Wulfrunner
Posts: 6
Joined: 3/5/2011
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There's nothing like a woman in leather, especially when that leather consists of straps binding wrists and ankles. Naked and spread-eagled. Damn. It's even better when the woman is a submissive like my savannah, already wet and glistening from mere anticipation. She'd been building for two months, and it showed in the breathlessness of her glistening face, in the pleading of her rock-solid nipples, those raspberries of flesh spiking upward from her full, graspable breasts, in the enticement of the shining fluids that coated her inner thighs and freshly-shaven loins. Each wrist was stretched nearly to its corner of the king-sized bed in which she was centered, a D-ring in each restraint providing purchase for the rope binding; her ankles were held spread wide by a black spreader-bar adjusted to its full 3-feet, her ankles locked in its leather restraints by tiny but highly serviceable padlocks. She wasn't going anywhere, and the extent of that reality was just beginning to settle into her psyche and shine forth from her face.
She'd known this was coming since our last weekend. That's when I'd discovered the potential, when I'd lit that fire in a slow burn of preparation. I'd felt her hunger, her yearning, from across the country, felt the images of her desire, known what she came desperate to discover on this occasion. It had been electrifying. Such possibilities! I had to control the potential tremor, the vibration of exhilaration, running through my body.
I heard savannah gasp as I ran the nails of my left hand along the inside of her left leg, slowly, sharply, from just above her ankle to within a breath of the hunger between her thighs. The glistening slit that punctuated the meeting of those powerful thighs twitched as her body grasped for the eluding digits, and her tiny cry tightened my chest. "Ah, yes," I purred as I slapped that shining slit sharply with the finger-tips of my left hand. "Yes," I repeated to the moaned, guttural "aahhhhh" that followed my act, and finished by slapping my cupped hand solidly upon that twitching vaginal mound.
Time to take a moment, I thought as I stepped back and reached for my coffee-cup on the institutional bedside-table that was this hotel room's unremarkable furnishing. Time, in fact, to begin documenting my handiwork on this evening. Establish a baseline, as it were. I smiled as I drew the digital camera from the drawer. "Just for me," I cut her off as she opened her mouth to object. "Just for me. And you. A before picture."
The flush extended from the cheekbones of her broad, luminous face, framed by the flowing mane whose color seemed to shift subtly every time I saw her - existing somewhere in the badlands between red and brunette - down the delicate throat to the broad plain of her chest and the impressive swells of rose-tipped flesh that beckoned upon that pale tan expanse. She was strong, as tall as me and fuller, dangerous in her own right, a powerful frame whose wide, sensual waist and hips branched into well shaped, firm, defined and trembling legs that were currently spread into a wide, shallow "V" that shone forth from within the camera's viewfinder.
Ridding myself of the camera, I reached across the bed, running my hands upward across both shivering hips, waist, upwards to settle with clenching fingers upon each strawberry nipple as I lowered my face toward hers, savoring the sharp intake of breath as I lifted the weight of her ample breasts against her swollen, pinioned peaks, as her chest arched upwards in response. My hands rose with her until she was at full arch; I braced my hands to hold her there as my mouth fell upon hers. I felt the shivering of her body through her nipples and her mouth as the muscles of savannah's chest and back slowly fatigued, as her weight began to settle inexorably upon the suspension offered by my fingers. She moaned deeply and opened her mouth fully to my probing tongue as she surrendered her weight, and I could feel the twitching of her hips through the nubs of flesh that I held. I held her there until I could feel in her quivers, could hear in her whimpers, that we had reached her limit. I held her there just a bit further, just to that point ... and released her, rising to view and savor the "Aaahhhh,", the choked cry as blood rushed back into her tortured flesh, watched as her hips threshed and twitched without any shred of decorum, without thought of the slow puddle taking shape between them. Soak, rinse, repeat, I thought as my hands found purchase once again upon purplish mounds of flesh and I pulled her chest slowly but firmly from the mattress by those nubs, held her trembling and swaying there once again, her mouth parting in nigh-forgotten act of inhalation as I gazed down upon her, held her until whimpering held just that coloration of suppressed pain, of acceptance tested and yet found good, lowered her slowly once again, a now sinuously-writhing mass.
