ALANA Pt. 04

He went behind me and came back with the short, three-tasseled rawhide whip with knots in the tassels, meant specially for my bosom. He asked me if I knew what he was going to do with it. I didn't answer. He caressed my boobs some more and told me what he would have to do to my lovely young breasts if I didn't cooperate. I didn't answer. Then he started, standing directly in front of me. He pointed the whip at each of my breasts in turn and struck each breast once with the knotted tassels, striking downward. He did it softly at first, then harder, then harder still. And it hurt. The harder he did it the harder it hurt. He kept doing it over and over, over and over. Before long my boobs were bright pink and each bore little marks from where the knots in the tassels hit. For some reason this turned me on and for the first time since the whipping started my nipples hardened and I could feel myself get wet inside. He saw my nipples harden and smiled.

I closed my eyes and heard the familiar swish through the air and it started. For I don't know how long he stood three feet away from me and did nothing but whip my boobs. First one, then the other. On the tops, on the nipples, on the sides, on the bottoms, both together, each alone. For a while I loved every second of it, the lovely bite of the whip, the heaving of my bare bosom, the pounding of my heart, the sweat that poured off me. The joy of being whipped, whipped hard, over and over and over. I was as helpless as I'd ever been in my life. He could do whatever he wanted to me. My body dripped with sweat and my eyes filled with tears. Yet I never really thought about trying to get away, trying to get away from the sweet suffering that he laid on me with every stroke of the whip. I struggled desperately. Little streaks of blood appeared around each nipple as the force of the whip cut into them.

Over and over he hit me. On and on I felt the pain. Then slowly, inch by inch, my courage slipped away and then I screamed. Once, twice, then every time he hit me. Every time he hit me on my full, round, eager breasts, tender in the heat of the sun. I wept with the pain, my body hot with passion. My cunt was wet and aching, the smell of sex coming from my girlhood intoxicating. He moved around behind me and then, striking horizontally, swung the whip around from in back of me to strike first one breast and then the other. He got a better swing and it hurt even more. Over and over he hit me. Each breast, one after the other. It hurt like hell. I had big boobs and they made tempting targets. Harder and harder he hit me. As the pain increased I shivered somewhere deep inside.

My whole body kind of shook with the pain, my mouth turned dry despite the water Ciara had given me. Like with my ass whipping, as the pain increased my own body began to betray me and I got more and more turned on. I got wetter and wetter down below until I could smell myself, and he could smell me too. He came around in front of me and started caressing my breasts again. Then he would squeeze them, hard, trying to hurt me, and he succeeded. And on and on it went. He would hurt me and then ask me kindly if I wanted to stop. More hurt, more kindness. It was unimaginable how much it hurt. I screamed and I cried, but I also found I enjoyed it. Despite the pain I got more and more turned on. I loved being naked in front of the guys. And in front of Ciara and the other girls. The shining whiteness of my bare chest, now bright red, was evidence of my courage. My pussy was dripping wet.

He went back to the whip. The pain of the strokes across my hard pink nipples and my soft white breasts didn't break me. Over and over I heard the whistle of the whip through the air and felt the crack of the blow against my skin, felt the pain as the leather cut cruelly into my bosom. I felt the shock of the blow, the leap of my body against its bonds, the writhing with the pain. The searing pain that spread from the site of the fine red welt and registered throughout my whole helpless body, the cry that escaped my lips, the plea for mercy. Every thing around me seemed to fade away. All thoughts of time receded. I knew pain in every inch of my body. Nothing I've ever experienced has been as bad as this.

But it got worse. Only for a minute, but it got worse. They spread my ankles apart about a meter. They staked my feet to the ground so I was held that way. The guy who was whipping me picked up the last implement, the thin whip tail for use on my genitals. He stood behind me so when he struck, the thin leather whip would strike me directly between my wide open legs horizontally. Then the tail would curve up and trace out a path directly along the pink slit that was my girlhood and the tail would strike directly on my clit. He hit me thus once and the fiery pain between my legs all but consumed me. My heart was pounding, racing out of control. I cried out for mercy, I begged for relief. Then he hit me again and I don't remember it even happening. Every sensation faded away, my senses dimmed, colors faded, sounds became a hollow rush. I fainted.

I don't remember much about what happened after. I remember the smelling salts, the cold water on my face and my chest. Finally sitting up, finally getting up, finally walking. Finally some food and an ordinary coca-cola which tasted like the nectar of the Gods, or at least like what I always thought the nectar of the Gods must taste like. Ciara was there, and a couple of the younger guys as guards, not that I felt like trying to escape. I hurt all over. I got to shower and wash my hair and go to the bathroom. They put a collar on me, closed with a small padlock. There was a chain attached to a metal loop on the collar and Ciara locked the other end of the chain to a cuff around her wrist. We had about three meters between us. She did not get to keep the key, I noticed. We sat there on the porch until the sun was down and she told me more about where we were.

Later Ciara and a guy took me to the building where I had first been held. As I reported during my escape there was a cell in a first-floor room. Jennifer was in the cell, fast asleep. She had underpants on and a shift hung next to her bed. There was a fridge with bottles of water in it. I was given a pair of underpants, I wouldn't dignify them by calling them panties, and a shift. The guy unlocked the chain from my neck and Ciara's wrist, they locked me in the cell with Jennifer and left. She was still fast asleep. I understood why. I lay on my bed, on my back, naked, and thought about my experience.

It wasn't all bad. I loved the way the whip burned my soft brown body. Loved the way the cool fire that started more in my abdomen than in my cunt grew into the familiar good feelings between my legs. Loved how my breathing stood still and my body exploded when he hit me just when I was ready. I didn't have a whip handy, but I had my right hand already between my thighs. As I worked on myself the pain I felt all over gradually subsided and I came so hard I was limp afterward. Then I went to sleep as soundly as my new roommate.