Love Letters

You turn your tear-streaked face to mine. 'Please,' you murmur, 'use me as you wish.' And I take you repeatedly from behind, bound as you are, disregarding your cries, until we are both sated. Afterwards, I untie you and lead you to the chair. It reclines and we lie together on it -- flesh against flesh -- and whisper to each other. Presently we fall asleep in one another's arms.

A few hours later, I am awakened by a strange slapping sound. You have left my side, to relieve yourself, I presume. I stand. Perhaps I can watch you on the toilet. But I can see that you are not using the facility that is provided for the use of the chastised. Instead you are kneeling on the floor and attempting to cane yourself, lashing your backside over your shoulders.

You are not doing very well. It is hard to flog oneself effectively -- one's reflexes cause a holding back unless disinhibiting drugs are used.

'Stop,' I command you. 'This is no good.' I take the cane from you and I direct you to the stocks which stand on the other side of the chamber. You crawl over to them on your hands and knees. Obediently, you put your head and arms into them. I lock the upper bar into position.

You are bound, and that is a liberation. You are free of any requirement to hold yourself in a punishment position. You are not at risk of exposure to extra strokes as a result of involuntary, uncommanded movement during your chastisement. You can surrender yourself completely to whatever instrument of discipline is applied to you. There is a great joy in bondage.

'Spread your legs,' I tell you. You do not open them wide enough to suit me, so I kick your ankles further apart and shackle them to rings set in the floor. You are completely exposed to me now. You do not complain. You arch your back and raise your bottom invitingly.

You are now ready for me to use however I like. I consider your body. Your back is streaked with recent whip marks. Your tits hang down temptingly. I could grasp them and fondle them and perhaps clamp your nipples. Bulldog clips are available for that purpose. But if I handle your breasts I will soon find myself making love to you in your bondage and this is clearly not what you wish; else why try to whip yourself?

It is your bottom that convinces me; sweetly rounded and pertly offered for my attention. And so I swish the cane through the air. You sigh. Good, I have correctly guessed your desire.

I stand behind you and raise the cane. We are both deeply, physically excited by the thought of what is to come. You breathe deeply in yearning anticipation. I hold the cane high and wait, enjoying the moment.

And then I strike. Strike hard. The cane whips across the crown of your bare buttocks. You cry out. 'Oh!' I strike again, like a cobra. 'Ah!'

I deliver four more strokes of the cane to your waiting behind. You tremble. You gasp and sob. My penis stands proud, my scrotum is drawn tight.

Six more strokes follow, given in quick succession. You shudder and your bottom moves rhythmically up and down. The beating is going well. 'Carry on, my love,' you whisper. 'Cane me harder.'

I do not hesitate, but give you a further twelve cane-strokes. I concentrate on the crease between your buttocks and your thighs. It is here that the maximum impact is felt. You scream aloud in your pleasure and pain. Your body rocks. You lift your backside to meet the descending bamboo. You long for its caress. I give it to you over and over again.

The moisture of arousal runs down the insides of your legs.

Your bottom blazes scarlet. It has taken twenty-four strokes. This is nothing. So I give you a further twenty-four. They are savage. You enter a state of ecstatic delirium. You scream and scream. You writhe enticingly and, unable to control myself, I jet my seed over you, covering your back and your bottom and your legs.

I give you a final twelve loving strokes of the cane. They are the hardest so far. The cane shrills its desire for your flesh. You climax after each lash. The stocks rattle and shake. You bleed.

When it is done and you have regained your composure I release you from your bonds, and you fall to your knees in front of me. You thank me for the gift I have given you. You take my penis into your mouth and suck on it until it rises again and I come copiously into you.

Soon I will feel the need to take you in your bruised and beaten backside, but that can wait until morning. Until then we will rest. But first:

'Dearest D,' you say. 'How many times did you cane me just now?'

'It was sixty strokes, sweet G.'

'Oh. Only next time...'

'If there is a next time...'

'Could it be twice as many? Three times? Four times? Five? More? Hundreds and hundreds of strokes? I want to be beaten by you for hours and hours. I want to bare my bottom to you for endless punishment. Please say you'll cane me again soon.'

'And whip you?'

'Oh yes, that too! But it's my bum that wants you the most.'

'I want your bum too, darling G, but I don't want to wear it out! I do enjoy whipping you very much, you know.'

'Oh, all right.'

'So I will whip you all over your body and fuck you vigorously. I promise it.'

'In my arse?'

'Yes, there of course, but also in your cunt and in your mouth and between your legs and between your tits. It may well be that you learn to enjoy a tit-whipping and a cunt-whipping and a belly-whipping and a back-whipping and a thigh-whipping as much as you like having your bum thrashed. I could tie you to the cross, facing me. I would see your expression as every stroke landed.

'And there's another thing.'

'Go on.'

'I shall expect you to cane and flog me as well. You must work out in the gym to build your upper body strength. Use weights. Nothing less than the most severe castigation will be enough for me. I want to experience what you have experienced: merciless physical punishment by a skilled and powerful practitioner of the whip, the cane, the tawse, the paddle and the flogger. I want to bleed for you, lovely G, as you bleed for me. We will rub our wounds together. We will come together.'

'Right now, over me?'

'All over you. Now shush. I need my beauty sleep.'

Darling D,

Thank you for that, you rotten pervert! I had a great time reading it, although I'm not sure that real-world me is ready for quite such an intense experience as you describe. My poor botty!

Even so, I couldn't help getting a little soggy around the midsection as I read it and I can't deny that Miss Thumb and her four naughty sisters had a bit of a noisy party down there, jumping and jiving and jiggling around. I hope nobody was listening.