My gaze turned slowly from the gripping spectacle upon the bed to the formation of floggers, clamps, paddles, and assorted less well-identified items that lined the floor near the room's window. One breast- and pussy-flogger of thin, flexible rubber strands, one of thin leather lashes, one of braided and knotted cords. One medium-weight flogger with half-inch falls or tails, one medium-flogger with thin, heavy leather lashes, long and potentially cutting. Elk-hide heavy-flogger, wide, soft tails descending in a supple dried-blood red-brown wave from a fine burnt-red wooden handle. Spring-loaded black leather riding crop. Such were the honored implements of this weekend, along with various apparati of clamping, of suction, and of electrical stimulation, each with their supporting roles to play. Ah, the look on her face when I'd pulled them carefully and deliberately from their traveling bag.
"Let's start by increasing the blood flow and sensitivity of some of my favorite tissues," I murmured, running my fingers and nails with full ownership across the freshly-shaven dampness between her legs. I smiled appreciatively at my quivering companion's visible attempt to spread her bound limbs yet further in response, to invite my hand in rather than to suffer its titillating withholding. Little did she know.
Stepping to where the implements lay waiting in their formation upon the floor, I made a show of my contemplation and decision, though the outcome had never been in any doubt. Savannah's face actually jerked -- started and startled -- as she saw me rise from my considerations with an odd and ominous looking artifact of rubber and clear plastic hanging from my right hand: a vacuum-pumping ball at one end, an oddly-shaped transparent cupping arrangement at the other, flexible rubber hose in the middle.
I purred as I returned to the bed, watching her eyes as she attempted to translate the object I held. A sharp intake of breath emanated from her as I placed the transparent plastic cup, molded to fit this particular area, upon her pussy, sealing her already-glistening loins. With a quick clenching of the ball in my left hand, the cup was vacuum-sealed upon her flesh. "We need to wake your pussy and your labia up, my love," I said, running my now free right hand up her body to settle with rolling tightness for a moment upon her left nipple before returning to the task at hand. She gasped as I spent many long seconds creating a vacuum within that cup, seconds during which her entire genital mound was pulled upward, outward, expanding its tissues to fill the towering hollowness of the cupping device. The skin within glowed, aflush with blood, and I could watch as her labia thickened and extended, as her body attempted to extrude itself into the vacuum.
Holding her there, I watched her squirm from the vacuum-induced sensation, somewhat like being clamped except that the direction of force is outward and equally distributed rather than inward and localized as with a clamp. "The nice thing about this," I observed, "is that it provides yet another handle. Quite effective," I concluded, as I took the vacuum-locked cup in my left hand and pulled slowly upward against it, releasing my grasp before I broke the vacuum-seal but not before pulling several more moans from my shining submissive.
Her genital cleft had grown massively into the vacuum-cup, and savannah's growing heat and moistness had steamed the inner surface into opacity. "So damn hot and wet, I can't see a thing anymore," I chuckled, watching my love's face closely as I spoke to see her react to having her body's eager responses drawn clearly out for her. Ah, yes, the delicate edge of discomfort, of taboo ... the dawning self-recognition of and by a pain slut. Oh, but not just any pain slut. A specialist. "Yumm." I pulled hard against the plastic cup, lifting her hips to a music of unprotesting groans as I pressed the vacuum-release and allowed the apparatus to pull away from the flaming, swollen, engorged tissues that awaited beneath. "Now, I think your pussy's awake." I ran my left hand, fingers, nails across the fiery flesh, savored the contrast between the scorching heat of her skin and the bottomless steamy pool that beckoned from deep within the engorged cleft, felt her hips buck as she cried out when my middle finger sank a knuckle within that liquid embrace.
Tight bands wrapped my chest as I took another photo of my project, for posterity. This was a rare treat, and I suspected that my dusky companion had a lot of potential. I didn't know the half of it, and I was already in heaven.
