On the Beach

A young woman becomes the center of attention on a tropical beach when she emerges from the ocean to reveal a metal bikini in combination with unusual jewelry. Her husband has had her fitted with these multi-purpose adornments for her submission to his total authority.

Everyone in the immediate proximity watched her stride somewhat self-consciously into shore through the mild surf, her seamless, thickly gold- coated, specially-hardened, titanium wrist, above the elbow, and ankle cuffs gleaming in the brilliant sunshine, flicking off sparkling droplets of clear salt water as she emerged. Each movement of her limbs was attended by a musical jingling of sturdy rings mounted on the inner and outer surfaces of these snugly fitted cuffs, while around the graceful column of her throat, another wider band glinted with unstated but fully understood purpose.

She shook her head without thought, trying to clear the water from her ears and inadvertently creating more small rattles and jingles when the rings at the back and front of her control collar, for that is surely what it was, also swung against their mountings.

My eyes, and everyone else’s who observed her, were also captivated by the sight of the fine, strong, snake-linked chains looping between her thick, obviously heavy ear-rings and their connection points at the front, back, and sides of her collar. The three chains from each earring were attached to her choker with small locks, adding immensely to her appearance of controlled and captive beauty. Really, the arrangement of these adornments didn’t restrict the movements of her head all that much, permitting her to turn it in a strictly defined arc, but they were definitely a limiting influence. At the limits of movement, one of the opposing sets of chains would snap tight, jerking authoritatively on her ear lobes as a reminder of her state of being under a continuing though not overly obtrusive domination.

My Lady wore a bikini, but it was totally unlike any other on the beach.

Many of the more daring women sported the latest thong-type bathing suits, most with the thought that they were the height of fashion and daring, but Christine’s costume far surpassed theirs in every way. Trying hard not to be embarrassed by her unique coverings, she strode resolutely across the 15 meters of fine, golden sand and into the shade of the tall coconut palm where we’d spread our blankets.

She wore a tightly fitted titanium chastity belt, rather than the standard, minuscule patches of fabric the other women displayed themselves in. The 6 cm wide and 5 mm thick cinch pressed deeply into the soft tissue of her waist, formed so that at the front and center, an at first narrow, then discreetly widening vertical strap/shield extended downwards passing back between her lean, tanned thighs. It authoritatively bisected the flesh of her lower belly, embedded firmly in the glowing brown skin of her loins and like a normal thong, this strap narrowed slightly as it ascended at the back, pressingly snugly, deep into the valley between her delightful buttocks, to merge into her waistband at the back center. Deep between her thighs, two narrow metal bands separated from this crotch strap and these were drawn off to the sides, pressing firmly into the crease under each of her buttocks, then rose to also join to the waistband, just over her hips. Their presence and tightness reinforced the impression of inescapability and permanence of the entire lower body harness.

With every pace she took the delightful hemispheres of her nether cheeks shuddered and jounced appealingly, emphasizing the deliciousness of her controlled femininity and even though the message of her captivity was unspoken; it was strongly reinforced by the presence of a large, gold-cased lock securing the ?Belt and crotch strap at the front and center of the band strap. Eight cm lower on the crotch band strap, a second lock was blatantly and securely fitted. It served to fasten a narrower secondary strap, passing over the front and center of the primary shield concealing and imprisoning her sex. This seemingly useless additional covering didn’t touch the snugly fitted primary one, but was held a half cm away and maintaining this separation, it also swooped down between her thighs, then up between her globular buttocks to a point just above her tail bone where it once more rejoined the snugly nestling crotch-shield. The most telling message that the lower portion of her costume transmitted though was from the 9, 3 cm diameter rings mounted around the circumference of the waistband. These were obviously not decorative, nor were the rings on her cuffs and collar. They were meant to be employed to restrain their wearer and a close inspection would reveal that they were indeed in constant use.

The other bikini-clad women wore minuscule halters to contain and partially conceal their breasts, having to endure a thin string around their chests and a neck loop to hold everything together, but Christine had no such encumbrance, yet her breasts and nipples were totally covered.