Are they making you wear a miniskirt again today? I do hope so. A little tennis skirt, maybe. Does it cover your backside completely when you stand up? I do hope not! White cotton panties under it? A silken thong? I'd love to put my hand up your skirt right now and pull your knickers down. I could kneel in front of you and caress your balls and suck on your dick and make you moan and groan.

Please send me a photo of you bending over in your tiny skirt with your panties half-down ready to receive my attentions. I would like that.

In return, I think you might like a photo of me stretched out on a torture rack, stark naked. If so, check the photos I've attached. There's one where I'm sitting legs akimbo on a wooden chair, touching myself and thinking of you. I'm positively dripping. In another one I'm bending over the end of my bed with my legs fully apart. You can see a cane on the duvet and some marks on me where I've whipped myself, pretending it was you doing it. I'm sure you'd do a much better job. I can't wait to feel your cane on my waiting 'tocks. By the way, there's a great big butt plug stuffed in my botty hole. I'm keeping it ready for you. Then there's one where I'm... but let's keep that one a surprise, shall we?

It's a bit chilly here in December 1925. I'm in a liberty bodice, a thick cotton shirt and a calf-length woollen skirt and tickly woollen stockings (Nylon hasn't been invented yet). You'd have to reach right down to lift it up before you could pull my drawers off, bend down and lick my cunny. I'd probably smack your arse if you did that.

My titties say hi. I've undone a few buttons. When I lean forward they look as if they're going to pop out and offer themselves to you for kissing and licking. They can't wait to see you again. Neither can I. Till then, across the timestreams, it's tarra for now and keep your pecker up for me.

Love,

G

P.S. After you left (without telling me!) J had me in her office. This is what happened. I've written it as if were somebody else, if that makes any sense:

'However I believe that you were trying to seduce D. You were performing a sexual act -- exposing yourself -- during office hours.'

'I was fully dressed!'

'Do not interrupt me! By arranging for your skirt to ride up -- I know this was no accident -- you were attempting to tease and seduce D. Later in the day you visited him in his quarters and had sex with him, did you not?'

'Yes, but...'

'But nothing! You took advantage of his naïvety. You knew he would not be able to resist the temptation to touch you. He's no more than a boy.'

'I told him to fuck off, madam J.'

'That was merely a performative act. You were hoping to avoid such a meeting as we are having now. Well, miss G, I am not as naive as young D. I will now administer the PS to you for the offence of committing a sexual act during working hours.

'Remove your skirt and roll down your stockings.'

'Yes Madam J.'

G complied. Like J, she was wearing a long black woollen skirt and sheer black nylon stockings. Also like J, she was corseted tightly. The black whalebone corset emphasised the swell of her hips and bosom and compelled her to stand and sit stiffly upright. Some employees disliked this confinement. G loved it.

'You may retain your underwear. I have no desire to view your vagina or your public hair. I leave that privilege to the likes of D.'

'Yes Madam J.'

'There is a three-legged stool over there. Fetch it and place it on the carpet in front of my desk.'

She's going to tell me to bend over it. She's going to cane my arse. But why hasn't she told me to take off my knickers?

G collected the stool and put it where J had indicated. It resembled a milking stool and for one wild moment, G wondered if she was going to have to remove her blouse and bra and have her nipples sucked by some weird vacuum apparatus.

'Sit on the stool facing me. Good. Now link your hands at the back of your neck.' G felt slightly ridiculous. The stool's legs were short, so that her knees were higher than her hips.

'Spread your legs wide apart. Further. Further. If it helps, imagine that you are about to receive D's erect penis or my strap-on dildo in your vagina. Wider again.'

J forced G's knees further apart. She was wearing black lace panties and a silk satin garter belt.

'Despite appearances, this is not to be a genital punishment. It will be unbound, so I expect you to maintain your present position by your own strength of will. Do not attempt to close your legs as foul strokes will be doubly discounted.

'I have chosen not to punish you on the posterior, but elsewhere. You are altogether too fond of your backside and I have no doubt that the sight of it after a beating would be most gratifying to D, and that he would want to make love to it at the earliest opportunity. I do not propose to grant either of you that pleasure.

'Now -- prepare yourself!'' And j took up a two-tailed leather tawse and beat G hard on the right inner thigh with it. Its impact made an ear-splitting crack that resonated throughout j's office.

G shrieked. J beat her again. G bellowed, 'No!!!' J thrashed her once more on the same spot. It flamed crimson.

'Oh Christ!' Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

'Keep still!' J ordered. G was rocking back and forth on the punishment stool. 'Oh! Oh! Oh! Madam J! No more!'

J changed sides. She let the tawse hang down before G's tear-streaked face. 'Yes, G, there will be more.'

Then crack! on G's left thigh, at its softest, most delicate part, close to her crotch. Again, crack! G howled her pain. 'Not there! Please not there!'

Crack! Crack! G writhed, but she held her place. She could take another three strokes of the tawse, surely.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

'Arrghh! Oh!!'

Both of G's inner thighs flamed scarlet. The sting and the pain were atrocious. Bruising would no doubt follow.

'Is that it, madam J?'

'Do not be presumptuous! Hold out your right hand, palm uppermost.'

Crack, crack, crack, the tawse fell on G's hand.

'Now the left.'

Crack, crack, crack. J placed the tawse on the desk. The punishment was over. G burst into tears.

'Madam, I am so sorry. I will behave myself in future. I will not flaunt my bottom like that again.'

'Let us hope not. Also, imagine what might happen if you did not keep your bosom under control in Company time. I have an implement that I use on the breasts of women who forget their modesty during working hours. Nobody forgets the Wendy-flogger. Now get up, adjust your dress and report to the San, where Sister will administer whatever unguents may be needed.'

G staggered to her feet and walked carefully out of J' s office. Fuck, but her legs hurt!

She's a vicious cow, that J. See how much trouble you got me into?