Hands empty once again, I returned to savannah's bedside. "Let's start with a pussy-spanking, shall we," I said, smiling and savoring the conflict of emotions and sensations that were still running through her. Swinging myself onto the bed, I knelt on my knees, straddling savannah's waist with my back to her, her widely-spread pussy exposed helplessly before me. "First, however, we need to make your pussy even more sensitive," I continued, taking her outer labia in a tight pinch between the thumb and middle knuckle of my right-hand's index finger and pulling hard, turning her labia into a long, stretching handle of flesh that I rolled mercilessly for long minutes between my pinioning digits. Kneading the intimate flesh, I pulled until I heard a moan of near-agony as her hips began to rise in suspension from those delicate tissues. Hearing that moan, I pulled harder for a moment, passing her limits just a bit for just long enough, then released.
My companion's hips were slowly convulsing as her pussy melted. Having gone suddenly from an excess of stimulation to none whatsoever, her body was yearning, grasping, for more, a fact attested by the pleading moans and whimpers that came to my ears as I watched, entranced, the shining loins dancing before me upon the bed, helpless hips thrashing involuntarily.
With a sharp "thap", three fingertips announced their slapping presence to the pussy that gaped beneath me. Her pubis bucked as that impact fell, and then it trembled before me with anticipation in the quiet moment that followed as I relished her expectation of the spanking to come. Extending the moment, the fingertip-paddle fell again, and again I drew out the expectation that followed. With the next blow, a fourth fingertip joined the paddle and we initiated a slow, solid rhythm that danced upon the surface that spread itself between her gleaming thighs.
Several minutes of slow, steady rhythmic spanking, and she was writhing beneath me. She was anticipating, riding it, and the gasp that was torn from her when I delivered five blows in quick succession was, shall we say, breathtaking. Fast, slow, clustered, individual blows ... tempo, rhythm ... it was time to start to really play with the glowing, flowing instrument unfolded between my legs. The chorus of gasps, moans, quiet cries that crept to my ears from the bed behind me bore witness to the effects that my play was having upon my beloved, the background vocals for our little performance. Soft, sensual, sharp, stinging, slapping, spanking, steadily-deepening tissue impact-massage. Regular refrains emerge, repeated rhythms, building in range of intensity, rising to a sharp, slapping, devastating crescendo, followed by cessation and the convulsions of a body grasping vainly for the stimulatory overload that has just been withdrawn. There's no instrument quite like it, and this lover was the most amazing pussy-torture aficionado I'd ever seen. The hips beneath me quaked and writhed, light gleaming in flashes from drenched, shaven skin as the ruby cleft opened and closed, shaking spasmodically between quivering thighs, and a long, low, keening wail of pleasure and need and sudden void came from the mouth hidden behind me.
I swung slowly from my saddle across savannah's waist and moved to my feet, alongside the bed and its moltenly erotic tableau. Savannah squirmed between the bonds that spread her limbs snugly. Her eyes were open but unseeing, mouth gaping wide in a face arched toward the headboard, chest reaching desperately for the ceiling above. A smile spread across my face mirroring the expansive elation in my chest as I realized, from my partner's response, what was to come. "Oh, my goodness," I purred, reaching forward to rake my fingernails across the hot, glowing tissues that had become my playground. "I'd suspected that you were a pussy-pain slut, my dear, from our last visit, but I don't think I knew the half of it. Until I leave, my love, we will be exploring your pussy's love of torture. What do you think?" I waited for a long moment, then brought my full right hand slapping hard upon her still-trembling pussy. "Tell me what you want. Now." I barked.
"Why do I need to say?" she whispered, pleading.
"Because I want to hear it, and I won't continue until you ask for it." I punctuated my statement with another sharp spank that splashed within her aching, hungry loins.
"Whip my pussy," she whispered, pleading. "Please whip my pussy."
"Good girl," I said gently. "You needed to hear yourself ask for it, so you have to confront how badly you want this. Now, you have to live with having asked for it, and have to accept that you want it and that it's you." I scraped the nails of my right hand slowly but firmly back and forth across her labia, savoring the gasps that I drew forth. Shifting, I scratched firmly up and down the length of her dripping vaginal cleft, scraping the delicate inner labia. Savannah's hips rose toward the biting edge of my nails, and I had to move with her to keep her from seizing control over the intensity of sensation, denying her that control. A "mew" of desire came from her thrashing head, and I chose that moment to attack a clitoris already swollen by vacuum and punishment, flicking my insistent nails back and forth across its surface. A long, keening wail burst from my love's broad, shining, thrashing face, glowing with the fires that had been kindled within her flesh.
