James Bond In Buns Up Tawsing And Treatment

The as soon as grand parlor was now a dungeon of types, dimly lit and full of the ominous scent of leather-based and anticipation. At the middle of all of it stood a statuesque lady in her late forties, her fiery pink hair cascading down her again like a inferno. She was clad in a revealing black latex catsuit that hugged each curve of her voluptuous determine, accentuating her ample bosom and toned thighs. Her eyes, as piercing inexperienced as emeralds, held a merciless glint as she examined the sight earlier than her.

Tied to a leather-based spanking bench was her prey, a person of round twenty-five, with a chiseled jawline and a physique that spoke of hours spent on the fitness center. Save for a skimpy pink thong that hardly lined his muscular posterior, he was fully bare and on the mercy of his mistress. His wrists and ankles have been strapped down tightly, stopping any motion, leaving him susceptible to her whims.

Madame and Madame’s busty and dominating assistant Consuela takes on the psychiatric nursing of somewhat naughty one. This includes loads of ‘therapy’ eventualities. This time, he’s late for curfew, and also you needed to whip him with the “star treatment.” His punishment is an effective thrashing and a few mouth yoga. He’s a brat and all he says is “Bitch” and “Fuuuck.” A enjoyable 15 minutes of punishment based mostly BDSM.

Madame, a sadistic domme with zero compassion and a penchant for brutal therapy, toured her captive topic. The younger man, recognized solely as Bond, had been dropped at her lair beneath the pretense of therapy for his alleged misdeeds. She sneered as she got here to a halt close to his uncovered rear. Without warning, she introduced down the scary buns-up tawsing with a convincing CRACK towards his flesh, eliciting a strangled yelp from the sure man.

“Late for curfew, you incorrigible brat!” Madame hissed, administering one other harsh blow throughout Bond’s writhing cheeks. In intense coaching, low on ache and wealthy in dialogue. “Do you realize the gravity of your transgressions? Nonconformity, attitude… the audacity to swear at me and Consuela!”

Bond howled because the tawsing bit into his pores and skin, the searing sting radiating by way of his physique. “Fuuuck! Stupid bitch,” he spat, wriggling towards his restraints.

A depraved smile performed throughout Madame’s painted lips as she continued her assault, her actions exact and deliberate. Each lash was adopted by a caustic comment, a twisted type of psychology meant to interrupt her affected person. But Bond was a cussed one, his filthy mouth spewing profanities at each flip.

Consuela, Madame’s fleshy assistant, sidled up beside her and giggled. “Such a naughty boy, racing those motorcars and flirting with the nurses, no?” she teased, trailing a manicured nail over Bond’s sweat-slick again. “No more ‘B Score’ if you keep misbehaving.”

The younger scoundrel’s retort was drowned out by Madame’s brutal flogging, the buns-up tawsing leaving offended pink welts throughout his reddening ass. His cries, a combination of ache and pleasure, solely spurred his tormentors on.

“B накр bitch,” Bond panted, his voice gravelly with exertion. “I’ll давалка your curfew. Fuck this place.”

Madame paused in her ministrations, a sinister gleam in her eyes. She leaned in shut, her scorching breath mingling with Bond’s sweaty hair. “Ah, laat se toeARGET. Hop DING-ons odor of a p-bknop,” she purred, her voice heavy with mockery.

Bond’s eyes bulged as he took in her phrases, a glance of idiotic confusion washing over his face. “What the fuuuck? You bitch! Stop with the Dutch bullshit!”

Madame straightened, chuckling. In rapid-fire succession, she descended 4 extra instances, every blow a shade more durable than the final. The flesh of Bond’s ass was a good looking sight, swollen and marbled with gradations of scarlet and crimson.

With one remaining flourish, Madame flung her implement apart and stepped again to admire her handiwork. “Ons sal my ons nie. Goed gedra. Cath Russo t! GOED GEBIND,” she admonished, her voice dripping with false concern.

Bond, by now barely coherent, might solely gurgle in response. His physique convulsed as the ultimate waves of ache and humiliation crashed over him, leaving him a damaged, mewling mess.

Madame and Consuela exchanged glad smiles as they surveyed the scene. Another profitable therapy, one other cussed affected person dropped at heel. With a remaining pat to Bond’s throbbing rear, Madame gathered her tawsing and sashayed out of the room, her hips swaying seductively.

“Bitch,” Bond whimpered because the door clicked shut, testifying to his full and utter defeat. The promise of his ‘B Score’ was no extra, changed by the grim actuality of his damaged spirit.

As the ache ebbed and the tears dried on his cheeks, Bond could not assist however marvel what contemporary torments lay forward. The anticipation was virtually as torturous because the abuse itself, a merciless recreation of cat and mouse that he was doomed to lose.

But even in his despair, a small a part of him yearned for it, craved the ruthless self-discipline and sadistic pleasure solely Madame and her ilk might present. And so, with a sigh of resignation mingled with grim acceptance, Bond settled in for an extended night time, the buns-up tawsing lingering in his desires and the scars of its cruelty etched into his physique.