Femdom: Widowers

She gave a kind of gleeful laugh, gripped my throat with all her might, and throttled me hard while I orgasmed. Her cruelty only fuelled my lust, and the filthy, degenerate climax that I experienced was, perversely, one of the best I had ever had. To have a woman starve you of oxygen while you orgasm is perhaps one of the most divine experiences possible. She held me firm and breathless until I stopped spurting, then quickly released her grip. I fell to the ground, gasping for air as the spasms of my orgasmic aftershocks shook me.

She kindly allowed me a moment to recompose myself, then asked; "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thank you Lucy," I blurted through my hot, throbbing throat, "Thank you for choking me and thank you for letting me cum".

She smiled sweetly. "it was a pleasure" she said.

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The following week Lucy messaged me again; 'Come here now and bring your tools'. I grabbed my tool bad and headed over straight away.

Lucy, bright and beautiful in a long, loose dress, greeted me at the door and invited me inside, then she did something really unexpected; she put her arms over my shoulders and kissed me deeply. Her advances caught me off guard, and she was probing my mouth with her tongue before I really knew what was happening. I reciprocated as best I could, but with a tool bag in one hand and a drill in the other, I could not return the embrace, so I snogged her awkwardly as she hung from me.

"I want to play a very special game with you today" she said when at last she let me go, "Jonathan hated it, but it's my favourite... are you up for it?"

"Sure!" I said, without any inclination of what the 'game' might be.

She beamed, turned, and led me down to her cellar.

"Open that box there" she said, pointing to another of the cardboard-wrapped objects in the corner of the room.

I took my Stanley knife from my tool bag and carefully sliced the cardboard open to reveal some lengths of rope, two chunky pulley racks and various other wheels and fixings.

"I want that big, fixed pulley on the ceiling there please," she said, pointing to a beam high above the middle of the room, "then I want the loose pulley to dangle below it, and a rope from the loom to go over to a pulley on that beam close to the wall, and I want the loose end to dangle down from there and wrap around that cleat"

"Ok!" I said. Threading the pulleys might be complicated, but fixing the pulleys and cleat hook would be relatively simple.

"Make sure they can bear a lot of weight" she instructed, then she looked me up and down as though sizing me up. "100 kilos should be plenty" she added.

I went home briefly to fetch my step ladder and some heavy duty bolts, then set to work fitting the various hooks and wheels. Lucy let me work alone, so I occupied my mind with thoughts of being suspended in her cellar, imagining what she might do to my body. I fantasized that if she was to whip me whilst I was suspended from the ceiling, I might at last be able to swing around to see her naked.

After a couple of hours of work, the pulleys were in place and threaded with a long rope whilst a shorter rope hung from the 'free' pulley above the centre of the room, dangling ominously. I climbed the stairs and called for Lucy.

She joined me a few minutes later and I led her by the hand down into the cellar to show her the result of my efforts. She held the dangling rope and looked at me innocently, one foot up on its toes and shifting in mock awkwardness, then she went to her tall cabinet and unlocked the doors.

"take your clothes off", she said sweetly, "then face the rope and do not turn around."

I did as I was told, folding my clothes neatly and placing them in a small pile by the wall, then I returned to the rope, and, with my back to Lucy and her cabinet of delights, I looked only at the carabiner hook that adorned the end of the dangling cord. The cabinet doors opened, and Lucy took something from a shelf within, then she came up behind me.

"I'd normally want to see your face for this," she said, "but you still haven't earned the right to see me naked, so unfortunately I'm going to have to cover your head."

With that, she slipped a heavy leather hood over my head, pulled it down around my neck, and tightened it with a buckle. The leather was sculpted to fit a human face, with cavities for the ears, nose and chin, but there were no eye holes, just small perforations in the areas of the mouth and nostrils. I could see nothing.

Next, she went back to her cabinet and returned with a broad collar which she also fastened around my neck. Then I felt the carabiner on the dangling rope being attached to the collar behind my neck, and the weight of the slack rope tugging me down slightly.

Lucy crossed to the wall and took the pulley rope, pulled a couple of meters through, and I felt the dangling rope become taut. A moment later I was pulled to my tiptoes by my neck.

"Stay there" she said, though I had no choice, and she returned to her cabinet and began the ceremony of undressing and tugging her tight boots on. I alternated between standing on my tiptoes to relieve the burden on my neck, and letting the collar take my weight to ease the strain on my aching feet.

When Lucy was ready I heard her clacking across the room to stand behind me, and I pictured her nude; her tanned skin and slight bikini lines; her naked, ample breasts, heavy enough to have a crease; dark, erect nipples; soft abs; firm thighs... I imagined her pussy and hoped that her labia would be heavy and pronounced, her vulva large and wide.

"Turn to your left" she directed.

I used my tiptoes to carefully swivel myself around until I thought that I was facing in the right direction.