"I think we've gotten your pussy woken up, don't you?" I asked rhetorically as I tugged my eyes from the glorious spectacle. "Hmmm. Now, what?" I knelt near the assortment of floggers, clamps, and assorted other instruments that covered the floor near the room's heater. (As if I didn't already know the answer, as if it hadn't been predetermined.) The short black leather genital flogger, its tails hanging like enormous black earthworms, came easily to my hand, the steel ring chiming from its handle. "I think this is what's called for next, my dear," I announced, rising and turning to display for my lover the object, with whose hot, stinging bite she was already familiar from our last encounter. Her mouth pursed soundlessly as shining eyes dripping with desire fell upon the lashes, as she anticipated their sensual burn.
Returning to the bed, I knelt beside savannah and began by laying the flogger gently upon her vaginal cleft, drawing its tails slowly upwards, letting its weight and its myriad edges announce its presence as it stroked her delicate tissues. I lingered upon the act, making tails no longer than my hand seem to stretch on forever as they traveled the length of that steaming vale. The gleaming and bloated ruby labia to either side of that vale twitched as the abrasive sharpness of the ebony leather strands brushed across savannah's hot pink clitoris, the latter already larger than I'd ever before seen it and protruding obscenely upwards from the puddle of steaming intimacy within which it was set. Lather, rinse, repeat, I thought as I slowly reprised the process, and again, and again, relishing the anticipation being kindled within her and flickering from her face, eyes, mouth, hips, pussy ... throwing off sparks of desire like an electrical charge building within the moist battery between her legs.
The first strokes were slow, light, lazy, beginning with no more impact than high grass in summer, more pet than flog. My target rocked gently from side to side as savannah's buttocks clenched spasmodically in response, in eagerness. "My, my," I observed, "this little pussy can't wait. What do you want? Tell me. Tell me, or I'll stop right now," I commanded.
"Whip my pussy," came the choked reply, breathless, panting.
My rhythm became slow, cadenced, regular, sharp impacts landing flat against the length of the cleft that shone dark and carmine against the flushed, engorged labia that framed it. Many long minutes passed without a break as blow after blow fell, regular as a metronome, sharp and stinging, exactly along the line of that cleft. The incoherent sounds from the full-lipped mouth behind me could have been pleasure or pain, pleas or hosannas - at that moment, any of the above were one and the same coin. It was a sweet music, I thought, but time to change the channel. With a sharp swat, the tails landed hard on the delicate, heretofore untouched flesh just to the right of that soaked, angry ruby smile, and my lover's powerful body surged as she cried out with surprise. Hard and fast, now, from side to side, leaving pink lash-lines as vertical framing for the pussy that now gaped, forgotten and orphaned, jealous and yearning. The shrill, choked cries were a steady stream, the musical accompaniment for our performance.
I've been a pussy-torture specialist for years -- ever since I got my hands (and fingers and clamps and quirts and clothespins and ... you get the idea) on my first willing pussy. I've found that nearly every woman, with notable exceptions, loves some degree of pussy torture. It's the psychological aspect of it that's hardest for most of them. There's something absolutely primordial about being ruthlessly tormented through the agency of one's vagina, tortured through the most intimate flesh that one possesses. It's the ultimate victimization taboo, and to force a woman to embrace that she craves it is the most amazing and rare of pleasures. Here, spread before me, so to speak, was the most powerfully responsive pussy-pain slut that I had ever met, it was clear -- responsive enough that I took a moment to spread a towel beneath savannah's pussy and hips to contain the wet stain creeping beneath her before continuing.
I built the pace and intensity of the flogging that her labia and loins were receiving, increasing the length and speed of the strokes, climbing to a crescendo which was reached with a strong, sharp, full-swing blow upon the gaping, enflamed central cleft, a blow which tore forth a shriek from the panting throat behind me. And then, there was silence as I rose from the bed, admiring the handiwork that twisted and squirmed before me upon that padded platform.
