Beau of Les Belles Pt. 02

"You stopped just below the waist. Tell me how you feel about my leg." "Okay. You have incredible legs. They're so, what's the word? Shapely. The curve of your calf is incredibly sexy. What if I made a trail of little kisses up the inside of your thigh until I get to your pussy and I'll kiss and suck and lick as much as you want. You can show me what you like best. It wouldn't just be sexy for you. I want to taste your wetness between your legs."

"That does sound like fun. But I'd rather you start with my feet. It's so hot when a guy kisses my feet."

"Okay. If it's what you want, I'll kiss your feet. You have really pretty feet actually." He was looking at the foot beside his face.

"Do I detect a note of reluctance? Kissing someone's feet can feel kind of submissive or even degrading."

"No! I'm not reluctant!" He was almost free he felt. Yes, kissing her feet would be humiliating, but he wasn't going risk putting her off over that. If she liked having guys kiss her feet, he really was willing to do it and to pretend like he liked it too. "I think kissing your feet would be very sexy. I really do."

"Are you just saying that? Or do you mean it? Luckily, this is something you can demonstrate while you're still restrained." She moved her foot next to his mouth.

It was pretty repulsive. Her foot smelled from the sneakers she had worn earlier. He willed himself not to show disgust as he kissed the side of her foot. She pressed her toes against his lips. Fighting back his revulsion, he parted his lips and took a toe into his mouth. He sucked it and caressed it with his tongue.

"Mmmm," she purred again.

He tongued and sucked on each toe in turn, trying to show he how intent he was on pleasing her. Then he moved to her instep and kissed her there. She let him kiss the top of her foot trying his best to seem enthusiastic about it, then took her foot off the bed.

"Do you really like kissing a girl's feet, or does this only show how desperate you are to get out of your whipping?"

"Not any girl's feet. Your feet."

"You're such a liar. When that first toe went in, you should have seen yourself grimace. You'd have held your nose, I'm sure, if your hands weren't secured. Beware, John. Do you think you can just say whatever you think I want to hear, and I'll believe you? I'm the one in control here. You aren't going to lie your way out of anything. You can't manipulate the situation. It's you who's going to be molded by me."

His crestfallen look was just delicioius, she thought.

"I'm not lying. I'm not! You really are sexy. I want to do everything I said. It's all true."

"Just like you want to kiss my feet."

"I do. I don't know what you saw. I didn't grimace."

"What if I told you what I like even more than a guy kissing my feet is a guy kissing my ass. And I don't mean just on the cheek, either."

"I won't kiss your ass. Kissing someone's ass isn't sexy. It's disgusting."

"Is it? Well, you'll kiss my ass if I decide that's what I want. The mere threat of me whipping you was enough to make you kiss my feet and tell me you liked it. And you've never actually been whipped. That's plain as the nose on your face. You're already desperate and believe me, your whipping's going to be worse than you think. Much worse. Once you've experienced a real whipping, you'll do whatever I tell you to. Count on it."

"But making love would be much more fun than a whipping. I promise. Why not give it a chance?"

"More fun for you. And yes, it might even be a little bit of fun for me too, at least if you're serious about going down on me as the main feature. But, it's even more fun for me if I whip you first. Besides, it's not an either - or. Once you've had a proper whipping you'll do your very best to pleasure me anyway. You'll be on your very best behavior. So there's really no reason for me to give up the fun of whipping you, except that you don't want to be whipped, and that just makes it all the more fun if you ask me."

"That's crazy. It's just wrong."

"Stay in this position," she instructed. "You might be tempted to roll over but if you do, you'll regret it. I'll just whip you until you get back in position, and then we'll continue with your whipping from that point, with additional whipping for disobedience. Hmmm. Sounds like an awful lot of whipping, doesn't it? Yes. Lots and lots and lots. Better get started or we'll be at it all night!" She raised the crop and hit him again, very hard.

"Stop it! No more, damn it!"

She stepped back and swung again, putting her weight behind the stroke. It caught the tops of both thighs, just below the curve of his bottom.

"Ow! Oh god!" he wailed, twisting his backside away from her.

The front of his thigh was turned toward her. She slashed twice. The strokes were quick and severe. "Get back in position!" Her voice was brittle. The crop bit his thigh a third time. "Right now. Also, watch what you say. As I told you before, it's oh, goddess."

