Judgment (3 page)

It was a Personal's duty to obey the orders of the
masters—any master. More than duty, it was her pride. But
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Judgment

by Denise Hall

never in all my time as a Personal had I ever been given a
command so contradictory to the edicts of my Master, Tane.

Or so contrary to the edicts laid down for all Personals housed
at Judgment.

I shivered as I took two tiny steps, my knees bumping up
against the cold metal bar just beneath the thin mattress of
the cot. I lay the pajamas in a small but tidy stack to one side
of me. Then I stared at them, a new surge of dismay rising in
my breast.

Put them on, the officer had ordered, and I had to obey. I
had to.

But how, a voice inside me wailed.

Swallowing hard, I reached down to lift the thin, white
fabric with trembling fingertips, and in a flash of memory,
heard again my Master's shout of fury, "No. No! NO!"

So vivid was the image that I all but felt again the vicious
sting of his belt, lashing once more across my buttocks and
thighs.

With soundless sobs of despair, I snatched back my hands
and clutched them to my chest. Sinking to my haunches, I
rocked myself, raspy gasps breaking free of my tightly
constricted throat.

Where was my Master? When would he come for me? To
dress me for bed; to lift the blankets and allow me the
precious luxury of sleep? I needed him to be here, rocking
hard and strong between my thighs, taking his pleasure from
my willing body in all the ways that he desired. I would not
even mind if he allowed me no other satisfaction then that of
feeling him within me and knowing that he was contented.

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Judgment

by Denise Hall

"You think you're the only one ever spent a night in jail?"

the woman snapped impatiently. "This is the last time I'm
gonna tell you! Get in that bed!"

Shaking, hardly able to see through my tears, I crawled
onto the edge of that worn and well-used cot. Tense, halfway
expecting Tane to melt from the shadows, the buckle of his
fearsome belt wrapped about his hand, ready to punish me, I
cringingly leaned back. In doing so, I accidentally knocked the
bundled pajamas on the floor.

As though bored, the female officer said, "You're gonna get
cold unless you use the blankets. Cover up."

Another contradictory command, even worse than the last.

A Personal's pride was obedience, and my fingers fumbled
to peel the edge of the blankets back from the wall. As the
officer moved off down the hall, I managed to draw a small
square of coarse cloth up over one shoulder. Curling onto my
side, I crossed my hands up between my breasts and drew
my knees to my chest.

Cold air poured down on me from a ceiling air conditioner.

Miserable, lonely and afraid, I closed my eyes against further
tears. The pillow was already damp enough from my sorrow. I
pretended to cough so no one would recognize my sobs for
what they were.

I wanted my Master...

* * * *

Judgment

by Denise Hall

this was difficult, as I discovered almost immediately, but even worse this new method of restraint made it impossible for me to rip the blasted blindfold from my eyes and gain at least a half a chance at fighting this man, my captor, and his roving hands.

My gag had been removed, but only until, as my captor had told me, I proved that I could not keep a civil tongue or unless I tried to bite. Either, he had warned, would be met with more severe consequences than simple bondage.

Truth be told, I was too tired for defiance. So I stood as he bade me in the warm water, basking in the heat of the crackling fire, and I let him bathe me.

He was careful around the abrasions that marked my ankles and wrists. He was even more so with the welts upon my back. It barely hurt at all, not even when he smeared the open sores with antiseptic cream.

He washed my hair, cleaned under my fingernails as well as my toes. He even brushed my teeth, taking care to avoid the corners of my mouth where the gag had bruised and cut me. Then he shaved me: my legs, under my arms, and the tuft of carrot curls that crowned my sex. When I was as bare as an infant, he rinsed me with clean fresh water. For a moment, the warm sensation of liquid cascading through my hair, over my shoulders, down my breasts and back, felt so good that I could not help but lean back under the flow.

My unguarded moment of acquiesce was instantly rewarded. The heat of his mouth covered the tiny hollow at the base of my throat, causing me to gasp as his tongue dipped in to taste me. He cupped between my legs, his 24

Judgment

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fingers parting the wet folds. He seemed to know just where and how to touch me, and the unexpected, unwelcome pleasure arched me right up onto my toes, crying out in spite of myself. "No!"

His reply was simply, overwhelmingly, "Yes."

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, both frightened and infuriated.

I struggled blindly to draw out of his grasp, turning my face away in case he should try to kiss my lips.

He caught my bottom in his free hand, pulling me right up to the edge of the tub. It was either lean against him or fall, and the strength of his grasp did not allow for the choice to be mine.

"No," I moaned when his fingers moved between my thighs. Tears again stung my eyes, soaking into my blindfold as his experienced touch brought my hips to bucking against him. As the pleasure intensified, so did my desperation. My head fell to his shoulder as I thrashed, his fingers evoking the first real twinges of orgasm within me, sending them rippling through my traitor's body. With no other avenue for fight left to me, I bit him savagely, grinding my teeth against the flesh of his arm until the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

The pleasure ceased abruptly. He yanked my head back with a fistful of my own long hair.

"You bit me," he said, his voice laden more with astonishment and even the tiniest hint of admiration, than anger.

I blindly spat his own blood back at him.

"Mm," he rumbled, so low and soft. "Americans. The first instinct is always to fight."

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Judgment

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"And win," I snarled.

"You all say that, and yet none of your predecessors have.

Not under my hand."

Shivering, bound and blindfolded and with far more bravado than I felt, I said, "Then I'll be the first!"

"Mm," he said again. It was a cold sound now. Whatever admiration he might have been inclined to feel had vanished from his tone. "Step."