A moment, now, for posterity, to photographically document the condition of the pussy that gaped and grasped blindly between glistening thighs. Another long moment followed, to linger, theatrically but silently, over my choice of toy for the next round (again, as if there were any real choice to be made, but my dusky companion didn't know that). A wolfish leer spread across my face as I rose with my choice and turned to display it to my nervous, wide-eyed victim, her expression torn between fear and fascination with the craving she was just beginning to discover. It was a long, thin, braided flogger, starting out as a single braid, then branched to two and branching again to four thin, biting, knotted lashes the length of my middle finger. The entire flogger, handle to tip, was the length of my forearm, and it's apparent fragility, delicacy, and lack of substance was a magnificent illusion. Those long, thin, knotted braids, all innocence and safety, hid a secret that my lover was about to discover.
I bent over the bed and, ever so gently, like leaves on a breeze, I let those tails drape softly across my lover's loins and pulled them along the length of the dark, moist valley between her thighs. I repeated the motion several times, allowing the tails to drop lightly upon her, watching as the muscles along her inner thigh and hip began to twitch, as her body grasped in vain for the sensation that eluded it, just beyond the threshold. Increasing the impact slightly, I flicked the tips of the flogger to either side of that slit, hungry for the sensation I was yet withholding, rhythmically alternating sides for a minute or two.
Her eyes were closed, head thrown back in bliss, mouth open and pleading soundlessly as I straightened. I walked slowly around three sides of the bed and back, speaking to my lovely submissive as I did so. Her broad chest shone with sweat, and her full, inviting breasts with their tips of pain-loving ruby flesh swayed and shifted with the writhing of her upper body. "My, my," I began. "Such a hungry little pain-slut you are, aren't you?" I waited a moment. "Aren't you? Tell me what you are or I'll stop."
"I'm a hungry little pain-slut," came the reply.
"And what does my little pain slut want me to do? Tell me, or you won't get it," I continued.
"Whip my pussy," came the choked whisper in response.
There was an expression beyond torment or ecstasy upon her face as savannah answered my questions. To be required to confront such desires, directly, for the first time ... having given voice to these words, she would never be able to disavow the desire within her to which she had given that voice. The words that she spoke marked her, and the marking was clear upon her features. "Good, good girl," was my answer. "That's what we want to hear. I will gladly whip your pussy. As a matter of fact," I stretched the moment as I returned to my starting point alongside the bed, "I will be torturing that pussy until we leave here in two days. What do you think of that?"
"Yes," was the breathless whisper that wafted to my ears.
I clambered upon the bed, taking my position on my knees across savannah's waist and abdomen as I had before, facing the bed's foot, her flushed and shining loins spread and inviting perfectly within hand's reach. Invisible to my willing victim, I began spinning the flogger's tails in a circle like the blades of a fan. Gently, ever so slightly, the tips of those fan-blades began to brush her labia. The impact was gentle, but these tips bite and burn, sharp and thin, and the moans began almost instantly. I could see her thighs tense and shift as savannah fought to open them wider, to offer her vaginal tissues to me more fully, as she fought against the bonds that locked her into position. Helplessness works in both directions, I thought, smiling.
I increased the speed of the spinning tails and allowed the tips to begin to fall with authority, sharp and solid, as they spun, working their circular path now up and down the length of a vaginal cleft that was becoming a gentle fountain in response. Her loins shook with the jerking of her hips and thighs as the biting strands fell, and a long wail of pleasure burst from behind me as I let the flogger fall with its full speed and force, landing more than merely the tips, now. Small, hot, red dots spread across her labia and their junction with my lover's upper thighs, traces left by the knots set in the braided tails.
Long minutes later, I stopped the flogging, cold and solid, silent, and waited. An anguished cry erupted behind me as savannah's pussy shrieked its need for more, incoherent and pleading. I stroked the sharp nail-tips of my left hand across her sensitized tissues, and I laughed. "You really are a slut for pussy-torture, aren't you? That's a good thing, since I love nothing more." I turned to look at her face as I concluded. "We have some amazing space to explore, together, my dear. We've barely started." Her eyes went wide and yearning at this last statement, and her mouth framed the soundless word, "Yes."