Three red welts appeared on his thigh where she had hit him. They stung very badly. She couldn't do this to him! But, she did it, and he couldn't do anything to stop her.

"Okay!" he exclaimed, turning so his backside was again upward. Refusing to obey her was obviously only going to make this worse. Maybe much worse. "Look, Math, there isn't any need for this. Really, there isn't. It's not necessary. I don't know why you're doing this to me. I'll do what you want. Really. There's no reason for all this whipping"

"When I want your advice, I'll ask for it." Two quick hard strokes across his rump emphasized her point.

"Ow! That hurts alot, damn it. Okay, you want to whip me. But not so hard, please?" he whined.

"Push your bottom up in the air and press your chest to the bed. Higher!" She put the crop under her arm and used her hands to lift his hips. "Get your knees underneath you." She stepped back. "That's correct. Like that. Now, I'm going to give you a dozen strokes fairly quickly. They're going to hurt very badly, but you're going to take it and hold still. I insist. It's going to be hard for you to hold your position, but if you don't I'll just start over. So, you really do need to stay in position, no matter how badly you want to get away. Also, please put a stop to your useless blathering about how this is wrong and I should let you go. It's not going to happen. Listening to you is getting annoying. Are you trying to annoy me? Not a very good strategy unless you're totally a hard-core masochist."

His rear end high in the air, his position felt very humiliating and very, very vulnerable. It was like he had stepped into some SM fantasy, but it was much too real. The crop whirred ominously as she slashed it through the air a couple of times. It whirred again and buried itself in his rump with a sickening thunk. It burned! Five more hard stokes left him groaning and on the verge of tears. But he was afraid to say anything to her. What he had said so far had just seemed to encourage her to be more cruel.

"You're slumping. Get that bottom up in the air and keep it there. You've earned one additional stroke and if you do it again your penalty will double every time."

He pushed his backside up as best he could. It was like he was inviting her to whip him. She obliged. The crop cut him again and again, raising welts that kept burning even as new welts were made. She was strong and skillful. By the last stroke of the crop he was feeling very injured and groaning softly.

"No more complaining? I'm sure that hurts lots. Don't you want to tell me what a cruel bitch I am or some other choice words? Or snivel some more about how I've chosen the wrong person to play with?"

"No. I just want you to leave me alone," he replied sounding very sorry for himself.

"Poor you. I'm just getting started. Let's do say, seven more. And let's make a little game of it. Really simple rules so even someone new to all this like you can follow them easily. You count the strokes out loud, so I can hear. That should be easy enough. If you don't count a stroke before you get another, or you aren't loud enough when you count, then we'll start over and do all the strokes again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. I have to count each stroke before the next one. I have to count out loud."

"Correct."

She hit him three times very quickly with short, wristy swings, snapping the tip of the crop into his flesh. It stung badly.

"Ow," he shouted. "One, two, three!"

"Too late for one and two. Penalty! Two more strokes for getting out of order, and we start over." She hit him again, hard.

"Four!"

"No, dummy. That was one. When you get out of order, the previous ones don't count. Penalty, one stroke for calling the wrong number. If you really aren't a masochist, I have to say, you aren't doing a very good job of convincing me of this. The rules aren't that hard to follow. Yet, even though this started with you getting seven more strokes of the crop, and you've already taken five, you're doing such a bad job that you've earned yourself another ten strokes. Ouch." Her arm rose and fell. The crop slashed across his buttocks again.

"One!" he shouted. Four more strokes in rapid succession. He shouted the numbers as the whipping went on.

"Very good. Five in a row and no goofs. That's not so hard, is it?" she patronized. "Now let's have you add a little color commentary. After you give the count, tell me something about the stroke. How hard was it? How much did it hurt? Was that a sensitive spot where it landed? Those are just for instances. The play-by-play is your job. Do a good job or there'll be more penalties."

She swung the crop again, flicking her wrist as it connected.

"Six," he cried. "It burns. I feel like my ass is on fire."

"Very subjective. Let's have something more factual about this next." She stepped back to get better arm extension and leaned into the swing.

"Seven! That was really hard. Did it break the skin? Oh god, I mean, goddess, ok? It feels like I must be bleeding."

