at me. Unless I so command you will never look at me. Is that understood?"
Donna nodded her head meekly and looked down at the ground. She noticed that the floor was getting quite dirty and she would have to do one of her periodic tidy-ups soon.
"ON YOUR BACK!" Donna was awakened from her thoughts by the next shouted command and she hurried to obey. This command required her to clasp her shins with her hands, at the same time pulling and spreading her legs so that her cunt was visible for inspection. This was not one of Donna's favorite positions and to be so exposed in front of Cleo made her blush to the roots of her hair. Cleo inspected Donna's pussy closely but touched nothing.
"FINGERS AND TOES!" This was a devilish position that rapidly became uncomfortable as it resembled the starting position for press-ups. Raised on her fingers and toes, Donna felt her body start to quiver and she was relieved when Cleo called out the next position.
"THUMB AND FINGER!" Donna jibbed at this command and hesitated briefly until an application of the riding crop to her ass convinced her otherwise. Kneeling with her right elbow on the floor and her thumb in her mouth, Donna reached between her legs with her other hand and started to flick her clit with her finger. Donna could feel herself getting aroused. Her pussy was wet and she was sure that Cleo could also see her arousal.
"FRISK!" Donna stood and positioned herself so that her weight was balanced between her out-thrust legs and her hands as they were placed flat against the wall. This position always made her cream when her Master made her adopt it and she steeled herself for the inevitable inspection.
She was not to be disappointed and Cleo's hands ran expertly over Donna's body, paying particular and lengthy attention to her breasts, nipples, clit, labia and pussy. By the time Cleo wiped off her hands on Donna's back, both girls had climaxed, - Cleo quietly and Donna noisily.
It was at this moment that Peter reappeared. His reappearance was so timed that Donna could not help wondering if her Master had quietly been observing this little charade and a furtive glance at his crotch supported this view for there was a noticeable bulge beneath his leather trousers.
"Go to your room and put on your black rubber gloves, latex catsuit and leather high heeled boots, and bring your leather punishment helmet with you. Back here in 10 minutes."
Donna scurried away to do her Master's bidding. The mention of the punishment helmet sent a shiver of nervous anticipation running down her spine. The weekend was barely started and already she was in for a heavy bondage session.
Donna was back in the dungeon nine minutes later and stood to attention as her Master and Cleo inspected her outfit. Bitch that she was, Cleo was determined to find fault with Donna's costume and it was with barely concealed glee that she noticed and reported to Peter a small rip in the finger of one of Donna’s gloves.
In her hurry to dress, Donna had pulled on the gloves too quickly with the consequence that her fingernail penetrated the tip of the glove. Donna had reasoned that no-one would see it and that in any case she had no time to change, as she was already on the borderline of being late. Sharp-eyed Cleo had spotted it, however, and Donna realized that this meant further punishment. Ruining an expensive pair of gloves would be a costly and painful mistake for her. The rest of the costume was faultless, even the talc marks had been polished off and Cleo had to be content with the ripped glove.
"Cleo, perhaps you'd like to do the honors and fasten Donna into her punishment hood?" The question was barely out of Peter's mouth before Cleo was pushing a ballgag into Donna's mouth, pulling a thin rubber hood over Donna's head and following it immediately with the thick leather helmet. This had no eyeholes or mouth hole. The only openings were nostril tubes, which Cleo inserted non-too-carefully into Donna's nose. The hood was tightened up gradually and to the full extent allowed by the laces. When finished, Cleo took out a can of spray polish and applied a thin coat to the hood, burnishing it with a polishing cloth to a shining globe.
As she waxed the front she held her fingers over the two nostril tubes, cutting off Donna’s air supply. Donna's immediate reaction, as Cleo knew, was to raise her hands to the hood.
"Keep your hands by your side, slave!" Peter was angry that Donna should misbehave like this in front of Cleo. He had not, however, seen the provocation leading to Donna's reaction. "It appears that further punishment is called for! Cleo please select a whip." Cleo grinned evilly as she picked out Adder, a vicious little whip with a sting in its tail.
"Apply 10 strokes to Donna's backside. Make them as hard as you like."