No more circular play, now. The braided genital flogger began to fall solidly, full-stroke and full-length upon the vertical gap of her pussy, the tails falling mercilessly though not exclusively upon the inner tissues exposed by that gap. Again, I watched the writhing of hips and thighs as savannah fought desperately to spread her legs wider, to expose herself more fully to the lash falling upon her. Mechanical, rhythmic, consistent, now, as the burning, biting lash fell over and over again along the length of her cleft. Minute after minute without a change, the inescapable sensation, anticipated and unavoidable, exploded upon her most intimate, delicate flesh, exposed by a pussy that gaped ever wider, ever more inviting and enabling.
Building the speed, now, the lash fell faster and faster, until my right arm began to throb from the exertion. A stream of clear fluid ran from that pussy, now, and the keening wail from behind me had the rhythmic, unbroken fluidity of a brook singing though the forest. With a final stroke, I raised the flogger above my head and brought the tails down with full strength in one last, brutal impact that tore a screaming "Ahh!!" from behind me, and I climbed from my victim's body to survey my handiwork.
Savannah writhed, her eyes open but seeing a sight for her, alone. Her genital area glistened and gleamed from within its coat of thick, clear juices, smeared and splashed and dripping, red, hot, striped and spotted from the lash-tails which had fallen upon it. Her pelvis was rocked forward and upward, thrusting, grasping, presenting her flaming loins for punishment as well as she was capable. And yet another photograph, preserving for posterity this stage on tonight's development of my lovely submissive's pussy-craving.
I lingered upon that tableau, taking it in, taking a moment to roll within the rush, to let myself savor that rush, the elation both physical and psychological, that splashed like rapids within me. "I've had several lovers who were incredible devotees of nipple torture, the first of them the person who introduced me to it," I began, "and I would say that most women discover that they enjoy labial play and pussy torture, some more than others." I smiled as savannah's eyes focused on me, as if she were hearing with her eyes. "But I've never seen someone respond to pussy torture like you do. You need to know that. You are exceptional. I can tell that we have a lot of exploration ahead of us, exploring this incredible place in which we've found ourselves. You are a true specialist. So am I, but I've never had a pussy as responsive as yours to torture. You can't get enough."
The words were choked, whispered, almost inaudible, delivered to the ceiling from a face arched toward that surface, closed eyes gazing sightlessly at the headboard, mouth thrown wide and panting. "Just be careful ... please ... because I can't be."
"Don't worry, my love. I can't tell you how long I've waited for this toy. There's no way I'm going to break it. If I hurt you, I lose my toy. Remember your safewords." (I hate safewords, in general, but they serve an important purpose when in unknown territory.). Now, to find out what, if any, limits there were.
Taking once again to my knees astride savannah's waist, I placed the fingers of my right hand flatly upon her vaginal area and massaged the hot flesh firmly with a circular motion. Her hips bucked and she strained to press herself against me, whimpering as she sought this more traditional style of stimulation. "Mmm ... we're hungry, aren't we," I observed. Changing tack I thrust two fingers unceremoniously within her gaping hole, sliding into the wet shaft without resistance and pulling a scream of surprise and pleasure from the lips unseen behind me. "My god, you are fucking wet. You are such a pain slut." Pulling my dripping fingers from their moist bed, I turned just enough that I could wipe my fingers free upon my lover's throat, taking care to get the pulse points, and the underside of her jaw, finishing by running the fingers across her lips. "Some perfume for you, so that you can smell your own desire."
Turning forward once again, I ran my nails back and forth, up and down, across her swollen genital flesh, increasing the pressure with each pass until I saw the pink tracers being left by their passage. Without fanfare, the first sharp, firm swat landed upon that flesh, and her second pussy spanking of the day had begun.
