Chapter 5

One warm and sunny day Harvey told me we were going to the beach and he handed me a package. “You’ll wear these today,” he directed, and I opened it to find a pair of clear-plastic stripper mules with one-inch platforms and five-inch stiletto heels. They were definitely not to Harvey’s usual taste, but I knew better than to question him. So after I dried off from my shower I pulled the shoes out of the package and slipped my feet into them.

After I’d put on a wrap over one of my skimpy thong bikinis Harvey led me to his SUV. He drove us onto US-50 westbound and across Spooner Summit. After we drove past the casino-hotels at Stateline and crossed into California he pulled into a public lot next to one of the South Lake Tahoe beaches and parked. He told me to remove my wrap and then helped me out. We walked down to the sandy beach carrying a pair of lawn chairs, a cooler, and one of Harvey’s duffels, and I was very aware of all the looks I was getting, especially from groups of guys, in my tiny bikini and sexy high heels.

Harvey picked a spot and we spread a blanket, then set up the chairs. He took a couple of bottles of cold water out of the cooler and we sat down to watch the gentle waves wash up onto the shore; it was a very peaceful and relaxing situation.

An hour later I felt the need to pee and I remembered that we’d passed a small building with restrooms in it as we walked towards the beach. “I have to pee, may I go use the restroom?” I asked him.

“No,” he replied gruffly, and his tone was different from the gentler way he’d spoken all day. Okay, he wants to make me wait, I thought to myself. Is this another test of some kind? Harvey had been saying off and on that he was going to test my anything boast, and I was curious but not worried about what he might have in mind.

A few minutes later my need to pee was more urgent, so I tried again to get permission. “Please, Sir, I really need to pee now.”

“Just hold it,” was his blunt reply.

After another five minutes I knew I was going to lose control very soon if I couldn’t pee. “Please, Sir, I can’t wait any longer,” I begged.

“Stand up,” he ordered, and when I complied he took my hand and led me around his chair to stand on the sand a few feet away from him. Then he sat back down and just looked at me, and as I saw people looking at me, especially guys, I realized what his intentions were. In one of our conversations I’d confessed that being humiliated, both in private and in public, was a turn-on for me, and he was going to force me to lose control and pee, standing up and with the people around us watching. I felt my face flush with embarrassment but I also felt my pussy start to moisten.

I held out as long as I could, but I finally couldn’t squeeze my muscles any longer and my bladder let loose. Because I had my bikini bottom on it didn’t stream out, it just soaked the material and then ran down my legs, so I just stood there, my head bowed and my face a crimson blush of embarrassment, hearing the cheers, jeers, whistles, and catcalls from the people watching my spectacle until the last of my flood of pee ended.

“Go wash yourself and your shoes off,” he ordered sternly. As I turned to go to the water a line formed, mostly guys but also a few girls, and I slowly made my way down a walk of shame through another round of laughing, pointing, snickering observers. While I was walking down the beach I suddenly realized why Harvey had given me the plastic heels; the acidic urine and the lake water would have damaged any of my leather shoes. When I got to the water’s edge I took off my heels and carried them as I waded out to waist depth. Then I dunked the heels to rinse the sand and pee off of them, walked out of the water, put them on, and went back, thankfully alone, to stand in front of Harvey.

“How do you feel?” he said with a smirk.

“Humiliated, as you know, Sir,” I replied, and then added, “and horny as hell.”

When we got back to my house Harvey sent me to shower and get into my regular dungeon attire, i.e., high heels and nothing else. When I came back out from the basement bathroom he was attaching snap-bolts to the arms and legs of the bondage chair, and I was immediately a little unhappy because that was my least-favorite piece of dungeon furniture. When he put me there I was technically sitting on it, but it had no seat; my thighs rested uncomfortably on wooden beams and my pussy and ass were totally exposed. My arms were stretched out equally uncomfortably along the high horizontal arms of the chair, and due to that position my breasts were raised up.

He turned and looked at me. “You know where to be,” he said brusquely, and I walked over, gingerly lowered myself onto the narrow supports, and raised my arms. He attached leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles and snap-bolts to the cuffs so I was completely restrained, and then he went to the wall of toys and stood there, presumably contemplating what to use and definitely heightening my tension level. The longer he stayed there the more nervous I became, and I was even less happy than before when he finally plucked a small flogger and a crop off the wall and came sauntering back to me.

Harvey used the little flogger as a warm-up toy, hitting me just about everywhere between my collarbones and my knees. As usual, he started with light strokes, and as my skin slowly turned pink my sexual temperature rose also. After swinging the flogger upwards between my spread legs to whip my ass cheeks he swung it up my front and flogged my pussy. By the time he hit me there my lower lips were engorged and slick with my secretions, and when the flogger’s tails slid across my stiff clit I moaned my pleasure.

“Oh, God, that feels good,” I purred. Despite the discomfort of where and how I was positioned I was really enjoying this gradual buildup. Unfortunately, I guessed it was about to end.

“You did very well last time we played,” he said conversationally.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I replied warily. Harvey’s compliments sometimes, or maybe usually, presaged something I wasn’t going to enjoy. Of course, enjoyment was relative; after I’d suffered enough pain to trigger my endorphins I really enjoyed what followed.

“You’re welcome,” he said sardonically, and then he gave me a fierce grin. “So no safewords today; I’ll be the judge of what you can handle.”

Oh, shit, I thought worriedly. He’s going to really give it to me. But this was what I’d asked him for, begged him for, to push me, to be the hard-nosed dom I needed, and he’d always given me great pleasure in the end, so I resigned myself to an afternoon that would at least start out painfully.

He held the handle of the flogger in front of my mouth, and when I opened my lips he moved it between my teeth. I bit down to hold it, and the taste of the leather was like an aphrodisiac; my pussy gushed secretions that dripped onto the floor between my stiletto heels. He slid his middle finger through my pussy lips and over my clit, and I moaned and thrust my hips forward as much as I could, trying to maintain that contact, but he withdrew his hand and my moan turned into a groan of frustration.