Chloe & Me

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

This is my sordid tale, my darkest secrets, deeply concealed, yet so easily revealed to the one person who would know how best to benefit from them. I had been stealing my stepsister’s clothes, dressing in them for my personal s****l enjoyment, with little thought to the consequences of being caught.

By eighteen I was taking every opportunity to walk free and cross-dressed out in the open, though not through the city streets, and certainly not in any places that I might actually be seen! I walked alone around the large grounds of my parent’s home, always late at night, always hidden by the dark.

Aroused by wearing short skirts and stolen panties; often with a bursting erection filling them. My excursions were frequent but always whilst they, my family, were all out.

As I got older I began to feel guilt, I developed a need to be punished, not as myself of course, but as my alter ego, Chrissie. I took to administering a variety of implements to my bent, panty covered buttocks. At any opportunity, I thrashed myself soundly as punishment deserved for my shameful behaviour. I was nineteen and my stepsister had just turned eighteen, when the true horror and consequences of being discovered exploded into my self-satisfying life.

Chloe, my step-sister, returned early from her friend’s house, she had been supposed to be away for the whole of the weekend, as were our parents. When she returned home that fateful Saturday evening, I was not in the house; I was out in the grounds. Cross-dressed and bent over my favorite low hanging tree branch, thrashing my buttocks as hard as I could. Unwittingly I presented her with an entertaining display, along with ideas for the future.

Cane is not exactly the right description of the implement that thrashed my naked buttocks. Instead, I had selected four, thin, very pliable switch cuttings taken from our apple tree trimmings pile. Trimmings which Dad had gathered together on the far side of the garden, ready to be burnt sometime later. Being desperate, I had not even taken the time to bind them together. Instead, I relied on my tight grip to hold them bunched as I beat myself.

It is never easy to reach around and lash one’s own bottom. To a degree it is possible, though the strength behind each stroke, and the duration of the torment are of course under your own control, unfortunately. A level of self-control which detracts from the pleasurable feelings generated by being whipped. Much as I might desire total helplessness, it is clearly impossible to achieve when alone.

To replace real subjection, I used daring. By that I mean that I secured all but one arm with leather belts, strapping myself tightly to the bough. Thus making my escape from the branch a slow process to complete, leaving me with the fear of discovery ready to explode into my dark games. The switch twitched as I hesitated, nerving myself to deliver the next stroke. Thrashing through the air, driven by my own wrist, all four wood strips contacted my flesh, bending and whipping across and around my thighs; where individual tips cut thin lines deep into the tender receptive flesh of my outer thigh.

With each lash, my over charged c**k forced my panties to tent upward and out, my flesh sought the cooling caress, and relief offered by the night air. The flexible material of my panties stolen from Chloe’s bedroom were gathered around my aroused protrusion, which somehow remained contained and covered by her flimsies. I lashed again and again as I generated a rhythm of strokes. Enjoying the pain each lash created, always trying to vary the points of impact on my flesh, because I knew that later, once I was back inside our house, and still alone. I would be admiring and touching those lovely swollen indicators of my torment.

Then, and only then, once I had suffered the self-infliction of punishment to which I had sentenced myself then, would I allow my bursting erection release from the panties I wore. Stroke after stroke lashed against my skin; what a picture I present I told myself to add to my torment. Secured by all but one arm, and that free arm whipping at my partially reveal buttocks. Swoosh; the twigs had cut through the air, impacted hard certainly, but never hard enough as far as I was concerned. To make up for the lightness of each stroke I administered numerous strokes. I had passed sentence on myself yesterday, deciding to administer at least one hundred lashes of the four-switch whip. It might sound excessive, but when I whip myself, I can be quite cowardly in a subconscious way. Stroke followed stroke, beating a tattoo against my arse, each lash driven by my inner guilt and s****l excitement.

“Hi there,” the voice had exploded in my ear. I knew that voice, I struggled to pull upright hoping to cover my behavior. Ridiculous really, there was no way a witness could misinterpret what they had seen, and besides my bottom and thighs were covered in welts, if any conformation was needed.

I knew that voice. I desperately wanted that voice to be a part of the fantasy I was indulging in, but it wasn’t! She grasped my free arm, wresting the whip from my clutching fingers by bending and pinching my thumb, she then forced it downward.

“Stay still you disgusting little worm!” She whispered into my ear.

I stayed still, caught out and secured. Before I knew what she was about, she had undone one belt, wrapped it around my free arm and then resecured it back in place. She, to my horror walked around the tree to stand in front of me.

“Look up scum, smile for the camera!” She held a digital camera and she was filming my pathetic position, she captured every nuance of my perversity in graphic permanent detail.

Had she been there long, I began to wonder, more importantly had she been filming me? No matter, I was evidently captured in all my masochistic perversity for anyone to view.

“This will look good on the net!” She teased.

