The Whip Or The Vibrator Ch. 04

Introduction: This story is inspired by and in tribute to some of the women of this site who go in for the edgier and more extreme kinks and fetishes. I hope they appreciate it.

Brief Recap: After a week of cruel sexual slavery of the Consensual Nonconsent variety at the ranch, CapCunt and Kit-5 were driven back to the airport in San Francisco and set free. They struggled to adjust to normal life, and found each other on their mutual fetish website. Kit-5 flew out to stay with CapCunt. CapCunt didn't know why, but it felt like the right thing to do. When Kit-5 forced herself on CapCunt in the shower to butt-fuck her, something started clicking into place for CapCunt. That night, she cruelly dominated Kit-5, and then they slept pressed together on the couch, like they had in the cage at the ranch.

That pretty much set the pattern for us. Without warning or discussion, one of us would start dominating the other, and the scenario would play out as long as the one in charge kept it going. We alternated. Neither of us was ever the dominant without being dominated between scenarios. There was never any discussion whatsoever, either before or after. The rest of our weekend progressed this way until late Monday afternoon, when I dropped Kit-5 off at the airport. Our goodbye was very brief, as you can imagine.

Oh, one other salient detail about that first weekend (yes, I did say first). The day after our first night sleeping together on the couch, we drove to the nearest Ikea so that I could buy the widest couch I could find. Mine had been a might cramped, and I'd almost fallen off a few times.

I felt a strange sense of, I don't know, satisfaction, maybe inner calm or peace, after that weekend. Kit-5 and I didn't really communicate beyond our sexual/sado-masochistic dynamic. We didn't know much about each other, and I had no idea if we had anything in common beyond what we shared. But I guess we understood each other at some base level that was actually deeper than many relationships. We understood our mutual sexual deviancy. We also had a shared trauma from the experience we'd gone through...the experience we'd put ourselves through. The reminders of that were right there on Duke's profile: our contracts. I actually clicked over and looked at it every couple of days, maybe to remind myself of how I ended up in that van in the first place. I'm sure Kit-5 did as well. And, despite the intense feelings of fear and confusion, humiliation, degradation, and outright trauma that I'd experienced, you know what stayed with me the most and kept growing inside me? That's right, you guessed it: the sexual cravings. How could you even begin to start talking about that with someone outside of it?

Another aspect to my "relationship" with Kit-5 is that we kept our circle closed. All of those contracts on Duke's profile were not lost on me. There was also his friends list. I'd certainly combed through it. But I never reached out to any of those women, ever. If there was a support group waiting to happen, Kit-5 and I didn't want any part of it, for whatever reason. Like so many things, it's not something we ever articulated to each other, or at least in my case, to myself. It was just an instinctual thing not to reach out to anyone besides each other, and not to really talk about it between each other.

As I hinted at above, that was only the first weekend. A month or so later, Kit-5 messaged me about another weekend coming up, where she would be arriving in Indianapolis. That was all the communication there was on that. I showed up at the airport at the given day and time, and there she was. We started in that night where we left off, and carried on until it was time to drop her off at the airport again. These visits became more and more frequent, usually every month or two. At some point I informed her that I would arrive in Portland, and Kit-5 was there to pick me up. She lived in a tiny studio apartment, but the couch was nice and wide. The activities between us grew more intense every time. We were constantly pushing each other's limits, which is saying something, since we'd never established any limits to begin with.

Portland had access to a whole host of BDSM related facilities that simply did not exist in Indiana. On my second visit there, I had Kit-5 drive us on a tour of fetish clubs and dungeons one night. It might have been a little nerve-racking for her, worrying about being recognized in her home-town. Although, it was such an open, liberal area of the United States, that I doubt any social stigma could arise from it. Not that I cared. I knew I was too far from home to worry about things, and it was my "turn" to be the dominate one, so I simply chose not to bother being concerned about her feelings.

