Heart Like a Lion

He was getting to be good at patience, too, despite the throbbing erection straining the zipper on his slacks. This game was best played out slowly, luxuriantly, savouring every second of muffled squealing and begging, every tear of exquisite pleasure or torment. From Marcus' point of view, it was of course about driving the "lesson" home as thoroughly as possible -- at some level he was still trying to pretend to himself it wasn't about his own pleasure as much as it was about "order" and "justice" and "discipline" and "cleansing sins in the fire." She laughed to herself about those delusions, but then, she'd fed them to him herself, working on his fundamental weakness, his ultimately childlike nature. And as long as he kept providing her this perfect playground, well then... the weak fucker could tell himself anything he wanted.

Max had to stifle a laugh when she saw Cami's eyes flicker up to the gag clock hanging on the wall and do a confused double-take. She blessed the day, half a year ago, when Kyson and Teyson had brought it in; made to look like an analog wall clock, it was really digitally programmed to advance soooo s-l-o-w-l-y (marking only one second in every three) as to make time seem to stand still. They'd all gotten a good laugh out of it when they'd first mounted it in the common room near the end of a Monday; Max and Marcus had gotten much more out of it since they'd moved it in here for their periodic sessions, stretching out the "hour" to three real hours and giving their nubile guests the sense of being trapped in a timeless purgatory.

Her pussy throbbed as she tested the whip against the air once more, watching the two skingirls cringe and whimper. It had taken only a few minutes of desultory play to strip all their remaining toughness and attitude from them... but Max was far from done. She watched Lennie cringe from Marcus' touch as he gagged her, cuffed her into the spreader bar and cranked her arms up behind her until she was bent double in the same uncomfortable semi-suspension as her friend. She watched him oil up her naked flesh and anoint her cunt with the tingling arousal cream -- not that her slutty little pussy needed it, clearly, but Max supposed a level playing field had something to recommend it -- and then... well, then the real fun began.

The first whipping was always the sweetest, and having two sets of ripe, jiggling buttocks to abuse made it even better. Max teased the bitches with a few more test strokes before she let the crop bite into Lennie's soft glutes, laying a red stripe of pain across them as the girl tensed up and screamed into her gag: "NNNNGHHHNGHHHH!" Max savoured the sound and played out a few more feint strokes, playing eenie-meenie-minie-moe between the two targets before laying a second cut into Lennie, this time across the back of her thighs with a zesty whhh-cracckk! that made her jump and squeal even louder. Cami's first taste of the crop came hard after, a wicked stroke across the meatiest expanse of her adorable bubble butt that brought a grunt of shock and a muffled sob out of her, as if she hadn't really thought it would happen until she felt that bright red line of pain harrow itself into her soft flesh.

Marcus leaned against the far wall and watched Max work, admiring the jiggling of her breasts and the flush of excitement in her skin and the gleam of sadistic joy in her eyes as she worked. She was careful to meet his gaze every once in a while; part of the production was stringing the Boss along by the gossamer line of the romantic feelings for her that he would never acknowledge having, even to himself, but that had made channelling his neuroses into her service so very easy. And so Max made sure to give him a good show as she proceeded to play her subjects like twin instruments, a cellist whose strings were their nerve endings and whose bow was the wickedly accurate crop that seemed each time to come out of nowhere and find a new angle to exploit, a fresh vulnerability.

One stroke for Lennie, slashing diagonally across the left buttock; a couple of feints and then three hard strokes in a row for Cami, striping each buttock in turn and then whipping in between them to strike at the soft target of her anus, drawing a guttural "AUUUGHHHHHHHH!" from her as she jolted and her eyes rolled in her head, drool spraying around her ball-gag. Then two strokes each with random numbers of feints in between, the bitches desperately trying to brace themselves and anticipate the strikes and getting caught by agonizing surprise each time anyway. By the time each of them had reached a full count of six they were sagging in their bonds, their faces streaming with tears and snot and drool, little moans of distress coming around the gags as their minds trapped to wrap themselves around what was happening.

