tagBDSMLinda and the Lash Ch. 03

Linda and the Lash Ch. 03


I chose a deliberately provocative outfit for the next Friday as Brad was due to pick me up from work to take him to his "floggery" up in the valley.

I put on a tight red blouse which hugged my breasts. I was wearing a black bra with high uplifts. My only other outer garment was a tight little black PVC miniskirt, which hid a little black thong – hid, that is, unless I bent well over, something I fully intended to do in front of Brad! My legs were bare, my feet shod in ridiculously high-heeled shoes, red like the blouse.

My boss was intrigued. "You look a hooker dressed for a date with a sex maniac, Linda," he laughed, as we discussed an item on the baseball myths story, which he disagreed with. I was able to show him sufficient records to prove that me and our author were right.

Brad drove into our car park just before 5 o'clock, and I dashed from the building and leaped into his little Ford GT40 and gave him a swift kiss and a big hug.

"Fuck, Linda," he laughed, "are you going to some hookers' convention?"

I grinned and retailed my boss's remark.

"Well," said Brad, as he drove out of the car park and headed for the freeway, "it's just perfect. I've got a couple of guests here from London – they arrived on Wednesday and they're dying to meet you."

I felt a twinge of disappointment. I craved for Brad and the discipline of his lash, then the tender strength of his fucking. I didn't want guests slowing me down.

"Who are they?" I asked, pouting somewhat petulantly as Brad negotiated the rush hour madness that's LA traffic.

"The man is a university professor from Cambridge," Brad informed me. "He's a member of our authors group in Punishment Publications and – and I hope you don't mind this – he's black. I hope you've got nothing against black men."

I tried to shrug off my disappointment that there were visitors at Brad's home by making a joke: "The only thing I've got against black men is usually their faces on my pussy. Or their cocks on my cunt." Total lies, but Brad laughed.

"Good then you'll like Gary – his given name is Garfield, but to spare him we abbreviate it to Gary," said my author-cum-whipmaster, as he gunned the Ford into a gap.

"What's he lecture in?" I asked, tightening my seat belt a tad.

"He specializes in 18th century American history, with emphasis on the slave trade, hence his interest in aspects of flagellation," said Brad. "And you'll like his wife – Carmen, she's black, beautiful and 40. He's 50, but young for his age."

"And she's his flogging interest?" I asked, curious now.

"Any naked woman tied down to a torture bench is Gary's flogging interest," said Brad, sliding his hand under the hem of my miniskirt and pushing it up to my now rather moist black thong.

Then Brad changed the subject. "Tell me, what baseball myths have you been working on to further disillusion me over our national sporting pastime," he asked.

"Nothing much," I said, "but I found out something interesting about Hack Wilson."

Brad nodded. "Chicago Cubs, 1930, 191 runs batted in, will stand as a record for all time," he said.

"Correct," I nodded. "But a lot of people think that 1930 with his ribbies and his 58 home runs was a fluke. A lot of people in Chicago still call him 'a one season wonder'."

Brad smiled sideways at me, his eyes still on the road. "And you are going to disabuse me?" he asked.

"Certainly," I said, smugly. "Between 1926 and 1930 he averaged 35 homers and 141 RBIs a season. Then, sad to say, the booze got to him."

The rest of the ride went in near silence, Brad no doubt thinking what a smarty-pants I was, me wondering if I was going to get on with Gary and his wife, Carmen. I needn't have worried!

On arrival, I stepped from the car, Brad took my bag and we walked into the air lounge. Seated on a long leather couch, their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths locked in a lingering kiss were two black people. Two naked black people.

"Ahem," Brad coughed and the pair disengaged and stood to greet us.

"Linda this is Gary and Carmen – I guess you can work \out which is Gary and which is Carmen," he laughed.

Gary, a tallish, silver-haired man with a ripplingly-muscled body, sparkling brown eyes and a massive erection which displayed his lovely circumcised cock, stepped towards me and kissed me gently on the cheek.

"My dear," he said, in a deep, heavily-accented English voice, "I've heard so much about you and I'm hugely interested in seeing you suffer under the lash. Meet Carmen."

And he stepped aside and his wife also held out her hand. "Hi honey," she smiled, as I admired her wonderful nude figure. "Take no notice of Mr Hard-On here, he's just getting excited at the thought of giving me my daily whipping."

