Crossing the Threshold

I bent over the bed and, ever so gently, like leaves on a breeze, I let those tails drape softly across my lover's loins and pulled them along the length of the dark, moist valley between her thighs. I repeated the motion several times, allowing the tails to drop lightly upon her, watching as the muscles along her inner thigh and hip began to twitch, as her body grasped in vain for the sensation that eluded it, just beyond the threshold. Increasing the impact slightly, I flicked the tips of the flogger to either side of that slit, hungry for the sensation I was yet withholding, rhythmically alternating sides for a minute or two.

Her eyes were closed, head thrown back in bliss, mouth open and pleading soundlessly as I straightened. I walked slowly around three sides of the bed and back, speaking to my lovely submissive as I did so. Her broad chest shone with sweat, and her full, inviting breasts with their tips of pain-loving ruby flesh swayed and shifted with the writhing of her upper body. "My, my," I began. "Such a hungry little pain-slut you are, aren't you?" I waited a moment. "Aren't you? Tell me what you are or I'll stop."

"I'm a hungry little pain-slut," came the reply.

"And what does my little pain slut want me to do? Tell me, or you won't get it," I continued.

"Whip my pussy," came the choked whisper in response.

There was an expression beyond torment or ecstasy upon her face as savannah answered my questions. To be required to confront such desires, directly, for the first time ... having given voice to these words, she would never be able to disavow the desire within her to which she had given that voice. The words that she spoke marked her, and the marking was clear upon her features. "Good, good girl," was my answer. "That's what we want to hear. I will gladly whip your pussy. As a matter of fact," I stretched the moment as I returned to my starting point alongside the bed, "I will be torturing that pussy until we leave here in two days. What do you think of that?"

"Yes," was the breathless whisper that wafted to my ears.

I clambered upon the bed, taking my position on my knees across savannah's waist and abdomen as I had before, facing the bed's foot, her flushed and shining loins spread and inviting perfectly within hand's reach. Invisible to my willing victim, I began spinning the flogger's tails in a circle like the blades of a fan. Gently, ever so slightly, the tips of those fan-blades began to brush her labia. The impact was gentle, but these tips bite and burn, sharp and thin, and the moans began almost instantly. I could see her thighs tense and shift as savannah fought to open them wider, to offer her vaginal tissues to me more fully, as she fought against the bonds that locked her into position. Helplessness works in both directions, I thought, smiling.

I increased the speed of the spinning tails and allowed the tips to begin to fall with authority, sharp and solid, as they spun, working their circular path now up and down the length of a vaginal cleft that was becoming a gentle fountain in response. Her loins shook with the jerking of her hips and thighs as the biting strands fell, and a long wail of pleasure burst from behind me as I let the flogger fall with its full speed and force, landing more than merely the tips, now. Small, hot, red dots spread across her labia and their junction with my lover's upper thighs, traces left by the knots set in the braided tails.

Long minutes later, I stopped the flogging, cold and solid, silent, and waited. An anguished cry erupted behind me as savannah's pussy shrieked its need for more, incoherent and pleading. I stroked the sharp nail-tips of my left hand across her sensitized tissues, and I laughed. "You really are a slut for pussy-torture, aren't you? That's a good thing, since I love nothing more." I turned to look at her face as I concluded. "We have some amazing space to explore, together, my dear. We've barely started." Her eyes went wide and yearning at this last statement, and her mouth framed the soundless word, "Yes."

No more circular play, now. The braided genital flogger began to fall solidly, full-stroke and full-length upon the vertical gap of her pussy, the tails falling mercilessly though not exclusively upon the inner tissues exposed by that gap. Again, I watched the writhing of hips and thighs as savannah fought desperately to spread her legs wider, to expose herself more fully to the lash falling upon her. Mechanical, rhythmic, consistent, now, as the burning, biting lash fell over and over again along the length of her cleft. Minute after minute without a change, the inescapable sensation, anticipated and unavoidable, exploded upon her most intimate, delicate flesh, exposed by a pussy that gaped ever wider, ever more inviting and enabling.