Cleo needed no further bidding and applied the whip nine times with all her might to Donna's bottom. The tenth she reserved for Donna's breasts and before Peter could stop her the whip cut into Donna's globes causing her to cry out in surprise as much as pain.
"Enough, Cleo. I did not give you permission to whip Donna's breasts. That pleasure is reserved for me." Cleo looked meekly at Peter but her eyes glittered as she turned away. The cow had had it coming to her.
"Single glove next I think", mused Peter. "Do you mind acting as Donna's dresser? Would you rather I did it?"
"Certainly not Master", Cleo remarked meekly, "I am happy to oblige." And with those words Cleo went off in search of the single glove and some rope. Returning to Donna, Cleo applied a loop of rope just above Donna's elbows and pulled tightly until the elbows were almost touching. Donna hissed in pain. Her arms did not naturally meet in back but Cleo had other ideas. Further tugging on the rope pulled the elbows together very satisfactorily and by the time the ropes were cinched off Donna's hands were helpless, even without the wrist ropes that were applied subsequently. These were tightened to just painful and again cinched.
The glove slipped on easily and was rapidly tightened up Donna's back. A further loop of rope was wrapped around Donna's waist and Cleo pulled with all her strength to reduce Donna's waistline even further. The rope was pulled between Donna's legs and tightened off at the D ring on the end of the single glove. Hands and ass were inextricably linked and would remain so until someone separated them again.
A pair of steel bracelets with a 12" length of chain attaching the two cuffs was applied to Donna's ankles. Her knees were left unhobbled. A leash was attached to her neck collar and Cleo led Donna out of the dungeon and into the garage. It was fortunate indeed that they did not have to go outside, for Donna's outfit and bondage made for spectacular viewing.
The trunk of the car was opened and Peter lifted Donna into the spacious interior.. Leather straps were wrapped around Donna's ankles drawing them together and more were fastened around her knees. One more strap was drawn up between Donna's ankles and the single glove, sealing her into an inescapable hog-tie. A quick pat on the rump and the trunk was closed.
Cleo had brought her bag into the garage and threw it on the back seat. She hummed quietly to herself as she settled into the front bench seat next to Peter and squeezed up close to him. As they drove away from the house Cleo was already busy opening the flies of Peter's leather trousers and extracting the growing member within. For much of the journey Cleo saw little of the scenery, her head being applied to Peter's lap, its only movement being a gentle bobbing up and down like a cork on the ripples of a wave.
By the time they reached their destination, Cleo had caused Peter to climax twice and it was only with reluctance that she drew back when Peter pushed her head away. She nuzzled Peter's ear and whispered more of her poison about Donna into it. Peter's prick was perking up again as the car drew to a halt in a secluded area of the National Park.
Cleo was a natural mud lark and loved nothing more than wading in thick, gooey mud. Before leaving the house she and Peter had both changed into rubber catsuits, worn under their outside clothing. This was now stripped off and thrown in the back of the car. The trunk was opened, the straps released, and Peter pulled out a very stiff and sore Donna. Propping her up against the side of the car, Peter allowed the feeling to return to her limbs before pulling on the leash and moving to Cleo's side.
"OK, Cleo, over to you for this part. As you know the way, you had better lead on and we'll follow." Donna pricked her ears at this conversation. What was happening? It sounded as though Cleo had persuaded Peter to let her control this session. This was not to Donna's liking and she dug her spiked heels into the ground and refused to move.
A few swift blows from Adder were enough for Donna to reconsider her stance on this issue and she followed meekly in the direction in which the leash led her.
"This is the spot. As you see, there is the whipping tree and there is the mud hole." Cleo's eyes gleamed as she surveyed the scene. Unknown to Peter, Cleo had been here several times over the past week, planning this "scene" and leaving nothing to chance.
Donna was placed against the whipping tree and tied tightly to it with ropes from Cleo's bag. Cleo ensured that Donna's legs were splayed far apart. She wanted the whip to enter the secret inner places and hurt, really hurt. When she had finished, Cleo thought that Donna looked as if she was nailed to the tree. Now that was a thought. If only she had brought some nails and a hammer. An evil grin flitted across her face.