Time to change it up, thought Max. And setting the crop aside, she was suddenly soothing, coming around to gently stroke the faces of her charges and offer them a glimpse of mercy.

"Now, now, my little darlings," she cooed. "Hush now, hush now. It's over. That hurt me as much as it hurt you," she lied sweetly. "See what happens when you're disobedient? When you're selfish little slaves, indulging your own desires instead of asking permission the way good girls should? You don't want that to happen again, do you?" They looked up at her blearily, almost pathetically grateful for the reprieve, shaking their heads with feeling, and she gave them a benevolent smile. "Okay then, darlings... let's put it behind us. We'll call the game a 'do-over.' Marcus, let's get them some water, shall we?"

Nodding with satisfaction, the Boss went outside and returned with a pair of freshly-filled water bottles. They ungagged Cami first, watched her gulp greedily at the bottle's plastic straw for a while before the gag went back in. Amusingly, the first thing Lennie tried when her gag came off was a confused attempt to remember the safeword: "Pruh... persip... uhhh... parsippah... mmmmm...." Then she wrapped her lips around the straw and swallowed down the nourishing water, and the gag was back in place and the opportunity was gone. Max looked down at her tenderly, stroking a tear from her cheek and resolving to punish her extra-hard for that little attempt at rebellion.

"Now, let's try again, shall we?" she said. "I'm going to help you relax... and you're going to be obedient little slaves and refrain from cumming until I tell you that you may. Deal?"

The skinhead beauties nodded miserably as Max walked around behind them, sharing a broad wink with Marcus as she slid one hand between each pair of quivering thighs, slipping her knowing fingers into their aching, wanton cunts and starting the cycle of torment all over again. This time she teased them, twisting her fingers around and fucking those tight cunts slowly and deliberately as her thumbs toyed with their sensitive clits, driving them steadily toward the precipice of ecstasy as they shuddered and whimpered and tried as hard as they could to keep themselves from coming off -- the trembling in their bodies telling the tale of the fear of the whip that now came paired with the lure of orgasm. But inevitably, their resistance started to crumble and their hips started to buck and writhe and their firm bodies tensed as their pussies started to hump back and clasp at those deliciously invasive digits. Sure enough they were driven bit by bit toward the edge, exchanging looks of dismay as their soft, muffled moans and the sounds of their pussies squelching wetly in rhythm was Max's manipulations filled the air.

Max fucked them until they were teetering right on the edge... then stopped, letting them cool down for a minute or two as she broke off to stroke and squeeze their sore asses or tease her fingertips around the rims of their assholes. But the lust in their tingling cunts would have barely started to abate before she started in again, pumping her fingers faster and driving them back to the edge again... and again... and again, her fingers going faster and deeper each time, her rhythm more insistent as they started to whimper and mewl in a mixture of pleasure and terror, the eruption of orgasm coming closer... and closer... and closer.

"Oh, and you were doing so well," she started to taunt them now. "But you just can't keep yourselves from being filthy little sluts, can you? You just can't help it, you must love being punished... you love it don't you, you dirty fucking bitches..."

Her hands were pistoning hard now, taking up the merciless rhythm of the final stretch. She noticed that the bitches were bucking and writhing and tensing in much the same way they'd done under the whip, their soft asses rippling as the drive to ecstasy mastered them. They gave matching mewling cries of "Nnnghhh... nnghhh... nngghhhh... NNNGHHH... NNNNGHHHHH!" And then their bodies were tensing up and their pussies clamping down and copious juices of their climaxes were bursting around Max's plunging fingers: the nectar flooding and foaming out Cami's wanton hole, and squirting out of Lennie as if from a malfunctioning pressure washer. Max kept them riding and shuddering on the waves of pleasure for as long as she could before the climaxes finally subsided and they were left panting in their wake, like fish washed up by a high sea tide and left flopping on the sand as the water went back out again.

Grinning like a Chesire cat, Max finally let them go and licked the flavour of them off her fingers. "Looks like you made your choice, you dumb disobedient little whores," she informed them with relish. "This is how you want it, then this is how you get it... it's time for your whipping."

