The Whipping

Your wrists are bound to a chain suspended from the ceiling of a pitch dark room. After fucking you earlier, I had left you there while I took a shower and met a business acquaintance in the hotel bar. Your legs are growing weak, as you have been standing as upright as you can (your feet are just barely flat on the floor) to relieve the strain in your shoulders.

You hear the electronic lock whirr, and see my shadow in the frame of the door. The light from the hallway hurts your eyes, and you're gratified when I close it again.

Your gratification is short lived, as I take a gooseneck desk lamp and set it on the table next to you. I direct its single bulb at your face, and turn it on.

You start whimpering as the brightness of the light blinds you again, and the lamp quickly heats up and provides a sharp contrast to the cold room (yes, I left the air on high as I was downstairs).

I pull your panties out of your mouth. I had gagged you while I was out on the off chance that you might call for help. The juices from the crotch of your panties, which had been soaked from your anticipation of the afternoon, permeated the air with their fragrance as I removed them from your throat.

I slap your face, hard, on both sides. You can feel the sting of my large handprints in angry, red relief out on your cheeks. One of our rules, which you know well, is that you don't make a sound unless I invite you too.

I take one of your breasts in my hand, and squeeze it hard. You gasp in pain as my fingers move to pinch and twist your nipple. I grasp your neck by one hand, lifting you further off the ground, while I shove three of my fingers in your soaking wet pussy. I'm amazed, once again, by how tight you are, and imagine that it must have hurt you to have been handled so roughly. I smile, and finger fuck you harder.

Once your struggling grows weaker, suggesting that you're approaching the edge of unconsciousness, I release your neck (and your breast, and your pussy) and watch as you slump slack against the rope connecting your arms to the eye bolt in the ceiling.

I take my belt out of my pants, which are carelessly tossed over a chair, and fold it over to double it's thickness. I begin to beat you (calling this a spanking would be too subtle) on your back, buttocks, and legs. The blows are light at first. I want to arouse you and not waste my energy on you before you are fully conscious and aware. I see you lift your head, and your legs straighten to support your weight, and the blows come a little harder. I pause between each lash of the belt to let you fully experience the sting of each stroke. I begin to put my weight in it (all 260 lbs) and let the torque build up in my long arms as I swing the belt through a full arc before it finds its target.

You count each stroke out loud, at first in a soft voice, then in a moan, and finally in a scream as the pain increases. This only encourages me to swing the belt harder and faster. You scream out "twenty seven!!"

I pause in my labors, and say "I'm quite impressed with you little girl. I have always broken you well before this. Perhaps I need to use the buckle end instead."

Even from behind, I can see you stiffen, and I can almost hear the tears rolling down your face. You say nothing, though. You don't beg. You don't cry (audibly, that is). You just prepare for the beating to continue.

Several minutes go by, and your sweat, which had begun as a soft glistening on your skin from the heat of the light and the first blows, is now forming rivulets down your body, and pooling on the floor beneath. Perhaps mixed with tears. Your panic as the anticipation of the buckle biting into your skin becomes almost overwhelming. When the first blow lands, almost gently, the metal barely grazing your skin, you scream out our safety word.

I toss the belt aside and release you from the chain you have been hanging from for hours. Before your body can crumple to the floor I catch you, and pull you close to me. As I embrace you, the welts on your back scream in pain, but to you it is a scream of triumph. You endured all you could endure, and you know I am proud of your determination not to be broken (and gratified that you eventually broke none-the-less). I press your body against mine, and you feel how aroused I have become from the pain I have inflicted.

"Sir, I want to suck your cock. It feels so hard and ready for my mouth," you whisper.

"No, Princess, I am going to hold you for a while and let you recover. You are a good, brave girl."

I carry you toward the couch, and sit down with you in my lap. As I play with your breasts (gently this time), your head relaxes on my shoulder. In no time, you fall asleep... safe in the knowledge that I will awaken you when I am ready for you to please me further.