Loaning Out Linda

Chapter Two-2

A few childhood experiences aside, this was her first experience of true physical punishment; not a fun spanking but something really unpleasant and painful. It was also very humbling—but that part of it she liked! Indeed, as the memory of the pain faded away the incident took on a different coloration in her memory. She began to fantasize about being caned again, and soon enough she would get her wish, if that’s what it was. Not that she was deliberately disobedient, at least not consciously. But being by nature somewhat disorganized, and forgetful, as well as habitually tardy, (something that had long irritated Manny but which he now no longer had to tolerate) it was inevitable that she would sometimes fail in her duty to him. The canings became longer, the number of strokes increasing—but suddenly he decided to discontinue them. The day after a particularly severe caning, he told her he would no longer employ that form of chastisement.

“I think you’re beginning to like it, which makes it ineffective as punishment.”

She blushed and said nothing.

“Come on, admit it.”

“I find it very painful,” she replied, “but—”

“But what?”

“Afterwards it makes me feel very humble and submissive, and I like that,” she replied demurely.

He chuckled gloatingly.

“Well then, maybe it’s time to add an occasional caning to the ‘maintenance spanking’ routine.”

Now Manny had always enjoyed the pretense that even the most playful spankings were punishment of some kind. When he first made his proposal that she become his slave he had said, “Of course you’ll continue to receive regular spankings whether you misbehave or not, just to remind you of your place. A real punishment will be worse, that’s all.” Later he coined the term “maintenance spankings”, a kind of non-punishment punishment designed to maintain her in the proper state of submissiveness.

“But don’t consider this a license to misbehave,” he continued. “I can find other ways of punishing you that will be just as unpleasant as a caning, maybe more so. And don’t let me catch you deliberately courting punishment. That’s a major no-no.”

Not long after his warning bore fruit when she forgot to carry out an errand he had assigned to her, a matter to which he had attached some importance. He decided to defer her punishment until the next evening. Somewhat mysteriously he ordered her to purchase a metal bucket. The next evening after dinner he directed her to take the bucket into her room, to where he followed her. Ordering her to put the bucket down by her bed he addressed her.

“This evening the bathroom is off limits to you until midnight. You’ll use the bucket instead. And you’ll keep the door open. Do you have to use it now?”

Her face turned a bright red. “No, sir,” she whispered.

He took her into the living room and ordered her to turn on the television. They watched television all evening, or at least she did; he appeared to be reading much of the time. He would not allow her to leave the living room without first asking his permission. Resentfully she decided to drink as little as possible, but her attempt to thwart him failed. During commercial breaks he would send her to the kitchen for a glass of water and then demand that she drink the whole glass. “You know, they recommend everyone drink eight glasses of water a day,” he said once with a smirk. So, after duly asking his leave she ended up making several trips to her room to squat awkwardly over the bucket to pee. He never came to watch as she thought he might—evidently this was not one of his kinks—yet even without a witness she found the activity mortifying. At midnight he turned off the television and took her to her room. He instructed her to empty and clean the bucket, then go to bed.

That experience remained burned in her memory; she saw that he could indeed find punishments for her that involved no physical pain but would be very unpleasant indeed. Perhaps the next time would be even worse. But there was no next time; after that her memory greatly improved, and she gave him no other cause for serious dissatisfaction. If it had ever been true that she deliberately courted punishment, as he seemed to have implied—and perhaps unconsciously she had—it was not true now. Now she really feared punishment, and if she had once enjoyed the after effects of being punished, she now came to enjoy the fear itself, for the sense it gave of being under his control. It was the final stage in her evolution as a slave. She became a model of obedience and took pride in the fact.

Linda’s meditation on these matters was interrupted by a noise, a metallic clacking sound, followed a few brief seconds later by the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut. Hurriedly she bent over until her head rested on the carpet, at such an angle as to display her ass in a prominent way. She moved her legs farther apart until the chain was taut—this was the way she wished to present herself to him, in a posture of complete and utter self-abasement, her private parts obscenely displayed. Meanwhile she heard footsteps, the sound of the hall closet opening and then closing, then footsteps again, with the wooden boards under the carpeting creaking slightly under his weight—and then nothing. He had stopped; he could see her now. He was staring at her and at her exposed p***y; she felt it swell in response to his gaze.

After several seconds she heard footsteps again, this time receding, he was probably heading for the bathroom; next she heard the louder sound of leather heels on the tile floor. Then after a few seconds a new sound, the sound of a man urinating, a copious, virile stream. It sounded loud, for he had not bothered to close the door. Then came the sound of the toilet flushing, then footsteps again, first loud from the tile, then softer as his feet touched the carpet, now receding again; he was heading for the bedroom to change. After maybe half a minute she suddenly heard his voice, which sounded a trifle sharp.

“Linda, get in here.”