She struck three more times, very quickly.

"Eight! That spot... Nine! Oh god! Ten!"

"You missed calling number nine until after ten. And, not much of a description. Too many errors by far. We'll start over with another five stroke penalty. This puts you up to fifteen more. Hmm. This is such a simple game. I really can't believe you're having so much trouble following a few simple rules. The way you're inviting more and more punishment, do you know what I think? I think it makes you seem pretty darn masochistic. Do you wnat to try some more to disabuse me of my opinion?"

"Please, stop this? I don't like it. I really don't. I really am not a masochist. How can I make you understand?"

"Then again, there is that famous line about someone doth protest too much. You remember, don't you? It certainly seems to apply to what we're doing here, because if you keep inviting more whipping like you have so far, we'll be at this all night. Yes, you can deny you're inviting this some more, but it's one of those situations where actions do speak much louder than words." She swished the crop through the air a few more times. "I'm putting lots of effort into this. You haven't expressed any appreciation at all. I think I'm very skillful at it, don't you?"

"Okay, yes, you're very skillful," he replied quietly, sounding very chastened.

"Good. You're starting to appreciate how things are, aren't you. Okay, a thank you would be nice after each stroke. I'll hit harder this set to encourage you." The crop bit his flesh again.

"One! Thank you. It was hard. Hit a really sensitive place. It burns."

"Not very enthusiastic but good enough. Just barely though. Now I'm going to give you five very quick strokes. You'll have to count fast to keep up. You can save the thank yous and the comments for afterwards." She hit him five times, quickly but very hand. He counted the blows as they fell. Then he groaned pathetically.

"Thank you for whipping me. Thank you for making it hurt so much."

"Hrmph. Your bottom's turning some interesting colors. I'm sure it does sting quite a bit. So, this is no time for you to start getting sarcastic. Because everytime you get that snarky tone I'm going to start over and whip you again, with additional penalties, until I whip it out of you. Where were we? I think you're up to 20 more strokes. Or was it 30? Probably." She stood back and hit him six more times. It took a few minutes before he realized she had paused.

"Please no more!," he wailed. "Oh please. I can't do this. It hurts too much. I can't keep my mind on what you want me to do. Please no more, please."

"Oh don't exaggerate. You haven't even gone weepy so you can't stop it yet, much less reached that state where you're really incoherent from the effect of the pain. And please do not try faking this. I've whipped a lot of guys and believe me, I can tell a real reaction from a faked one. You're a bit of a wimp, John, so of course you think this is more than you can stand. You just need to try harder, that's all. Or like I said, we might be at this all night."

She proceeded to whip him methodically, pausing about 15 or 20 seconds between each stroke. She was quite an athlete and really laid it on hard, over and over. When he had six strokes more he started to crumble. Another three and his thank yous began to quaver. His his description of how her blows felt became more and more pathetic. Fearing what would happen if he provoked her more, he struggled to keep from weeping. Finally, couldn't hold back a sweet little sob.

"How very sweet. You're going to cry for me. You're such a pathetic wimp, John. Am I hurting you that badly? Here, try this." She gave him three quick hard cuts with the crop. He howled in anguish. She whipped him ever harder, and faster, aiming for places. like the juncture of his thighs and his bottom, where the stroke would hurt worst. As promised she had excellent endurance. The strokes just seemed to get harder and harder. The crop whistled and bit again and again. He fought to hold back tears, but it was a losing battle. She knew how to make him hurt and how to make it feel more and more painful with no letup. His defenses yielded to her skill. He couldn't stand it any more. But her whipping of him went on and on. Well before she stopped he was sobbing uncontrollably, and he kept on sobbing for several more minutes after she finished. There was a sheen of perspiration on her skin. She felt exhilarated both by the vigorous exercise and her new captive's humiliating homage to her skill with the whip.

4 -- Youthful Follies With Painful Consequences

John knelt on the bed, his burning bottom in the air, his hands still fastened to the wall at the head of the bed. He managed to stop sobbing, but was afraid to move without permission, lest his beautiful captor whip him more.

"What do we have here? You didn't say you had a visitor. And it's someone new I've never seen before!" A younger woman stepped beside Math and giggled. She was several inches shorter, about five feet eight inches, but her body was a little fuller, especially her breasts. She wore a peasant blouse and a short skirt.