The night after our tour we returned to one dungeon in particular. I approached a Whipmaster with a proposition: to whip Kit-5 for $50 in cash for as long and as hard as I wanted. He tried to explain to me that it didn't work that way, but I didn't care. For me to be satisfied, it needed to be a cash transaction. So he took the $50, bound her to a cross in a private room, and whipped her while I masturbated. This big, bald, bearded, muscled, tattooed Whipmaster quickly found his own limits, as he worried about going too far with Kit-5. I firmly told him that I was the one in charge, and the whipping didn't stop until I'd cum. I finally allowed him to un-gag Kit-5 so that she could confirm it, and he then carried through with it. After I'd cum, I paid him another $50 to call her names and fuck her in the ass until I came again. It was a good lesson for him on keeping it up for a long period of time, as I edged myself for as long as I could handle not cumming.

Another crucial aspect to our relationship was our messaging. Kit-5 started opening up about the guys she was meeting, and I did the same. She was basically sending me reports, as if she had to report to me for some reason. This message is a pretty typical example:

Kit-5: Met up with a guy down in Hood River. It's our fourth time. He only reaches out when his wife is out of town. I drove down Friday. He likes to start his weekends this way. He really gets off on beating me with a wooden paddle, with me bent over and spread out over his kitchen table. He jerks himself between whippings in front of my face and edges as long as he can stand it. Last night he took breaks to watch a game while I stayed tied over the table. He never uses my mouth, because he doesn't want to un-gag me, so he uses the other two holes when he's finally ready to fuck. He lubes up in my pussy, and just fucks my ass to cum. Sometimes it takes a long time, after all that edging. Not last night. I'm not welcome to stay over, and he won't let me be seen in town the next day, so I have to drive back afterwards. I made it back to my apartment about 4:30 in the morning.

I don't know why she thought I needed to know any of this, or why she felt compelled to share it. Maybe she couldn't handle a double life completely, after the experience at Duke & Sado-Chick's ranch. If that was so, I was the only person on Earth who could possibly understand what she might be going through. After Kit-5 started this trend, I followed suit, and sent her reports of my hook-ups. We never commented on them, or searched for any sort of context through discussion. Maybe it's because for all the time and effort we put into them, something was missing.

That was true for me at least. I got off with the men I saw, especially with the more brutal dominants, when they would allow me to get off. But I didn't feel anything for these men. There was no emotional connection, and no attempt at any relationships. They were simply props to use me like an object, whereas ironically they were really objects I used in my quest to feel used. Ok, I'm confusing even myself now.

Not only did I not want to have dinner or any conversations with these men, I even skipped the introductory coffee when I could. I imagine I was a refreshing change from the average woman, who even on F*t, wanted a relationship of some kind more often or not. And when my mind drifted during masturbation at home, it always drifted back to Duke & Sado-Chick at that ranch. Duke & Sado-Chick were my captors. I was nothing more to them than prey to them and yet...and yet...there was something there, some sort of connection. I was bonded to them, because of the heightened circumstances of our week together. I didn't want to be, but I couldn't deny it. Kit-5 must have felt the same way.

Kit-5 and I settled into this pattern in our lives for quite some time. We lived our straight lives, but avoided all pretense of romantic relationships. We pursued sado-masochistic hook-ups with men we met online, never seeing any of them with much frequency, or usually for that long. And we got together every month or so to take turns doing cruel things to each other, and I guess communicate by not communicating. But everything evolves, no matter how hard we may try to keep it from happening.

I had a coffee date with a prospective Dom in Cincinnati. It was Saturday, so I expected this to just be a formality, and ditch the coffees to go back to his place. That was my usual M.O. But this guy was different. He seemed off. I didn't get a good vibe from him. I know, after Duke, what right do I have to judge someone by their vibe? But my instinct said cut and run, so I did. I just got up without any warning, walked out that door, and drove away. I whipped out my phone to block him at a stoplight, and kept on driving. He would never be able to find me. I was still hungry for play, so I reached out to a Dom I hadn't bothered with in months. He was happy to ditch a date he was on to tie me up and whip me at his apartment. I messaged Kit-5 later when I got home.

CapCunt: Met a man for coffee in Cincinnati tonight. Something seemed off. Have no idea what. But I walked away and blocked him. This was a new experience. I've never done it before.

Unusually, Kit-5 replied to me.

Kit-5: What did that feel like?