A lifelike pair of perfectly fitted, burnished golden coverings seemed to have flowed over each of her full breasts and at the tip of each, they appeared to be held in place by small locks whose brightly chromed steel shackles passed deeply through the flesh of the prominently molded nipples. The cups were barbarically decorative and onlookers could only surmise how they were really kept on. Were the locks real? Were the cups glued on? My Lady Christine however, could not escape the sensations from the hidden portions of their thick shackles. They did pass directly through the straining flesh of her aureoles and nipples. Too, that flesh was kept under tension, thus keeping the cup’s rolled edges pulled firmly against her chest. Adding to this astounding ensemble, a heavy-linked gold chain looped between the locks, a diamond pendant dangling from its larger central link. Her breast containments oscillated gently in their own orbits on her chest when she moved and she tried to pretend she was unaware of the uniqueness of her ensemble and its affect on all the men watching and there was no mistaking the venomous looks directed her way by the other women displaying themselves on the beach

When she’d emerged from the water and ascended to our umbrella and spread blankets, all motion came to an abrupt halt. Everyone stared unbelievingly at her: some women with barely concealed horror and others with what seemed to be concealed desire and admiration. The men stood as though struck to stone, then the more adventurous slowly began to converge and follow her at a discrete distance, doing everything except pant and drool at the sight of my Lady and her unconventional bathing costume. What they didn’t realize of course was that her coverings were not only for bathing, but also in reality the primary components of her everyday underwear. I required that she wear the controlling garments at all times and being locked in place, there was no possible way she was able to remove any of the confining pieces from herself. It was a condition of life that she had gradually grown to accept, although with some concern and rebellion at first.

A moment later, still dripping jewels of watery brilliance, Christine stepped into the shade of our large umbrella, then she slowly sat down with her back towards me. She bent her head forward, then turned slightly and looked up into my face while I grinned at her, then glanced around the circle of avaricious male eyes. Holding up a glittering chain with a substantial, businesslike lock on the end, I moved it to the back of her neck and brushed aside her dripping, black page boy hair to reveal the collar’s back ring. The chain’s other end was wrapped around the bole of the tree some 10 meters feet behind us, secured there by another of the heavy locks.

Sorry, guys, she’s mine; I said, slipping the shackle through the ring, then authoritatively, snapping it closed.

With a gentle tug on the leash, I flattened her onto the blanket beside me, then leaned over and smothered her soft, trembling, receptive lips with mine. She writhed sensuously and enticingly against her semi-restraining garments beneath me and the sensations of the rigid, titanium frame delineating and imprisoning her lower body, together with the rigidity of the metal cups fastened to her chest and pressing into my flesh was enough to awaken the animal. It was all I could do to casually lean back and watch her satisfaction at having aroused me so discreetly covering my rigid state with a flick of the beach towel. Trying to conceal the obviousness of their own arousal, most of the observing men turned away while we enacted the little drama of Christine returning to my captivity and when we’d finished our embrace, I saw that some of them had drifted away. Others remained in the vicinity, attempting but failing miserably to casually observe her and how she had so willingly become a leashed and fully possessed female. To add even more authority to the message of my ownership, both to her and to those observing, I leaned over and whispered three words into her ringed and restrained ears.

Hands and feet.

It was not a request.

Christine slowly sat up then stretched her legs out in front, ankles held closely together. My hand delved into our beach bag and extracted a 20 cm length of gold-plated chain, then quickly locked its ends to the inner rings on each ankle cuff, hobbling her neatly. I heard a faint, collective explosion of held breath from around us. Uncaring, I again went into the bag and this time drew out a longer slithering length, then slowly threaded its small, strong links through the rings of her waist-band while she sat on the blanket, trembling ever so slightly. Christine kept her hands clasped in her lap; fingers intertwined to still their nervous, bird-like flutters, but when my hands approached hers with the lock-equipped ends of the wrist chain, she rotated her arms and lifted them slightly so that the rings on the inner surfaces of the snugly-fitted wrist cuffs were readily available, facing upwards, presented to me

Move your arms back.I commanded in a low voice.

She bent her elbows and pulled her wrists back until they were positioned near her hips and with 2, sharp clicks, the locks snapped closed through the rings of her cuffs and the end links of the belt-threaded chain. Christine twisted where she sat and tried to reach her arms around me in a hug of possession, only to have them jerked to a stop part way by the restricting chain. She still had the use of her hands and arms but only on my strictly defined terms reinforcing her state of captivity. The slight trembles of her lower lip and unconscious, small tugs against her wrist chain showed she was trying to readjust to her reinstated restrictions and the movements told me all I needed to know.

To reassure this wonderful Lady of my caring, I curled my arms around her, once more crushing her willing and now delightfully restrained body to mine. She melted against me, knowing of my love, ownership, and admiration, yet still fighting her restrictions, and then a moment later a mischievous giggle shook her sheathed breasts. Lying back on the towel again, she exhibited herself to the sea of staring and envious eyes that still observed us.

