Free Caught: Punished by Her Boss by Claire Thompson

of this prick placing a collar around her neck, but she didn’t dare refuse. He buckled the collar in place and attached the leash to the ring at the buckle.
    Jerking it, he moved ahead of her, walking so she was forced to scramble to keep up. He led her to the St. Andrew’s cross. One of Jessie’s sub boy clients had built it for her—two sturdy planks of hardwood with a support beam in back, all firmly anchored onto a thick wooden platform. It had eyebolts placed at intervals along both sides of the X to allow for a person of any height to be stretched spread eagle from the adjustable wrist and ankle cuffs. It was the centerpiece of many of Jessie’s most popular videos and her personal favorite device for securing her boys for hours of cock and ball torture and other erotic BDSM play.
    She well understood the heightened feeling of helplessness that being tethered to the cross engendered and had no desire to experience it at the hands of a novice would-be Dom on a power trip. No telling what harm this asshole might do, and there was no one to stop him.
    Though she’d promised herself to pretend to go along, she found herself unable to obey when he told her to get onto the platform and spread her arms and legs. “This isn’t a good idea, Eric. You don’t know—”
    “Shut up. Don’t tell me what I know or don’t know, cunt. I know a lot more than you think.” He pulled her upright, forcing her onto the platform.
    Panic rose in her chest and in spite of herself, she struggled against him, but she was no match for the big man. “You’re not doing yourself any favors, J.,” Eric growled through clenched teeth as he forced her unwilling limbs into position. He lifted her arms one at a time and cuffed them in place. Then he crouched and forcibly spread her legs along the X, buckling her ankles into place. Jessie’s heart was pounding and she closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath and regain control.
    She was facing the wall, but she could hear him moving behind her. She felt the soft stroke of the flogger’s tresses moving over her back and she shuddered, pressing against the wood of the cross in a vain effort to get away.
    “We’ll start with the flogger,” Eric announced from behind her. At least he hadn't gone straight for the cane or the cat o’ nine tails. In inexperienced hands they could be quite dangerous, and though he’d hinted otherwise, Jessie had the bad feeling that the sum total of Eric’s so-called experience was jerking off alone while watching BDSM porn.
    “I hope you did your lessons, J.,” he said. “It’s test time. I’ll ask for a rule. You recite it and if you get it right, I’ll ask you the next rule. You mess it up, you get a beating, and then we try again. Ready?”
    She didn’t answer. She’d spent as long as she could stand trying to memorize his stupid list of rules, something he’d probably gotten from one of those blogs written by clueless men who pretended they had dozens of willing subs who worshipped the ground they walked on, when in reality they were probably lonely middle-aged men with thinning hair and dicks they hadn't seen in a decade beneath their beer guts.
    She gasped in startled pain as Eric gripped her by the hair and jerked her head back. He put his face close to hers so she could feel his hot breath. “I said , are you ready? Answer the fucking question, and answer it right or the beating starts now.”
    “Yes, sir,” she managed, relieved when he let go of hair.
    She heard the sound of rustling paper and then Eric said, “Recite rule number one.”
    “A slave girl always answers a direct question,” she said, glad her brain had decided to retain the information.
    “Good. Rule number two.”
    “A slave girl always addresses her master with respect, referring to him as either Master or Sir.”
    “Good. Rule number six.”
    “A slave girl,” she paused, confused. “Wait, what?”
    He laughed softly. “Rule number six. Spit it