Cleo handed one of the whips to Peter. "Do you wish to start?"
Peter had no real desire to whip Donna but Cleo would not let things rest. She reminded him of Donna's mistakes - ripping the glove and being rude to his guest - so that he had no choice but to apply the whip to Donna. Twenty evenly applied strokes should be sufficient, but Cleo was not happy. She asked permission to punish Donna herself and once it was granted she applied the whip across Donna's back and thighs with vigor. She made certain that every stroke kissed Donna's inner thighs or breasts causing as much pain as possible.
"Enough........ Enough, I said Cleo!" Peter had sensed that Cleo was on the verge of totally losing control and it was with an effort that Cleo stopped her whipping.
Donna was left tied to the tree as Peter and Cleo surveyed the mud hole.
"You're certain that it's safe?" The tone of Peter's voice conveyed his misgivings about the plan, but Cleo reassured him that everything was in order. The mud was a maximum depth of three feet and no harm could come to Donna. Rather, Donna herself had expressed the strong desire to be placed in the mud while in bondage and Cleo reasoned that Peter would want to do everything he could to bring the session to a thrilling climax for his slave?
“Well, to be absolutely certain, I've fashioned a breathing device for Donna." Cleo pulled out what looked like a modified snorkel device from her bag. The mouthpiece had been replaced by nostril tubes leading into a long plastic tube which, when fastened around Donna's head, would point vertically to the sky. The snorkel had a ball in a cage to prevent the entry of water.
"Will this work in mud?" Peter asked.
"Trust me Peter. I've tested it extensively and it never fails. If Donna falls over the ball will prevent her breathing in the mud until she recovers her balance. That's if she falls. I rather doubt it myself. She's much too smart.” Cleo was playing a clever game and could see she was winning.
Against his better judgment, Peter agreed and Cleo went back to the whipping tree to release Donna. Leading her by the leash, Cleo stepped to the edge of the mud and fastened the snorkel to Donna's punishment helmet. She led Donna into the mud and whispered into her ear.
“Your Master believes that playing around in the mud is one of your secret desires. Do not disappoint your Master or me. The mud hole is about 40 feet in diameter. When I leave you, if you continue in the same direction you will never be more that 3 feet deep in the mud. If you fall, the snorkel will prevent mud entering the breathing tube. Understand?" A nod in return. "OK, let's have a good performance for your Master."
Unknown to either Donna or Peter the route mapped out by Cleo took Donna from the mud into a dangerous area of quicksand. Her planning had been careful and methodical. Donna was not returning from this particular scene. An evil smile flicked across Cleo's face as she contemplated the next few minutes.
By the time Peter realized something was wrong Donna would already be unreachable. Cleo would be devastated, but life had to go on. Peter would want a new playmate and Cleo knew just how to pull Peter's strings. Master indeed. He was like a puppet in her hands!
Peter watched fascinated as Donna put on an act for him, as suggested by Cleo. She waded out a few feet into the mud and pretended to fall, messing up the front of her outfit with the glutinous mud. Further stumbles all added to the illusion and, with Cleo's hand doing it's work on his rubber-covered crotch, Peter was rapidly getting excited by the sight of Donna struggling in the mud.
Donna moved further in the direction dictated by Cleo until she was roughly half way across the mud hole, but now something was wrong. Very quickly, the consistency of the mud had changed and she had extreme difficulty pulling her feet out of its clinging grasp. Her next step took her up to her knee immediately and as she struggled to extricate the leg she felt the other start to sink further into the mud.
Her initial reaction was to panic, but Cleo had assured her that the maximum depth of mud was three feet. There was no way she could drown - was there? A tiny seed of doubt began to grow in her mind until rapidly she had convinced herself that Cleo was trying to murder her.
The bitch, the evil bitch. The evil, wicked, fucking bitch! When she got out of this, Cleo was in serious trouble.
Her sinking feet reminded Donna that it was Donna, not Cleo, who was in serious trouble and she screamed into her gag to gain attention. Her arms were pinioned in the single glove. There was absolutely no way that she could attract attention. The evil bitch had done it. She was going to die in this mud hole.