The girls gave exhausted mewls of fear as she picked out the flogger this time, meeting Marcus' eyes as the pair of them savoured the sacred moment before the pain phase began again. Looking down at the 'byrds' wet asses, Max resolved to give Lennie two strokes for each one she gave Cami... and grinning, she lifted up the whip.

During the first hour of a session like this, Marcus typically focused on maintenance: keeping the "guest" hydrated, making sure she didn't pass out... and of course, he had to admit, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of Max's handiwork. The woman was truly a genius, bringing out a pure, primal beauty from the necessity of punishment and discipline for the kinds of rash little wantons who found themselves tied up in this room.

Of the two gorgeous skinbyrds now writhing and squealing in her grasp -- alternately from agony and ecstasy -- it seemed Max had found a particular zeal for punishing the busty brunette, Lennie. After the first and only time that Lennie had actually fallen for the false hope of trying to say the "safe word," for instance, Max had taken the flogger to her with double the ferocity she'd expended on Cami, giving her twelve hard strokes to her friend's six and landing half of those on the soft meat of her cunt -- making her caterwaul and come to the verge of passing out.

Her pussy had to have been extra swollen and sensitive after that, so that when Max pressed vibrating eggs into the teen beauties' love tunnels and frigged their clits, Lennie had come off in record time with high, keening squeals and sobs of horror as she realized what was coming next. Marcus had gotten the nod from Max then and had taken the rubber paddle off the rack, giving her six whacks with it was Cami was still struggling to hold out against Max's blandishments; the blonde had finally given in just as Marcus was landing the last stroke -- leaving Lennie once again barely conscious despite trying to be as gentle as he could. He'd handed the instrument off to Max then, who'd given her two more hard whacks for good measure before dishing out Cami's punishment.

Max had relaxed a bit after that, but still, as she ran the girls through further combinations of toys and whips -- filling their holes with long chrome vibrators and anal beads and then treating them to another session with the riding crop as the vibes took them over the edge, and then combining a pair of flared butt plugs and the powerful vibrations of her magic wand to devastating effect, followed by a seven-stroke session with a leather bullwhip -- it somehow seemed to be Lennie whose soft nether bits seemed to draw the most creative blows of the whip, whose big beautiful ass took the hardest beating.

Somehow it only had the effect of enhancing the olive-skinned beauty's desirability, and it occurred to Marcus now, as Max was coming to the end of that last phase and was forcing the sluts to lick one anothers' butt plugs clean just as she'd done with the anal beads before them, that maybe she'd picked Lennie for the hardest treatment because she sensed a hardiness in her that could withstand it. She seemed to be built around a deep well of sensuality and wantonness, so that even now -- with her eyes glassy and her hair dishevelled and her curves dripping with sweat -- she seemed a long way from breaking.

Cami's own brand of special beauty lay, he was deciding, in just the opposite effect: the blonde had a brittle, fragile quality about her, like she was taking the punishment in the faith that something would end it soon, desperately hoping that each mind-bending trip around the carousel of multiple orgasms and fiery whiplash agony might be the last. The hope shining in her eyes every time they sought out the clock -- now showing twenty minutes of progress almost an hour into their session -- and the plunge back into despair and disorientation each time she saw it was almost heartbreaking. Max was, he realized, keeping Cami artfully just on the edge of her breaking point; when she did break, she would shatter. She was almost certainly going to leave this place a different person than the one who'd entered it.

He felt a twinge of shame at that, but pushed it aside. After all, that's the point, isn't it, he reminded himself. And in his mind's eye he was finding it easier and easier to visualize just what it was that would take Cami over that edge... a thought that he tried to remind himself was "really for her own good" as it made his aching cock just a little bit harder. He couldn't wait to unleash the beast on both his helpless captives... and as he saw Max -- a vision of sweat-soaked loveliness herself -- looking back over her shoulder at him with a wicked grin as the girls miserably polished the plastic butt-plugs to a high shine with their tongues, he knew the agony of waiting was about to end. (Marcus saw the girls' eyes go wide with fear as they caught sight of his answering grin, though he had no idea just how terrifying that expression looked on his face.)