CapCunt: I'm not sure. It feels all right I guess. Maybe I wouldn't be able to say that if I'd gone home with him.

Kit-5: Maybe I should try it sometime, to see what it feels like.

CapCunt: Maybe you should.

Than I added something else that was uncharacteristic of me.

CapCunt: I'm going to masturbate now, and make it last through the videos of you getting ass-fucked in the dirt and whipped while I screamed all those names at you.

She didn't respond for almost 24 hours, and then...

Kit-5: I'm touching myself to the video of your first whipping when I got the vibrator. You screamed in so much pain. I wish it went on longer.

I had nothing to say to that, so I did not dignify it with a response. I heard from her again about a week later.

Kit-5: I tried that thing you did.

CapCunt: What thing?

Kit-5: I got up in the middle of a coffee-meet and just walked away. Then I blocked him.

CapCunt: He felt off to you?

Kit-5: No, he felt fine. Pretty average, really. I just wanted to see what it felt like.

I waited about ten minutes before responding to this.

CapCunt: And?

Kit-5: It feels all right, I guess. It feels like something I can do.

I thought she left off the most important part: It feels like something I can do...now.

The next shift in our dynamic happened a few weeks later.

Kit-5: A woman reached out to me, a Domme. So, I met up with her for coffee. She asked me why I identified as straight on F*t instead of bisexual. I told her it was because I was straight. Then she asked me why I met up with her then. "Why not?" I said. She switched the coffees to wine without asking for my opinion, and then drove me to her place. She was mean, and hard. It was different than it is with a man. I think...I think, she got into my head more. She didn't care about cumming, or letting me cum. The only thing she was interested in was making me scream until I cried. Then she threw my clothes at me and threw me out. I had to walk back to the café to get my car.

CapCunt: Are you going to see her again?

Kit-5: I won't know until she asks me.

I had to think about this. This was hardly the first woman Kit-5 had ever been with. Yep, that's what I needed to point out.

CapCunt: This is hardly the first woman you've ever been with.

It took over a half an hour for Kit-5 to respond to that.

Kit-5: It feels like it is.

I felt like I was crossing some sort of line we'd tacitly agreed never to cross with my response, but I did it anyway.

CapCunt: You've been with me more times than you can count at this point.

Again, it took Kit-5 quite a while to respond to that.

Kit-5: It feels like it doesn't count, exactly. I'm not sure how to put it, but you know what I mean.

CapCunt: What about....you know?

I couldn't bring myself to type that woman's name. Hell, the nickname she had was one I'd given her in my head. I'd never said the words Sado-Chick out loud before. Any discussion of her was of only the most oblique nature between Kit-5 and I. I felt like I was opening something up neither of us was ever going to be ready for by bringing her up even this much.

Kit-5: That was...I don't know. This was different. Different from that, and...and us.

CapCunt: So you like women now.

Kit-5: Not especially.

CapCunt: So you won't be seeing her again.

Kit-5: I won't know until she asks me.

Something snapped in me. I was already scheduled to fly into Portland a few weeks later. When Kit-5 met me at the airport, I led her into the women's restrooms. I walked her down a long aisle of stalls until we reached the handicapped stall at the end, which is wider, of course, and guided her in. I turned Kit-5 to face me, Then I reached into my purse, and brought out a pair of rolled-up socks; the same socks I gagged her with that first time. They were unwashed again, just like that first time. I kept them sealed in a plastic baggie, and had to take them out of it first. She remembered them all right, I could tell. I stuffed them in her mouth, looked her square in the eye...and slapped her. It was hard enough for her to feel it. Her face turned from the shock of it, then righted itself. The sound reverberated in the extra echoey restroom. The mass of ambient sound around us suddenly went dead. Everyone had heard it. I kept my eyes locked on hers, and slapped her again, in the silence. There was a real look of shock in her eyes now, as she turned back to face me. She met my gaze, and then looked down. She was trembling. Tears were welling. I kept us there in the silence for a long, long moment. Then I grabbed the back of her hair to steady her, reached in, and pulled the socks from her mouth. I zipped them back in the bag, and put them back in my purse. Then I opened the door and led her out. We walked the length of the restroom and exited. All eyes were on us. The only sound was of our heels.

