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To Whom She Crawls: Three Tales of Bondage, Betrayal & Redemption by Reese Gabriel Ebook ordering Cover Image Copyright (c) Ludovic Goubet www.ludovicgoubet.com

Make Her Cry by Reese Gabriel, D/s
With the help of a graphic lesson in Domination from the good doctor, Mariska's husband Paul learns what his wife truly craves. Excerpt from the story Immersion, included in To Whom She Crawls

Copyrighted © 2007 by Reese Gabriel, all rights reserved.

       The doctor was pleasant, suspiciously so. I was on highest alert from the first breath for the other shoe to fall, as Paul might say.

“Thank you for seeing us on short notice,” said Paul.

“There is always room on my schedule, think nothing of it,” he said, ushering us into his office.

As soon as I saw the device sitting on the floor between the desk and the two chairs, I knew why the man was in such a jovial mood.

At first glance, it resembled a kind of alter with pads for the knees and the elbows. Upon closer inspection, however, one could see there were leather cuffs for securing the wrists and ankles. There was another strap for the neck.

Resting against it was a wooden cane. Instinctively I sheltered my body against Paul’s.

His protective impulses triggered, Paul spoke harshly. “What is the meaning of this, Doctor?”

“You should ask your wife that question,” he said.

The blood pounded in my head. “You promised you wouldn’t tell. You said my punishment was your silence,” I dared to say to the doctor in Gradislavan.

“Yist vu therapein,” he replied. And again in English. “This is therapy.”

“What’s going on?” Paul wanted to know.

“He intends to beat me,” I said. “Please, Paul, don’t let him.”

My hand was on his chest; my eyes were soft and pleading.

“Wheedling, manipulative little bitch,” said the doctor, his words clear enough in English. “She owns you, Reynolds, she leads you by your cock, surely you’re ashamed, man?”

Paul stiffened, his machismo openly challenged. “It’s not as bad as all that...”

“Isn’t it? Your wife is supposed to be submissive. She comes in here and sees a punishment bench. Who does she think it’s for? You? Were this a wife of mine, I assure you, she would have knelt in place automatically.”

“The cane is just a bit much, that’s all,” said Paul.

“But Mariskaya wants it,” he said. “And she wants me to watch, don’t you, girl?”

Something in me snapped. “Stop using that name,” I said. “You haven’t the right.”

“Mariskaya,” he repeated, opening me, hot, violated.

“Brajhiras,” I shot back, bastard.

“Slap her,” said the doctor to Paul. “Or I will.”

Paul looked back and forth between us.

“This is your moment,” the doctor urged. “Haven’t you always wondered, deep down, with a woman this beautiful, can she ever be faithful? Maybe she has betrayed you, maybe she’s just thought about it. The point is she is not afraid. Where are the repercussions for spreading her legs as she chooses? She certainly likes it enough. Ever asked her how she feels when men fuck her in their minds? Supposedly she’s yours, but I’ll be damned if I know how, Reynolds. Where’s the proof?”

“Paul...” I must have had guilt on my face, I couldn’t say a word. Something was shifting. Maybe his fantasies had been awakened, his dreams of sinister control. What kind of man married a model, anyway?

“Don’t listen,” I pleaded, but Paul was no longer hearing me. I winced in anticipation as he raised his backhand against me.

He hesitated. One small push from the doctor was all it took to push him over the edge.

“Now you’re being cruel,” he said to Paul. “Teasing the little thing like that. See how she cringes? Don’t deny her, for god’s sake.”

Paul’s hand cracked across my cheek, releasing eons of tension, like the crack of lightning. I tasted blood, my own, a trickle at the corner of my lips. Tasting it, swallowing, I reminded myself I was real.

Paul stood holding me, his hands on my upper arms; I was a new born babe and so was he.

“You have to tell her what to do,” said the doctor as if instructing a toddler in how to crawl.

Paul’s voice was a rasp, though its clarity cut to the core of my being.