"Do you like your predicament?" she asked.

"Yes" I admitted, choking slightly from the strain on my neck.

"Jonathan did so object to this style of torture, but I find it exhilarating, don't you?"

"Yes!" I said, though I didn't know what was going to happen to me.

"I can tell!" she said as, suddenly, I felt a thin, hard object pressing against the underside of my balls. I could tell that my cock was at full mast by the strain that its weight put on my groin, and my testicles were thrust forward my by my closed thighs.

The cold cane lifted my balls for a moment, then released them. There was a silent pause for a moment, then I heard the cane slice through the air and felt an awful, biting pain across my backside. My legs instinctively buckled as though trying to get me into the foetal position, and the collar around my neck took the strain of my entire weight. My yelp was cut off by the tightening around my throat and ended up sounding more like a choke, then the pain of the cane stroke started to bite. It was so sharp and concentrated that it felt as though she had sliced my skin. I put my hands to my buttocks and rubbed them hard, trying to soothe away the pain, but it stayed, sharp and hard on my poor backside as though the cane were still there.

"Move your hands!" Lucy demanded. I rubbed my bottom one more time then reluctantly brought my hands to my sides.

The second stroke hit me just above my thighs, at the very lowest edge of my buttocks, and stung even more that the first. I bent my legs with the pain, choked on the collar, and rubbed my backside again. The new pain simply added to the first, and took me to a new level of agony. I realised that I was constantly moaning with the pain, and tried to stop myself.

"Move your hands!" Lucy commended again. I did as I was told, and held my arms straight and rigid at my sides.

Lucy struck me again, my knees buckled again, the collar tightened around my throat and I cried out in agony. My legs began to tremble uncontrollably, making it hard for me to regain my posture and relieve the weight from the choking collar. I rubbed my backside and could feel welts from the first two strikes starting to rise. The knowledge that Lucy was deliberately damaging me excited me beyond words, and I'm sure that I was stiffer than ever despite the torture.

"Move your hands!" Lucy demanded. Through the callous words I could hear her delight; that unmistakeable accent of words spoken with a smiling mouth, and I knew that Lucy was enjoying herself. I resolved to give her what she needed to be happy, and I raised my hands and laced my fingers behind my head. I stood as rigidly as possible and accepted the next three strokes without falling form my toes or reaching for my backside. The pain continued to escalate as the sting of each stroke added to the last. For every strike my flesh felt as though it were being ripped, and the knotting pain deep in my muscles seemed to get tighter and tighter.

After the sixth stroke I lost my balance and hung from my neck for a few long seconds while I tried to re-orientate myself and get my feet back on the ground. My eyes began to fill with water and I started to realise that I would have to beg my way out of this. I stood as tall as I could, relieving the strain on my collar. "Lucy!" I pleaded, "Lucy, I beg you!, please stop!"

Lucy clacked toward me in her high heeled boots and brought her mouth to my covered ear.

"Say that again" she said.

"Lucy... please stop!, I beg you...."

"But we're having such a good time!... aren't we?"

"Yes", I sobbed. "yes Lucy..."

"I'll let you into a secret Mark," she whispered, "All this whipping is making me very wet. Would you like a taste?"

"Yes Lucy... yes Lucy..."

"Ok then... but, oh no!, you're wearing the hood!... Well I guess that little pleasure is going to have to wait until next time. Now settle down and stop blubbering... I want to really fuck you up today"

I suffered another 34 strokes, choking on the collar and convulsing wretchedly from the pain in my bottom. I could not stop crying, or rubbing the multiplying ridges that marked my cheeks. My legs shook uncontrollably and I shamelessly, continuously begged Lucy to stop. She did not. Nor did she soften her blows. She just kept on thrashing my poor backside with her vicious cane, obviously enjoying herself immensely. Occasionally she laughed when her strikes caused me to make an unusual body shape or sound, and she taunted me throughout in a happy, condescending voice; "Poor baby", or "Is this too much for you?".

At 40 strokes she finally stopped. I have no doubt that she would have continued to 50 had I not been crying and begging so much.

"I bet you can see why Jonathan hated this?" she asked. I simply cried.

"Well, time to step things up" she said.

She crossed to the cleat on the wall and untied the long rope. There was a moment when the cord on my collar slackened, then she pulled a couple more meters of rope through the pulleys and I was lifted clean off the floor by the choking collar.

I spluttered and coughed, grabbed the rope with my hands, kicked pointlessly with my legs and swung to-and-fro. Blood began to pump hard and fast in my head and neck.

Lucy tied off the end of the rope and returned to her position on the floor.

"Did I ever tell you that this is how my husband died?" she asked, rhetorically.

I could not answer.

"I suppose I must have let him to dangle a little too long"

She teased the cane across my scarlet bottom, ready to resume my torture.

"You know, I've just had an amazing idea.... how about we get married?"