Olivia’s Punishment

Ian and Olivia were on their way to a party. As they walked through the hotel lobby toward the elevator, Ian said, “Olivia my dear, I have something for you.”

Olivia’s eyes sparkled like perfect round diamonds set in a necklace of platinum and cultured pearls. “Ooh, Darling! Is it that adorable little trinket we saw in Tiffany’s last week?”

“No, my sweet. I’m afraid not. This is something a little more expensive.” Ian withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket of his tuxedo.

Olivia looked both puzzled and disappointed as she opened the envelope. When she read the piece of paper inside, her expression became one of delight. “Darling! My gambling marker! You paid it!”

“Of course. My dear, your legs are spectacular. We can’t have anybody breaking them, can we?”

“Darling, you have no idea how much this means to me!” Olivia stepped forward to embrace Ian.

He held up his hand, stopping her. “I know exactly how much it means to you, Dearest. Thirty-four thousand, eight hundred fifty dollars. I have to tell you I’m not pleased.”

“Oh, Darling! Neither am I. I’m very disappointed, and I’ve learned my lesson. ‘Never pick the road favorite to beat the spread in a playoff game.'”

Ian pushed the button to bring the elevator. “This goes beyond road favorites, my Love. Some people would say you’ve got a gambling problem.”

“I only have a problem when I lose, Darling. I admit I’m in a bit of a slump lately…”

“Thirty five thousand dollars isn’t a slump, Precious. It’s money. More precisely, it’s my money. And this isn’t the first time I’ve found a dead animal carcass on the doorstep and had to reach for my checkbook.”

Olivia bit her lip and looked down at her thousand dollar Italian pumps. “I’m sorry, Darling.”

The elevator doors opened. Ian and Olivia stepped inside and Ian pressed the button for the top floor. “I know you are, my Love. I accept your apology, but I am still a little peeved.”

Olivia stepped toward Ian again and she ran her hand along his arm and shoulder. She played with Ian’s ear with her other hand. “Thank you, Darling. I’d be delighted to make it up to you any way I can.”

For the first time, Ian smiled. He said, “I’m glad you said that, Dearest. While I do forgive you, I still believe that some punishment is warranted in this case.”

“Punishment?” Olivia’s eyes lit up again.

“Yes, my Heart. You’ve been a very bad girl, and you must be punished.”

Olivia smiled. “Oh, Darling Ian! I do so love you! How am I to make my penance?”

The elevator doors opened. Ian and Olivia walked through the hall to the Presidential Suite.

Ian said, “My Dearest Olivia, listen closely. At some point in the evening, somebody is going to say two words to you.”

“Two words.” Olivia was bubbling with excitement.

“Those two words are ‘spinach casserole.’ When you hear those two words, you are to do exactly what the speaker tells you to. Everything. To the letter. Understand?”

“Yes, Darling.”

“The speaker will then see to it that you’re properly punished for your behavior. Remember, two words.”

“‘Spinach Casserole.’ I’ve got it. Everything I’m told.” Olivia was almost jumping up and down. “Oh, Darling! Thank you for this chance to make up for my sins! I’ve been a bad, bad girl and I can’t wait to get my just desserts.”

“You say that now, but just wait. Trust me, there’s something positively diabolical in store for you.”

“Ooooh, Darling! I can hardly wait!”

Ian and Olivia joined the party. For two hours, Olivia fantasized about the various tortures Ian might have in mind. She thought about the kinds of things he’d done in the past: chains, whips, hot wax, suspension from ceilings, all kinds of depraved practices which had been hers to savor. Olivia wondered what Ian could have in mind, and who he had recruited to administer this extreme punishment, and the more she wondered, the more anxious and aroused she became.

The room was filled with handsome, sexy men, and Olivia was determined to meet every single one of them in the hope one would say, “Spinach casserole” to her. She was shockingly flirtatious, even brazenly so, with every man she saw. She even flashed a nipple at one guest who happened to be a professional football player. The man’s wife glared with hatred at Olivia, so she decided maybe he wasn’t the one she was looking for.

Olivia talked to men about vegetarianism, favorite dishes, even Popeye the Sailor Man, but none took the opening she gave and said, “Spinach casserole” to her.
When Olivia saw Ian after two hours of fruitless searching and flirting, she looked defeated. “Darling,” she said, “I really want to be punished like the bad girl I am, but none of the men I’ve talked to have said the magic words.”

Ian was sipping a vodka martini. “‘Men?’ I don’t recall telling you to look for a man, my Precious. I said, ‘Someone’ would say ‘Spinach Casserole’ to you. I didn’t identify the sex of this person.”

Olivia’s eyes lit up again. “Oh, Darling! You mean I’m looking for a woman? You’ve lined up a dominatrix to punish me?”

“No, I said ‘Someone.’ It could be a woman. It could be a man. You won’t know until he..or she…says the magic words.”

Olivia said, “Oh, Darling! You’re so beastly! No wonder I love you!” She returned to circulation with a new energy, this time not only flirting with every man in the room, but every woman as well.

Olivia pictured herself at the mercy of one of her own sex. Women, she believed, could be even more cruel than men, especially to one of their own. Olivia felt there was a certain jealousy and a deep-seeded rage that only a woman could feel for another woman. She remembered Mistress Elsa, a cruel, sadistic lady of German descent, who had once tortured Olivia for a rapturous six hours. It had been a birthday present from Ian, bless his heart. Olivia wondered if Ian had actually arranged for Elsa to be at this party, and the thought made Olivia’s loins ache. She was glad she’d decided not to wear panties underneath her gown. They’d be soaked with moisture by this point in the evening.