Christine was forced to leave her hands by her sides, for she hadn’t enough freedom while fitted with the wrist chain in this configuration to move them both to her front at the same time; nor, for that matter, could she bring them to her chest to cup or shield herself. The other chain between her ankle cuffs looped in a short and clearly defined arc of confinement across the Cerulean blue of our beach towel, while from under her slightly spread, thick black hair, the definitive links of her leash led across the sand to the base of the palm.

Suddenly our area of the beach had become quite heavily populated.

Although the surrounding umbrellas and blankets remained separated from ours by reasonable distances, their male inhabitants showed no interest whatsoever in the sparkling ocean waves beckoning just a few meters away. To add to their erotic fantasies, Christine, still laying on her back, slowly bent then scissored her legs, tugging them tantalizingly against the restriction of her hobbling chain with small, yet obviously futile kicks. At the same time, she partially revealed glimpses of the double layered, glinting titanium shielding that concealed and imprisoned her sex; teasing them as only a beautiful woman can

None of the observers were aware of it; but under the secondary strap, the retainer fitting of a long and rigidly thick dildo was irremovably mounted in the longitudinal slot of the wide metal band embedded so intimately in her belly; the phallus penetrating her deeply and fully. It’s means of mounting in the slot permitted the slightly curved, ribbed shaft to move with changes to the geometry of her body, but, with the ?belt and crotch-band locked in place, there was virtually no possible way for her to touch, adjust, or remove it. It remained completely undetectable unless she spread her legs completely wide, and she couldn’t do that, thanks to her hobble. Then and only then would the retaining fitting become even partially visible and it would still be inaccessible, even to her small fingers.

The continual messages from its inescapable transfixion of her womanhood, constantly transmitted to the primal, female part of her mind ensured she was subservient to it and thus to me and I watched the small, involuntary, continual twitching of the muscles of her upper thighs and lower belly, under her smooth olive skin with fascinated interest. It was inevitable that she unconsciously and continuously attempted to resist the presence of the invader deep within her body and her lower belly muscles spasmed continually under the wide, confining metal straps.

When she settled back, gravity acted fully upon her hidden and pierced breasts. Within the metal cups, her bounteous flesh sagged slightly away from the thick, implacable impalements of the lock’s shackles, and the sensitive buds of her nipples became even more uncomfortably tensioned than normal, despite the unchanged outer appearance of the gleaming encasements. The discomfort of the constant drag on her nipples finally became too much for her to bear quietly and so with a partially-stifled moan, she rolled onto her side, attempting to ease her situation a little and at the same time she also drew her legs up, trying to escape or perhaps enhance the hidden and constant shifting intrusion within her sex. I suppose she somehow hoped to get more comfortable; but as usual there was no escape from the enforced sensations her garments required her to endure. She just had to bear her impalement and confinement as best she could, yet still appear confident and carefree to the watching world. After some moments of silent attempts to readjust to her plight, she smiled secretly to herself with satisfaction at having totally aroused the surrounding and staring males, then closed her eyes and seemed to drift off for a brief nap.

We remained on the beach for the next 2 hours, shifting our umbrella and other impedimenta as the shadow of the palm tree moved. The crowd remained grouped around us and I couldn’t help but watch with amusement while they all stopped what they were doing whenever we got up to move our gear. The flashing, musical links of Christine’s chains were impossible to ignore, sounding out their message of her captivity and many of the men stared longingly at her restricted movements, while the women remained either horrified that she had been made such an obviously willing captive, or were fascinated and perhaps envious of her willing acceptance of her restricting jewelry, costume and accessories. She was obviously deeply cared for and highly valued, for her cuffs and collar were thickly gold coated and her whole ensemble was accentuated by the large, gold-framed diamond pendant locked to the central ring of the chain swinging between the tips of her freely-moving breast cups. I also required her to wear heavily pendant diamond earrings in the second piercing in each of her earlobes, these also being securely locked into her body. How could they argue with such a blatant and accepted possession?

They could not.

Eventually it was time for us to retire to our suite and we rose from the blanket. While I collected our beach stuff, Christine stood off to the side and stretched herself as much as possible within the confinement of her chains, bending and flexing. Of course her arm movements were limited because of her wrist’s fastening, but she pulled against the links with vigor, then seemingly curious, minced to the full extent of her leash, supposedly looking at something out on the water. Really though, it was a blatant display of the state of control that she was subject to, and she wanted to make everyone fully aware of it

It worked like a charm. All eyes became riveted to her chain and how it snapped bar-tight when she purposefully leaned into it then spread her legs to the limit of the hobble and tried to reach up to scratch her nose! She was a teasing vixen and most of the men laying on their blankets watching her, hurriedly rolled over onto their stomachs. She tripped back to me accompanied by the sand-muffled clicking of her ankle chain with each severely limited pace. I reached up and grasped the dangling leash behind, then drew her after me when I walked over to the tree to unlock it. Most of the 10 meter long chain was soon coiled in my right hand, the loops of links swinging with glittering portent from my fist.