Not without a struggle however, and Donna redoubled her efforts to extricate her feet from the clinging mud. However, this had exactly the opposite of the desired effect and Donna was drawn relentlessly down into the embrace of the quicksand, for that was what this mud truly was - QUICKSAND.
She felt the cold embrace rise up her legs, past her knees, up her inner thighs past her crotch until the mud was rising above her waist. Surely soon her feet would touch the bottom and she could wade out? But the dawning realization came that Cleo had, as usual, planned EVERYTHING very carefully. There was no three foot floor to this mud hole. Long before she reached the bottom she would be dead.
This dawning realization caused her to thrash out wildly and, watching from the side, Peter now sensed that something was wrong.
"I thought you said that the mud is a maximum of three feet deep?" He questioned Cleo closely. Cleo lied through her teeth.
"It is Master! Can't you see that your slave is playing tricks with you? She has deliberately fallen onto her knees to make you believe she is sinking further than she actually is."
Peter was fooled for some minutes by this apparent explanation but as Donna sank further into the mud above the level of her breasts he turned to Cleo and accused her of lying to him.
Cleo never blinked an eye as she continued her pretence. The mud was three feet deep. Donna was play-acting, and acting supremely well.
Peter would now have none of this and moved to the edge of the mud, preparing to wade in after Donna. This enraged Cleo, who saw all her plans starting to fall apart and, picking up a large branch fallen from a nearby tree, she struck Peter hard over the head.
Peter collapsed as if he had been shot and laid very still on the ground.
Cleo turned back to watch Donna's continuing struggles in the quicksand. Her hand strayed to her crotch and she rubbed her clit vigorously as she saw the mud rise up to Donna's neck.
Donna was stretching her neck as high as she could, but to no avail. She continued to be sucked remorselessly down into the grip of the quicksand and suddenly she sensed, without being able to see, that the mud had risen over her head. At that moment all she felt was an overwhelming sadness that she would no longer be with her Master. As she continued to sink she felt a calm peace descend over her. So this was what it was like to die?
Cleo watched the mud cover the top of Donna's helmet and the disappearance of Donna's head coincided with a crashing climax, which left Cleo weak. She turned to Peter who was still prostrate on the floor. There was no sign of breathing, she must have killed him!
Panicking at the consequences of what she had just done, Cleo raced back to the car, gunned it into life and hurtled back towards - where? At that moment she had no idea where she was going. Just for now she wanted to put as much distance as possible between her and the deadly mud hole. Later she would piece together a story, however improbable, for the authorities, but not just now. Now, she just wanted to get away!
It was fully 15 minutes before Peter recovered consciousness. The blow to his head from the tree branch wielded by Cleo had been well aimed but not sufficiently strong to kill him. He knelt clutching his head for several further minutes until the events leading up to this blinding pain in his head came back to him.
It was with mounting trepidation that Peter struggled weakly to his feet and looked out into the mud hole. There was no sign of Donna and Peter's heart lurched painfully at the thought of the adventure that had gone so disastrously wrong. How could Cleo have deceived him so completely? What a total and utter fool he had been. A myriad of thoughts crowded in on him as he stared out over the expanse of mud.
As his vision cleared, Peter thought he could see the snorkel pipe sticking out of the surface of the mud towards the middle of the mud hole. He screwed up his eyes and ignoring the relentless pain behind his eyes tried to focus on that projection from the mud. It was indeed the snorkel pipe! And if what Cleo had told him was right, Donna should be still alive below the surface. A sickening realization quickly convinced Peter however that as Cleo had lied so facilely to him about so many other things, why should this be any different? Perhaps Donna was already dead. It was at this point that Peter made a vow that whatever the outcome, Cleo would regret what she had done in a big way!
As Peter continued to look at the snorkel tube and wonder how he could reach Donna he thought he saw it move slightly from side to side. He was seeing things, surely? The more he looked, however, the more he was convinced that the tube was moving.
Donna had already given herself up for dead when her feet first touched bottom in the mud hole. However, she was still able to breathe in air through the nostril tubes so she quickly worked out that the snorkel end must have remained above the surface of the quicksand. Donna panicked as she thought of all the mud above and around her and her breathing quickened in response. She realised that she must control her reactions or she was doomed, so she fought to calm herself and breathe normally again. It was desperately difficult to get enough air into her lungs through the snorkel and nostril tubes and panicking definitely did not help.