This time, there was less build-up in the spanking than on the first pass. I started firm, with an even, steady rhythm, landing blows directly along the central vaginal cleft for many long minutes. Changing, I began to strike alternatingly just to either side of the cleft, with increased speed. I could see her body respond to the tease, to the impact just to the side of where my lovely submissive craved it to be, could see her attempting to shift her body to bring her cleft under my blow. Once that response had become acceptably desperate, I began to slap hard and fast upon that lonely, aching cleft once again, tearing a long, keening wail that stretched, stretched, and still stretched, broken only by gasps for breath as her greedy pussy arched to meet my pounding hand.
Fluids were splashing with each blow, now, as if my hand were landing in a puddle. I increased the speed and impact to the limits my tiring arm was capable, bringing the process to a shrieking crescendo that culminated with a single, solid, full-power spanking blow.
Rising once again from the bed, I savored the results of my handiwork. Savannah squirmed and rolled, spread and pinioned. Her mouth was open, panting, her face flushed like a ripe peach. Full breasts rolled and rippled upon her heaving, shifting chest, swollen, angry raspberry nipples rising hard and insistent upon them. I bent over the bed and called her unseeing eyes to focus upon me. "Look at me, my love," I commanded gently. As her eyes registered me, I continued. "Do you want more, my love? Or do you want me to stop?"
Her face worked silently for a moment a she tried to form words with a dry mouth. "More, please," came her response.
I descended from atop my bound submissive and retrieved a bottle of water from the top of the t.v. cabinet. Returning, I raised my pain-nymph's head and brought the water to her dry lips. "First, drink some of this," I said, holding the bottle as she managed several gulps before pulling back.
Replacing the water from whence it had come, I spoke to savannah from the base of the bed, her abused pussy displayed perfectly for my appreciation. "You have no idea how open, wet, and hot your pussy is, my love," I informed her as I studied my toy. "Your body tells the whole story. You crave this, and you know you do. From now on, this is going to be our favorite activity. We've just started."
I smiled widely as I saw the mixture of joy and fear that danced upon her face, and almost failed to breathe for a moment when I heard the joyous, whispered, "Yes," that crawled from her lips. It was time to take things up another notch.
First, to take savannah's sensory threshold to a new level. This time, I mounted the bed on my knees between her thighs, facing her glistening pussy and giving me maximal access to it. Upon her stomach, I placed the blue velvet Crown Royal bag that held about 3-dozen wooden clothespins within, and saw her eyes as she recognized the package. "I'm betting that you can take at least 8 of these by now, my dear. Let's find out, shall we?" My evil laugh made her eyes go wide for a moment.
Pinching her right outer labia between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, I stretched the tissue firmly and slid the first clothespin into place, taking a deep bite that brought both jaws of the peg into play. The groan that greeted its bite made my breath catch for a moment; there was so much desire and pleasure in that groan. Alternating, savoring each moan, each subtle cry, savannah's slit slowly sprouted bristling wooden clamps until there was a line of 4 on each side.
If you've never seen a pussy lined with clothespins, the deeper you take their bites the more tightly the jaws of the pegs stretch and fan out the labial flesh. That tissue now rose high in a taut, full half-circle from her loins, and the moans of pleasure were nearly constant. My smile stretched from ear to ear as I folded the 8 clothespins together into a single tight, round bundle in my right hand, bringing a quiet scream from her as I did so. "The best part about this," I began, "is that the clothespins function to give me a fabulous handle attached to your pussy. So I can do this." As I spoke, I pulled firmly and steadily against the bundled clothespins, pulling the intimate shining flesh hard away from her pussy and, ineluctably, raising her hips from the bed by that handle. Watching her body, I took her to the limit of her endurance, then just a little bit more, dropping her back to the bed just as her cries turned to pure pain.
"My, my. You ARE good," I crooned as she writhed in pleasure/pain. "Now, let's get these off." Taking hold of the first pin, I slowly pulled against only it, increasing the pressure until it began to slide upon her flesh. Pulling harder, my lovely sub cried out as the pin pulled free of her labia, pinching it as tightly as possible in the process. Seven more to go, each pulling free with its accompanying choked scream that made my cock twitch, and she was right where I wanted her: unseeing, desperately yearning, open and aching for more.