“Come along, Christine.”

I allowed her a 2 meter length of freedom while we walked up the beach towards the path to the hotel, plodding slowly through the loose sand towards the flagstone sidewalk, with her hobble snapping tight and flinging up small fountains of sand with each restricted pace. It was a relief to escape the brilliant sunlight and get back into the shade of the carefully tended tropical plants, then, with her in the lead and obviously under the control of her leash, we meandered back to our suite. Just as we’d entered the trees, a wave of clapping and male voices raised in encouragement had followed us and I hadn’t resisted the glow of satisfaction I felt.

Back in our rooms, I exchanged her leash for the room-chain I’d locked to the head of our bed, and then freed her of the wrist and ankle chains. She immediately went into the bathroom to try and remove the irritating grains of sand, those that she could get at, from between her restricting garments and her skin, humming happily from her afternoon of teasing. We spent the next 2 hours leisurely preparing for dinner, then when she was done with her make up, Christine finished everything off by slipping into a long, snugly-fitted, white lace gown that fell almost to her ankles.

Under the bodice of the dress, her breasts remained locked securely into their containments, but the lacy material was open enough to allow an easy flow of air across the naked skin beneath and also to permit glimpses of the titanium imprisonments fastened to her chest, glittering through the interstices and would invariably attracting the eyes of all who saw her. The thick, golden chain looping between the tips of the breast cups was also partially visible, tantalizing the eye with its semi-concealed movements.

The long skirt didn’t completely conceal the presence of the two-inch wide cuffs snugly clasped around her ankles, nor their joining chain. Kneeling before her, I lengthened the hobble slightly then with another thick linked chain descending from the center back ring of the Chastity Belt’s waistband, I locked it to the central link, keeping her hobble drawn up and partially hidden within the folds of the long gown. She would still have to take short, mincing steps because of the hobble being pulled upwards, effectively shortening it again, and all of her chains would click and jingle musically when she walked, but they wouldn’t be fully visible. Of course, when she sat down, they’d drop somewhat noisily to the floor, yet still remain concealed. The natural swaying of her skirt’s material would reveal tantalizing glimpses of these adornments when she walked, even more than would normally be visible if she wasn’t moving, and so she was kept constantly conscious of her restraints.

Her arms remained bare, except for the prominent, seamless wide bands of her wrist cuffs and those above her elbows. I’d freed her of their restricting chains when she’d gone into the bathroom for her shower and they’d remain that way: for the meal only. Just before we left our suite I changed her leashing arrangement once more; releasing her from the captivity of the chain locked to the back of her collar and placed her on a shorter lead, a meter and a half in length, but this time locked to its front ring. She’d be freed of it just before we entered the dining room for our meal.

Christine’s feet now bore ankle-strap, platform pumps with heels some 15 cm in height. The shoes were fastened in place by delicate and stylish, but strong, flexible, and locked metal harnesses; thus preventing her from removing them. What was not immediately apparent was that the shoes were made entirely of spun aluminum and had steel sole. Naturally, their insoles were lightly padded, but the unyielding frames made any sort of prolonged walking almost impossible, adding even more to her controllability. This footwear was slightly heavier than its leather cousins, and, as I intended, made a distinct ringing sound when she walked, again drawing attention to her wherever she went. Christine couldn’t avoid the public scrutiny that her costume commanded, nor as a consequence, could she escape the subtle bondage it held her a prisoner within.

The journey from our room to the lounge was uneventful while we chatted about the afternoon, hands clasped hands like newly weds while she walked along beside me on her leash. When we neared the dining room her hand began to tremble in my grasp for she had suddenly realized that I might take her inside on the chain; but at the entrance I released it from her collar, then coiled it loosely in my hand and we strolled casually into the candle-lit lounge. Many of the couples that were on the beach that afternoon were already dining, and again all eyes turned to follow our progress, the sound level dropping substantially. The native waiter seated us with a flourish, unable and unwilling to stop staring at Christine and the visible signs of her bondage and even in the dimmed lights, her plain, businesslike collar and cuffs flashed out their message of her captivity whenever the flickering candles on the table hit the polished surfaces.