It was obvious that she would have to get herself out of here. No-one could reach her from the surface, even if there was anyone there. She briefly wondered what had happened to her Master and the thought of her sweet Master gave her the inner strength to fight on and try to get out. But how?
Donna needed to retrace her steps but the quicksand was tenacious in its grip and movement was painfully slow, and so tiring. With her arms trapped in the single glove behind her back, Donna had to be sure that she did not stumble. A fall at this depth would be certain death, so her movements were careful and slow.
If she slid her feet gently the mud seemed to flow a little easier, and so with deliberate caution Donna retreated in the direction she had come. Donna did not know her position in the mud hole but, at least, in this direction she knew that she would sink no further.
As she leaned back slightly to push her way through the mud, Donna edged round so that her left shoulder guided her back. She reasoned that the smaller surface area she presented to the mud, the less the resistance to her passing through it.
On the bank, Peter was now certain that what he thought he had seen was not an illusion. The tube was moving, slowly, very slowly, towards the edge of the mud hole. Very gingerly, Peter waded out into the slime until he was waist deep and within a few feet of the snorkel tube. The tube had risen slightly out of the mud and within a few minutes the top of Donna's head reappeared from the mud's embrace.
Peter reached forward and down into the mud and passed his arms around Donna's chest and under her arms and pulled her to him. Wiping the mud from her helmeted face he clasped her tightly to him as he sobbed in relief. Gently he kissed her helmeted face before pulling her in his arms and retreating from the clutches of the mud.
Lowering her gently to the grass, Peter quickly unlaced the punishment helmet and pulled off the thin rubber helmet underneath. As he pulled off the sodden hood he was rewarded with the sight of a sweat-drenched face beaming up at him! He kissed the ball-gagged mouth fervently, kissed her cheeks, her eyes, those sexy eyes!
It took an amount of hummpphhing from Donna for Peter to realize that he should ungag her, and he did. The mouthful of abuse that poured out from Donna's lips in response to the release of the gag tempted Peter to reinsert the ball, but he let her pain and indignation wash over him. Donna would soon forgive him and then together they would plan their revenge on Cleo. He just held her tightly in his arms as she continued to fill his ears with abuse until, eventually, the torrent eased to a trickle, stopped and was followed by tears.
Donna returned his kisses with passion and it was only minutes before the appropriate zippers in their costumes were opened and they were coupling furiously on the grass like ardent rabbits. Their passion spent, Donna and Peter remained curled up in each others arms long after the sun had set and the evening had begun to cool.
Then they had to plan their return home, for they had no normal clothing and no car in which to travel. The bitch, Cleo, had sped away in their transport.
It was almost midnight when the pickup truck pulled up outside Donna and Peter's house and they both climbed wearily out of the back of the truck. What a sight they must look! Both caked in mud, Donna clad completely in rubber and her Master in leather. The truck driver had been very good and after a wary look or two at both of them had accepted their explanation that they were pot-holers who had got lost underground. This neatly dodged the even more difficult question of no transport.
With a cheerful wave of the hand the driver was away, no doubt tonight he would earn a free beer or two as he told his story of the two perverts he had picked up in the National Park! Their car was parked in the driveway, so Cleo had obviously had the presence of mind to return and pick up her own car.
The mud-stained pair lost no time entering the house through the garage, stripping off their clothes and entering the shower. The mud, in addition to being tenacious was foul-smelling, and it took several showers before they felt human again. The final shower was to wash away the sex fluids resulting from another powerful coupling under the hot water.
After drying each other, which involved another coupling session and a further shower, Peter and Donna plotted their next moves. Cleo had seriously overstepped the mark and needed to be taught a lesson.
The first task was to find out where she was. Donna called her home telephone number and rapidly replaced the handset as Cleo picked up and answered within two rings. So, the bitch was home. Now what to do? All kinds of plots were sketched out by the pair and discarded as being too elaborate. Eventually they decided to go straight round to her place, ignoring the saying that revenge is a dish best served cold.