Building the speed, now, the lash fell faster and faster, until my right arm began to throb from the exertion. A stream of clear fluid ran from that pussy, now, and the keening wail from behind me had the rhythmic, unbroken fluidity of a brook singing though the forest. With a final stroke, I raised the flogger above my head and brought the tails down with full strength in one last, brutal impact that tore a screaming "Ahh!!" from behind me, and I climbed from my victim's body to survey my handiwork.

Savannah writhed, her eyes open but seeing a sight for her, alone. Her genital area glistened and gleamed from within its coat of thick, clear juices, smeared and splashed and dripping, red, hot, striped and spotted from the lash-tails which had fallen upon it. Her pelvis was rocked forward and upward, thrusting, grasping, presenting her flaming loins for punishment as well as she was capable. And yet another photograph, preserving for posterity this stage on tonight's development of my lovely submissive's pussy-craving.

I lingered upon that tableau, taking it in, taking a moment to roll within the rush, to let myself savor that rush, the elation both physical and psychological, that splashed like rapids within me. "I've had several lovers who were incredible devotees of nipple torture, the first of them the person who introduced me to it," I began, "and I would say that most women discover that they enjoy labial play and pussy torture, some more than others." I smiled as savannah's eyes focused on me, as if she were hearing with her eyes. "But I've never seen someone respond to pussy torture like you do. You need to know that. You are exceptional. I can tell that we have a lot of exploration ahead of us, exploring this incredible place in which we've found ourselves. You are a true specialist. So am I, but I've never had a pussy as responsive as yours to torture. You can't get enough."

The words were choked, whispered, almost inaudible, delivered to the ceiling from a face arched toward that surface, closed eyes gazing sightlessly at the headboard, mouth thrown wide and panting. "Just be careful ... please ... because I can't be."

"Don't worry, my love. I can't tell you how long I've waited for this toy. There's no way I'm going to break it. If I hurt you, I lose my toy. Remember your safewords." (I hate safewords, in general, but they serve an important purpose when in unknown territory.). Now, to find out what, if any, limits there were.

Taking once again to my knees astride savannah's waist, I placed the fingers of my right hand flatly upon her vaginal area and massaged the hot flesh firmly with a circular motion. Her hips bucked and she strained to press herself against me, whimpering as she sought this more traditional style of stimulation. "Mmm ... we're hungry, aren't we," I observed. Changing tack I thrust two fingers unceremoniously within her gaping hole, sliding into the wet shaft without resistance and pulling a scream of surprise and pleasure from the lips unseen behind me. "My god, you are fucking wet. You are such a pain slut." Pulling my dripping fingers from their moist bed, I turned just enough that I could wipe my fingers free upon my lover's throat, taking care to get the pulse points, and the underside of her jaw, finishing by running the fingers across her lips. "Some perfume for you, so that you can smell your own desire."

Turning forward once again, I ran my nails back and forth, up and down, across her swollen genital flesh, increasing the pressure with each pass until I saw the pink tracers being left by their passage. Without fanfare, the first sharp, firm swat landed upon that flesh, and her second pussy spanking of the day had begun.

This time, there was less build-up in the spanking than on the first pass. I started firm, with an even, steady rhythm, landing blows directly along the central vaginal cleft for many long minutes. Changing, I began to strike alternatingly just to either side of the cleft, with increased speed. I could see her body respond to the tease, to the impact just to the side of where my lovely submissive craved it to be, could see her attempting to shift her body to bring her cleft under my blow. Once that response had become acceptably desperate, I began to slap hard and fast upon that lonely, aching cleft once again, tearing a long, keening wail that stretched, stretched, and still stretched, broken only by gasps for breath as her greedy pussy arched to meet my pounding hand.

Fluids were splashing with each blow, now, as if my hand were landing in a puddle. I increased the speed and impact to the limits my tiring arm was capable, bringing the process to a shrieking crescendo that culminated with a single, solid, full-power spanking blow.

Rising once again from the bed, I savored the results of my handiwork. Savannah squirmed and rolled, spread and pinioned. Her mouth was open, panting, her face flushed like a ripe peach. Full breasts rolled and rippled upon her heaving, shifting chest, swollen, angry raspberry nipples rising hard and insistent upon them. I bent over the bed and called her unseeing eyes to focus upon me. "Look at me, my love," I commanded gently. As her eyes registered me, I continued. "Do you want more, my love? Or do you want me to stop?"

