Punishment for a Peeping Tom

Excerpt

Felix saw Victoria standing above him, hands on her hips. “Ladies,” she said, “I think it’s time to take this to the next level. Bring him to the basement.” She spoke in a low, ominous tone that actually frightened him a little, and his legs were once again shaky as several women pulled him to his feet and led him toward a door in a far corner of the room. The door was of dark, polished wood, and its hinges and handle were large, metal things that had been fastened to the door with large bolts. It looked like a door you’d see in a book of fairy tales, some entranceway in a castle—to a dungeon….

Victoria fitted an old skeleton key into a hole just beneath the door’s handle and swung open the thick, heavy panel. Some women went ahead of him, descending a staircase to some dimly lit area below, and one of them reached behind her and took his wrists, pulling him after her. The woman behind him had her hands on his shoulders, keeping him moving forward, and the rest of the women filed after them. No one spoke, and he had a sense of doom that had been absent in the punishments that had taken place upstairs in the familiar surroundings of an ordinary house. Who knew what was down here?

As he was guided down the stairs, unable to see much, he took stock of his body. He noticed that Deborah had left serious scratches on his stomach and chest; even in the dim light of this stairway, the blood stood out vividly against his pale skin. His nipples stung a little, and his ass certainly still hurt. The stinging and numbness from the hard slap to his face had subsided. By far the part that hurt the most was his balls; they’d been squeezed several times by two different women, and he tried to put the pain out of his head and just hope that there would be no permanent damage.

Everyone paused on the stairs for a moment as he heard a scraping of metal and then a creaking noise; it seemed that there was another heavy door at the bottom of the stairs. It got very dark as he reached the bottom, but in a moment someone flipped a switch in the next room and he could see light up ahead. Passing through the lower doorway, the women spun him to his left, then the woman behind him grabbed his arms and held him for a moment as the women in front of him descended another short flight of steps. It seemed they wanted him to take in the sight of the room after everyone in front of him had cleared out of the way to give him a clear view.

A dungeon. There was no other word for it. He looked upon a single large room with a cement floor and walls of fitted stone, dimly lit by two overhead lamps that hung from thick wooden beams. There were no windows anywhere, although there were three doors in the wall off to his left—and all of these had small square openings fitted with closely packed metal bars in a crisscross pattern. Prison cells? It would seem an absurd concept, if not for the other items in the room. There were two large, heavy-looking wooden tables fitted with shackles and chains in each corner, and lots of leather straps along every edge. There was also a table of sorts that was just a large “X” made out of thick beams, held up by four stout table legs and also fitted with restraints. A second wooden “X” stood upright in one corner, and on a wall nearby hung numerous whips, lashes, riding crops, paddles, and other instruments he hadn’t ever seen before. Similar implements hung here and there from other walls, and a number of them also lay on smaller tables and on the floor. There were chains and cuffs hanging from three of the walls (not the one with the three doors), and also hanging from various parts of the ceiling. Looking more closely at the ceiling, he could see intricate arrays of pulleys, hooks, bolts, weights and counterweights, and even what appeared to be some motorized devices. Someone must have spent a fortune creating this place.

His awe at the sheer strangeness, scale, and intricacy of the place had briefly overcome his fear. After a moment, though, as the women who had descended began to spread out and stand near some of the furniture and implements, and as others began lighting the numerous candles that stood on tables or in wall sconces, casting a flickering glow on the stone and wood and iron down there, he suddenly recalled with a sinking heart that he was here to be punished, and for a second he tried to back away.

It was no good, of course. he simply backed into the woman who stood right behind him. “Not a chance,” she chuckled. “Now get down there.” She guided him down the remaining six steps to the cellar floor. The remaining women filed into the room, and Victoria said “Bring him to one of the tables” as she shut the door behind her, sliding several metal bolts into place.

Several women hustled Felix along toward one of the tables, and when he reached it, a number of women easily hoisted his small, light body onto it. He was lying on his back, the hard wood cold against his naked skin, held down by innumerable strong hands while still more hands began to manipulate his limbs into some desired position. Heart hammering nervously in his chest, he let out a weak “Please…” before he could help himself.

A chorus of dark laughter greeted his cry. “ ‘Please,’ he says,” someone mocked. Another said “Now that we have him in the dungeon, he wants mercy. What a pathetic little wimp. We haven’t even done anything yet.”

Presently, two women near his right shoulder moved slightly as someone stepped between them, and in a moment he saw Victoria peering down at him. “What’s the matter?” she asked in a surprisingly normal voice that belied the stern expression in her eyes.