We returned to our suite after having enjoyed a fine meal and all the attention that our entrance and dining experience had caused. She tossed her hand bag onto the bed then removed her dress, although I kept her locked into the shoes and when she bent over to inspect them, I was happy to see that the burnished cups remained pulled firmly in against her chest from the tension placed on her nipples by the deeply skewering lock’s shackles. Even if she twisted from side to side with some vigor, almost no movement was apparent. Her hands rose to cup the gleaming encasements, attempting to ease the strain on her transfixed flesh when she stood.

“Please, Master?”she looked over to me with soulful eyes. “Please? Can I be freed of these?”

“No, Christine. They’re permanent, as I told you, unless I wish to have access to your breasts. No one … not even you, may touch them unless I permit it. Now, just relax for a couple of minutes while I get changed.”

She whimpered with discomfort, standing and holding the cups tightly against herself, but this did not relieve the constant tension on her imprisoned nipples and breasts.

Other plans were afoot for the balance of the night. When I’d changed into a fresh swimsuit, I walked to where she stood trembling with barely concealed anticipation and a little fear.

“Hands behind”.

She reluctantly dropped them from supporting her encased flesh and moved her arms behind her back, placing her wrists together with palms facing outwards and I locked the rings of her cuffs to the central back one of her waistband. This style of fastening had the effect of slightly expanding her chest and flattening her breasts within the cups and she couldn’t help her whimpering of discomfort when the tension on her nipples was increased. Being tethered by her room leash kept her my prisoner and available for whatever I next planned.

“Open your mouth. It’s time for your gag.”

“I-I-I’m going to be d-d-disciplined, aren’t I?” she whimpered, very nearly in tears. They were to be her last words for many hours.

“Yes, you are.” I replied, staring down into her up-turned, glistening eyes. “Now, no more talking.” She dutifully followed my order, waiting and fearful of what was to come. I retrieved her specially designed silencer from its case and prepared to fit it to her.

The compressible pad was intentionally designed to be slightly too large and she made small noises of discomfort while I gently but firmly forced it between her spread, white teeth, then deeply into her mouth. After a moment’s struggle the gag-pad slipped into place and I wriggled it to seat it properly. She automatically bit into the depressions for her teeth, looking up at me with widened eyes while I bent the springy, wide, rubber-lined, titanium strap around her face.

It covered the lower part of her delightful countenance almost completely flowing along the line of her cheekbones back to her ears and following the curve of her jaw, pressing into her soft flesh. A deep cup under the front cradled her chin snugly, preventing her from opening her mouth and attempting to spit out the oppressive and uncomfortable pad. Under her ears, the strap narrowed and passed around the back of her head beneath her short pageboy haircut while another band, on each side, like an inverted Y, was attached to this around-the-head strap, isolating her ears, and curving up across the top of her head, pressing firmly against her skull. Slots were cut into the metal at the ends of the face-covering strap and these slipped over locking posts on the back of her collar, anchoring the entire device firmly to her head. Within her mouth, the compressible rubber pad had expanded immediately to fill each nook and cranny, yet her tongue rested comfortably in the slot provided for it. Between her teeth, cheeks, and lips a wide flexible flap of soft, flesh-colored rubber sealed it in place. When the lock snapped closed, she uselessly tried to shake her head, knowing from past experience that it was nearly impossible. Her throat pulsed with a strangled question and she looked pleadingly up into my eyes, but only the smallest of whimpers emerged from her fear-flared nostrils. They would be unheard even 2 meters away.

“Christine, I’ve been lax these last days. You’ve done pretty much as you’ve pleased, but I can see that you’re beginning to get a little sloppy. Something special is planned for you tonight. Come along.” I opened the door and drew her after me out into the warm and brilliantly starlit night. Again I’d connected her leash to the ring on the front of her collar under her metal-cupped chin.

It was now quite late yet still very warm and so she was not permitted any coverings other than her erstwhile swim costume/underwear.

At first, she strutted uncaringly along the deserted path, bound, behind me on her taunt leash with only the ringing of her shoes on the concreted path and the slithering clatter of her hobble chain accompanying us. She couldn’t escape what was coming and she couldn’t talk. It was a wonderful combination. After a couple of minutes though, I sensed her steps become more and more hesitant while I drew her relentlessly towards her destiny. Finally, the fact that she was being taken to be disciplined, sank home. She suddenly and desperately tried to rebel by bracing herself against my demanding tension on her chain. When I turned, I saw that she was bent forward from the waist, leaning back against the drag of her leash with bright tracks of tears down her cheeks, slipping in glittering trails along the upper edge of the tightly clamped lower face covering. I maintained the tension, saying nothing and she straightened and tried again to shake her head in negation against the restriction of the gag’s fastening. Her earrings rattled against the collar and her shoulders shook with suppressed gasps while she stood there helplessly fighting her bondage.

