A Whipping, Delivered with Love

There is no reason to mince words. You know that, by accepting my invitation, you have agreed to the terms specified in that invitation. Namely, for the next few hours, whenever I tell you to, you are to present your body to be whipped. I have purposely not told you what sort of whip I will use on you or where I will apply it, but, from past experience, you know that I will make you suffer even though I will cause you no permanent harm. You also know that I will administer your whipping in a manner that is calculated to give you pleasure in spite of, and partly because of, the pain you are experiencing.

I lead you into my living room, where I have moved most of the furniture aside to create a circular arena. Without my having to tell you, you immediately take off the pretty summer dress in which you arrived. Because you are wearing nothing underneath, when your dress drops to the floor you are left standing before me in only your shoes. As always, I take pleasure in having you expose your well-toned but curvaceous body to me. Although you are trying to hide it, I can see that you are trembling, and I am sure that your trembling is caused by fear of the unknown rather than the temperature of my warm apartment. I tell you to remove your shoes, and, to emphasize your vulnerability, I also tell you to take off the few pieces of jewelery that you have on.

When you are completely nude, I have you kneel, spread you legs, and bend your torso backward until your shoulders rest on the carpet. Having had you assume this position before, I know that it is difficult for you. I also know that it presents your body in all its glory: your generous breasts are drawn high up on your chest so that they look like two cushions adorned with decorative large pink buttons, your belly is taut but retains its feminine roundness, and your vulva is brought into prominence between your invitingly soft upper thighs.

Standing with a foot on either side of your head, I show you the whip that I am going to use. It is a multi-thonged cat-o-nine tails. The tails are about a foot long and are made of a soft suede leather. My first blow is directed along the centerline of your bowed torso. I have carefully aimed it so that the main impact will be just below your navel and the tips of the tails will strike directly along the crease between your labia. You shudder but make no move to protect yourself. In rapid succession, I apply the whip to the same region, each time making certain that the tails visit the cleft between your splayed legs.

Not wanting your contorted position to become the paramount source of your discomfort, I tell you to change your pose so that you are lying flat on your back with your legs bent and your hands grasping your ankles to hold your legs apart. You know full that this position presents to me and my whip the tender flesh at the tops of your inner thighs. Before striking, I give you time to think about the implications of what you are doing. When I strike, I aim the blow at the lovely soft pads of flesh which your position makes exquisitely available to me. Systematically, I alternate sides so that the livid pink color that your inner thighs are acquiring will be evenly spread. It takes me five minutes to produce the desired effect. Although none of my blows is severe, but keeping yourself available for them requires enormous discipline, and you have tears streaming down your face well before I am done.

After helping you to your feet, I lead you to the back of a large armchair and have lean over the top and fold your body so that your tummy rests on top of the chair, your legs are straight, and your vulva stares at me like an eye that has been perversely mounted between the cheeks of your buttock. I run my hands over your buttock, savoring the luxury of your soft skin that is stretched over them. I then delve into the tunnel between and am pleased to find that the whip has opened your labia and caused their inner folds to be bathed in secretions. Stepping back, I bring the whip down on the backs of your legs. My blows are slighter harder than the ones that I delivered to your front, and your have to grip the arms of the chair to keep yourself from moving to avoid them. Lest you begin to associate the spankings you received as a child with the very different purpose for which you are exposing your backside now, I refrain from hitting your buttock. As a result, when I finish whipping the backs of your legs, the contrast between their ruddy color and the virgin white of your buttock is dramatic.

Laying the whip aside, I lower my pants, grasp you by the hips, and, without warning, plunge my engorged penis into your vagina. You respond by rising onto your toes and shifting your hips to draw me further inside your body. When my penis reaches your cervix, I release your hips and transfer my hands to your pendulous breasts. Using them as handles, I pull you out of the chair and hug your back to my front. Locked together as we are, my penis is mashed against your vaginal walls, causing sharp but erotically potent pain for both of us. This pain makes our coupling more intense but delays our climax. Thus, several agonized but divine minutes pass before we achieve orgasm.

When I leave your body, you collapse against my chest. I carry you into the bathroom and deposit you on the toilet seat while I run a hot bath for you. After stirring some bath oil into the water, I deposit your limp body into the steamy, fragrant brew that I have prepared for it. You close your eyes and luxuriate in the comfort that your body is receiving. Unable to resist the temptation of exploring the regions that my whip has given new color, I lean over the side of the tub and trace the red line that starts just below your navel and terminates in your crotch. Without opening your eyes, you languorously shift your position to make your body more available for to my soothing hands. I share with you my pleasure in the varying shades that I encounter when I lift your legs to expose the last region that my whip visited.