Fear exploded in my guts, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t! It was then that I realised that this was Chloe, b***h of bitches as far as I was concerned. Butter would not melt in her mouth as far as both my father and our stepmother seemed determined to believe. Chloe would broadcast it, all her friends would be informed and would eagerly watch my naked butt getting a masturbatory thrashing, and humiliatingly by my own hand.

She put down the camera and picked up my dropped switches; she gathered them into a bundle, just as I had held them. Then she swished them through the air, terror ripped into my guts. I tried to talk to her, to beg her not to broadcast the film she had taken, but she snapped back at me.

“Silence you disgusting little bastard, I’m thinking.”

I fell silent, I snapped my mouth shut and compressed my dry lips together, whilst eagerly I watched her swish and flay at the air. She walked around the tree vanishing from my sight! The switches cut through the air for a second, before lashing into my perfectly positioned and very vulnerable buttocks. I jumped as the hot fire raged across my bottom, pulling hard at the leather belts that bound me to the rough tree trunk. I gasped aloud, as another and another stroke thrashed at my skin.

They hurt; they made the lashes I had inflicted to myself seem so pathetic. My c**k twitched inside the constraints of her stolen panties, as another stroke cut deep into my right thigh. Tender flexible tips had whipped around to bite into the soft vulnerable skin of my inner thigh. I bucked again as the pain exploded, twitching hard in my constraints, eager for more, but desperate to escape. Confused and terrified, but also highly excited. The whip fell to the floor, landed hard and split apart.

“Stay there slut, I will return to deal with you once I have decided your future.”

I was helpless, there could be no escape, so telling me to ‘stay there’ seemed ridiculous, but then it was an order that I had no choice but to obey. I stayed there for a long time, soundly thrashed, butt uppermost. It began to rain heavily. I got soaked, but still she did not return to free me. I got wetter still as my skirt gathered and absorbed the rainwater, much like a sponge. Raindrops pounded at my beaten buttocks, cooling the flesh, then they gathered together to run in rivulets down the crack of my upturned arse, still she left me.

I began to wonder if she intended to leave me bound here all night, a captive waiting neatly presented to be discovered in the morning. The horror of the thought added to the rain driven discomfort I suffered, which is exactly what she intended for me to suffer. Slowly I realised that my life of pleasing myself might well be over, taken away from me forever by her discovery, now I realised just how vulnerable to her blackmail I had become, and all because I wanted the excitement of punishing myself. Now I was hers, a puppet to play with, and a source of endless pleasures for her, if she chose to enjoy it. She owned me fully. She could do almost anything that she wanted with me, and I would not dare to disagree with her demands. To do so would lead to the totally unacceptable humiliation of exposure by her, not just to my parents, but to the world!

Bitch, I thought, as I suffered in the rain, waiting bound up for her to return. I now realised that she would return, but not in any hurry! She had left me here partly to suffer, partly because she could, but mostly to think, and therefore understand my new position. What a position it was, I was helpless and totally under her thumb, the only real question which remained unasked was exactly what she wanted from me.

Ten minutes later the rain eased and she reappeared next to me. Damn she was silent! I had not heard a thing as she approached. She didn’t have the camera in her hands this time. She didn’t need it, she had all the evidence that she could possibly require. Without speaking to me, she untied one arm, the one that she had secured. Then leaning forward, her lips next to my ear again, her breath tickling at my lobe, she whispered her instructions.

“You can free yourself, and then you will crawl.”

She stressed the word ‘crawl’.

“Crawl down to the house and join me in the lounge, on your knees of course! I might be watching you from the window, so be a good little boy and do exactly as you have been told.”

Then she was gone, nearly as silently as she had arrived. ‘Crawl’ went through my mind as I struggled to release myself from my own bonds. ‘Crawl little boy’, she had said, I was f****d…

I crawled, exactly as she had instructed. I crawled as fast as I could whilst using the shadows cast from the hedges to hide in. I crawled like the helpless victim I now was, all the way to the house. I looked at the downstairs windows but only darkness reflected from the glass, so I could not tell if she was watching me. I could not, dare not, take the chance of standing and running in case she was. I was already subject to her whim; I did not want to antagonise her by disobeying her first order. With each movement, my soaked skirt brushed against the damp flesh of my thighs, making me feel uncomfortable and at the same time driving home the helplessness of my humiliating subjection.

Part of me wanted her to be watching, perhaps even filming me; another part was terrified out of its wits! She was a b***h, I reminded myself, and now she was a b***h with real power. I arrived at the backdoor to discover that she had left it open for me, so listening hard I crawled over the backdoor’s stone lip, and entered into the kitchen. All around me I could feel a powerful silence, almost as if I was alone, but I knew that she was near, waiting for me, eager to strengthen her control over me. I crawled, my knees hurting as damp skin impacted against a hard floor, leaving a trail of water drips to indicate my passing.