Unblocking Carole Ch. 04

Chapter 4: An Evening with Carole

“Well, Carole,” James said, pulling up a chair to sit in front of her naked and very sore body still bound to the whipping benchmark. “I’m familiar from all that exercise. What would you like for dinner? My treatment.”

“Thank you, sir, but, I’m really not hungry.”

“Well, I am. How about Chinese?”

“I’m not hungry, sir.”

“This is your part of the world. What’s a good Chinese place not too far away? By the way, we can suspend the ‘sir’ for the evening. I’d like to have a normal date if we can.”

“There are several that I’ve ordered from. I don’t remember the names. There are a few menus on the side of the refrigerator under magnets.”

James went to the kitchen and returned with three menus, which he perused as though they held the key to solving climate change and curing cancer. “‘Beijing Gourmet’ looks good,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she replied.

“I’ll call in an order and go get it, then.”

“Have you heardd of these new-fangled things called Door Dash and Uber Eats?” she asked.

She was turning into a bit of a wise ass, but he supposed she had a right after what her ass had endured. “You never know how long they take. I like it as fresh as possible. I see it’s only a couple of miles away.” He dialed the number and ordered a few dishes. “Twenty minutes?” he asked into the phone. “OK.”

He stood. “Alright, then, I’ll be off. I hear the traffic around here can be pretty bad.”

“Aren’t you going to let me off this bench, first?” she asked. “My legs are cramping.”

“I think you need to lie there a bit longer and think about what you have endured and marshal the resources to get busy writing tomorrow.”

“Please, James, I’m not kidding, please untie me,” she became.

He turned and went through the door, leaving it slightly ajar so that he could get back in without a key.

Carole watched the door with a rising sense of panic. ‘What if he never came back?’ sheWondered. She worked mostly at home on fairly long term projects. A week or two could easily pass without anyone at her company becoming overly concerned. The same would very likely be true of friends and family, with whom she often went a week or more without contact.

She knew that a person could die in as little as two days from dehydration if they had no access to water. Then, she looked around. James had left all of his stuff here. It didn’t seem that he was planning to leave. Plus, he probably did want to fuck her. And, if her decomposed body was found, the police would have their texts and emails and would find him easily. She figured he’d be back.

‘But suppose he got in an accident on the way to Beijing Gourmet and was killed or rendered unconscious?’ she thought. She knew that was possible, but pretty unlikely.

Also, he’d left the door ajar-anyone-the Amazon delivery guy, one of the neighbors, her friend Jane who occasionally dropped by without calling first-could just walk in and see her naked, trusted up, with cane marks on her ass and the soles of her feet. She would die of embarrassment!

So, she took his advice and thought about what she had just experienced. It was certainly something along the lines of what she had fantasized about many times, bringing herself to orgasm with thoughts of being dominated and punished. But she had never really given serious Thought to actually experiencing that in real life.

When James had ordered her to strip, she had been on the verge of calling the whole thing off. Why hadn’t she? Well, she really did want to get over her writer’s block, and James, whom she respected as a writer, seemed convinced, or prepared to be, that this treatment would work. But, beyond, that, she had wanted to experience the things she fantasized about for real, and she knew at the time that this might be the only opportunity she’d have.

And what about the pain? It had been awful, unbearable, use whatever word you want. The strap had been horrible, and the cane had been worse. She couldn’t say whether it had hurt more on her ass or on the soles of her feet, but both were pure, unadulterated age. And the helpless feeling of being unable to move to avoid the blows or to soothe the afflicted parts had made it all the worse.

And yet, she was extremely turned on. If her hands had been free, she’d have brought herself off inside of a minute and be coming back for seconds. That was what was so devilish about him leaving her like this.

And what about the blow job? She was no prude; she’d given oral to boyfriends plenty of times and never found it a big deal. Men loved it and it was kind of a rush to control their pleasure. But this one had been degrading; really a face fuck, rather than a blow job. She hadn’t been given much choice-she had known it was that or suffering more cane strokes, which would have been beyond what she could have stood.

And the taste! Normally, if she letthe guy cum in her mouth, she quickly drank something-water, wine, beer, anything to wash it down. She knew that the remainder of her wine was on the end table beside the sofa, but it was, needless to say, out of reach. ‘Damn you, James Darwin!’ she thought.

