“What did you just say?”
Suka stiffened. Something had displeased him, but she wasn’t sure what. She gambled.
“I said, I know, Sir.”
“You didn’t,” said Paul sternly. “But you should have. Okay. I’ll overlook it. What size are you? I think these should fit.”
He pushed Suka’s bare feet into the stilettos, giving her a few moments to stagger around in an attempt to accustom herself to her sudden height.
“This is a punishment in itself,” she muttered to herself. The shoes were wildly uncomfortable, cramping her toes together at the pointed end. Had ordinary women really worn these? Wouldn’t their feet have evolved accordingly, so as to make them easier to walk in?
“Prolonged wear damaged the foot,” noted Paul. “So they died out eventually. However, it has to be said, I can see why they were popular. They make your legs look sensational, and as for your arse…”
He slapped her outthrust cheeks with relish.
“Let’s see you parade your new look,” grinned Paul, almost openly salivating. “Up to that whipping bench and back.”
Suka tottered along, her spine poker-straight and her head held high, conscious of how the shoes made her bottom wiggle with every step. She imagined Paul’s eyes on her hot-pink rear and tried to inject that extra bit of sass to her step. You will want me. You will not be able to resist me.
By the time she turned to face him again, he had one hand discreetly hanging over his crotch, the other clamped to his upper arm, pretending a casual, natural posture. But Suka knew different, and the power this gave her probably did little for her efforts to appear meek and submissive.
Confident on the heels now, she strode up to him, hands on swinging hips, lips pouting outward.
“All right, the catwalk show’s over,” said Paul gruffly. “Take your disobedient backside over to those suspended cuffs. It’s time for your lesson.”
Hanging low to the side of the room were some leather-lined metal wrist cuffs, attached to a chain. The thick metal rope disappeared upwards until it met a hook in the ceiling, then it travelled back down again, ending in a pulley a few feet away from the cuffs. Suka could see straightaway how this would work. Paul would literally be able to keep her on her toes.
She held her wrists out for him, making no comment as he snapped the cuffs shut then stepped back to put the pulley into motion. Her arms swung upwards, slowly enough to make it seem like a ceremony of sorts. She felt the pull of tension against her corseted ribs, then her arms were vertical, reaching for the sky, up again, fractions of inches, so very slowly, until she was on tiptoe, struggling to keep upright. Now she knew that this was going to be a real test. Every nerve, every sense, was on alert. The tension of her body spread, inside and out, until she was one tightly-wound string, waiting to be plucked. The high collar prevented her from turning her head to try and locate Paul. All she could do was look ahead, at her own shadow, gigantically tethered and teetering, on the opposite wall.
“Now then,” said Paul, fixing the pulley in position and sauntering over to Suka’s helpless form. “Let’s start with an inspection.”
He ran a finger down her cheek, feather-light and caressing, making her want to sigh and lean into it. But he held the flushing cheek in his palm, using his thumb to part her lips and push inside her mouth. “Mmm, someone’s hungry?” he said as she tried to suck the thumb inside. “Dinner may be a while yet.”
He laughed quietly and pressed down on her tongue while his free hand made a thorough inspection of Suka’s prominent breasts.
“Nipples fully engorged,” he noted as if ticking off a checklist. “Those little clamps earlier made them sore, didn’t they? Ooh, ouch. Does that hurt?” His pinch was gentle, but it was still enough to make Suka flinch.
“They’re sensitive, Sir,” she squeaked.
“Good,” he said, leaning down and breathing warm vapour over them so they throbbed ticklishly. “So they should be.” The tip of his tongue danced a light circle around each in turn. Suka writhed in her bonds again, but this time her actions were motivated by pleasurable frustration. She was dampening below again, despite the recent and serious seeing-to Paul had given her
in the temple. It occurred to her that the Commander could torment her in all kinds of ways while she was trussed up like this. A whipping would be the very least of it.
He moved his hands to her shoulders, holding her still so she wasn’t tempted to waver and wheel about on her toes, and began to attend to her breasts in earnest, bathing them with his tongue and sucking at them for all he was worth. Deep sounds of throaty relish made Suka want to push them further into his mouth, prolonging the feast, while she tried as hard as she could to urge her pelvis forward into contact with his. He had her fixed in position, though, and her poor needy pussy had to wait.
“I think they’ll do,” he said finally, releasing the oversensitised nubs to the now-warm air. His hands followed the artificially-enhanced curves of her waist and hips, dropping below the corset to land on her bottom.
“The whip marks are fading,” he said, using his hands to make this observation. “Your skin is almost smooth again, and cooler than it was in the temple.”
“It still feels a little sore, Sir,” Suka told him.
“That won’t make any difference to the severity of your punishment,” Paul said, and she bit her lip. “Well, you should have thought of that before you went running off, shouldn’t you? Ensigns with sore bottoms should know to behave themselves. By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll know the meaning of the word sore.” He pushed a finger between the cheeks, which Suka tensed shut immediately. “Don’t you resist me, Ensign,” he scolded. The finger pad seated itself firmly at the hidden twist of her arsehole. “There are all sorts of ways to discipline a rebel. As you will see.”
Suka tried to squirm away from him, but he had her too highly-strung. Any attempt to elude him could only end with her spinning and lurching out of control. He took pity—for the moment—and concentrated on her front prospect, lightly slapping the insides of her thighs to make her stand with her feet wider apart. This was a struggle, bringing her almost off the floor, but she persevered and managed to hold her stance somehow. All those years of military-type parades at the Academy had paid off at last.
“And down here…” murmured Paul, spreading her cunt lips and crouching to peer into the dark valley. “Aha. Haven’t you been fucked enough for one day?” He grinned up at her, all white teeth and blazing blue eyes. She rolled her hips, desperate for his firm touch to move in and find her clit, or poke a finger or three up inside. He had used her there, but she was far from used up.
He dipped his fingers in her juices, mixing and swirling, coating them luxuriantly before the cruel withdrawal. Standing straight, he offered his sex-scented digits to her mouth. She lapped at them greedily, sighing, wanting them back down there.