Chapter 31: Farm, Break the Girl
Fred went looking in George’s old tools. He found what he was looking for, a large carpenter's hammer and four very large nails. He laid these at the base of one of the barn’s support posts then walked back to the house. Fred again gathered things in a plastic grocery bag. He picked up the four pieces of rope they had used yesterday from the kitchen counter. He also grabbed four of the empty water bottles from yesterday and refilled them from the sink. Gran was running out of water bottles in the refrigerator and Fred was feeling guilty about how much of their stuff he was using anyway.
When he returned to the barn, he found Clair hard at work and handed her a water bottle. Then he walked over and studied two of the support posts in the barn. There were a row of posts down each side of the barn. The barn had three sections, a tall center section and loft with two side areas. The poles made a row between the large center section where Gran stored equipment and hay and the side areas that contained the stalls, workroom, tack room, and storage. The support posts were massive, rough-hewn six by six at least and Fred estimated they were 10 feet apart.
Fred selected two poles that were largely out in the open with nothing close to them on either side. He went on the outside of the poles, stood on an old wood box, reached up as high as he could and drove one of the nails in. He drove another nail into the same side of the post but right at the dirt floor. Going to the other post he did the same.
Clair heard Fred hammering and peeked out of Henry’s stall to see what he was doing. She had a pretty good idea, and it made her shiver.
Fred uncoiled the four ropes and tied one around the top of each pole, above the nails. He then made a loop near the top in each of the top ropes using a bowline, a knot he had learned in Boy Scouts. He doubted this was a use his old Scoutmaster had in mind. Fred then tied one rope around the bottom of each pole, below the nails. He was done for now, so he went out to the exercise yard, retrieved the old metal chair, and sat where he could watch Clair work. He pulled up xHamster on his browser and intentionally chose some old NuWest whipping videos, turning the volume loud enough that Clair could hear the whip cracks and the screams.
Fred was watching his smartphone, but he frequently looked up at Clair working. Her hair and makeup, the burlap dress, the dirty feet, watching her bend and pitch hay. Fred reflected on just how lucky he was to have moved to this state and met Clair.
As Clair worked, she would try to hold the burlap away from her chest with one hand when she could. As she brushed Henry, for example, she could grab the dress between her breasts with her free hand. After all, Fred hadn’t told her not to. But most tasks took both hands and that left the burlap to brush back and forth across her raw and sore nipples. In fact, the whole dress was extremely irritating. Clair was starting to sweat just enough to wet the burlap which made it scratch and irritate her skin all across her back, her belly and especially under her arms.
When she finished, Clair looked around one last time, stroked Henry’s nose, put the pitchfork, shovel, brushes and other tools away and kneeled in the middle of the barn. She had no idea what time it was but she knew Fred was watching so she had no need to ask. It felt good to rest for a minute. Her work had not been strangely satisfying, and not that hard although the burlap was killing her nipples again. But she was still sore in so many places from yesterday and from sleeping, on the dirt, in bondage, that she relished a few minutes rest.
Fred checked his watch, 12:14. Well, he didn’t need to tell her, let her kneel for a few minutes then he could deal with the grumbles in his stomach.
“Clair,” Fred said suddenly. Clair was in just a bit of a trance, relaxing on her heels and his voice jolted her back to attention.
“Yes Sir.”
“I want you to walk to the kitchen, but I want you to stripper walk,” Fred said slowly as he unlocked the barn chain from her ankle.
“I don’t understand sir?”
“You’ve seen fashion models walk the runway?” Fred asked. “I want you to walk like that, slowly, one foot directly in front of the other with your hips swaying with each step. But first, I want you to raise the burlap to your waist so I can see your ass, hold it there by putting your hands on your hips and your elbows straight out. Look straight ahead. Every two steps, stop, shake your tits back and forth, then take two more steps.”
Clair rose to her feet, giving Fred a look that said “seriously?” but her mouth said, “yes sir.”
