I stop as I walk across the carpet, noticing a few crumbs near the couch. My slave follows my gaze, and sighs when she sees them too. But she knows the rules, and starts removing her clothing without complaint as I go fetch the equipment.
I return, carrying a box of supplies and pulling the vacuum cleaner behind me. She's nude and crouching on the floor, 'face down ass up'. I take the crop from the box and lay ten hard blows across her proffered ass. She can't help but cry out for the last few strikes.
"Sit up," I command. She does. I take the thick, stiff, leather posture collar from the box, and secure it around her delicate neck.
The gag is next. She groans when she sees that I've picked the gag she most hates. It's a simple harness ball gag, but the ball is slightly too large, and it will pain her jaw long before her task is complete. But after all, this is meant to be a punishment.
Her hands: I've decided to go with wrist cuffs instead of the bondage mittens. I fold her left arm behind her, wrap the cuff around her wrist, and tighten it. Then a thin leather strap, threaded through a ring on the cuff and the ring on the back of her collar. I pull it tight, drawing my little angel's wing up behind her. I repeat with the the right hand, completing the reverse prayer.
I've been enjoying the wrist cuffs lately more than the mittens, because I enjoy seeing her hands grab helplessly at the air as she works. I don't think she realizes that they're moving.
After she's facing me, I examine the results. We have made a lot of progress lately. Her upper arms are nearly unseen.
The strain of the position pushes her breasts proudly forward. I knead the soft globes, rolling her nipples between my fingers. Her nipples harden, and her breath quickens slightly--not from stimulation, but apprehension. There are several possibilities in the choice of nipple clips. Sometimes I leave her nipples unfettered. Just often enough that on each of these occasions, she can hope for it. Which option is it tonight? Clothespins. She's stoic as I attach them.
It always takes my breath away, how gracefully she moves in this situation. With her arms pinned behind her, standing should be a difficult test of balance. But she floats from the ground like a ballerina.
I crouch down and secure the ankle cuffs, along with the 6 inch chain that will hobble her.
Now the waist belt. Heavy leather drawn tight. It compresses her diaphragm, causing her breath to quicken again.
I turn to grab the vacuum cleaner. When I turn back, her knees are splayed, ready for the next step.
Attached to a swivel joint on the handle of the vacuum cleaner is a knobby rubber dildo. As I guide it into her waiting sex, I feel the wetness between her legs. Too bad the gag's already in. I wipe my messy fingers off on her face so she'll be smelling herself for awhile. It's not like she needs to be reminded what a slut she is, but I like to do it anyway.
Another pair of straps on either side of the dildo are soon loosely secured to rings on her waist belt. There is not enough slack that the dildo will fall out, but they're loose enough that it has several inches of motion available. As she pushes and pulls the vacuum cleaner, the dildo will necessarily move in and out of her wet cunt, its knobby surface stimulating her silken walls.
I turn the vacuum cleaner on. "OK, get to work."
She looks at me in surprise for a brief second, and then starts on her labor.
"Oops, I almost forgot." I say, as I pull the spreader bar out of the box. I secure it between her knees. It's my little joke. I never forget :)
Without the spreader bar, she could grip the handle of the vacuum cleaner between clenched thighs, and maneuver it around that way. With the spreader bar, the only real contact she has to the vacuum cleaner is via her wet pussy, wrapped around the dildo.
Her hips sway forward and back as she gets to work.
Back and forth goes the vacuum cleaner.
In and out goes the dildo.
She has to redo the whole floor when she's missed a spot, to make sure she hasn't missed any others. With the restrictions placed on her, it will take her at least an hour to redo the chore that only would have taken her 20 minutes unencumbered.
"A stitch in time save nine," I remind her. I give her another slap on the ass as I walk past her to my study. She grumbles something unintelligible into her gag and continues with her work.
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