“Enough!”

She slowly accepted the fact that there was nothing she could do to resist, then reluctantly resumed her hobble-shortened steps when I turned and proceeded once more.

We reached the end of the walk and I stepped off onto a narrower path into the underbrush, lit discretely by small, low-level, stanchion-type lights. Our progress was slow and careful, for her high, spiked heels kept sinking into the earth and this, in combination with her shortened hobble, made her totally controllable. She had to follow the command of her leash and so I allowed her time to place her chained feet carefully. The lighted path ended some 50 meters further on, but we moved even deeper into the brush on the smooth trail; angling towards a small, secluded cove.

Five minutes later, we reached the area that I’d had prepared earlier in the week. She’d been enjoying an afternoon nap, chained to our bed when I’d set up the site, and now I checked to ensure that all was ready. The small satchel was at the base of the outward-leaning palm and the thick ropes looped down from the pulley block chained near its crown, their lower ends tied to the bole. In seconds I’d locked her leash around another nearby tree trunk, holding her close to and facing it so that she couldn’t see what I was doing while I readied the equipment

At the lower end of the ropes was another pulley block with a meter long bar connected to its hook by chains from either end and other short lengths dangled from the bar’s ends, waiting. I checked the satchel and confirmed that the contents were all there, then went back to my captive lady, loosened her leash, and drew her over to the designated palm. With fearful little paces, she pranced forward daintily at the demand of the chain then I freed her wrists, one at a time, and locked each cuff quickly to the end links of the dangling chains, spreading her arms widely apart. She fought to prevent her hands being fastened, but I’d anticipated this and her paltry chained strength was no match for mine and my freedom of movement. It was a lost battle before it had begun and it took only a few seconds to fasten her as I wished her to be. The pulley and bar assembly weighed only about 5 kg, yet it drew her arms down and outwards to rest with the long spreader bouncing gently on her thighs, just above her knees.

The palm I’d chosen leaned out over the beach at a 30 degree angle, and to one side, about a meter and a half off-center and some 8 meters from shore, a smooth, flat-topped, coral head rose about half a meter above the gentle waves. It made a perfect podium.

Holding the free end of the rope in one hand, I removed Christine’s leash with my other and dropped it to the ground. Slowly and inexorably I pushed her around the base of the palm until she stood fearful and trembling on the brink of the small bluff separating the tree’s roots from the sloping, loose sand of the beach. I’d chosen the locale and the tree carefully. When she swung outwards, she’d be suspended in mid-air, some 8meters from shore, just above the water. It was only a drop of a meter to the beach, but to her I’m sure that it must have looked like 40, fastened as helplessly as she was. Utterly silent, she stood facing the ocean with hands drawn down and outwards, then she tried to turn and look at me. I’d retired about 2 meters into the deeper darkness though and had become quite invisible. It seemed to her that she’d been abandoned; helplessly chained in the deserted wilderness and she trembled with fear and attempted to retreat from the bluff.

It was too late.

I hauled in the slack of the rope with a series of quick, hand-over-hand pulls and her arms jerked upwards into the air above her, spread wide. The thick, woven nylon rope slipped quietly through the oiled and noiseless pulleys until, inevitably, the tension forced her to lean ever further outwards. Despite her frantic and futile attempts to resist, she slowly toppled over the edge of the small sandy escarpment and with a faint, strangled shriek of terror, swung out into nothingness.

Thrashing her chained legs and twisting helplessly there was nothing she could do to escape her predicament. Eventually her pendulum-like movements came to a halt. She was still too low for my liking. Her metal-shod feet were just touching the surfaces of the larger incoming waves. It was easy to raise her and in a moment she dangled even higher, a vulnerably presented vision of ethereal feminine bondage. Now, the bottom of the loop of her hobbling chain dangled about a half meter above the crests of the waves rolling in to the beach. At the same time that I’d created this set-up, I’d checked the depth of the water beneath the spot she was to be suspended over, ensuring that it was only about a meter and a half at high tide.

I tied off the rope.

Reaching back into the satchel, I retrieved the coiled, long-stranded cat o’ nine tails flogger that would be used to discipline her. The strands of this whip were formed of the softest and most flexible Latigo leather; the edges of each having been carefully sanded to form smooth-surfaced lashes. Yes, they would hurt her, and terribly so, if applied too harshly, but they wouldn’t lacerate or break her skin.