“What in the hell had given him this idea,” she thought as she strode across the barnyard doing her best exaggerated impression of a vaudeville stripper. The chain still locked around her neck swung back and forth with each step and the burlap tortured her nipples every time she had to shake them. As she approached the porch steps Fred said, “Go pee, then fix me a bowl of canned Clam Chowder with oyster crackers and a coke. Be quick, I’m hungry.”
On hearing the word “hungry,” Clair’s stomach growled at her, she hadn’t had much to eat the last two days and this morning’s cereal hadn’t been that filling.
Fred enjoyed his lunch with Clair sitting on her heels beside him on the floor. A couple of times he could swear he heard her stomach growl, but he had decided not to feed her. Clair just sat there submissively. The kitchen floor was hard on her knees but at least she could rest.
After he finished the chowder, Fred again turned to Clair to check in with her.
“Again, with the check in?” She thought. Clair was getting irritated, which was probably not wise while kneeling in front of your Sir, almost naked. Perhaps the nagging hunger and the smell of Clam Chowder was making her irritable.
Clair had enjoyed the interludes of what she thought of as ‘Boyfriend Fred,” in those moments of vanilla sandwiched in between ‘Creative Sadist Fred.’ This morning had been almost normal, the two of them, each working on their own projects in the barn. Now Clair wanted to get back in masochist mode. But Fred’s insecurity was threatening to kill the mood.
When Fred looked into her eyes and again said, “Clair are you doing OK, you still want to be beaten?” Clair’s temper flared and she answered angrily, “No SIR, I would prefer that you hand me your belt and bend over so I can beat YOUR insecure ass!”
Fred slapped her.
It wasn’t a playful tap, it left a bright red handprint on her cheek, smearing her makeup.
It shocked them both. Fred was about to sputter an apology; he had never hit anyone in anger before and certainly not Clair. This was exactly what he was afraid of, he was becoming abusive.
But before he could form the words for an apology, he looked at Clair and she was glaring at him. It wasn’t anger, it was more of a challenge, a look that said, “Is that all you’ve got?”
After two deep breaths, Fred got up, growled, “Take the dress off!” and found four more pieces of rope from the box of bondage stuff in Gran’s bedroom. He wished Gran had some leather cuffs, but he made do. Sitting back down in front of the now naked Clair, he unlocked the chain from around her neck. If he hadn’t brought back the rope, she might have thought he was quitting. He unwound the rope and roughly grabbed a wrist. Fred put two fingers next to her wrist, then wrapped six times around her wrist and his fingers, finishing by tying a loop around those six wraps. The result was a makeshift cuff that was secure but not cutting off circulation. He did the same on the other wrist. Having Clair lay down on her back he lifted each of her ankles and made a rope cuff on those as well.
Clair was now laying on the floor, ropes on all four limbs, her sex pointing right at Fred. He put his dirty boot right on her cunt and pressed down slightly.
“Clair,” he said seriously, “I’m sorry I slapped you. I never want to hurt you in anger or lose control. I’ll try not to ever do that again.”
“Well, this was weird and hot at the same time,” thought Clair, “he’s stomping on my cunt while making a sincere apology.”
So she did the one thing he probably didn’t expect, she started grinding on his boot.
“Stop that you slut, I’m trying to have a serious conversation here,” Fred said sternly, getting amused at his girlfriend despite himself.
“You want a serious conversation; I want a serious whipping and some hot sex. I guess we’re both pretty serious, SIR.” Clair answered.
Fred just shook his head, helped Clair stand, handed her all four ropes to keep her from tripping, picked up the single tail off the table and pointed out the door.
Despite her bravado, Clair was scared. It was a fear that balanced on the edge of cunt watering deliciousness and genuine terror.