After another hour and a half, Olivia was feeling positively depressed. Most of the women she spoke with were puzzled at her behavior, and a few were even outraged. One or two seemed like possible playmates in the future, but neither said the magic words to her.

It was nearly midnight, and Olivia was on the verge of tears from frustration, sexual and otherwise. Then she saw him.

He was standing at the other end of the room, talking to Ian, when he caught her eye. She cautiously smiled at him, and he warmly smiled back. Then he began walking toward her.

The man was gorgeous. He was six feet, four inches tall, with broad, muscular shoulders and a square jaw. He had the build of a professional athlete…no…of a super-hero, Olivia decided. His thick black hair was perfectly styled, and as he got nearer and nearer to Olivia, she could see an adorable cleft in his chin and deep, penetrating blue eyes. The blue eyes of a killer, Olivia thought. She felt faint.

The man picked up two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and he handed one to Olivia. He said, “Good evening,” in a deep, booming voice. Olivia’s knees began to wobble.

“Good evening” was all Olivia could say. She couldn’t draw her gaze away from his eyes. The eyes of a killer, she reminded herself.

The man said, “Spinach casserole” so matter-of-factly Olivia almost didn’t realize he’d said it.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The man said, “I believe you’re supposed to come with me.” He held out his arm for Olivia to take.

After a moment, she came to her senses and said, “Yes. Of course. Lead the way.” She hooked her arm in his and, with as much composure as she could muster, Olivia walked with the man out of the Executive Suite.

As they rode down in the elevator, Olivia asked, “What’s your name?”

The man said, “No questions. You’re to obey my commands and right now, my command is to remain silent.” He spoke with all the coolness of a James Bond villain.

Olivia clutched at the man’s hand, in part so she wouldn’t collapse. She could barely control her excitement.

They emerged from the elevator on the twelfth floor, and walked down the hallway in silence. The man stopped in front of the Duke of Windsor Suite, and opened the door with a key. He said, “Go into the bedroom, please.”

Olivia obeyed. It was a large bedroom, with an impressive antique four-poster bed. The bed sheets were of burgundy-colored satin. Olivia turned to her left, and she saw a table covered with sex toys and devices. She almost giggled with anticipation.

There were whips, chains, handcuffs, a blindfold, a dog collar, lit candles, a strap-on dildo, nipple clamps, a ball-gag, a wooden paddle, a leather paddle, several yards of rope and so many more instruments of torture Olivia almost had an orgasm simply standing in front of them.

The man said, “Undress, please. Take everything off.”

Olivia’s hands shook as she obeyed the man. The gown she wore was worth nine thousand dollars, but she hurriedly threw it to the floor like it was an old t-shirt. She stood nude in front of him, breathing hard like she’d just run up the stairs from the lobby.

The man said, “Lie down on your back on the bed, arms and legs spread out.” He picked up the handcuffs and the rope from the table.

Olivia obeyed. Without a word, the man cuffed first one hand, then the other hand, to the two wooden posts at the head of the bed. Then he took two lengths of rope and tied each ankle around the posts at the foot of the bed. The man was careful about the slack in the rope. When he was done, Olivia could move her legs around, but she couldn’t touch them together.

“Are you comfortable,” the man asked when he was done. He eyed his handiwork, and Olivia’s naked body, with satisfaction.

“Oh yes, Master,” Olivia said. She felt giddy, wondering what would happen next.

The man snickered. “I’m afraid I’m not your master, sweetheart. I’m just the hired help. Your master’s on his way. See you around.” He toasted Olivia with his champagne flute, and he walked out of the room.

Olivia almost cried with despair as the man left the suite. She fidgeted around on the bed, but the man had tied her too well. She couldn’t even rub her legs together to massage her poor, swollen clitoris and afford herself a little relief. She was completely helpless.

Less than a minute later, the suite’s front door opened and closed again. Footsteps approached the bedroom.

Olivia began to hyperventilate. She knew those footfalls. “Darling? Ian?”

“It’s me, my Love.” Ian entered the bedroom.

“Oh, Darling! I’m so glad to see you! I’m in agony! I’m aching for you, my Darling! I’ve been waiting for my punishment so long I was afraid I’d go mad!”

“Have you been looking forward to this, My Sweet?” Ian removed his tuxedo jacket and set it over a chair. He undid his bow tie and removed it.

“Oh, yes, Darling! You were right! This is simply diabolical! Simply waiting for you has been pure anguish!”

Ian said, “Good. You’ve been particularly bad this time, My Dear. I wanted this torture to be extra special.” Ian went to the mini-bar and got a can of beer from the refrigerator. He picked up the television remote control and turned on the TV. He casually flipped channels until he found the Financial News Network. He sipped his beer and said, “So, you’re in anguish, huh?”

“I’m in agony, Ian! I’m so horny I want to cry!”

Ian sat down in a chair where Olivia could see him. He laughed and stared at the TV.

Olivia thrashed around on the bed, still securely tied. She could barely move. “Don’t laugh, Darling! Put me out of my misery! Punish me! Beat me! Spank me! Flay me! Whip me! Torture me!”

Ian said, “No.”

Copyright © 2002 by J.T. Benjamin. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced without permission of the author. This means you.

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