Like her husband, Carmen had a well-educated English accent, and also a well-toned body. Her breasts were full – they must have been 40 inchers, I thought. Her buttocks were lush, her thighs large, her calves well-muscled. But everything was in proportion. Big but beautiful. At her pussy her pubic hair was shaved back into a severe crew cut, and the blackness gleamed there like ebony, the pubic hair stubby and crinkly. Her head was cut in a similarly short style, cropped severely back. She exuded sex appeal.

"Well, we're off to get changed," said Brad. "We'll come down to the chamber to watch you work on her, Gary," he added, then took me by the arm and led me upstairs.

In his bedroom, Brad quickly stripped off, revealing his open-fronted "whipmaster" briefs, his seven-inch erection standing out stiff and proud from his bunched balls.

I stepped out of my skirt and threw my blouse on the bed. "Magnificent," said Brad, "you look good enough to eat. But that will have to wait. Leave the bra and thong on, it will excite Gary to see you in your sluttish lingerie."

Then he took me by the hand and we walked downstairs to the basement. At the door of the "floggery", Brad pressed his mouth against my cheek and whispered: "Don't worry, I'll look after you. And remember, it's just some erotic fun and games."

He opened the door and we stepped inside the torture chamber. There, lying strapped down on the leather-padded X-shaped bench was Carmen, her lush large body looking superb. At her splayed open thighs he sex lips gleamed garishly pink in the strong light, a shocking contrast to the rest of her deep brown skin.

Gary stepped away from his wife and smiled at us. "Ah, lovely, quite lovely," he said to Brad. "I quite see what you mean. A charming, coltish young creature."

Then, with a wave of his hand towards his wife, Gary said: "I'm afraid Carmen here is quite dry, Brad. I wondered if you'd like to get her rather more aroused before I get started? Say 'no' if you wish, and I'll do the job myself."

From where I stood it was obvious that Carmen's pussy was fully aroused prior to her punishment, but Brad and Gary obviously had other ideas!

"It will be my pleasure, dear chap," said Brad, in an irritating mock-British accent, and with that he moved to where he was standing between Carmen's totally accessible pussy. With one hand he guided his erection so that it grazed along the bound woman's sex trench.

"You have no objections to me lubricating you a little, do you my darling?" he asked Carmen, in an obsequious tone.

"No master, please feel free," came her whispered response, as Brad continued to rub his cock's helmet against the naked woman's minge.

Brad then knelt to the lushly-carpeted floor of the chamber and placed his mouth against Carmen's pussy. As he did so, Gary stepped beside me and placed a proprietorial near hand against one of my bare buttocks, while he brought his free hand around to cup my right breast and stroke it with gently, feather-like touches.

Soon Carmen was sobbing in delight as Brad's lips and tongue worked her towards a climax, but before she could enjoy the delights of an orgasm, Brad – his cock thicker than I'd ever seen it – stood and stepped back from his fellow author's wife.

"I think she's ready now, Gary. Give us a good display, there's a good chap," he said, and moved to me, kissing me softly so I could taste and smell the pussy juice on his mouth before he gently took me to a large easy chair, set off at a slight angle and providing a perfect view of Carmen's naked and bound body.

Brad sat and indicated I should settle in his lap. I did, nuzzling up to his manly features, licking in his ear, kissing him, stroking his stiffness. I wanted him, but I was intrigued to watch what was about to unfold with Gary and Carmen.

From a bench of implements, the hard-cocked black man selected a little lash with two thongs and a short leather grip. It was black and shone evilly in the light.

Then he walked to the area between the lower arms of the X-bench and traced the flogger's two tips along his wife's sex trench.

"And now, dear Carmen, would you care to tell us why you're here and about to be punished?" asked Gary, stroking the implement up and down Carmen's luscious-lipped labia.

"Because I refused to be taken by Master Brad, master," Carmen intoned in a quivering, frightened voice. I also noticed that she pronounced the words "master" as "massuh".

Brad kissed me on the mouth and whispered: "Great little actress. Deserves an Oscar – or a whipping!"

Gary continued with his "interrogation".

"But Master Brad is the plantation overseer, he's allowed to 'take you' as you so genteely put it," said Gary, the two-thonged quirt still tracing a delicate path along his wife's sex lips.

"I'm sorry, master, I'll behave from now on, I promise, only please don't flog me, please!" The begging seemed legitimate.

Suddenly Gary's hand moved back and the quirt cracked home with a splat on Carmen's pussy.

"Don't flog you? Stupid child. Refuse the advances of my overseer and that's all you will get."

And the quirt struck home again. I looked at Brad. His gaze was transfixed on the flogging take place in front of him. Carmen had started to moan, then sob. Gary continued his attack, the quirt making splatting sounds as it cruelly caressed the lush labia lips.