When they reached the barn, Fred marched her right over to the posts and stood her between them. He took the rope from her right wrist and passed it through the loop on the top rope, pulled it back down and tied a bowline. He did the same with Clair’s left wrist. Going between the ropes he kept tightening the bowlines until Clair was centered between the posts and her arms had just a little slack. Kneeling at her feet he tied her legs out towards the poles, forcing her up on tiptoe and stretching her whole body tight.
Fred stood facing Clair and looked deep into her eyes. “Clair, I get that you’ve had enough of my questions. But you need to understand that we are about to go way farther than we’ve gone before. And I’m about to gag you, so you won’t be able to use your safe word.”
Fred dug into his pocket and pulled out his pocket-knife and held it up where she could see it.
“I’m going to put this in your hand. When you want to stop, you drop the knife, understand?”
Clair just looked at him passively.
Fred put the knife in her hand, but she didn’t close her hand, so it immediately fell to the ground.
He picked it up and pressed it into her palm again, it dropped again.
He looked at Clair and she smiled back at him, “ooops” she said, I guess safe words aren’t going to work today.”
Fred wanted to get angry, but he was too impressed with her bravery, her trust, and her stupidity; and he didn’t want to get angry with her anymore. He put the knife back in his pocket.
Clair could barely move an inch, every muscle in her body was tense. When Fred just walked away, she worried for a minute that he would not continue unless she agreed to take the knife as a safe word/sign. But then she realized he had walked into the tack room.
Fred had seen a box of old tack from when Gran and George had more horses than just Henry. He fished out a bit, a big ugly metal thing. Using a rag and a spray bottle of 409 he cleaned it off, then wrapped it with the last of a roll of Vet Wrap. That gave the bit about a ¼ inch of padding to make it easier on Clair’s teeth. Back in the main part of the barn he grabbed another piece of string off the bundle of bailing string.
Clair was struggling with her position. All the photos she had seen of models stretched out in a standing spread eagle didn’t look this hard. She could barely get a grip to push up with her toes. Her feet kept sliding out, putting more strain on her shoulders, arms, and wrists. Then found she had to work just to breathe. The fear that washed over her as she left the kitchen was ramping up several notches.
Fred held the bit up to Clair’s mouth, at first she couldn’t see clearly what Fred was holding but she opened and he shoved it in. Once she realized she almost retched. Who knows how many real horse’s mouths this bit had been in? Fred used the string to tie the bit into her mouth, pulling it cruelly tight so that the sides of her mouth hurt.
Fred stood looking at Clair. Her face was beautiful even with the excessive eye makeup, foundation, and lipstick.
Still standing in front of her, he pulled the single tail out of his belt and hung the leather loop on the handle on one end of the bit. “Don’t drop it or I might have to start with it.”
Next, he pulled his belt out of the loops with a swish and hung it over Clair’s shoulder.
“Hold this for a minute,” he said.
Then he took his shirt off and hung it on one of the nails he had driven in the post.
Fred slowly opened one of the water bottles left in the barn from the morning and took a long swig.
Clair couldn’t take her eyes off his chest and his arms. Arms that would shortly be swinging that belt and whip. Fred’s erection was massive, and it was painful inside his cargo pants. “What the hell,” Fred thought as he unzipped and pulled it free around his briefs. Now Clair had something else to look at but not for long.
Fred walked around behind her, took the belt off her shoulder, doubled it and swung.
He hit her right in the meatiest part of her ass. It was a blow every bit as hard as the strikes yesterday morning that had bothered him so much. It didn’t bother him one bit today because he knew exactly what he was doing. This was no accidental, excessive blow. This was what Clair wanted.
Clair was expecting the blow and was as ready as she could be. She inhaled sharply, clenched her teeth around the bit, then exhaled slowly.
Fred gave her time to absorb the pain. He hit her again, just below the previous strike and waited until he saw her relax again.
Fred leaned in and nibbled on Clair’s ear lobe while reaching between her legs and stroking her clit slowly. “Does that hurt enough Clair? Can you feel the pain here?” he whispered as he continued to rub her pussy. “Well, now imagine 98 more just like those two.”
