Read Puppet On A String Online
Authors: Lizbeth Dusseau
Puppet On A String (19 page)
Chapter Fourteen
Session Four…
“I forgot where I left off,”
“I believe you left off where you first met Mrs. Greystoke.”
“Right, yes, I remember.” She clammed back up, and remained silent until the doctor spoke again.
“Would you prefer to talk about something other than Greystoke and his wife? This is your time, you can use it however you like.”
“I know that. It’s just felt good to tell it like a story in the order it happened. It makes it clear in my head.”
“Well then, lets start with a few details I’m missing. How long did you go to Mr. Greystoke for these bondage sessions?”
“About two years.”
“And how often were the sessions?”
“A week, sometimes two or three weeks apart. Greystoke always arranged the meetings through Mr. Darcy. He had no way of contacting me otherwise. I suppose if it had been a real affair, I might have given him my phone number or told him where I lived, but Clive gave me so many warnings about how dangerous the man was that I was too scared to give him any personal information. He never asked for it, so I suppose it was a moot point.”
“How would you describe your feelings about the sessions? Satisfied? Happy? Content? Needy?”
“Never happy, not ever happy,” she shook her head adamantly. “But at first, after the strangeness wore off…I suppose that took about a month or two…I was satisfied, even content. The routine was easy. Here was Mr. Darcy arranging my sex life again, giving me what I obviously needed in a way I could handle it. Of course, he didn’t think about my heart, about love and honest affection. He couldn’t be bothered about that for himself, so why would it be important to me?”
“But it was important. You did need love. You even sought it from a man who was colder and harder than the one you were trying to leave behind. You made it up in your imagination based on the tiniest traces of affection. Affection you knew was not real.”
“But I didn’t know anything else.”
“But I think you do now, don’t you?”
“I’m suggesting that you know something about love now.”
“You can tell that?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes my clients tell me things without using words. How about we skip to where you are today? We can pick up the past anytime. What’s going on for
Huddled again in the corner of the couch, there was nothing in her mind but Padraig, as if he were clinging to her like smoke.
“Yes. There’s Padraig
Finnian
, the man I loved. But he’s past tense now.”
“Gone recently?”
“Two weeks ago. Maybe three now.”
“It was three weeks ago when you called me. You were desperate. Something terrible had happened, but you haven’t told me yet what that was. Maybe we should start today with what brought you back to me in the first place? What made you so scared?”
“Why don’t you tell me about Padraig?” the doctor tried again.
The conversation stopped at this point and for maybe ten minutes the room was silent. Silence was not uncommon in Dr. Ramsey’s sessions with her clients, so it wasn’t uncomfortable to her, though it felt dangerous to
Finally, she looked straight into the doctor’s eyes, and said plainly, “I’d rather talk about Mrs. Greystoke if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. You’re the one paying me,” Dr. Ramsey replied.
For now, this was a relief. To get to the real reason she sought out Dr. Ramsey, she needed more time.
“Mrs. Greystoke was at my next session with her husband. And now everything changed. I couldn’t feel a thing from the man, nothing. He went through the motions, putting on a demonstration, tying me up as if I were a human Barbie doll. She made him do the breast bondage twice, insisting that it wasn’t tight enough the first time. I don’t know why she thought that, but she made him start over and wrap my tits until the ropes were so tight that I could barely breathe and my breasts were absurdly shaped and turning purple. After he hoisted me into the air, there was a little reprieve. My body settled inside the bondage so that there wasn’t so much pressure on my diaphragm.
She was the one who decided he should use the cane. She wanted welts that were deep and distinct across my terribly strained breasts…and, of course, my thighs, my ass, my cunt – whatever flesh was available and whatever would hurt enough for me to scream. Greystoke offered her the cane so she could do it herself, but she shook her head. I saw it clearly. My eyes were wide open and staring at her – as long as she wasn’t looking at me. I wouldn’t have wanted her to see me staring. I could see her mind working, planning, scheming. I was pretty sure this wouldn’t be the last I’d see of her.
“I screamed long and hard. The beating was far worse than any Greystoke had made me suffer. Or maybe it wasn’t any different, it was just
her
. Mrs. Greystoke and her gold grey eyes cutting into my flesh as sharply as her husband’s cane.
“She stayed until the end…she even watched as he fucked my ass. She stood right at
his side so that she could look at how he entered me. I have no idea if this actually happened, but I think she may have had her hand on his ass. He seemed to have an extra spark in him, whether it was from her touch or just her presence in the room, I couldn’t tell.”
“A week later, I was there again. Normally the sessions were not that often, but I learned when I arrived that Mrs. Greystoke had requested me, not him. In fact, he was away on business. At least that is what I was told. I suspected he was gone – I always thought that I could have smelled him if he were in the house; his scent, the cologne and the aftershave were strong, distinct scents I’ll always associate with the man. In fact, my body would start tripping as soon as I arrived, as soon as I had the first whiff of him.