He didn’t know what to say. He was just about to open his mouth—to say exactly what, he didn’t know—when Victoria gently took hold of his chin. “Remember why you’re here,” she said evenly. Felix nodded. “Yes, Mistress,” he finally managed, though it came out as a dry whisper. Then he remembered to add “Thank you, Mistress.”

Victoria backed away and said more loudly “Our slave appears to be nervous. He should be, because he’s in for a severe punishment. But I think we should begin slowly. Lydia, you’re up.”

Felix couldn’t see much except the dark wood ceiling above him, and the various chains and ropes that hung from it. Glancing from side to side, he could only see the women who held him down and were moving his hands near some metal cuffs fastened to the corners of the table. “No, not spread,” he heard a new voice say. “Keep him in a straight line. Hands his over his head, feet together.” As he was moved into the new position, the woman who had spoken appeared next to him; this must be Lydia. Her ash-blonde hair was almost white, and hung down long and straight. She leaned over him, and the ends of her hair brushed ticklishly across his chest and shoulder.

“So,” she said in a low, sensuous tone. “Afraid of a heavy hand, are we? Well, worry not, my captive. My touch will be verrrrry... light….” She moved her fingertips over the skin of his face and chest—not actually on his skin, but just barely above it, so that he could feel little more than the heat of her. Somehow, though, this almost-touch had a kind of electricity to it, and he gave a little shudder.

“Oh, I can tell he’s going to be a fun one,” she said, her voice still slow and soft. As Felix felt his hands bound straight over his head and pulled tight, the woman suddenly produced a large, exotic feather and waved it langourously near his face. “Yes, my dear…” she continued, “my touch will be light… as a feather….” The feather disappeared from view, and suddenly he felt a light, wispy hint of a touch in his right armpit. Involuntarily, he jerked, but his arms were fastened tight. Another touch as the feather slid lightly up his ribs and under his arm, and he jerked even harder, crying out briefly. “Oh, so you are indeed ticklish… good. Please keep trying to move away, though you are held in place. I do so love to see my victims struggle.” She probed his underarm with a few delicate jabs of her fingers, and this time he not only lurched in his bonds, but actually squealed loudly.

There were laughs again from around the room, as the woman at his feet locked shackles around his ankles. The metal was very cold against his skin. He heard the grinding of some gears, and felt his body pulled yet more taut, leaving him not an inch of free movement.

“That’s it,” said Lydia, a gentle and seductive smile brightening her face. “Nice and tight. You are totally helpless, my dear. And now…”

She reached across his chest with her right arm, and soon all of her fingertips were dancing in the sensitive flesh of his ribs and underarms. His muscles strained against his bonds, but the only thing he could move was his head, which he ended up shaking from side to side because it was simply impossible to remain still while this woman tickled him. “AAAhhh-eeee!!!” he shrieked. “Ha! Heee…!!! Oh! Ah! No! No stop! “Aiieeee….!!!”

But she did not stop. She moved her hands down and slid the backs of her fingers over his stomach, against his sides. She was truly a mistress of her art. She knew here to find every ticklish spot on his body, and knew exactly how hard to stroke or poke or slide at each one. His helpless cries were much louder than anything he’d uttered while being spanked. After a few minutes, she paused briefly, and he struggled to catch his breath.

“Now, would some of you ladies help me out? Here are some feathers; just play around with his sides and under his arms. I’m going to show you how ticklish hands can be.”

She walked to the head of the table, where Felix could not see her at all, and he felt his left hand being opened, the fingers held flat against the table. Then the light and unmistakable touch on the heel of his palm made him shout again, a wild half-cry, half-laugh that was prolonged as Lydia caressed his exposed palm. He didn’t even know he was ticklish there. As various women along the sides of the table began using the feathers on his underarms, sides, and legs, Lydia began tickling his right hand, and Felix thought he would go mad. He already had a sore throat from the squealing and shrieking that he could not help, and the tickling just went on, the women playing his naked, helpless body like some instrument of raw electric nerves.

“All right,” Lydia finally called out, and the tickling ceased. Felix was close to hyperventilating, and had broken out in a sweat with his struggles, despite the chill air of this basement dungeon. He struggled to calm down, breathing deeply. He was grateful for it to be over.

“And now,” Lydia said, walking around the left side of the table and toward its lower end, “the piece de resistance.” Then he knew that is was not over. “This is going to be loud,” she said. “Someone might want to get ready to quiet him down.”