Dressing quickly, they piled into Donna's car and were soon parked in the side road leading to Cleo's house. Cleo was rich, a fact made obvious by the clothes she wore, the car she drove, and the house in which she lived. Marriage to a city broker had ended after two years with a divorce and a large infusion of cash. She had been content to remain divorced and collect and dispose of a series of human pets in the following years. At the present time Donna did not believe she had a male or female pet.
Donna rang the front doorbell and waited. After a short pause the door was opened partially and this was sufficient for Peter to put his foot in like a salesman and apply his weight to hefting the door back on its hinges. As Peter and Donna piled into the hall, Cleo's face was a picture of astonishment.
"What the.......? I thought you were ...........”!
"Dead, Cleo?" Donna sneered in Cleo's face. "You fucking evil witch. How could you do that to us? You're gonna pay for that and pay good!" With that Donna kneed Cleo in the groin and grabbed a handful of her hair as she fell to the floor. "You're going to regret fucking around with us, you bitch! But before we dispatch you, we're going to have some fun!" Donna's normally sexy eyes gleamed with a wicked twinkle as she whispered these words in Cleo's ear and bound Cleo's wrists behind her back with a pair of steel handcuffs. The ratcheted cuffs were applied tightly. Cleo was to learn early that she would suffer.
Peter had closed the door as Donna had dispatched Cleo to the floor and looking out of the curtained hall window he reassured himself that none of the neighbors had witnessed the front-door scene. Moving swiftly through the house, he closed all the curtains and returned to find that Donna had hauled Cleo into the kitchen.
"Where's the key to the dungeon, bitch?" Donna slapped Cleo's face as she asked the question.
"I don't know what you me .... Ooooffff!" Cleo gasped as a fist knocked the air out of her stomach and she doubled up in pain.
"Don't mess me about Cleo. I know you have a dungeon. You've bragged about taking your pets to it often enough in the past. Where's the key?" An upraised fist was enough to convince Cleo that Donna was sorely pissed (understandably) and that co-operation was probably the best policy for now.
"In the left hand kitchen drawer", she gasped. "The cellar door is out back through the utility room. Don't hurt me please!" The last statement was made between gasps for breath and with tears running down her face.
"Oh, look at the Bitch Mistress now" sneered Donna. "If only your pets could see you!" Cleo lowered her eyes to the floor as Donna placed her booted foot onto Cleo's head and pushed. "Stay there!"
Donna retrieved the key from the drawer and threw it to Peter who had been standing silently in the corner of the kitchen. He moved off into the utility room and returned in a few minutes with an invitation to the two ladies to join him.
Cleo was yanked none too gently off the floor and propelled by the base of Donna's boot towards the utility room door and through to the cellar door. Cleo paused at the top of the stairs leading down into the cellar but a further painful kick convinced her to continue the journey down the steps.
Tripping down the last few steps Cleo landed in an ungainly sprawl at Peter's feet.
"Good evening, slave! Welcome to your new, permanent home."
"Good evening, slave! Welcome to your new, permanent home."
Cleo liked neither the content of the message or the manner in which it was delivered. In her whole life she had been used to giving orders, not obeying them; especially in her own home, and here she was being ordered around by a prick of the first order.
A pain in her left breast caused her to focus on what was being said to here. She yelped in pain as Peter half twisted off her nipple and she screamed as an open palm smacked her face, hard, and sent her staggering to her knees.
"Shut up, bitch!" Peter snarled the command and Cleo, looking into his eyes, saw a different person to the one she thought she knew. She experienced raw fear for the first time as she realized that she had seriously pissed off two people who she had counted as friends. And for what, for control of a prick? This desire for control had now got her into serious trouble. Peter pulled Cleo to her feet.
"Strip off", he commanded. Cleo's understandable reluctance was rewarded with two sharp blows on her ass from a riding crop that he carried in his left hand. Cleo stumbled and fell to her knees again as she hurried to avoid further blows from the whip.
"On your feet, you cunt!" A rain of blows struck her arms, shoulders, back and breasts as she struggled to stand up again. She cried out in surprise, as much as pain, for the blows were unexpected, but not heavy. "And shut the fuck up! Donna, find something to fill the slut's mouth. I don't want to hear her whining any longer."