“Kneel on the bench,” he ordered. “Pull up your skirt and pull down your panties.”

It was not easy for me to move. My husband helped me into position. The leather against my knees awoke me somewhat, jarring me from my reverie. I slid my hands up my thighs and hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my panties.

“Pull them all the way to your knees,” said the doctor, and I was ashamed, first to be ordered by a man other than Paul and second because I was so wet. There would be no hiding this fact from the men once I was bent over, bare assed.

It occurred to me that I had felt no such humiliation the day before with the woman and Bruno though she had spoken to me with much greater harshness. There was something dream-like about being with the woman, like we were sharing in something sacred. This was a different arousal, that of a bitch in heat, getting the degradation she needed from the superior sex.

“Do you fuck her in the ass often?” asked the doctor as though I were not in the room.

“Once,” he replied.

“Was she any good?”

“Yes,” said Paul, clearly distracted. “Should I cuff her in place now?”

My panties properly lowered, I lifted my skirt, gathering it at the waist.

Paul’s need to ask directions annoyed me. I must have had less respect for him than I realized. Perhaps after I was beaten...

“No, leave her free,” said the doctor. “It’s more humbling when you make them stick out their asses while you’re working them over. Do you plan on fucking her before or after?”

The blood had rushed to my face and to my breasts. I was embarrassed, even more so because, in my current heat, I would have come like a rocket from the slightest touch by either man.

“Maybe after,” said Paul, making it acutely obvious the idea was not his own.

“I’d recommend spilling on her behind,” he said, as though dispensing a prescription. “Let your come dry on her hot, welted skin. That teaches a lesson, trust me.”

“You are the expert,” conceded Paul.

“But this cunt isn’t mine,” the doctor reminded. “You’re the one she wants to crawl to, sniveling and groveling, isn’t that right, Mariskaya?”

My silence earned me a smack on the bottom from Paul. “You were asked a question.”

“Yes,” I spoke up. “I want to...to crawl to you.”

“Sniveling and groveling,” the doctor prompted cruelly.

“Sniveling,” I mouthed. “And groveling.”

“She is wet?” the doctor said.

Paul judged by observation. “Yes.”

My sex lips were dripping.

“You can punish for that, you know, when they aren’t juicy and hot for a dick.”

I bit my lip, suppressing a moan. I wanted to be touched, fucked, caned, anything to relieve this terrible emptiness.

“They’re animals, Reynolds, that’s all there is to it. Give them pleasure and pain, don’t set them free no matter how much they whine, and they will worship you.”

“I have made vows to her as her husband,” said Paul.

“Pick up the cane,” the doctor replied. “It’s time for new vows.”

Paul retrieved the device, my heart raced, I wanted to get up and run.

“Mariskaya,” said the doctor. “Give your husband the permission he needs.”

My lips trembled as I spoke the words, giving my consent to be beaten.

“One thing more,” the doctor said. “Put it to her lips.”

Paul raised the side of the cane to my mouth. I licked and kissed, desperately.

“And now,” said the doctor, “you must make her cry.”

“I understand,” said Paul.

“Mariskaya, put your head down,” I heard the doctor tell me. “Place your wrists inside the open cuffs and spread your ankles as wide as you can manage.”

The sudden switch to kindness made me want to obey all the more. I suspected he was intentionally getting in my head, training me. The fact that this was a turn on, like flowers and candy for a normal girl only went to show what I was...and how right it was I should be here.

“You’re much too afraid of her, Reynolds,” the doctor was saying. “Her looks intimidate you. But she’s in love, that’s her weakness.”

I closed my eyes. My cheek was against the leather support. The bench was angled and my breasts were squashed.

“Her skirt has fallen back down,” Paul noted. “I’ll have to cane her through the material.”

He sounded like a dreamer, recounting an alien world of cause and effect, reality without passion.

“I think we can find a better solution,” said the doctor.

I heard the shearing sound as he worked the scissors, cutting the skirt from my body. In seconds, he rendered me naked from waist to knee.

