(CG) Round Two

February 10, 2018

(Preamble: This is the third chapter of “the Crying Game”.)

The girl with the already bruised bottom placed her butt-warmed palms on the tabletop, stepped up onto the foot pegs, then slid slowly and lewdly into the bent position she had been in only minutes before. “I'm ready,” she said playfully, although her lecherous display left little doubt for what exactly she was prepared. As she stretched her hands over the X marks on the surface, she watched the sinister gentleman through misty eyes; he stood at the head of the table over a deck of cards, the Five of Spades still face up. His sly grin reminded her of an amorous lover, but the chill in that dark gaze made her feel as if she were only a morsel of meat to some hungry, ravenous beast. The Bastard even licked his lips once she was in her spot, as if he were ***ring into her thoughts.

“Three,” she said trying to feign confidence, answering a question she knew he was soon to ask. Aside from lifting his left eyebrow, he remained visually stoic; an unreadable stature depicting some lost, ancient culture of intelligent beasts, more monster than man. He stared at her and the moment stretched, ticking away into agonizing minutes as she waited for him to pull a card. Without looking, he plucked from the top of the deck, dropping the card onto the previously discarded. She ***ked to see the *** red Nine of Hearts and winced.

“Nine,” glib satisfaction dripped from the very syllable on his lips. “You lose. According to the rules, the cards are added together; you've earned twelve strikes.” Hearing him speak it out loud caused the poor girl to wince again. “How will I inflict them this time?”

The simple thought of the number twelve dominated her mind. Her bottom lip trembled thinking of the possibilities, and suddenly, this choice alone horrified her. How could she decide? “Black queen,” cautiously crept from her throat, low and hoarse, as if choking back tears threatening to spill out. She was afraid she didn't know how long she was going to be able to hold back the flood gates.

He looked over the various tools on the stand, eyes twinkling as they located the designated instrument. Nimble fingers itched to grip it, but instead, he took the moment to flip the Queen of Clubs next to it face down. A genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as it slipped into his hand as if by magic. “Very serendipitous,” he said, biting back a giddy laugh.

“You have chosen the oil filled rattan cane, one of my absolute favorite toys,” glee saturated his words as the sadist described the innocuous item. “This particular beauty has graced my hands for the better part of a decade, a gift from a leading name in cane artistry. This piece was steamed, stretched, and sanded, then allowed to soak up linseed oil for a few weeks before several coats of varnish were applied. At about 30 inches long with a quarter inch diameter, it is extremely long and slender which acts to increase it's intensity. This cane originally started out a bright amber color, but as you see now, has darkened to a rosy tone over time...and many asses.”

He meandered the length of the table while caressing the cane, eyes glowing with the flame only a libertine would stoke. “The cane became a popular method of corporal punishment in the late 18th century, and for good reason. It is severe,” his tone punctuated that word as if a warning, “but deceptively quiet. It whistles slightly before finding flesh, and the hit is slicing. You might not even hear it, but you damn well better believe you're going to feel it. If a single tail is a ten on the *** scale, in skilled hands, the cane is a solid nine.

“Rest assured, my hands are quite skilled,” he confidently concluded, looking over her colorful posterior from the left side. “This is going to hurt, a lot,” his tone was reassuring, and he placed his left palm on the small of her back to steady her shaking form. “You may cry. You may scream. You may even cuss and curse me. But I must remind you: do not move from that spot. Make sure I hear your tally.”

A slight hiss was her only warning before the cane kissed her across the rump. The sensation was viciously sharp; if the ruler left fire behind, the cane shot electricity through her body that she could taste clear in her mouth. “ONE!” she shouted the word rather than screaming inarticulately, and the strike ***d teardrops to spring from her eyes like a spigot. She was bawling and only after the first swing. But she did not move.

The weal was already visible, a tight double line in an angry red shade that shimmered in places perfectly bisecting her buttocks horizontally. His smile became sly as he brought the cane down against her bottom again, this time being rewarded with an explosive shriek from the girl. She sobbed and wilted into the tabletop as if trying to disappear into the wood, trying to escape that cane. Between sobs, she squeaked out “Two,” as if gasping for air. Another strike landed, crossing the previous hits, and the girl screamed more. Tears had begin to pool on the surface of the table like crystal droplets, wetting her hair as she wept out, “Three.”

The unmistakable smug smile of self satisfaction split his lips; he carefully lowered the cane to his hip. “Are you ready to surrender?” he taunted. Although his tone was laden with ridicule, his burning palm rubbed her ***ed ass tenderly. Her body shook with her blubbering, her breathing shallow and quick, but she pressed her bum lustfully into his caring, yet cruel, hand.

“N-no,” she struggled to spit out, saliva literally sputtering from her mouth. She glanced towards her hands to makes sure they were still on the crosses properly, smearing tears and spittle with her face.