Finally, after some 20, possibly 25 strokes, the 40-year-old woman broke out into pleas for mercy.

"Please massuh, mercy, please, massuh, no more, pretty please," Carmen called out as her pinioned pussy continued to take the full brunt of the flogger's strokes.

And then Gary was done, stepping stiff-pricked away from his victim.

Gary stepped over to the chair where Brad and I had witnessed his whip work. "And now Overseer Brad, you may have your way with the little slut. But I suggest before you take her you taste her punished pussy. I daresay you'll find it extremely tasty."

"Thank-you, sir," said Brad, standing and moving towards the naked woman.

Gary then sat in the easy chair and pulled me onto his lap, his mouth seeking mine as he did so. As I sat on him I felt his cock pressing between my thighs, hot and sticky at the tip. I ran my hand down and stroked its superb thickness.

As I caressed his manhood, I watched as Brad knelt in front of the "slaves" bare pussy and resumed his oral adoration there. Only now, Carmen's pussy must have been throbbing like crazy after Gary's assaulted with the dual-tipped quirt.

As Brad's mouth began its work on her minge, Carmen began to moan and groan, occasionally crying out "Oh for fuck's sake, no more, please, no more" but Brad was inexorable, licking and laving at her sex trench.

Gary's free hand was roving around my right breast, cupping my bra and thrusting gently with his cock as my hand worked on it. Then he kissed me softly and smiled: "There, that was fun, wasn't it?"

I broke from his kiss and looked at his extremely handsome face. "Fun for whom?" I asked.

"Why, for Carmen and me and – I hope – for Brad and you, my dear," he said in that upper-crust accent.

Then we both watched as Brad's oral attentions were now bringing Carmen to a climax. It had taken him a while to arouse her past the pain that must have been throbbing and tingling in her pussy but slowly the pleasure began to exceed the pain.

"Oh fuck, that's gorgeous Brad, tongue fuck me, tongue fuck you brute!" Carmen cried, and then she was coming on his mouth, noisily – one of the noisiest climaxes I'd ever heard.

As her sobbing ebbed, Brad stood and placed his cock against the panting woman's cunt. All pretence of master-slave roles were gone as Carmen smiled up at him with a beatific grin.

And then Brad was sliding up her cunt, thrusting, his buttocks flexing, then relaxing, flexing, relaxing, as he moved his cock up and down her sex tunnel. It took him only a minute or two to reach his own, much quieter, climax.

As his excitement peaked, Brad jerked away from Carmen's pussy and with a swift double jerk of his hand on his sex-smeared slippery shaft he shot a spray of spunk onto her beautiful brown belly, then another shorter plume, then a third, which merely dribbled from his cock head to splat onto her mons.

After both had recovered, Brad moved around the bench, unstrapping Carmen's body from her bonds. As she rose from the bench she stepped into Brad's arms and kissed him slowly on the mouth, rubbing her cum-stained belly and crotch against his.

"Thank-you, darling, what a lovely way to end a flogging," she grinned.

Then she moved to her husband where I was still seated in his lap, stroking his hard-on. "And thank-you, you darling plantation owner, where would I be without you?" she asked, planting a kiss on his mouth.

Gary laughed and told her: "A darn sight less sexually fulfilled, you hussy."

Brad joined in the laughter and announced: "Come on, time for dinner. We can work on this little piece of trash after." And he held out a hand to assist me from my seat on Gary's stiffy.

Over dinner – rare fillet steaks, green salad and another of those big Australian reds that Brad described as "a real ball tearer" – Gary discussed the politics at Cambridge, his wife spoke of similar machinations at BBC television where she worked as a presenter, Brad railed against the international laws on copyright.

For my part I repeated my stories of baseball myths. I thought I sounded shallow alongside the others but Gary, especially, seemed very interested in my New York Mets stories and was particularly keen to read up on the flawed Cub, Hack Wilson.

After clearing away the dishes, Brad announced: "And now for the dessert, gang – I present Linda and her lovely little librarian's pussy!"

I was still clad in my lingerie, the others were totally naked – you couldn't count Brad's cock-revealing shorts as a garment. Brad led the way downstairs and while Carmen and her husband snuggled up on the spectators' chair, my lovely whipmaster removed my bra and then my thong.

I stood nude, displaying my breasts and shaved pussy for the inspection by the audience.

"Lovely," said Gary, in a low murmur. "Perky young breasts, slim pussy lips, but long legs. Charming, my dear Linda."

