Chapter 8: A Firm Hand

When David arrived at Amanda’s on the agreed day for the next session he was greeted by the sight of Yvonne lying on her back on the floor with her wrists handcuffed to the bottom of the dining chair legs and her ankles handcuffed to the top of the back of the chair. His made him wonder why she did not just tip the chair sideways as the first move to escaping Then he realised that the chair itself was fastened to the back of the sofa, making it much too heavy for her to tip over. Her shoes and socks had been removed leaving her feet bare.

“Just one question, how did you manage to get her in that position and fastened?” he asked.

“She though it was to be more excitement when you spank her again, and she didn’t catch on to what I was doing until one wrist and the opposite ankle were cuffed,” was the proud policewoman’s reply, “after that it was easy to put the other two cuffs on and to tie the chair to the sofa.”

“Yvonne, you know you are to be punished again, don’t you?” he asked

“Whatever.”

“Do you want to be spanked every time you are caught?”

“Actually not as hard as before, but enough to make me wet down there, then you need to fuck me again. I might even promise to stop shoplifting if you promise to punish me instead.”

“No way,” said David, “This is real punishment. You will have to make do with agony, and possibly arousal, and then with sucking me and swallowing because you enjoyed the fucking far too much, and mind your teeth,” he said, And I enjoyed it just as much, he thought, it could become a habit, even an addiction, “So forget the fucks and get ready for a mouthful of cum after the pain.”

SNAP!

The riding crop descended and slapped across the instep of both feet. There were several seconds of silence as the girl struggled to get her breath, and then Yvonne let out an unearthly scream which faded off into a sobbed, “Please no more please. I promise ... I promise I’ll never do it again.”

SNAP!

Yvonne passed out before she had time to scream.

“It seems to work,” said her mother, “And no visible damage to her feet. Not even a trace of blood.”

“It might not show, but she certainly seemed to feel them,” commented David, “Don’t you think we should stop now?”

“Certainly not,” sapped Amanda, “That would far too light,” so saying she splashed cold water in the girl’s face to rouse her.

“Now you can hit her again,” she told David, more for the girl’s benefit than his.

It was some ten seconds before the crop descended again, but he held it off so that it just rested on the soles of her feet, eliciting another unearthly scream as no sound of a blow was heard.

SNAP!

Again she passed out from the pain. Again her mother brought her round, but she was just a gibbering wreck, unable to utter any plea more coherent than “No. No. No more!”

Some minutes later when she had calmed perceptibly her mother released her cuffs and said as the girl lay in a heap on the floor, “Well? Any more shoplifting and you will get twice as many.”

“No, no, I promise never again,” and David thought she probably meant it at that moment, but whether her resolve would stay in spite of the receding memory of the pain would remain to be seen.

Then her mother snapped, “Now up on your knees and thank Mr. Ransome by sucking him off and swallowing, or shall I cuff you again for some more attention to your feet?”