The whole thing was weird. She’d certainly never had the experience of begging a guy to fuck her and having him say no. But all of that-avoiding another session of pain and getting the sexual attention she craved- was certainly motivation to write. So perhaps, James did know what he was talking about.

She heard the door opening. Her heart pounded for a minute, hoping it was James, rather than any of the other possibilities she had considered, even if he doubtless had plans to make her suffer even more than she already had. “Ah, Carole, I see you’re right where I left you,” he said.

‘What a wise ass!’ she thought.

He was carrying a bag containing the takeout food, which, despite her saying that she wasn’t hungrry, did smell appetizing. “I’ll just put this down in the kitchen and then I’ll liberate you.”

‘Will he really untie me or will he come up with another excuse to keep me strapped to this awful benchmark? It would be like him to stuff his face right in front of me, telling me how good it tastes,’ she thought.

But, to her relief, and, frankly, to a bit of her surprise, he unbuckled the belt squashing her torso into the padded top of the benchmark. She pushed herself up a bit, savoring the relief of having her breasts free. Then he unbuckled her wrists. She shook her arms to bring the circuit back.

With her hands were free, she couldn’t resist reaching back to feel the welts on her ass. They were hard, raised lines, tender to the touch as she ran her fingers over them. “Jesus!” she muttered.

“That wasn’t Jesus who put those there, Carole, that was James,” he quipped as he undid the straps around her calves.

“There you go, ‘Free at last!’ as they say. Careful standing, though, you might be a bit woozy and your feet are likely to be a bit sore,” he advised. He took hold of one of her arms and helped her slide her legs off the platforms. She winced as her feet hit the floor, the wealthys from the cane sending distress signals to her brain.

“Shit! I don’t know if I can walk.”

“You can,” he said, “Just take it slowly.” He led her to the kitchen, which, to Carole, felt like it was halfway across town. He pulled out a chair. It was a plain wooden chair with no padding on the seat.

“I don’t think I can sit on that,” she said. “On the other hand, I’m not sure I can stand, either.”

“Would a cushion help?” he asked.

“It couldn’t hurt,” she replied. “Well, it probably will, but less than the wood.”

He ducked out and returned with one of the throw pillows from the couch and placed it on the chair. She gingerly lowered herself, grimacing as her sore ass contacted the fabric. But she was able to tolerate it, at least for a little while. And it gave her feet a bit of relief.

He unpacked the takeout containers. “Where are the plates?” he asked.

“In the cupboard to the right of the sink.”

He placed one in front of her and one in the empty space across. “And cutlery?” he asked. “I hate the little plastic crab they give you.”

“In the drawer to the right of the sink.”

He set their places. “Dig in,” he said.

And, despite her initial protestations about not being hungry, Carole found that was indeed quite familiar. She put away a healthy portion of rice, Szechuan beef, shrimp with broccoli and garlic and chicken with mushrooms. Not to mention that they finished the bottle of wine and each had a beer to wash down the spicy food.

“It’s kinda strange eating naked, with you fully clothed,” she remarked.

“Like that French impressionist painting.”

“You mean, ‘Dejeuner sur l’herbe’”?

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he replied.

“Except this isn’t lunch and we’re not on the grass.”

“It’s a nice evening out there. You wanna take this to the backyard?”

“You mean the one that the neighbors on both sides have a great view of?” she asked.

He laughed. They chatted a bit about their backgrounds, though they had mostly covered that ground in their on-line conversations. She was single and worked writing grants and reports for various government contractors (when she wasn’t writing erotica).

He was divided, mostly retired from a career in pharma, though he consulted for various entities in the industry when he wasn’t writing erotica. Other than the fact that she was naked, sitting on buttocks that were itching and growing more painful by the minute, they could have been any couple on a date or even in a relationship.

Finally, James got up and began putting the leftovers into the refrigerator and rinsing the plates in the sink.

Seeing that his back was turned, Carole found her hand wandering under the table and betweenHer legs. She stroked her outer labia and inserted her middle finger into her vagina. It felt really good, good enough to almost make her forget the burning in her ass and soles.