Donna looked around the room and her eyes lighted on a fetching little red ballgag. Simple to apply, but effective nonetheless. Moving over in front of Cleo she said "Open up, bitch!"
"Go fuck yourself, asshole!" was Cleo's reply, not calculated to impress Donna one little bit. She jabbed Cleo in the stomach once again and inserted the ballgag into the surprised 'O' which opened in response to the jab, and before Cleo had drawn breath again the gag was tightly fastened in back. Peter came over and tightened up the strap by one notch causing the gag to pull severely into the corners of Cleo's mouth. That would teach her to be rude to Donna.
"Undress!" A further sharp blow from the riding crop accompanied the command, and Cleo reluctantly started taking off her clothes, hampered by the cuffs which no-one thought to take off. Skirt, blouse and shoes were placed in a neat pile on the floor but she needed two further smacks from the whip to remove stockings, garter belt, panties and bra. Eventually she stood in the centre of the room and Peter and Donna exchanged glances, for Cleo certainly was a good-looker with a figure to match.
Long blonde hair - natural blonde hair - unless she also dyed her pussy hair (Peter thought). Slim waist, long legs and a perfect set of breasts. Boy, was Donna likely to make her suffer for having a body for which any woman would kill!
Donna already had a length of rope in her hand that had been passed through a pulley hanging from the ceiling. One end of the rope was tied off to the short chain connecting the steel wrist bracelets around Cleo’s wrists, and Donna yanked powerfully on the rope causing Cleo's hands to be pulled painfully towards the ceiling. Only when Cleo was bent well forward to try and take the strain off her shoulders did Donna tie off the rope.
Cleo's relief was short-lived as Donna picked up a short cane from the top of the bench at the side of the room, and after two experimental swishes applied it with some vigor to Cleo's derriere. SWAT! SWATT!! SWATTT!!! The cane left vivid red lines across Cleo's ass and their close grouping attested to Donna's expertise with the weapon. The cane continued to be applied until Cleo's bottom was a uniform deep red color, by which time Donna's breasts were heaving as she tired from her work.
During all this time Cleo had been screaming into her gag and crying pitifully. By the time Donna had finished, Cleo's hair was plastered to her face, her mascara had run in lines down her cheeks and mucus was running from her nose as a consequence of her crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffed up. She already looked like a slut from hell and by the time Donna had finished with her no one would be casting admiring glances in her direction.
Peter returned to reassure Donna that nothing could be heard of the whipping from outside the house. Cleo was left leaking from her nose and mouth onto the floor whilst Donna and Peter explored the dungeon. They had a well-equipped playroom of their own, most of the equipment being built by themselves, but it was nothing compared to this.
The room was 40 feet by 20 feet and contained almost every piece of equipment that a budding dungeon master could wish for. St. Andrew's Cross, whipping stool, bondage chairs, suspension devices and slings, whipping post, punishment box, metal prison cage, even something that looked like a large bird cage. The walls were festooned with whips, straps, belts, harnesses, ropes, chains, leather and rubber bondage gear of all types and there was an array of drawers, the contents of which could only be guessed at.
They knew Cleo was a rich bitch, but this array of BDSM equipment would put some professional services to shame and must have set her back thousands for it was all professionally manufactured - no home made stuff here! Donna pulled a series of items together. She had always liked dolls and now she had her very own bondage Barbie doll to dress up and play with. Donna was going to make the very best of this opportunity. There was a fetish party scheduled for the weekend and she had a wicked idea in mind for Cleo for this party. An idea that would pay Cleo back severely for nearly killing her.
Donna moved back over to Cleo. "Were you going to the fetish party on Saturday, Cleo?" Cleo nodded her head. "Good, so are we. I thought that you might like to go as my slave - what do you think?" The glare from Cleo's eyes sent a clear disapproving message but Donna was not to be put off that easily.
"That's a pity, Cleo, because there are a lot of people there who are known to all of us who would be very upset to hear what you did to me today." Donna let this message sink in. "Would you like to reconsider your previous answer?" Cleo now nodded her head. "And will you go as my slave and do EXACTLY what I command, at all times?" Cleo nodded her head again, albeit reluctantly.