Her face worked silently for a moment a she tried to form words with a dry mouth. "More, please," came her response.

I descended from atop my bound submissive and retrieved a bottle of water from the top of the t.v. cabinet. Returning, I raised my pain-nymph's head and brought the water to her dry lips. "First, drink some of this," I said, holding the bottle as she managed several gulps before pulling back.

Replacing the water from whence it had come, I spoke to savannah from the base of the bed, her abused pussy displayed perfectly for my appreciation. "You have no idea how open, wet, and hot your pussy is, my love," I informed her as I studied my toy. "Your body tells the whole story. You crave this, and you know you do. From now on, this is going to be our favorite activity. We've just started."

I smiled widely as I saw the mixture of joy and fear that danced upon her face, and almost failed to breathe for a moment when I heard the joyous, whispered, "Yes," that crawled from her lips. It was time to take things up another notch.

First, to take savannah's sensory threshold to a new level. This time, I mounted the bed on my knees between her thighs, facing her glistening pussy and giving me maximal access to it. Upon her stomach, I placed the blue velvet Crown Royal bag that held about 3-dozen wooden clothespins within, and saw her eyes as she recognized the package. "I'm betting that you can take at least 8 of these by now, my dear. Let's find out, shall we?" My evil laugh made her eyes go wide for a moment.

Pinching her right outer labia between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, I stretched the tissue firmly and slid the first clothespin into place, taking a deep bite that brought both jaws of the peg into play. The groan that greeted its bite made my breath catch for a moment; there was so much desire and pleasure in that groan. Alternating, savoring each moan, each subtle cry, savannah's slit slowly sprouted bristling wooden clamps until there was a line of 4 on each side.

If you've never seen a pussy lined with clothespins, the deeper you take their bites the more tightly the jaws of the pegs stretch and fan out the labial flesh. That tissue now rose high in a taut, full half-circle from her loins, and the moans of pleasure were nearly constant. My smile stretched from ear to ear as I folded the 8 clothespins together into a single tight, round bundle in my right hand, bringing a quiet scream from her as I did so. "The best part about this," I began, "is that the clothespins function to give me a fabulous handle attached to your pussy. So I can do this." As I spoke, I pulled firmly and steadily against the bundled clothespins, pulling the intimate shining flesh hard away from her pussy and, ineluctably, raising her hips from the bed by that handle. Watching her body, I took her to the limit of her endurance, then just a little bit more, dropping her back to the bed just as her cries turned to pure pain.

"My, my. You ARE good," I crooned as she writhed in pleasure/pain. "Now, let's get these off." Taking hold of the first pin, I slowly pulled against only it, increasing the pressure until it began to slide upon her flesh. Pulling harder, my lovely sub cried out as the pin pulled free of her labia, pinching it as tightly as possible in the process. Seven more to go, each pulling free with its accompanying choked scream that made my cock twitch, and she was right where I wanted her: unseeing, desperately yearning, open and aching for more.

A brief break to shift my position to astride savannah's waist once again and to bring an earlier implement to hand once again, and I launched into fifteen minutes or so of fast-paced, stinging blows upon the slowly melting, slowly tenderizing spread of flesh that was my playground (flayground?) with the braided cat from before, the constant, stinging impacts keeping savannah right at the edge of her tolerance level. The point is to keep someone frozen right at that point that divides pleasure and pain, unable to resolve to either one but overwhelmingly stimulated. Ecstasy is the only response left ... ecstasy and subspace. Savannah's descent into subspace had begun some time ago, but this merciless, measured assault set the entire surface of her loins aflame, with special attention as always to the vertical ruby cleft within which the most delicate tissues could be found. Her moans were low and constant, almost a loud murmur, by the time I climbed from astride her once again to photograph her body's confession of desire writ large and wide in enflamed tissues and flowing pussy juices. My dusky submissive was writhing slowly, almost as if it were an after-thought. Her eyes opened as I gazed upon her, and I watched in amusement as those eyes slowly focused upon me from whatever private world far, far away upon which they had been turned.

