When I arrived at the family room, she, bless her heart (or her pussy) had laid out
the whip, crop and strap on the side table, besides the leather thongs. She was kneeling,
head bowed and eyes downcast beside the coffee table. Her thighs were open, and her hands,
palms upwards rested on her knees. She did not raise her eyes when she heard me enter. I
knew then she had been into my Gor books.
I had thought to have her serve me a Scotch prior to starting the proceedings, but
she looked so darn cute kneeling there that I was not going to deprive myself of the sight
of her, so I poured my own damn Scotch.
The more I delayed, the more I could see her belly muscles tremble. I approached her, and
could see her lower lip quiver. If I didn’t get started, I was going to have to fuck her
right then and there.
One problem with the family room is that we have never set it up as a dungeon. I
never thought I would need one. That would need to be addressed tout de suite, but not
now.
“Stand up, and take off your teddy.”
Candy stands up to her 5’1’’ height, enhanced by the 5” stiletto sandals, and slips
off her teddy. Had I not been wearing chinos, my dick would have stood out like a tent
pole. I see dewy moisture on her nether lips. I probably could have smelled her
excitement, except for the aroma of my Artuto Fuentes. I took another puff (to steady
myself).
“Put your hands behind your neck, stretch your back, thrust out your breasts, now
turn.”
She does so, slowly pivoting on herself. I down my scotch.
I drape her over the coffee table and, with the leather thongs, tie her hands and
thighs to the legs of the table. Her head hangs over one end while her luscious ass
shines, like a full moon, invitingly over the other. I cut through her white thong with my
switch blade.
I pick up the strap. Show it to her, and move behind her. Thwack! The first stroke
is to her right cheek, where it leaves a faint pink welt. She gasps but does not scream.
Now on the left cheek. A whimper. My gut contracts as I bring down the strap on the right
cheek, harder this time. A short scream. The left now, and a louder scream splits the air.
This will not do, the basement has two windows, and it is not soundproof. I find a
handkerchief and stuff it into her mouth, fixing it in place with two of the leather
thongs.
Tears are making her mascara run. This is no accident; she usually uses thick water
proof mascara, that doesn’t run even in the pool. She is using this runny mascara on
purpose, to enhance the effect. The foxy bitch!
“That was only the strap,” I say. “What will you do when I use the whip? And the
crop on your tits?” She looks up at me, and says nothing (because she can’t) except for a
little whimper coming out of her throat.
I resume her strapping. When I am done giving her ten on each cheek, I stop to take
a breath. I free Candy from the table, but do not remove her gag. Obediently she stands,
and does not even try to remove it. I tell her to serve me a glass of Scotch, with two ice
cubes. She does so, prettily.
“I am going to whip you now. Stand under the lamp, and raise your hands to each side
of it.”
The lamp in our basement is made out of elk antlers, and will do nicely. I tie her
hands, on each side of the lamp, to the antlers, and extend the whip along the floor,
sizing it and the distance up.
The first cut of the whip falls right under her shoulders. Her scream is muffled by
her gag. I do it again, lower down, and am rewarded by another shriller scream. The gag
works, she will not be heard outside. Again lower down, across her flanks, and across the
top of her ass cheeks, by now, a nice soft pink from the strap. She shakes uncontrollably
with each stroke of the whip, and I look at the top of the lamp suspiciously, I have to
judge how long the roof will hold, it was never designed for this. Three more across her
ass cheeks, and three more across the back of her thighs, pause. I take my sweaty shirt
off. On second thought, I also take my pants off, and stand there nude, rampant. Candy
half hangs from the lamp, trembling.
“Well done,” I say as I bring her down from the lamp, and tie her, supine over the
coffee table; her legs are spread open giving me access to her pussy. I show her the crop.
“We are almost done for today,” I tell her. “ I will give you now 5 strokes of the
crop on each tit, and then five more on your pussy.”
Her eyes widen; her head shakes.
“Don’t worry, I will fuck you in the ass afterwards, so it won’t be too bad.”
She hates anal intercourse, and we have very seldom done it that way, only when she
is very drunk. I suspect she will back down on her decision tomorrow, so I will take
advantage of it tonight.
Her screams as the crop bites into her tits are even shriller, her breath, labored.
Her hair is slick with sweat; her mascara has run into a black mask, like a lace domino,
over her face. I touch her pussy with my finger and notice she is still wet. I stand by
her side, facing towards her legs as I bring the crop down on her exposed twat, hard. Her
scream, even through the gag is extremely loud; again, and again, then twice more.
I turn to see her. Her tears mingle with her sweat. I remove the gag.
“I love you,” she says.
I free her from the table, and have her stand. She does so, painfully. We go to our
room, where, in front of the mirror we both survey my handiwork. The white of her skin
contrasts with the angry red wheals of the whip, criss-crossing her back. Over her butt,
the pink color of her strapping is highlighted by the whip marks. Over her breasts, the
red cuts of the crop adorn her mounds. Her pussy is swollen from the crop. She gives me a
wan smile.
“You did not draw blood.”
“Maybe next time,” I say.
She goes to the bed, picks up a tube of KY jelly from her nightstand, leans over and
spreads it on her rear entrance, then smiles at me once more, and burying her face in the
pillow, gets on all fours on the bed. My dick finally gets its dues.
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