After satisfying my curiosity, I leave you to soak up the healing warmth. Half an hour later, I return and lift you out of the tub so that I can dry you and sprinkle a coat of powder on your multi-colored pelt. I then carry you into the bedroom and place you on the bed. You have not opened your eyes since your bath began, and I appreciate your need for time to recover from the rigors of your morning experiences. Thus, I cover your warm body, pull down the shades, and leave you to recuperate on your own.

I return an hour later to find you awake and smiling. You are examining your mottled body and seem to be enjoying what you find. Sitting by your side, I ask if you have had enough or if you want to continue. I warn you that, if we continue, your breast will be my next target. After serious refection, you say that, in spite of your reservations, you want to continue. To date, your breasts have been the recipient of adoration, and you want to learn their potential as a source of erotic suffering.

Doubtful if you fully appreciate the consequences of your decision, I have you rise from your downy couch and follow me into the living room. At the center of the make-shift arena, I have placed a simple, straight-back chair. Solidly hitched to the center of its seat is a plastic dildo that curves forward in a way that will apply constant pressure to whatever sheath it is embedded in. While you lower yourself onto the dildo, I explain that its primary purpose is to anchor you in place rather than to provide you pleasure. For obvious reasons, when you complete your impalement, you sit bolt upright posture with perfect posture.

I tell you that the whipping of your breasts will have two phases. In the first phase I will use a smaller and lighter version of the cat-o-nine tails on them. During that phase, I require that you cup your hands under your breasts and lift them toward me to make visible your complicity in their persecution. After I have reddened them so that their color is indistinguishable from that of your dark pink aereolae and nipples, I will switch to a gentler but no less trying method of tormenting them. However, during the second phase, your hands will be tied behind your back, relieving you of the responsibility of keeping your breasts presented for the punishment they are receiving.

There is fear written all over your face, but you bravely move your hands to their prescribed post and raise your breasts. Standing on your right side, I introduce the proffered orb on that side to the little whip that has been specifically designed for the application that I am making of it. Aimed directly at the nipple, the thongs splay out across and momentarily cling to the soft flesh of your succulent breast. You gasp at the impact but do not lower your breast. I strike that breast three more times before moving to even the score on your left side. Though cloudy with tears, your eyes have a defiant look of pride, pride that is confirmed by your continuing to proffer your breasts in the event that this phase is not at its conclusion.

I keep you in doubt for several seconds while I survey my handiwork. As I had hoped, your breast have the same dark pink color as the backs of your legs. Ironically, my prediction about your aereolae and nipples becoming less visible proves to have been wrong. Instead, your aereolae too have become darker and continue to assert their distinction. At the same time, your nipples have swelled and command recognition with a defiance equal to that in the expression on your face. I marvel at and am humbled by your fortitude.

After your breathing has returned to normal, I resume my duties as your tormentor. Stepping behind the chair, I remove your hands from your breasts and bring them to the back of the chair. After crossing your wrists, I tie them together. I then move back to your front and show you the devices that I will use to complete your breasts' education. They look quite innocent, a little like a child's toy, but looks are deceiving. When I hold them up, you see that they are made out of strings which are attached via spindles to handles. The strings, which are about a eighth of an inch in diameter, are made out of cotton, and each string has a knot tied at its end. I demonstrate how they work by spinning them so that the strings fan out and twirl on the spindles like miniature propellers. I can see that you now understand the insidious torment those propellers are designed to give so tender a target as the female breast.

Not wanting to prolong your anxiety, I set to work. At first I concentrate on your erect nipples, holding the handles far enough from your breasts that only your nipples feel the kiss of the strings. Proceeding in steps calculated to maximize your torment, I slowly move my hands forward so that the impact covers more and more territory. The strings themselves do little more than cause an sharp itching sensation. However, the knots land with sufficient force that each string gives you a jolt when it strikes your reddened globes. For a time, you are able to maintain a semblance of composure, but the cumulative effect of hundreds of tiny impacts inevitably wears you down. After several minutes, you are twisting in your chair and begging for mercy. I relent only after I am convinced that you have had the full lesson for which you came.

To my surprise, there is a large damp spot surrounding the dildo when I lift you out of the chair. Seeing that your ordeal was not one of unmitigated suffering, I ask you whether you want it continued in a manner that will give you more conventional and complete sexual gratification. Wiping away the tears from your eyes, you whisper that you would. I lead you back to the chair on which I whipped your legs and have you take the same position over its back, only this time I position you so that your hips are supported by the top of the chair and your feet are left dangling a couple of inches from the floor. As a consequence, you are now presenting me with a unimpeded access to your vulva. Armed with the little whip that I used on your breasts, I apply its tails in a steady tattoo to your labia. As they open to make your clitoris available, I direct my aim at that excruciatingly sensitive morsel. Your excitement builds with each blow, and after a couple of minutes your much-deserved reward arrives.