"I think you're ready for the next stage, my love. What do you think? If you want more, you have to ask me for it." I freely displayed my smirk for her as I spoke. "What will it be?"

From the initial abortive movements of her mouth, locating and engaging the capacity for speech from whatever psychic sub-basement to which it had been consigned was not easy. Finally, the word "More" crawled weakly from full lips, and savannah's eyes flashed with heat and hunger from within a face sparkling with sweat like dew glistening on the skin of a rosy peach.

We were about to enter territory for which I had never yet found a companion. From what I'd seen so far, I suspected that this insatiable pussy-slut before me would be up to the challenge.

The short, black leather genital flogger hung once again from my right hand as I resumed my position athwart my submissive's trembling body. With my left hand, I reached into her slick slit and spread my fingers wide, using index and little fingers pressed deeply into the inner flesh of her labia. The wet, carmine of her most private, delicate, and sensitive tissues was stretched wide across her loins, vaginal sphincter stretching into a taut "O" framed by exposed, thrusting, corrugated inner labia that crawled like exotic petals about that gaping orifice. Every bit of her most intimate flesh lay exposed and defenseless in front of me, and I could hear savannah's breathing become labored and panting as she realized what was happening.

With the first impact, with the fall of that bundle of thin leather lashes upon those most lovely and delicate of tissues for the first time, I actually forgot to breathe for a moment as I saw the surge, the literal fount, of juices that flowed from savannah's pussy in response to the blow. The inner labia grew visibly before my eyes, engorging and folding upon themselves like the lips of a clam-shell seen from the side, edge-on, expanding shockingly beyond their original boundaries. The spectacle was almost indescribable ... such a response was beyond anything I'd ever before encountered, and I was spellbound.

I was cautious, restrained for the first several minutes, during which the tails of the flogger fell with a slowly varying pace, their impact light at first as I gauged my eager victim's ability to embrace the agony. Soon, it became clear that there was no need for me to hold back ... the bite of the snaking lashes upon that unspeakably personal flesh was driving her deep, deep into subspace. Savannah's hips rocked, bringing her pussy more easily and fully into the target space of the flashing leather strips and the flames that they left behind. I swung the flogger solidly and strong, slapping it mercilessly into the explosively engorged tissues.

Pausing, I swiveled for a moment and saw that my submissive's chestnut brown eyes were wide, shocked, overwhelmed ... she was in the grips of a sensation that was shaking to the core her prior conception of who she was. No woman ... certainly not one as strong and independent as her ... could ever open themselves to the torment, the beating, which she was currently enduring. Yet, her need was insatiable, and she was driven to seek more; she had discovered that she wanted to be beaten through her pussy more deeply than she had ever wanted anything, and that bit of self-knowledge is beyond what most would define as thinkable. I smiled to myself in silence, for this was precisely where I had hoped to bring her. There's nothing like the moment of transformation. With a gratified sigh, I returned my attention to the massively engorged crimson playground that stretched between my fingers awaiting the caressing leather tresses.

I lost track of time as I swung the flogger slowly but steadily upon my lover's most intimate of tissues. With each stroke, I was spellbound by the spurt of fluids elicited by the impact. Her moans had become almost background music, like the constant sound of surf on the beach. Slowly, ineluctably, the speed and solidity of the strokes increased. Savannah's thighs spasmed as she tried to open her legs wider, to accommodate herself more openly to the flashing lashes that rained mercilessly, now, against her exposed inner flesh, and she screamed in ecstasy as I finished with 10 of the hardest, most brutal blows that I could land before settling into sudden stillness.

A break was required, and I dropped myself for a minute into the hotel room's non-descript easy chair, catching my breath, allowing my arm to recharge, and feasting upon my lover's still-twitching, jerking, writhing, shivering body. Her vaginal sphincter gaped wide between the expansively blooming ruby labia, clenching convulsively, a dark black mouth that pleaded to be filled. Taking a long pull from the water bottle, I rose and retrieved from the floor my final implement for the night - a medium-weight flogger in black leather, 24" from tip to tail, its lashes broad and flat.