I slipped down the small abutment of roots and loose sand, then waded out to the humped coral of my whipping ?podium’, repeatedly drawing the strands through my fingers, to ensure that no grit or other foreign matter had adhered to them. I had no desire to permanently mark her wonderful olive complexion when the whip was used, but used it would be. Once I’d reached the coral hump, I placed the whip on it then moved slowly and quietly out under my suspended, dangling, and whimpering slave girl/wife.

The water was only about a meter deep when I slowly submerged, searching by feel for the large anchoring block of cement I’d had a local contractor place there. The piece easily weighed two hundred pounds, and, attached to a deeply set ring in its center was medium weight chain 2 meter long. I took a few seconds to locate its end then I stood up and found Christine’s metal-shod feet and cuffed lower legs, swinging slowly back and forth, just level with my head. The chain between them dangled, waiting for the lock from the pocket of my bathing suit and this I slipped through the end link of the ascending chain then passed it through the central ring of her hobble, then released it. The weight of the chain rising from the sea immediately tugged her ankles and legs downwards, eliciting a strangled, gag-suppressed wail of distress when she felt the additional fastening take hold and she frantically jerked her legs upwards, only to have the movement brought to an immediate halt by the anchoring chain, her knees partially bent.

For a moment she kicked frenziedly against her newest restriction while more stifled moans and wails of fear filtered from behind her gag. There was no one to help her.

I returned to the coral head, picked up the whip, then climbed slowly to its top and set myself in position.

Christine hung before me, 2 meters away, spinning slowly while the ropes found their own equilibrium. Her slow rotation continued until she faced me and I saw the brilliant whites of her terror-widened eyes above the gleaming strap of her gag. Between her raised, widespread and tensioned arms her head shivered wildly against its restraints in denial of what she knew was soon to come. The sedate spin continued and I watched carefully while the trailing leash from her hobble drew a path of phosphorescence through the crest of an incoming wave.

It was time.

When her back was fully presented to me, she suddenly began kicking against the anchoring chain, bouncing up and down to the springy return of the tree trunk and swinging back and forth against her anchoring with each pitiful attempt to get free. That was not the thing to do. When she struggled, the trunk began to raise and lower her; at one point dropping her almost knee deep into the water and at the highest, pulling her into a stretched and strung length of human elastic. Her efforts were of no avail and when the trunk began to stretch her out, my arm went back, trailing the long evil strands behind me. With a full-armed forward motion I laid out the first stroke and the multiple thongs sung by my head with a ripping of air, impacting with machine-gun-like snaps into the trembling flesh of her strap-divided and enhanced buttocks. A strangled wail hissed from her metal-imprisoned face and she jerked and swung in her fastenings as though someone had touched a live wire to her body, legs kicking madly against their chains, thrashing frantically to ease the burning imprint of the lashes. The next stroke was harder, the straps of the ?cat curling convulsively around her thighs like a striking python and again, she jerked wildly, another strangled howl seeping past her gag. She swung towards me in gasping, weeping spins while the strands of the whip slowly released their grip on her body, then finally fell away and I permitted her to recover from these first 2 strokes for a moment, watching intently while she wept in there in suspension, unable to resist her fate. Slowly, the rotation that had been induced by the whip’s curl stopped and her breathing gradually returned to normal. Her head hung as far back between her spread arms as the collar permitted, shaking occasionally with gag-stifled sobs.

On her chest, the formed cups were clamped even more firmly against her rib cage because of the tension on her flattened breasts and the flesh within was kept under a continual excruciating strain from the stretched-out posture enforced by her suspension she suffered too as a part of her discipline. There was no way for her to ease this painful tension on her shielded flesh.

Each time she faced me, her head twitched in terrified denial, but it was no use, for she knew that there was more, much more, to come. I could see the glittering tracks on her cheeks and over the wide band of the gag; but had hardened my heart to them. Christine needed disciplining on a regular basis, like others needed to breathe.

The third strike of the whip came as no surprise for she was facing me when I drew my arm back and unleashed it. This time I pulled the stroke slightly, so that only the tips of the strands impacted. They hit the cups protecting her breasts, jerking them suddenly sideways on her body. Since they were held in place only by the anchoring locks passing through the flesh behind her nipples, her head snapped frenziedly within and against its restraints and a long howling scream of sudden agony pulsed her throat, but was reduced only to the merest gasping whimper by the efficiency of the gag locked inside her mouth.

The sensations of the breast cup’s sudden movement, jerking at the already tensioned flesh, was, obviously terribly painful and she flailed wildly in a mid-air dance of maddened agony, her legs bicycling frantically against the strictures of her hobble and its anchoring chain. A boiling froth erupted around the point at which the links emerged from the water, while she alternately jerked up and down and back and forth against the weight of the block of cement, then a fourth stroke followed immediately and the strands of the ?cat snapped the titanium cups from the other side! This time, a high, wailing scream keened into the warm tropical night.