Then I was strapped down to the X-bench. Like last week, Brad produced his favourite pussy punisher for my chastisement and walking around in front of my exposed pussy he placed one hand on my minge and ran his fingers from anus to mons in a slow, teasing movement. My pussy was, I knew full well, dripping wet.

"Oh dear," said Brad, turning to Carmen and Gary, "I'm afraid we have a problem. Linda is obviously very scared at what's about to happen to her. Her pussy is very dry – far too dry for me to commence with her punishment yet. Gary, would you be a chum and lubricate her for me?"

The word "chum" and Brad's mock English accent when he spoke it, irritated me but that irritation was quickly forgotten when I felt Gary's hot breath on my minge and then his tongue lapping at my sodden sex. For some minutes he sucked and laved at my labia until I was starting to rise towards an orgasm.

Sensing my impending excitement, Brad stepped to his "chum" and said: "Thanks, Gary, I think that will do for now."

The university lecturer stood, his cock swaying stiffly and displaying pre-cum dripping from its circumcised helmet, and smiled down at me. "Thank-you, my dear, such a tasty little twat," he grinned before resuming his place in the chair, his naked wife curled up on his lap.

Now Brad took charge, stepping to behind the head of the bench and pressing his erection down to my mouth. I took the first two inches or so in, but the position was awkward to get any real sucking going. Realising this, Brad tweaked my right nipple with a painful little pinch, then stepped off until he was level with my waist.

Unlike the scenario chosen by Gary and Carmen for their exhibition of pussy punishment, Brad had no intention of inventing a "story" for my torment.

Placing the punisher against my minge he drew it back then brought it down sharply so the leather splatted against my sex.

"Aaargh," I cried, feeling the stunning shock of the flogger's impact.

"Oh how glorious, she screams," cried Gary from the chair. "So sweet."

Another blow fell on my defenseless pussy, sending myriads of little electric shocks through my labia and clitoris. "Ummmmf," I called out, trying to choke back the pain.

"I'm sorry about this," said Brad, stroking the flogger against my sex with a slow stroke. "I can gag her if it's annoying."

"Please don't," said Carmen, this time. "It's lovely hearing her cry out. Let her vocalise her pain."

And Brad continued with my discipline. The flogger came down once more, sending more shock waves through my genitals, shock waves which punched up into my belly. I gritted my teeth and managed to remain silent.

Then Brad flashed the flogger down but at the last nanosecond pulled it up and away from my minge. "Ummf," I called.

"Really, Linda," my punisher laughed, "crying before you've been hurt. You want something to cry about?" And with that he swept the leather splat across my sex lips. The shocks stormed once more through my pussy, thrilling – yet painful.

Brad continued to work on my poor pussy for about another 20 strokes, interspersing them from time to time with "fake" approaches which had me tensing every muscle in my body, a sight not lost on Gary and Carmen who chuckled at my trepidation.

At last my torment was over and Brad bent over to kiss me on the mouth.

Then, standing, he turned to the black bystanders. "Now Gary, if you would like to give her some cunnilingus I'm sure she would be most appreciative."

"No!" came a sharp cry. It was Carmen who stood up from her stiff-pricked husband's lap. "Gary has already tasted her. It's my turn, Brad."

I looked at the magnificently-bodied Amazon woman, her breast full and hard-nippled, her crinkly little patch of pubic hair gleaming at her dark sex. Although I'm no lesbian, I must confess she looked stunning!

"Be my guest," smiled Brad, bowing slightly to the big-breasted beauty and he walked away from the X-frame.

Carmen approached the bottom arms of the frame and knelt carefully in front of my punished pussy. She placed her nostrils inches from my lips and inhaled.

"Hmmm, what a glorious aroma," she whispered, her mouth so close I could feel her breath on my pussy.

Then her tongue traced from my tight little anus up to my cunt, between my throbbing labia lips and on to my sore little clit.

"And what a gorgeous tasting little quim," said Carmen, in her upper-crust BBC accent.

Then she started to pay superb oral attention to my poor little pussy, her lips and tongue inflicting glorious pangs of pain as she worked over the area so recently flogged by my whipmaster.

At first tingles of electric-like pain flashed through my pussy at every touch, every kiss, every lick, but gradually the pain ebbed and the pleasure started to replace it.

As Carmen began to arouse me towards my orgasm, Brad and Gary stepped to either side of my upper body and unstrapped the bonds which held me down. Then, pulling up two little stools, they sat on either side of my upper chest and each took a nipple in their mouths and to augment Carmen's exquisite cunnilingus they began to suck and kiss each erect little nubbin.

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