Switching sides, he stood on her right, using his right hand at the base of her spine to steady the tremors. Although she had stopped sobbing uncontrollably, the poor girl was still whimpering softly as she steeled herself for the coming attack. If by sheer determination alone, she would make it through this; at least, that is what she continued to tell herself. With her eyelids shut as tight as her lips, she was ready. Or, so she thought.

The rattan whispered as it sliced through the air seeking out its target, and that target was found with a howl. That is all the sound the girl made could be called: howling. She howled as the strike rushed through her. She howled as the *** climbed over her like an oppressive demon threatening to drag her to hell. She only stopped howling long enough to shout “Four!”

Suddenly, she was outside herself; a wispy ghost of some passed individual, stuck in limbo and silently observing the scene without color, as if an old black-and-white movie with mono sound through a blown speaker. She watched herself crying and thrashing against the table as the monstrous twist of a man stuck at her again and again. “Five!”...“Six!”...“Seven!” the welts stacked stripes across her ass cheeks, a few leaking crimson over the glowing bruises left behind by the ruler. The girl still counted as that miscreant laughed and beat her with the cane, “Eight!”...“Nine!” She couldn't recall a single memory she had shed so many tears.

He paused, and spoke warmly to her; her spirit had to crawl back into the girl's head to hear him, and even then, it took several seconds to process his words. “I-I-I am o-o-okay,” she sniveled, huffing for breath between the gushes of tears. She could once again feel the warmth through his touch, the connection causing her spasms as he dragged his fingernail over her afflicted flesh, tracing the welts sharply. She hissed and ground her hips into the edge of the tabletop. This was ***ful, but she was thankful to have something holding her up, as she wasn't confident her own legs would. The gentleman ran his hand up the inside of one thigh, over her wet crotch, and down the other inner thigh as he switched sides one more time.

“Only three remaining,” he sounded doleful to have so few left. He placed his left palm on her back, and she calmed to a gentle mewing. Studying her bottom, he could not see a clear space to strike, even as fine as the lines the cane drew, he would have to cross them. This made him smile as he brought the instrument down against her ass mercilessly.

Her tears were renewed, a wild flood of emotions bursting from her eyes as she cried out, “TEN!” More than anything, she wanted to rub her buttocks, sit on ice, or anything that would soothe the agony in her rear. But even as she wanted to run away, she held the position, ***ful most of disappointing the monster hurting her so. Another strike, and she yelled out “FUCK!” before inhaling deeply, only after uttering, “Eleven.” She was so close now, she could taste it; she knew the taste in her mouth was actually bile and ***, but she could just imagine the sweetness of victory. The celebration of her strength.

One final whistle, and the girl was wailing again miserably. She wanted nothing more than to scream the last number at him, to end the round and be free of this ***, but her mind refused to let her speak so much as a groan or growl. Mouthing the word she could not remember, no air would expel from her throat, no voice would sound. Instead, she thrashed and bucked trying to catch her breath through the tears, the insane part of her refusing to budge from her spot after all she just endured. Her face was covered in tears and spit that had pooled beneath her, and as her lamentation finally started to quiet, she rasped “Twelve.”

“That ends this round,” his words seemed to refresh her tears, “you may move.” The girl's body collapsed to the floor, not even attempting to stand or catch herself. Rather, she rolled up into a sobbing ball of girl flesh, cautiously touching at her bum and wincing in ***. The Bastard merely chuckled as he replaced the rattan cane, returning to the head of the table with a small charm box, the tag on it revealing the number two. He placed the shiny, wrapped cube on the envelope from the last round, then straightened the deck of cards before him with a provoking grin.

(To be continued...)

Edited February 10, 2018 by Cade
Punctuation correction.

February 12, 2018

Mornin Cade

February 12, 2018

💖 Thank you for this cade truly a pleasure to read and what lucky " hot ball of girl flesh" she is 😉 Keep them coming you beautifully twisted Bastard .

February 12, 2018

I actually have no words!!....(other than)...."get writing!!!!"

Surprisingly, I loved it! Thanks Cade 😊 xx

February 13, 2018

get out of chat an write more. you sadistic awesome writer you. as i read that i was thinking she can do it you can beat him get to 12. she asked for his time she must of known what he was about.

what prizes does she get after each round

February 13, 2018

Very very nice .cade.

Pleased she got to twelve but the endurance was delicious

February 13, 2018

Cade...as always the delivery is perfect...the fingers feeling their way over the raised flesh...the way in which each measured sentence has n interaction...a true writers art..i applaud your talents 🖖🖖🖖

January 15, 2019

Your writing is simply beautiful. I have no words to explain how memorizing it is. Your words are like terror and light. They draw me in and under to drown me ever so sweetly.