The sixth stroke sank once more into her trembling and quivering buttocks. The chastity belt protected her most sensitive areas and at the same time kept the long curving dildo firmly embedded within her body, but its tight and secure network of straps also served to present her behind to me in a most appealingly vulnerable statement of femininity. Again, her reactions and movements to the command of the striking whip created a mid-air ballet of staggering sensual appeal, and without hesitation I let fly the seventh stroke.

Christine had by now become immersed in her own hazy world of half-awareness; concentrating solely on her helplessness, the intensity of it, and the pain that she was required to accept. Although the next series of strokes was not hard, they impacted her flesh with sufficient strength that she continued her aerial dance; bouncing within her suspension on the thrumming ropes like an erotic marionette.

Finally I paused, my heart softening to her continual muffled sobbing. She took long minutes to calm down, until finally she hung quiescent the only visible motions being small residual shivers and twitching of her chained legs. The wash of foam around her anchoring chain when the surf swept in beneath her feet was the only other sign of movement. I allowed her to rest for a half hour of silent contemplation. She was swinging gently back and forth to the minuscule tugs on her chain from the passing of the waves, then once again, the whip began to sing its song of subjugation and power.

Three more hours of slow, concentrated correction passed until at last the ?cat failed to arouse her to anything like her first display of fire and rebellion. Now, she twisted and moved from sheer physical reaction only, her spirit finally tamed, but only for a brief time, I knew.

I waded back to the beach and tied-off hoist rope, then held firmly onto it while I moved around the tree and back down into the water beneath her slowly swaying, pendant body. Steadying myself in the now waist-deep water, I let the rope slide slowly through my hand and Christine gradually descended into my waiting arms. As I took her full weight, I sank into the warm, shallow water until only our heads were above the surface. Her head lolled limply while I released her wrists from the spreader bar. Then I reconnected them to each other at the front of her waist so that her small securely cuffed hands curled loosely together over the tightly locked- crotch-shield. As soon as her wrists were secured, I freed her hobble of its anchoring chain, yet continued to sit there in the gently breaking surf, holding her trembling, gag-silenced form close to me. Our mutual immersion eventually brought a calm acceptance to her – a submission to her chosen life – and I drew my Lady even closer, enmeshing her within the protective encirclement of my arms, then slowly and tenderly, I kissed her fluttering eyelids and tasted the fresh salt of her tears. She submitted willingly to this seal of renewal of my ownership, and her place as my slave girl.

Eventually I waded from the water with her still cradled in my arms and slowly carried her back up to the bole of the palm where the session had started so many hours before. I felt her shiver like a fresh-born colt from my delicate touches while exploring the wide, heated impact marks of the whip.

She stood shakily before me after I gently set her down, unresisting whilst her leash was locked once more to her collar. Working quickly, I tidied the site of our activities, secured the pulley and rope to the tree trunk and checked for anything else that may have been left behind. Christine wavered with exhaustion; confined with her hands behind her back once more, then a moment later I released her leash from the tree and slowly drew her along to our rooms, isolated at the end of her chain and still hobbled, gagged, and uncovered except for her specialized undergarments.

As we left, the quiet cove was beginning to reflect a golden false dawn to the east on its calm waters, the thin clouds above flaring in a brilliant pink display. We ambled slowly along the path leading back to the hotel and in the quietude of early morning, the swish and clinking of her hobble accompanied by the ringing of her metal shoes sounded strangely and brightly cheerful. At last, our door opened before us and I led her inside then quickly returned her to the confinement of her room chain and whispered gently, for she was in no state to be spoken harshly to.

“Hold still Christine. You need to be rubbed down.”

I partially freed her hands, leaving the short chains between her wrists and the side rings of her ?belt still fastened, and prepared to give her a massage. She turned and raised her cuffed arms to their limits, gesturing to the gag still silencing her.

“No. It stays on. You’ll sleep in it. Now, just relax.”

She dropped her head and I could see fresh tears coursing down her cheeks, but nevertheless, she turned, sat on the bed, then lay down and rolled onto her stomach so I could work the soothing and healing compounds into her tired and reddened flesh.

In seconds she’d fallen into a deep sleep, despite the discomfort of having to lay upon her rigid breast cups. As final statements of my ownership, I locked the chain from the foot of the bed to the central link of her hobble and tightened the chain to the back ring of her collar, then left her in peace.

She was mine, without question.