The socks stayed zipped up in the baggie in my purse from then on. They are still there now.

Why had I done this? To this day, I have no idea. But it wasn't something spur-of-the-moment. There's nothing spontaneous about bringing a pair of socks in your purse from Indiana to Portland for one particular reason. But I still didn't know what I felt, and why I felt it. I only knew this felt right.

Maybe it's because letting a woman use her put a spotlight on what we'd been doing, a spotlight I wasn't ready for. It was like "we" as a thing existed, but we didn't exist. We weren't a couple, we weren't friends, we didn't even know each other's names. Our communication was kept to the bare minimum. Yet, the level of our intimacy was deeper than any I'd ever had with another human being. It was the same for her, I knew it. Did I feel a betrayal here? Of did I feel a change to our dynamic, and threatened by that? I don't know. I still don't know. All I know is that I'd planned to slap her in that restroom ever since our exchange that night, and it felt right.

We didn't discuss the restroom, of course. But it did get our usual itinerary going a little early. We stopped for dinner, then went to her apartment. As soon as we entered, Kit-5 shut the door and twisted the deadbolt. Then she grabbed me by the hair and slammed me down on the narrow counter that separated the kitchenette from the rest of her little studio. She held me down on that counter as she undid her belt. It was nice and slow, as if she had all weekend. I was going to get a belt-whipping. But...no. Kit-5 played with it in her free hand, getting it gripped just right, and then...

Wham!

Studded black leather came crashing down just inches from my face. I just about jumped off the counter, except that Kit-5, who was younger and stronger than me, had an iron grip that was keeping me down. I strained to look up. It looked like a faint smile on her face up there, or maybe I was just imagining it.

She lifted the belt. I could see marks where the studs hit the counter.

Wham!

It slammed down again, maybe even harder. Then up, and...

Wham! Wham! Wham!

The belt kept slamming down, so close to my face. I closed my eyes the second time. But then, as it kept coming on down, I opened them. I watched, as the heavy studded leather kept crashing down in front of me. The sound was deafening. The shock waves felt like an earthquake.

This was different, different than anything I'd felt before, between us, or with anyone else. I was scared. I felt fear, real genuine fear. I was nearly hyperventilating. I hadn't even felt anything this extreme that first time in my shower with her strap-on. For as scary and unexpected as that had been, I knew the whole point of it was to fuck me.

Then it came to me. The last time...the only time...that I'd ever been this scared had been in that van, and that first day on that ranch. Oh God, how that made me feel...

I couldn't tell you how many times Kit-5 slammed the belt down on the counter. But I can tell you she stopped, eventually. She let the belt rest on the counter, right in front of my face, on top of her now pitted counter. She'd ruined it. I felt the rustling as she exchanged her left hand on my head for her right hand, being careful to keep the pressure on me. Then I felt her left hand. It traveled down my back...down...down...all the way to my bottom. I was wearing a short skirt. We usually wore those around each other now. Access, you know.

She reached inside, felt my panties. They were wet...soaking wet. Absolutely dripping. Kit-5 squeezed down there, getting a good handful of my moisture, then her hand let go. Next thing I knew, she was wiping my moisture off on my cheek. I moaned.

The hand went back down to my panties. She reached in, and started fondling. She fingered and wandered and played around down there. I started ramping up fast...and she stopped.

Noooooo! I was so hot, and so close. I needed this.

"Ple...please. Please." I'd actually begged. This was a first for me...for us.

I guess that did the trick. Her hand went back inside my panties, and stayed there. She didn't bother with any finesse down there. She just went for the clit and got me off to a nice strong orgasm in record time. I shuddered as she held me down on that counter while she got me off. There was nothing in my mouth, so I'm sure my screams alerted the whole building that something was happening here. Hell, I didn't live here, why hold back?

As I came down from that Earth-shaker of an orgasm, I realized that her hand was still in there, still kneading away. Kit-5 took her hand out of my hair, and I saw the belt rise. Then it came crashing down again. She did this a few times. I just stayed in my place. She didn't have to hold me down on the counter anymore. I wasn't going anywhere. After a few more hits, she pulled my panties down and...and...