"Good! I'm sure we can be good friends again after the party if you behave yourself and do exactly as I say." Donna smiled to herself. There was no way that this bitch was ever going to be her friend again, but it suited her to let Cleo believe it. Cleo, in turn, was thinking that she had just got off very lightly. Little did she know what Donna had in mind for the Saturday evening.
Before then, however, there was more punishment to be meted out to Cleo. Until now, Peter had taken a back seat, allowing Donna to decide on Cleo's punishment but as it was obvious to Peter that the pair were patching things up, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
Whilst Cleo was strung up from the pulley, Peter pulled a punishment hood over her head. This was made of heavy leather and when laced fully up the back it held Cleo's head in an immovable embrace. The helmet had a wide 3" collar which forced Cleo's head to be held in a very uncomfortable position and the only holes were for short nostril stubs to ensure an air supply. Locating these in each nostril, Peter released Cleo's arms from the pulley and removed the handcuffs. Fiery red marks on the wrists denoted where the restraints had tightly pinioned Cleo's flesh.
Rope was wrapped around each wrist before being cinched, effectively denying the use of Cleo's arms once more. Further loops of rope were applied to her elbows above and below the joint and pulled tight so that the elbows were joined together. The upper loops were fastened around her shoulders to prevent the ropes loosening and slipping down.
Within her leather prison, Cleo winced as Peter tightened off each rope. She was quite good at escaping from the bondage at parties but there was no way she was getting out of these bindings. Peter was an expert at bondage, if nothing else. Cleo felt cuffs being applied to each ankle and her legs were drawn apart by insistent pulls upon ropes threaded through D rings on these cuffs. Her legs were stretched apart until she was sure her body would be ripped in two. Only when strung out fully were these ropes tied off leaving her panting with pain.
She was left tied in this vulnerable position for what seemed hours but was only 15 to 20 minutes. She noted Peter's return by the swishing of a whip near her ear. God, but that sounded like COBRA, a steel-cored whip that she had bought to use on one of her male subs some time ago. It had been used by her only once, as the sub had dropped his signal handkerchief almost as soon as she had started to apply the whip in earnest. She remembered being disappointed at not exploring its potential. Now she believed she would, but not from the dominant position to which she was accustomed.
CRACK!! The pain was excruciating. Across her breasts. Worse than any pain she had ever experienced before! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The whip set up its own dancing rhythm across her tits and as the tears flowed she imagined the damage that COBRA was doing to her globes. She remembered her sub complaining that the pain had taken hours to subside and she realized that now it would be even worse as a man was applying the whip.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Each blow sent screams from her gagged mouth. She could not stand this any longer. He must stop before he killed her. Cleo screamed again as the whip sought and found a new target.
Peter had repositioned himself so that the whip could be applied to Cleo's exposed pussy and a further series of blows continued the agony. Only five such blows were possible before Cleo passed out, her head lolling forward onto her chest. There was a pause in the whipping to allow water to be thrown over Cleo and as she jerked in the restraints Peter reapplied the whip, this time to Cleo's ass.
The fiery red of Donna's whipping had changed to a lighter color but a few well applied strokes from COBRA on her ass brought the color intensity up to and beyond that seen previously.
CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! Peter applied the whip even more vigorously over Cleo's backside and she blacked out again with the pain. More water was thrown over her and the punishment continued. Peter changed whip hand without breaking the rhythm and continued the lashing for a further 50 strokes. Only then did he stop, throwing down the whip. As he did, he realized that Cleo had passed out once again.
Donna was left to apply the smelling salts and revive Cleo. Whatever else, Cleo would not be sitting down voluntarily for days after this session. The marks would be there for weeks and indeed Peter meant them to be there for weeks. If Cleo showed her ass in a provocative outfit at any party in the near future he would be very surprised.
Cleo was released from her spread-eagle bondage by Donna and led to the bondage table. Lying on her stomach was possible and it was in this position, tied down at each wrist and ankle that Cleo spent her first night in bondage. It would not be her last.