"Do I get a turn? Pretty please?" the young woman pled.

"Of course you get a turn. In fact, you've arrived at a very opportune moment. I've worked up an appetite, myself. I was just now feeling like fixing myself a snack. I'll take my time. He's yours in the meanwhile. Oh, but a word of caution, John. Don't be fooled by her sweet young thing look. If you thought I was cruel with guys, well, as they say, you ain't seen nothing yet!" Math handed her the crop, put on her clothes and left the room.

"Coming from you that's quite a compliment," the young woman said with a little curtsey. "I'll do my very best to deserve it, of course." She cocked her head and scratched her chin. "Stay as you are," she ordered, pointing a finger at him. "Don't move until I say. Or else." She tapped his bottom a few times lightly with the crop. He got the point. "This bottom's been pretty thoroughly worked over," she mused. "Might be time for something a little different. Such as.... hmm... yes, perfect, just the thing." She stepped to the wall and pressed a switch. The chain holding his hands slackened. "You! Crawl backward to the end of the bed," she continued. "Do it right now, or you'll be very sorry." She spoke softly but in a brittle tone that left no doubt in his mind she meant it. He did as she said. When he got to the end of the bed, he paused. She picked up two pink nylon bands that ended in buckles and affixed them tightly around his ankles. "Get that bottom up higher," she directed in the same menacing tone. "Scoot back a little more. That'll do. Now straighten out your legs so they're off the end of the bed." He followed this direction, taking care so that he did not roll over on his burning rump. When he got his legs extended, it left him with his belly on the bed and his hips just over the edge. She used the switch to shorten the chain holding his hands until his arms were stretched over his head and the chain was taut.

Another switch caused chains to extend from the ceiling on either side of the bed. "Cross your legs," the young woman demanded, punctuating her words by tapping his rump again. He winced, and did as he was told. She clipped the chains to the nylon bands. He did not like the direction this seemed to be headed. "This next is going to put you in a different postiion. Try to keep your legs straight for a few seconds, unless you want your bottom to drop on the floor. In your condition you won't like it very much if that happens!" She threw a switch and the chains slowly but steadily retracted. As they shortened his legs were pulled apart and he was flipped onto his back. His bottom started to drop, but by struggling to keep his legs straight as she suggested, he just barely managed to keep it off the floor. The chains pulled up and back until his legs were high in the air and splayed several feet apart.

She stood at the foot of the bed. He looked up at a very pretty girl, framed between his legs. She had big brown eyes, high cheeks, a small straight nose and full lips, and wore her hair in straight-across bangs and a ponytail, giving her an innocent, youthful look. He guessed she might be in her early twenties.

"Hi there," she said cheerfully. "Mathy didn't say anything about a new friend when she called. So you're a fun surprise!" She used her finger tip to tease his glans.

"This hasn't been any fun at all for me," he complained. "I wouldn't call your pal Math a friend of mine. I'm being kept here against my will. Just in case you don't know. But of course you do know." She nodded with a little smirk. The whole situation seemed unreal. His clothes were in tatters, leaving him feeling very exposed in front of this fully clothed woman who looked at least ten years younger than him, and unfortunately, extremely pretty in a girlish kind of way. She had just rendered him even more helpless than her older friend had left him. He was bared from thigh to neck, with his sex on display as if it were her plaything, helpless to cover himself from her gaze or to prevent her from doing whatever she wanted to him. Realizing this made his face warm. "The way you've tied me is both embarrassing and uncomfortable. People don't treat their friends this way," he insisted. His sex was responding to her teasing in a way that sent the wrong message. He willed his cock to remain soft, but her finger was much too clever to be denied.

"You just don't know Mathy very well yet," the girl replied. "Based on the condition of your bottom, I think she likes you alot. I'm serious! Don't look so dubious. We females sure can be hard for you males to understand, can't we? Okay, here's what might be confusing for you as a male. The thing is, when Mathy likes someone, if the someone is male, the way she likes you best is nice and weepy and of course ready to do whatever she says. Obviously, she's gone to quite a bit of trouble to get you into that frame of mind. Besides, I I think you're very much attracted to her too, despite what you say. "