Fred felt her visibly shudder.
“I’m going to either give you an experience you will masturbate to for the rest of your life, or one that will make you hate me for the rest of your life. I guess which will depend on you.”
Fred sucked on her earlobe one more time then stepped back.
He struck again, lower down right in the ‘sweet spot,’ the crease between buttock and leg. He kept hitting her again and again, lower and lower only pausing for a few seconds between each blow. He went down one leg until he was behind her knees.
Clair took the first few strikes stoically, trying to control her breathing with each blow. But playing with her pussy and Fred’s words had started her heart racing. As Fred worked down her leg, he increased the pace. She started to grunt with each blow... and to cry.
Fred then switched to her back, starting at her shoulders, and moving down, stopping before he got to the kidneys. The pace and intensity were brutal and far worse than Clair had expected. Fred wasn’t quite giving her enough time between strokes to process or adjust to the pain. After he had covered one leg and her upper back Fred stopped and looked at what he had done. Clair took the time to recover and catch her breath.
Red marks the width of his belt were emerging and he slowly and gently rubbed his fingertips over them admiring the spacing. He did notice that the belt was hitting harder on the away side, and he had another leg to do.
Fred leaned in and whispered “You’re doing so well Clair, I’m proud of you. But I don’t need you to GIVE me your suffering today. You refused my safe signal; you refused my pocket-knife. And you are completely and totally helpless. So today, I’m going to take what I need. You, my love, will suffer exactly as much as I want.”
Fred switched sides and started with the other leg, then the back, evening up the marks. As before, he started with a slow pace, letting Clair process and breathe between each stroke. But as he moved down her leg and then to her back, he closely increased the pace until the last three strokes were one, right after the other.
When he was done with her back and legs, he swung the whip up hard between Clair’s legs. The first time he was too far back, and the belt hit the bottom of her ass. The second time he brought the belt right up between her legs and hit the clit square on. It was completely silent for several heartbeats as Clair inhaled and then she let out a scream that sounded like a wild animal.
Clair was nearing hysteria. She couldn’t catch a breath, she was sobbing so much. She was thrashing in her bonds, her body trying desperately to get away from the pain, but the ropes were too taunt.
Fred paused to take another drink of water and run his hands over Clair’s back and legs.
Then he came around to the front. Clair had been so sure she could be strong, could take whatever he could dish out, could suffer for him, and prove something to herself. Now, that confidence, that resolve was gone.
Fred looked in her eyes and said, “Don’t bother fighting it Clair, you don’t need to be strong, you just need to suffer.”
Fred swung again and hit her thigh right above the knee. He kept the same increasing pace he had used on her back, hitting her leg higher and higher. When he reached her waist he laid several stripes across her tummy, then took careful aim and brought the strap down squarely on her nipples.
The scream that erupted from Clair’s throat, even dampened by the bit, was deafening.
Clair desperately wanted this to stop. Two passes with his belt and she was in agony, her back and legs burning. “Why didn’t I take the pocket-knife?" she wailed to herself.
Fred couldn’t understand what was coming out of her mouth, between the crying and the bit it was unintelligible. What she was trying to say was “no, no, no, no” over and over again.
Fred again wasn’t satisfied with the distribution of the marks and moved the other side. He allowed Clair to calm down and regain control of her breathing just a bit then started in again just above the knee. With brutal precision he marched the strap up her leg and across her tummy. He stopped there for a second to let Clair internalize what was coming next. Fred looked in her eyes, tears streaking the mascara down her cheeks. She was trying her best to beg him with her eyes.
Fred swung and landed another perfect shot right across her nipples. Clair’s eyes went wide but she was beyond screaming. Fred noticed that the left nipple had started to ooze blood again. He leaned in and sucked on it. She hardly reacted.
As Clair started to calm down, she realized her toes were not on the ground anymore, she was pulling herself up by her bound wrists. She couldn’t believe she could feel this much pain. She tried to relax. She tried to slow her breathing. She couldn’t think about anything but the pain.