“I can do that,” came a voice from behind him, and there was Jasmine, her schoolgirl uniform now gone, clambering onto the table above his head. She stood over him, one foot on either side of his head, facing the end of the table. “Go ahead, Lydia.”

And then there were the first soft fingertips sliding along the soles of his feet, and he let out a high-pitched squeal. He tried to move his feet out of the way, to wiggle them around, but firm hands held each foot in place for Lydia’s terrible caresses. As he screamed with painful laughter, Jasmine lowered her plump bottom. “We’ll quiet you down” was the last thing he heard before she sat on his face, smothering all his cries. He still tried to scream and shriek, of course, but his cries were now totally muffled between Jasmine’s generous legs. He tried to draw breath, but couldn’t, and his slow suffocation added to the torment being administered to his feet.

After almost a minute, Jasmine sat up, and he gulped in a deep, desperate breath. Lydia paused in her tickling, too, allowing him to recover. “Ooo,” Jasmine said to Lydia. “That feels good. I’ve never tried tickling someone while sitting on their face. Do it some more.” And suddenly she lowered her crotch onto his face once more, and the tickling resumed. Felix couldn’t even shake his head any longer; he could only lay still and suffer. It seemed that others had joined Lydia in holding and tickling his feet, even bending back his toes to expose more of his skin, more sensitive places to torment.

It felt like more than a minute before Jasmine got up again, leaving him gasping and flushed, and the tickling ceased once more. “Oh, looks what’s back!” someone said, and he felt a sudden tug on his penis. He was rock-hard again, but hadn’t even noticed the feeling. “This time I’m not gonna lose it!” someone else shouted. “Hand me some of that cord.” Soon, he felt thin rope looping around the base of his erection, being pulled tight, then a lot of fumbling of fingers. There was one last painful tug and someone said “There, nice and tight. He’ll stay hard now! Someone pass me a condom from that table.”

Once again, he felt a rubber being rolled onto his rigid penis, and then sensed someone climbing up to get her fill of it. He was about to raise his head to see who it was, but Jasmine’s legs were bending and her naked ass loomed over him. “Take a deep breath,” she said through a cruel smile, and he barely had time to do so before she lowered herself the rest of the way, once more smothering him between her legs.

Felix tried a few helpless sobs, his face hot in the muffled darkness as some unseen woman lowered herself onto his cock and slid her hips back and forth, up and down. The tickling began again, on his feet, at his sides, feathers and fingertips gliding and poking and teasing his every fiber. He tried not to move, knowing it was useless, but his body naturally strove to squirm. He was utterly at the mercy of these women, who played with him and used him at will, making him nothing more than a toy. The sense of helplessness and degradation overwhelmed him. He knew, too, that he was being photographed and filmed, compounding his humiliation. All this knowledge, and the evil tickling caresses, made him unable to even take pleasure in the sensation of a tight pussy riding his dick. He was just there for her pleasure. He started to feel faint from inability to breathe; he thought he might pass out. Jasmine started wiggling her large hips around, grinding her ass and pussy into his face, then finally got up.

He sucked in the cool air of the dungeon with rapid breaths, coming back to himself, feeling that he was lost in some strange dream. Was he really in some actual dungeon, chained to a table, being tormented by a throng of cruel and lustful women? As if in response, the woman straddling him let out a loud, satisfied “OHHHhhhhh!!!” and her body stiffened into stillness, a momentary savoring of her orgasm before she rolled off and another woman climbed into the table. Yes, he was really here. Any and all of these women would have their way with him, do whatever they liked, and there was nothing he could do about it. He might have backed out long before—at the beginning say, letting them call the cops and taking his chances. But the time for that was gone. There was no way out of this cellar except for them to let him out, once they were done with him. The place looked solid and the double doors of the stairway probably made it soundproof. he doubted that anyone in the outside world could even hear his screams.

As Felix struggled to recover his wits, slowly coming back to himself after nearly suffocating in Jasmine’s plump ass, he realized that the tickling had stopped, and he was grateful for that, at least. He was startled when Lydia’s face suddenly appeared above his, looking upside down—she had come to the head of the table and was leaning over. Without a word, she lowered her face and kissed him on the lips, a gentle, sweet kiss that parted his lips and slid her tongue between them. It was so unexpected that it took him a moment to fully respond, but he did, returning the kiss, feeling somehow grateful. She broke away and remained looking at him for a moment more, her smile lovely and genuine. “Thank you, Mistress,” he whispered, and then she was gone.