"Okay, my little darlings," Max said as she returned to sweet mode, cheery as an ice-cream headache. "I'm guessing you'd like a little break from being tied up in that position, yes?"

"Yes, Mistress." The answer, in perfect meek unison, spoke volumes; their arms had to be a torment all on their own by now.

"Alright. Marcus is going to get you some water and I'm going to let your arms down a bit and get you out of those spreader bars and we're going to take a breather, won't that be nice?"

"Yes, Mistress... thank you, Mistress." Again the carefully meek, obedient voices. The whip really had worked wonders in them, further evident when Max only had to crook an eyebrow at them to get an additional: "Thank you, Sir..."

Retiring momentarily from the room with a glow of sweet anticipation warming his balls, Marcus took the water bottles with him to the kitchenette. He filled them at the sink, set them on the counter, then -- as he usually did with these excursions -- took a quick check around the office.

They'd locked everything down to the outside world. The police of course weren't coming, and in truth hadn't been nearly as interested in Lennie and Cami as he'd led them to believe; they were wrapped up in pursuit of what had to be the more interesting quarry for them, the escaped skins who -- besides having done by far the more serious injuries to that pair of hapless fools the girls had managed to lure and rob -- had somehow managed to use baseball bats, fists and boots and sheer attitude to carve a path of blood and broken bones through a crowd of several dozen hostile naked hipsters. It actually seemed the BPD sergeant had barely listened to Marcus' explanation of why he thought their Mall streakers were unlikely to be the girls from Village Park.

Kyson and Teyson were still at the infirmary -- and knew to stay there until Marcus gave them an all-clear. Teyson was apparently resting under an icepack and would recover fine, and according to his brother had taken the news that he wasn't going to be pressing charges with equanimity. Central hadn't called... because of course they never did. As with the cops, it was anyone's guess whether Willy in Administration had even listened to Marcus' explanation that they were going to "let the girls sweat in holding for a while" (technically true, in a way) before letting them go. Checking the messages, the radio traffic, Marcus found everything quiet.

As of course it almost always was. The first time he and Max had done this, he remembered ruefully, he'd been a complete mess; tormented with anxiety that someone was going to call them at the wrong moment, walk in at the wrong time, that an emergency call was going to come in and they'd be exposed when they missed it. It had taken him a long time to process how unlikely any of that really was. R.A.M.S. was a proud and honourable detail, to be sure... but it was a very sleepy job ninety-nine hours in every hundred.

And so of course the office was quiet, and empty. Of course there was nothing to worry about.

Nevertheless Marcus felt a prickle at the back of his neck. Some nameless instinct made him take a careful walk around the main lobby area, around the break room, around the lockers of the ward room where the gang got suited up for action. Nothing, nothing, nothing. You're jumping at shadows, Marcus, he told himself. You're past all that, remember? He indulged himself by poking his head quickly into his office... and finding everything normal, he retrieved the bottles and went back to the afternoon's far more pleasurable business.

He stepped into the holding room to find the girls on their knees in a nice neat row: Lennie at the front, those gorgeous puffy-nippled breasts still heaving, her hands still bound behind her, but her mouth free of the ball-gag and her lips trembling in the agony of wondering what was to come; Cami behind her, just as nervous, those blue eyes shining with unshed tears and the last rotting remnants of her brittle hope.

Off to the side, Max had finally doffed her hot-pants and utility belt and was buckling on that big black strap-on that always meant the arrival of serious business; her tied top was pulled down now to reveal her naked breasts and the stiff glory of her nipples, and her naked ass made Marcus' cock throb in the specially urgent way that told him he was going to need to get it out and stroke it soon. But that was okay; the time was fast coming to put it to use.

Lennie caught his glance and saw something of this in it, the fright in her eyes coming plainer even as she obediently opened her mouth to drink from the water bottle. Meanwhile Max was making him grin despite herself as she announced: "Drink up, bitches! Enough lollygagging, It's time for the hard part."

Yes, thought Marcus as he put the water bottle in Cami's mouth next, trapping her fragile blue eyes in the ferocity of his own as he reached down to tug at his zipper: It can be truly said that I love my job...