Chapter 6

Past 6:30 p.m., the cab delivers me to Ludlow Street. Sunny has obediently been waiting as instructed. When the creaking door announces my arrival I note the minx is once again hiding her naked form.

“I have had to duck so many times,” she pouts in a childish voice. “You said 5:30.”

“I instructed you to be naked and waiting in the lobby at 5:30. I did not indicate when I would arrive.”

My tone is direct yet carefree as Sunny knows to turn so I can clip her elbows together. I note that just as with hypodermic injections there is little evidence about the small tufts of skin grommeted the day before. Quite the clever device I have developed. Instant body bondage. Limited extended reaction and trauma.

I clip on the nose leash. She expects to go to the elevator. Instead I take her to the door. I can feel her resistance through the taut string wrapped about my finger.

“It’s a nice night for a walk,” I declare pulling firmly.

Having just traversed the block, I know there is limited activity. And though remaining warm, the autumnal equinox has brought early darkness. Still Sunny demurs, futilely fighting my controlling hand as the pain of the nose grommet prevails and we step from the building. A slight breeze brings her perky nipples to stand like begging puppies. I detect goose bumps.

“Snotty little girls need discipline. You’ll not again question my instructions or my deeds.”

Naked, bound, outdoors and exposed to all, the masochistic mental conflict is palpable. The humiliation of possible discovery is both craved and feared. How will she explain this to unwitting neighbors?

Alas, with few buildings being converted to residential quarters, the street is eerily empty. Warehouses have closed for the day. Others are abandoned. There is no reason not to push the envelope of acceptable behavior.

I walk one to two steps ahead. I detect whimpering. Oh! this is delicious.

A van turns the corner, headlights beaming. I pause to torment then lead to an alleyway, the driver focused on building numbers and not on my naked and leashed pet. The vehicle stops adjacent to where we are concealed, the driver making a delivery. Sunny is momentarily trapped.

“While we’re waiting, Sunny. You may squat and do your business. Go ahead... psst, psst.”

She does, parting her feet, bending at the knees, urinating in the ally as the van driver returns, revs the engine and departs. I reach and knead Sunny’s left ear as her bladder empties. In the gloaming I can see the nipples standing even firmer. She protests yet she enjoys, her stimulation quite evident.

“I like your neighborhood, Sunny. Nice and quiet for evening walks. Come. We have work do to.”

***

I suppose I should have chosen surgery over a career in medical research. Something about my controlling demeanor which is gratified in having a human form completely subject to my whim.

These thoughts divert as I prepare. I lead Sunny to my assembled framework of pipes. The nose leash is tied overhead and tightened to the shorter pipe at the front. I then release the double ‘D’ clamp holding her elbows and use two more cords to attach her arms to each of the longer overhead pipes to the sides, right and left. I adjust, taking in some slack to force Sunny to bend at the waist... which wickedly stresses her nose leash and greatly increases immobility.

“Spread your feet. Steady yourself.”

She complies and I inspect her back... that seemingly long expense of unblemished skin. Smooth, soft I count the vertebra using such as a guide. Then at the top, just below the neckline and to the right, I swab. I gather a tuft. I align. Then comes the click, the snap, the yelp, the blood, the dab. Grommet number four penetrates Sunny’s flesh.

“Good girl,” I commend, master to dog.

I hear sniffling. I am somewhat heartened that one cannot become accustomed to the intensity, that Sunny feels the same pain and will feel the same pain with each press and resulting snap.

I swab to the left and just a tad lower. I gather a tuft. I align. Grommet number five. The click, the snap, the yelp, the blood, the dab.

Sunny once again shudders with the ordeal, her bindings adding to the torment in that she cannot more demonstrably exhibit resistance to what her psyche craves. Yes, the mental dissonance of the masochist, the deep desire for suffering, nature’s instinctive urge to avoid pain.

My hand smoothes over her buttocks. A wondrous covering of gelatinous flesh with impressive firmness beneath. Slipping between her thighs, I explore her mons. Wetness again. Sunny is predictably aroused... her reaction to my governance one of stimulation.

I step to the front and unhook the clasp from her nose grommet. She sighs in relief. Elbows remaining high, I grasp a clump of hair and guide her mouth to my zipper. She begins her evening task, and she is reasonably dexterous, if such is the proper term for a nimble tongue.

***