Weekend distraction

For a few minutes he left her to hang there crying, allowing the catharsis to work its magic. He didn't speak. Just watched silently as she sobbed.

Finally he removed the whip handle from her pussy, undid the wrist cuffs and took her in his arms, gathering her into him, hugging her tightly as she sobbed into his chest.

He could feel the welts from the whip marking her back and buttocks as he held her. He enjoyed the feel of this tortured flesh, and the knowledge that she had chosen to receive it, and had chosen to receive it from him.

After a few more minutes she had stopped crying and she looked up into his eyes, smiling bravely. "How are you?" he asked.

"Good. Yes good."

"Are you ready for the next stage?"

"Yes."

Because this was not the end of the punishment.

He fastened her wrists together again but this time behind her back. He then reattached the wrist cuffs to the pulley and hauled it up again.

Now she was in a "strappado" position. Wrists hauled up towards the ceiling, forcing her to bend over forwards with her head lower than her hips. Still with her ankles cuffed to the spreader bar.

Although not especially tall, she had long slender legs. Bent over in this position she was, from behind, a spectacular sight.

He squatted down to admire her. He grasped her bottom cheeks and pulled them apart to expose her.

"You really do have a beautiful cunt."

Then he licked her. From pussy, via her perineum, to her anus and then back to her pussy. He pulled her lips apart and put his tongue deep inside, savouring her musk. He gently grabbed each labium in turn with his teeth and pulled, stretching her delicate flesh, until she mewled with pain.

Then he released her and forced his fingers, one, two, three, four into her. Forcing them into her tight hole. Thrusting hard and painfully, knuckle deep, over and over again. She squirmed with pain but she was wet. Sopping wet.

He stood and grasping her hips again, slid his rigid cock deep into her pussy. She gasped in relief as she was finally filled by a cock rather than fingers. He held her, his cock hard and twitching deep inside her.

But then slowly withdrew once again, leaving her pussy empty and grasping for sustenance. "Oh fuck how can you do this to me?" she moaned.

He said nothing. To be honest it took a fair amount of will power and restraint on his part also, not to just fuck her there and then. But the sadist in him enjoyed the torment of his victim too much.

Then it was time for the punishment to resume. With the cane on her bottom. The cane was a slim rod of dowel, about two feet long. Light and whippy. Used gently it offered mild pain. Used brutally it would be a terrible instrument.

He knew where the line lay. He would take her up to the limits, until she was peering over the edge into the abyss, but no further. He would whip the backs of her thighs, up and down, alternating hard and soft strokes, so she never knew what was coming next, but all the while increasing in intensity.

He meticulously marked her with the cane. Red welts crossing her pale flesh. Each a searing line of agony. But one that was connected, as if by electric current, directly to her pussy.

And the pain really was severe. Every time she experienced it she vowed she would never do so again. But she did. She always came back. She craved this. She needed it, and here she could get it. In a safe environment. From a man she trusted, and after whom she lusted, who would treat her as she needed to be treated. And also love her.

As she hung there, head down, her body a livid mass of raised weals, he grasped her by the chin and inserted his cock into her mouth. He was big, and forceful, but she knew she could take it. She had done so many times before. He used her. He loved the sight, and the thought, of this accomplished woman gagging on his cock, thrusting into her beautiful, serious, face.

Then, having sated himself partially, but now fully erect again, he moved behind her and leisurely thrust his cock into her dripping pussy. He fucked her hard and long. Grinding his pubis against her pussy. Stretching her with his cock. Thrusting and thrusting. He held her hips, as she found it difficult to balance with the spreader bar constraining her feet, and her arms still cuffed behind her, strappado style, attached to the rope from the ceiling.

Her juices were running down her legs as she finally orgasmed. Simultaneously he exploded inside her, with a guttural moan, pumping his semen into her cunt. He continued to hold her by the hips as they both came down from their respective climaxes. His cock twitching inside her as the semen continued to leak out. Her pussy pulsating involuntarily.

Finally he released her, his cock slipped out of her, and she sank to her knees, arms still stretched painfully above and behind her. He uncuffed her hands and lowered her gently to the floor. He left her ankles in the spreader bar for the time being.

Once released, one of her hands went straight to her pussy, the other to a nipple, and she started to frig herself. She wasn't finished yet. He always found this rather humbling. He felt he was a good lover, and indeed he was. She had orgasmed, as she usually did, when he fucked her. But it still wasn't enough. She had more orgasms to come, and only she knew what to do to achieve them.

She lay there, on the polished wood floor, legs splayed wide, ankles still cuffed, masturbating furiously as he watched. There was really nothing for him to do. She didn't need him for this. Or rather, she only needed him to watch. She wanted him to watch. She needed him to watch. The act of display was important. So watch he did, drinking in the wanton scene. Finally it became too much and she came again, noisily, in a shattering, body-flexing orgasm.

He knelt next to her and kissed her. He gathered her in his strong arms, lifted her up and carried her through to the bathroom.

Waiting, as usual, was a steaming hot bath that he had laced with aromatic oils and surrounded by scented candles. He stepped in first and she joined him. He sat down and she did too, before lying back, resting her head on his chest and languorously stretching her tortured body, soothing away the torments of the evening.

As she relaxed to his touch and the hot water he whispered in her ear how much he loved her. How beautiful she was. He went through every part of her body telling her exactly what he liked about it - her arms, her hands, her ankles, her breasts, her calves, her thighs, her bottom, her neck, her pussy, her toes, her face, her nose, her lips, her eyes.

He told her how he loved her smell and her taste - her skin, her mouth, her breath, her feet, her armpits, her cunt, her anus.

All the while he caressed her gently. Sensually, rather than sexually. Stroking, kneading, rubbing. Washing away the tensions of the day and the tortures she had endured.

He washed her hair. Massaging her scalp and neck, cleaning the last residue of the City until it was just them. The two of them together.

She loved this part of the routine. She craved the whipping and the other tortures and degradations that he inflicted; they made her feel dirty and used, but she couldn't honestly say she loved it.

But this time, in the bath, with her lover, being soothed, and told her how wonderful she was, after her torture, was always magical.

As he caressed her, and whispered to her she would gently stroke herself, her thumb on her clitoris and one or two fingers slipping inside. It was gentle, in time with the rhythm of his caresses and in so doing she would invariably bring herself to a remarkable full-body orgasm. It was quite different from her earlier orgasms as he whipped her. They were driven by base feelings of subjugation, depravity and submission. This orgasm was more of an overwhelming, all encompassing, feeling of well-being, that spilled over into sexual release that caused her whole body to shake uncontrollably. He held her tightly as she orgasmed, and kissed her hair until the convulsions subsided.

After the bath he would dry her and take her to bed. Snuggled up, naked, together, under the thick duvet, the window open to let in the cool night air, she would sleep the soundest of sleeps. Sated and exhausted, and relishing the prospect of the coming weekend, that they would spend together.

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