“She won’t have anything to wear home,” said Paul, echoing my thoughts.

“We’ll find her something,” the doctor assured him. “I keep dress up clothes for whores.”

I’m not a whore, I wanted to scream, but hadn’t I acted the part, all the worse because I had taken no money for the oral sex I performed yesterday?

“It seems everything is settled then,” Paul said.

And just like that, it began...Mariskaya’s hell.

“Can she scream like that?” I remember Paul asking after the first blow. “Or is noise a problem?”

“These walls are sound insulated,” the doctor said. “The window, too, though I have gags. Some men are aroused by them.”

I shook and moaned as they looked over the doctor’s collection.

“Oh, my,” I heard Paul say. “This one looks like a cock. How exactly does it work?”

They made me open wide to take it. I had to suck on it. It was foul tasting, and I couldn’t stop the drooling. The shape was exactly like a real penis, and I was helpless to remove the harness that held it in place. They made jokes about how natural it looked and how it was good practice.

The doctor asked if Paul wanted pictures of me, puffy eyed and flush, my hair disheveled. He didn’t. That made me feel...I don’t know....rejected or not good enough? I’m a model, remember? Or should I have been flattered he considered this moment too precious to reduce to image.

“Good girl,” soothed the doctor, stroking my hair. “Enjoy your treat.”

The bamboo whistled in the air and again it struck. This time the pain lingered and registered in my sensory banks. Gone was the initial shock to protect me.

Pain bit at my ass and up and down my spine, like a hot worm had attached itself in the form of a welt. Thick throbbing followed; and, before I could adjust, he lashed out at me again. Oh, god, I gasped into my gag, biting down on the artificial penis. The doctor was saying something, more of the obscene, clinical comments, only this time his voice was far away, at the end of a very long tunnel.

Paul grunted, hitting me again and again. I cried and pleaded and begged but nothing came out except in its holy distortion, the utterance of a woman gagged.

Paul stopped to breathe; he was tired.

“I’ll have to take over,” said the doctor.

“But hasn’t that been enough?” Paul asked.

“No, she’s cursing you in her native tongue, can’t let that stand,” he said.

“How do you even know?” said Paul.

The doctor’s fingers invaded my pussy. “Because they all do,” he said.

I writhed, pushing against his fingers, trying to increase the pressure on my clit. He used this all against me quite nicely.

“See how she takes it? See what she needs? Never free her Reynolds, never show kindness, it would be a mistake.”

Paul rubbed my bottom. The pain was worse than all the blows combined. “We should put something on her, some salve.”

“That’s not what you want to do right now,” the doctor mocked.

“No,” Paul admitted.

“You would like to masturbate on her.”

Paul grunted. I knew from the change in his breathing though I could not see him.  “Oh, my fucking god,” he said. Paul rarely swore. The sight of me, what he had done to me was turning him on tremendously.  

The doctor formed a fist in my hair, pulling efficiently so as to raise my head and produce fresh tears for my ordeal. He made me look in my eyes so I could see my guilt. I had not told Paul.

My husband grunted once more, his hand on my back, his body shaking. His semen spurted upon me, warm and thick...and final. My pussy burned and throbbed, neglected.

I heaved and then my defenses gave way. A peculiar openness overcame me, but neither of them took advantage. They shared a drink instead, brandy in snifters while they paid me the ultimate insult.

Ignoring me while they spoke of politics.

My ego ripped to shreds.

I think I must have passed out, sucking on the rubber cock.

“This will do,” I heard the doctor say some time later.

Paul helped me to my feet, and they made me put on a very tight black skirt. I whimpered as the material chafed my bottom. The blouse was damp with sweat and saliva. The gag was removed from me. I could barely close my mouth.

“Put her to bed when you get home,” said the doctor, though I have no memory of this. I was asleep as soon as Paul lay me down in the car, on my stomach in the back seat so I would not feel the pressure on my wounds.

I thought I heard him mumble an apology.

I dared not ask.