James turned to retrieve the rest of the dishes and was transfixed by the sight. Carole’s eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open. He was sorely tempted to let her continue. Watching a woman get herself off was among the hottest things in this world, at least as far as he was concerned and he wanted nothing more than to take out his hardening cock and join her in a very hot masturbation session. But, he knew that would be shirking his duty.

“Ahem!” he said, loudly.

Carole’s eyes snapped open and she immediately put her hand on the table.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

He took her hand and held it up to his nose, inhaling her cent deeply.

“Look,” she said, “Call me a pervert, sick, whatever, but awful as that was, being tied down and completely helpless and having my ass heated up has made me horny. You got off, thanks to me, so why can’t I?”

“I have explained to you that sexual satisfaction is to be withheld as your reward for writing something good. Until then, you need to channel your sexual frustration as a tool to help you get writing. And just to make sure that you don’t stray from the program, since I can’t watch you every minute, even as lovely a sight as you may be, I’m going to have to take preventive measures”

With that he disappeared into the living room, where she heard him rummaging around in his duffel bag. ‘Jesus, I wonder what horror he has planned?’ she wondered.

He returned with a set of handcuffs. “I saw a chatity belt on one of those sites, but it was rather pricey, so I didn’t order it. So these will have to do,” he said.

“What is this?” she asked. “‘Law and Order’?”

“If you’d like,” he replied. “Hands behind your back, please.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not in the least. Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, she put her hands behind her back. He quickly snapped the cuffs on. “You ever been arrested?” he asked.

“This is a first,” she replied. “I guess this is a day of firsts. So what’s on the agenda now? An interrogation? The third degree?”

“I told you we’re done with the punishments for the day. We can watch TV, whatever.”

Carole sniffed under her arm. “I could use a shower. I was smoking like a pig on that bench.”

“Not surprising at all. A shower is a wonderful idea.” He helped her up and helped her limp to the bathroom.

Normally, he suspected she liked a good hot shower, but he knew that cool water would feel much better on her already well-warmed ass. He adjusted the temperature to as cool as she could stand without freezing into an icicle.

“Would you mind taking these off?” she asked, turning her back to him to make it clear that she means the handscuffs.

“Why?” he asked. “So you can diddleyourself?”

“You can watch me to see that I don’t. It’s gonna be hard to wash myself with my hands behind my back.”

“I’ll help,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes, but got under the water. It was bracing, but when she turned and let it roll down her back, it was very soothing.

He lathered up a washcloth and gently washed her back, being extra gentle with her bruised and wealed butt. Carole surprised contentedly.

“Turn around,” he said. He put another dollar of soap on the washcloth and began tending to her breasts. He seemed to take a very long time washing what were fairly modest sized protrusions. “I do love these,” he remarked.

Then he trailed the clothes down her belly, letting it fall to the floor. “Oops!” he said.

“I guess I’ll have to use my hand.” He ran his fingers through her pubic hair and over her labia. When his thumb brushed her cliporis, she gasped with pleasure.

He gently inserted one finger, then another into her pussy, slowly moving it in and out.

“Oh, please,” she begged. “Don’t stop.”

He stroked her clip once more and then withdraw, leaving her at the height of frustration. “Now, now, my dear. I told you, no orgasms until you write. We’re harnessing that frustration to drive our creativity.” With that he shut off the water and shahed her dry. She was glaring at him in frustration.

“Now, I think you’ve had a rather tiring day, Carole, haven’t you?”

She nodded. The truth was, she did feel drained.

He led her into the bedroom and undid the handscuffs. “Get in,” he said pulling back the covers. “On your back.”

She lay down. She had sprung for some extra soft sheets and she was glad she had. Between the cooling relief of the water and the soft fabric, her ass wasn’t too uncomfortable.

“Give me your hands, please,” he ordered. He extracted a piece of rope from his pocket, wrapped it several times around her wrists, pulled her hands over her head and secured them to the railing at the head of the bed. “Just so you don’t get any ideas of getting off while I’m sleep,” he told her.

“Jesus!” she exclaimed.

“James,” he replied. “Now I have a few emails I need to respond to. I’ll be up to join you in a while.”

“Fuck you!” she mouthed as he turned away and left her with her thoughts.