His firm grip on my elbow didn't give me much choice and I did as he directed, lifting my leg to step blindly over the side of the tub. I stood upon the soft carpet, motionless while he gently rubbed my body with a soft towel. Again, no part of me was left untouched. When he parted the lips of my newly shaven pubis, I wanted so much to fight and kick and he would not even let me draw away. My single protesting step backwards was countered by a firm grip upon my arm and a sudden, stinging swat from his hand as it clapped the center of my bottom, catching both cheeks at once.

I jerked, crying out my hurt and surprise. My wrists strained against their restraints, his hold on my arm keeping me from ducking out of reach. I expected to be struck again, my fear made worse because I could not see the blow coming.

"You will not deny me access to this body again," he said softly. "You have lost that right. This body belongs to me, for as long as I choose to keep it, in any manner I choose to use it. There is pain enough to be found here with your compliance. To defy me will only make matters far, far worse."

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Judgment

by Denise Hall

I trembled, releasing a shakily held breath. Despite the warmth of the fire at my back, his words left me utterly cold within. My bottom stung where he'd struck it, but my pride stung even more and the voice I heard hissing at him I scarcely recognized as my own. "Fuck you!"

His hands left me entirely. I barely heard him move, but a short distance away there was a soft wooden clatter and then the sound of something vaguely heavy being set on the floor in front of me. A chair, I think, for it creaked as he sat upon it and I felt an oblong wooden object placed flat against my bare leg.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked. When I stayed silent, he said, "Guess."

When I still said nothing, he turned me around and I quickly found myself sitting stiffly upon his lap, his thighs muscular and hard beneath me. His hand ran over my tangled hair, gathering the mass together at my back. With painstaking gentleness he began to brush my hair. He took such care with me, I never felt a single pull from a one of the snarls as he diligently worked the bristles through. And it was a long time before the bristles of that brush could move freely through my carrot tresses, top to bottom without a single hitch. The motions were so lulling, I almost fell asleep on his lap.

"How about now?" he asked softly, laying the cool wood flat against my thigh again. "What is it, do you think?"

And I answered him, "Hairbrush," because those gentle ministrations, coupled with the exhaustion of living for three 27

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long days in a rocking, traveling cage, conspired to rob me of my anger.

"Hairbrushes have two uses," he said, and passed the bristles again through my smooth hair. "This is one."

I don't really know how he did it, it happened so quickly and so smoothly. One minute he had hold of my arm, and in the next, his hard thighs were under my hips and I was lying face-down across them.

"This is the other."

Without preamble the flat wooden head of that brush slapped the unprotected surface of my bottom. It jolted me upon his knee, igniting the most fearsome stinging against my skin where it hit, first upon my right nether cheek and then upon the left. The blows fell so quickly that the third hard smack was well landed before so much as a startled gasp tore past my lips. It was the fifth that jolted me from my shock and at last I found my voice.

The room echoed with the mingled sounds of his sharp, staccato smacks and my shrill cries. My bound hands could not get back to protect me and when I snapped my feet up to block the progress of the brush, he merely shifted his hold, struck the soles of my feet to drive them back to the floor and parted his knees to capture my legs between his.

His hand at the small of my back pressed me down until my bottom rounded over his thigh and the hairbrush attacked again, this time with a vengeance. I howled with the pain of it, but he was merciless.

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Judgment

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"You will never again speak to me with disrespect," he said, that low voice calm and completely unaffected by my cries.

"No, please stop! Stop!"

"You will not speak to me with disrespect," he said again, as though patiently instructing a very young child.

"Yes! I swear! I promise!" I would have promised anything to stop this torment. "Please!"

I don't know how many times he hit me, but I was on fire from behind and on the verge of real tears before it ended.

He leaned sideways to lay the hairbrush on the floor and as he straightened again, his hand came to rest on my sore and throbbing buttocks. "I love red heads. The fair, pale skin marks so beautifully."

My tears cascaded free of me then. I bow my head, choking on my sobs, while his warm hand caressed the area he had so thoroughly punished not a moment before. He let me cry, allowing me to wail my misery to the floor but not to rise from his lap. The reason for this became brutally clear as I gradually regained control of myself.

"You will never be permitted to harm a Judgment master,"

he said.

I gasped as his caressing hand, which had administered such gentle comfort, suddenly turned violent against me.

Once more the room was filled with the sound of spanking and my ragged sobs as I succumbed to his domination.

Though he used only his bare palm this time, the punishment seemed to last longer and fell harder than with the awful hairbrush. And not just my bottom, this time he also spanked 29

Judgment

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the backs of my thighs, igniting a painful fire that had me rocking and kicking, completely frantic and yet unable to escape.

It felt forever before his hard hand came to a rest upon the summit of my throbbing buttocks. While I could barely draw breath, he was not even winded. "Well, infant. Are you suitably sorry?"

"Yes!" I garbled through my sobs. "Yes!"

"Yes, what?" he coaxed, his hand stroking the tops of my thighs where my imprisonment between his legs had not saved them from punishment.

I knew what he wanted me to say. My face flamed and I bow my head further, so very ashamed. "Y-yes, M-Master."

The tight hold of his thighs upon mine eased just long enough for him to release one of my legs. He parted it from its twin, forcing one leg into freedom before clamping down again upon my remaining limb. His hand smoothed over the rosy summits of both nether cheeks, his fingers trailing lightly between them, over my anus, and down into the quivering slit of my sex. He divided the lips, despite my anguished groan, and invaded my body.

"Mm, very tight." One finger became two and I shifted with discomfort as he stretched me open. My foot that was free scrambled against the floor for any kind of leverage with which to evade his touch, a vain and futile effort that stilled the instant he said, "Lie still."