Fred put his belt back on but pulled the single tail out of his waistband. He sat down in the old metal chair next to Clair and said, “Whew, this is harder work than I expected.”
He started cracking it in the air in front of Clair. Leon had done an excellent job in braiding some old leather upholstery material into a whip. It was about two feet long and ended in a leaf shaped piece of leather.
Clair was now just sobbing, her chin on her chest, breathing raggedly around the bit because snot was running out of her nose. Her mascara had run down her cheeks and some dribbled on her chest. Her lipstick was staining the Vet Wrap around the bit. Fred didn’t dare look at her too long, he might give in.
“Now that we have your skin nice and red and sensitive, I think it’s time to try Leon’s craftsmanship. I’m sure you want to give him a full report on how it feels,” Fred said conversationally and he snapped the whip again.
Clair continued sobbing, but she flinched every time Fred cracked the whip in front of her.
Standing, Fred ran the whip handle across Clair’s clit and up and down her labia. He slowly inserted the handle into Clair’s opening, twisting it right and left as he teased it in and out. Clair started to hump the handle while still sobbing.
“Not yet slut, I haven’t hurt you enough yet.”
He pulled the whip handle out, leaving Clair feeling physically empty. He dried the handle on his shirt and took Clair’s wetness as a sign.
Fred started on her back, flicking the whip rhythmically back and forth, letting just the tip snap across her skin. It wasn’t nearly as intense as the deep impact of his belt Clair realized. But as he just kept flicking the whip, each little strike added to the next and the pain steadily built up.
Her legs were now shaking in uncontrollable spasms.
Whap, whap, whap, whap, whap, whap. Fred moved up and down across her back and ass.
Angry short red lines started to appear within seconds of his hitting a spot. He tried hard not to hit the same spot twice and only drew small drops of blood a few times.
He stepped to the side and whipped her armpits and down one side of her chest then stepped to the other side and worked up to the armpit. It went on and on and on.
She sobbed. Occasionally she wailed. She could no longer stand and just hung from her wrist.
By the time he moved to Clair’s front and started flicking the whip across her breasts she was no longer human, at least the human part of her brain had shut down completely. She was simply pain.
As Fred moved down across her belly, he realized she wasn’t fighting or screaming anymore, just hanging limp from her wrist. He would have worried that she had passed out except she was quietly sobbing.
It was done. He had broken Clair a second time in two days, the first time with exhaustion, this time with pain.
Fred fished the pocket-knife, the one Clair had refused to hold, out of his pocket and opened it. He held Clair’s right wrist and cut the rope. He let that arm down leaving Clair hanging by just one arm for a minute until he cut the other rope. She dropped to her knees like a dead weight, then flopped backwards. She may have been broken but her body’s instinct for self-preservation pushed her arms back just in time to keep her head from smashing into the dirt.
Fred didn’t even bother to take off his pants as his erection was still emerging from his zipper. Her legs were still tied obscenely apart by the ropes on her ankles. He laid his full weight on top of her, crushing her whipped back into the dirt. He penetrated her with one swift movement. It came as no surprise that she was wet, and he slid right in.
Fred did not make love to his girlfriend; he fucked his pain slut.
Fred came after about ten thrusts, but he didn’t stop to enjoy it, he just kept slamming into Clair. She never made a sound through the bit but every muscle in her body tensed, and he felt her cunt convulse around his penis. He kept pumping. He felt Clair orgasm at least once more before he became too soft to continue.
Fred just lay on top of her for several minutes. He eventually rolled to one side, cuddled up in her arm pit and rested. After he caught his breath, Fred zipped up his pants, found the pocketknife on the ground where he had dropped it and cut the string holding the bit in Clair’s mouth then cut the ropes off her wrists and ankles. She barely moved. Fred scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the house placing her gently on the bed.