“But there was no trace of him when I arrived for that session; and I wasn’t sure I liked being there without him. I felt as though I were on a fresh, green field filled with scents I couldn’t recognize, nothing earthy, no manly musk.
“Suddenly, Mrs. Greystoke stepped into the foyer, dressed in much the same way she was when we first met. Cold. Beautiful. Haughty. Her perfume was something cruel and damaging…like her long painted nails; they were blood red that day. This time, she was completely in control, not subject to her husband’s interference.
“‘You look different in your clothes,’ she told me. I was wearing a jean skirt and a t-shirt – made sense, since it was summer. There was nothing sleazy about my clothes, but you would have thought I was a low life by the way she looked at me. ‘Strip’, she said. I was used to stripping in that house so it was not that difficult, but it was different right out in the open foyer – doors leading everywhere; servants could have at any time crashed the party. But none did. I suppose they’d been forewarned. I’m not sure she liked me any better naked, but this was one way to dehumanize me. ‘Crawl,’ she said. I wanted to challenge the woman; but I was also scared to death. I dropped to my knees and crawled across the back and white checked marble, shivering the whole time. The floor was cold and so was the air; the air-conditioning had been turned on high – probably on purpose.
“She led me right to Greystoke’s playroom, although she’d opened the dark curtains so that the landscape of the property was right there in front of my eyes. I could see across the lawn, and the trees, the rosebushes, all of it. It just wasn’t the same room, none of the dark depths that would call up my desires when Greystoke was there. But apparently this was the mood she wanted – my bound and brutalized body in broad daylight. There were two women joining us. I think one might have been a maid, because I’d seen her before and she wasn’t dressed up. The other woman must have been Mrs. Greystoke’s friend; she was dressed in the same kind of expensive clothes, although she wasn’t nearly as pretty as Mrs. Greystoke.
The two women watched as Mrs. Greystoke worked the Shibari ropes around my body. Her finesse with them was surprising. I expected she would have some hesitation since I assumed this was new to her. If that was true, she was a quick learner. She went through the complicated bindings, having my torso dressed and hands tied behind me within a few minutes. When she was done, she hooked me to the suspension apparatus and with the help of the maid had me hoisted high in the air, with my head and torso facing the carpet. My legs were just hanging down at that point. But she bound them too, so that when she finished, my back was arched, my legs bent at the knees and my feet tied off to my thighs. Ropes dangling from the ceiling were attached to the ones that bound my knees. Then my knees were pulled apart so she could abuse most any part of my body.
“She used a lot of clamps. Nipples. Labia. She hoisted me even higher so that she could easily reach her targets.
“‘How does that feel?’ she kept asking me questions.
“‘It hurts, ma’am,’ I kept telling her. Then she’d move on to something else, leaving my body strained and screaming. The beating followed – her technique with the whip was as ruthless as her husband’s. I’d hardly healed from the last session with Greystoke and she just revived all that pain, and refreshed the fading bruises. She moved around me with her weapon for maybe twenty minutes, letting off steam with her arm reared back and coming down with the full force of her leather tawse striking me at will. She ended with a steady beating of maybe twenty or more strikes to my ass. I was sobbing, the pain so brutal that I could hardly stand another blow – although I didn’t really have any choice. There was no symbiotic coupling with this woman. All that harsh daylight – there was no imagination, no mystery, no hope of tender affection. With the clamps still on nearly all my body parts, she stuffed a vibrator in my ass, another in my pussy, and turned them both on high. Then she stepped back and swatted my breasts until I came.”
“I hated her more than I’ve hated any man who used me. The orgasm was not satisfying, but at least it ended the beating. Perhaps she had some sort of climax as a result, but she seemed for all her beauty to be as cold as stone when it was over – just as she was when the scene began. She showed not even the slightest bit of excitement. I could tell that the maid was uneasy and she wanted to leave as soon as it was over, but Mrs. Greystoke made her stay.
“Her friend, however, was a different matter altogether. She must have slipped out of the room at some point, because when I saw her again, she was dressed in the clothes of a Femdom: black corset, fishnets, high heels and this big black nasty strap-on sticking out from between her legs.
“The two women worked together with the pulleys until I was in a position where she would take my ass with some ease. Of course, the dildo that was already in my ass was removed, but the vibrator in my pussy stayed. The dildo harness must have had part of it that rubbed the woman’s clit, because as soon as she started fucking me, she started getting off. Grunting, groaning… really going crazy. For me, feeling her get off was the only thing about the whole incident that I enjoyed. For a while, I forgot about Mrs. Greystoke, who was standing there watching. The maid had slipped out by then, so it felt like just the two of us. I actually felt some genuine affection, maybe not affection, but lust. It was feminine, forceful and strangely tender. Her gloved hands touched me and I felt a sweet spark of desire take hold; nothing like I’d felt in my sexual experiences so far. She actually gave me hope…”
“Perhaps the woman had a heart?” the doctor suggested.
“I think she did. In fact, afterwards, I’m just remembering this now,”