Linda sat up then assumed a position on all fours as she decided to crawl into the bedroom. His tone suggested he might be displeased with her; was her appearance too ostentatious, or was she expected to be waiting for him in his room? She entered the open bedroom door and crawled over to the left side of the bed where he was sitting; she assumed a kneeling posture, sitting on her haunches, her head bowed, and waited for him to speak.

“Well Linda I’m back. Are you glad to see me?” He spoke warmly.

“Yes, sir,” she said, speaking with genuine ardor, and relieved at his friendly tone.

“Good. And have you been a good girl? Have you obeyed all my rules? Look up at me now.”

Linda looked up at Manny, at his handsome face with those deep light blue eyes. He hadn’t changed his clothes yet; with his elegant, well-tailored suit that complemented his manly physique, he was the very image of power and authority.

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“Good. You’re looking good. Of course you weighed yourself this morning.”

“Yes, sir. I weighed 104.”

“How much did you weigh when I left?”

“105, sir.”

“Uh huh. Of course that can fluctuate from day to day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve been staying away from the desserts?”

She opened her mouth, started to speak then paused.

“Why are you hesitating?” He spoke with just a hint of sharpness.

“I did, sir, I mean I did stay away from them. I was just remembering. I was having lunch today with my friend, Alice. She had some cheesecake for dessert. She tried to get me to try some. She even teased me for refusing. Then she cut off a tiny piece and said I should try a little just for the taste. But I refused.” She spoke breathlessly, it all coming out in a rush.

He laughed. “Well that’s good. You showed good self-control. There’s no reason to brag about it though.”

“No, sir.” Her face turned red and she lowered her head.

“Keep looking up at me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then he himself lowered his head as he appeared to stare at her crotch. He stared so long she began to feel almost embarrassed, as though she hadn’t, in her dealings with him, long ago left all sense of shame behind her.

“I’ve been away a long time. You haven’t been f****d in two weeks. I’ll bet you’re starting to get horny.”

“Yes sir.” She felt a tingling sensation in the place he was staring at. He suddenly looked up.

“Perhaps you’ve been tempted to play with yourself?” he asked pointedly.

Her face felt very hot now. “No sir. Never,” she said vehemently.

This was something he often asked her upon returning from trips, even brief ones, and it always caused her acute embarrassment. Shortly after she became his slave, he announced his intended departure on a trip of four days. He told her she had become accustomed to being f****d regularly and might get horny while he was away, and might be tempted to play with herself. Now he announced a new rule, a new prohibition. Her p***y belonged to him now and only he was allowed to pleasure her there. Violation of this rule would be grounds for the severest punishment. After his return, to her further mortification, he asked her if she had violated the rule. The ironic result was that now when he went away, she constantly thought about it, so by the time he returned she was hornier than ever. Perhaps that was his intention all along. Before his very next trip he repeated his warning. He had just kissed her goodbye and was going out the door when he said, “Now don’t forget my rule about not playing with yourself when I’m gone. If you violate it I might have to get you a chastity belt.” He started laughing as he headed towards the elevator.

Well, he said it like he was joking but was he really? You never knew with Manny. Chastity belts! Did such things really exist? Had they ever existed, mechanical devices by which medieval knights safeguarded their ladies’ virtue? She rather doubted it, but kinky men like Manny might create the demand that would turn ancient myth into modern reality, a demand directed to those same manufacturing firms that furnished the cuffs and other devices he used to restrain her. What would such a thing look like? Once she tried to imagine it; she pictured a metal cup to cover the vulva with a slit just wide enough to permit urination, but too narrow for prying fingers or alien p*****s. The cup would be attached by means of a chain to a belt encircling her waist, to which it would be secured by a lock. Then she imagined Manny just before his trip having her stand in front of him naked, or better yet fully dressed with her skirt lifted and her panties pulled down; he would fit the device on her and then lock it, putting the key in his pocket, or perhaps on his key chain. He could now leave easy in his mind, his slave secured from mischief. She realized this might not be so much fun in practice, yet the fantasy so excited her that it created a longing to do the very thing such a device was designed to prevent. Hurriedly she had taken off her clothes and headed to the bathroom for a cold shower.

Now in response to her reaffirmation of her chastity, he smiled benevolently at her. “Well, you’ve been such a good girl, I guess I should give you only a mild spanking,” he said cheerfully. Then after a pause he said, “You look disappointed.”

He spoke these last words ironically. Linda was indeed disappointed, and it perhaps showed in her face, although she suspected him of teasing her. “Well, sir, you know best.” She hesitated, and then went on. “It’s just that you’ve been gone a long time. And ... well, being alone for so long, I’m afraid I might forget my place.”

It was a trifle daring of her to remind him, in this somewhat teasing way, of his own rationale for these maintenance spankings. He responded with a sardonic smile. “You know, looking at you now, I would say you remember your place very well.” As he said this he picked up the chain connecting her n*****s, rubbed it between his fingers, then gave it a slight tug, which caused her to wince.