A brief break to shift my position to astride savannah's waist once again and to bring an earlier implement to hand once again, and I launched into fifteen minutes or so of fast-paced, stinging blows upon the slowly melting, slowly tenderizing spread of flesh that was my playground (flayground?) with the braided cat from before, the constant, stinging impacts keeping savannah right at the edge of her tolerance level. The point is to keep someone frozen right at that point that divides pleasure and pain, unable to resolve to either one but overwhelmingly stimulated. Ecstasy is the only response left ... ecstasy and subspace. Savannah's descent into subspace had begun some time ago, but this merciless, measured assault set the entire surface of her loins aflame, with special attention as always to the vertical ruby cleft within which the most delicate tissues could be found. Her moans were low and constant, almost a loud murmur, by the time I climbed from astride her once again to photograph her body's confession of desire writ large and wide in enflamed tissues and flowing pussy juices. My dusky submissive was writhing slowly, almost as if it were an after-thought. Her eyes opened as I gazed upon her, and I watched in amusement as those eyes slowly focused upon me from whatever private world far, far away upon which they had been turned.
"I think you're ready for the next stage, my love. What do you think? If you want more, you have to ask me for it." I freely displayed my smirk for her as I spoke. "What will it be?"
From the initial abortive movements of her mouth, locating and engaging the capacity for speech from whatever psychic sub-basement to which it had been consigned was not easy. Finally, the word "More" crawled weakly from full lips, and savannah's eyes flashed with heat and hunger from within a face sparkling with sweat like dew glistening on the skin of a rosy peach.
We were about to enter territory for which I had never yet found a companion. From what I'd seen so far, I suspected that this insatiable pussy-slut before me would be up to the challenge.
The short, black leather genital flogger hung once again from my right hand as I resumed my position athwart my submissive's trembling body. With my left hand, I reached into her slick slit and spread my fingers wide, using index and little fingers pressed deeply into the inner flesh of her labia. The wet, carmine of her most private, delicate, and sensitive tissues was stretched wide across her loins, vaginal sphincter stretching into a taut "O" framed by exposed, thrusting, corrugated inner labia that crawled like exotic petals about that gaping orifice. Every bit of her most intimate flesh lay exposed and defenseless in front of me, and I could hear savannah's breathing become labored and panting as she realized what was happening.
With the first impact, with the fall of that bundle of thin leather lashes upon those most lovely and delicate of tissues for the first time, I actually forgot to breathe for a moment as I saw the surge, the literal fount, of juices that flowed from savannah's pussy in response to the blow. The inner labia grew visibly before my eyes, engorging and folding upon themselves like the lips of a clam-shell seen from the side, edge-on, expanding shockingly beyond their original boundaries. The spectacle was almost indescribable ... such a response was beyond anything I'd ever before encountered, and I was spellbound.
I was cautious, restrained for the first several minutes, during which the tails of the flogger fell with a slowly varying pace, their impact light at first as I gauged my eager victim's ability to embrace the agony. Soon, it became clear that there was no need for me to hold back ... the bite of the snaking lashes upon that unspeakably personal flesh was driving her deep, deep into subspace. Savannah's hips rocked, bringing her pussy more easily and fully into the target space of the flashing leather strips and the flames that they left behind. I swung the flogger solidly and strong, slapping it mercilessly into the explosively engorged tissues.
Pausing, I swiveled for a moment and saw that my submissive's chestnut brown eyes were wide, shocked, overwhelmed ... she was in the grips of a sensation that was shaking to the core her prior conception of who she was. No woman ... certainly not one as strong and independent as her ... could ever open themselves to the torment, the beating, which she was currently enduring. Yet, her need was insatiable, and she was driven to seek more; she had discovered that she wanted to be beaten through her pussy more deeply than she had ever wanted anything, and that bit of self-knowledge is beyond what most would define as thinkable. I smiled to myself in silence, for this was precisely where I had hoped to bring her. There's nothing like the moment of transformation. With a gratified sigh, I returned my attention to the massively engorged crimson playground that stretched between my fingers awaiting the caressing leather tresses.
I lost track of time as I swung the flogger slowly but steadily upon my lover's most intimate of tissues. With each stroke, I was spellbound by the spurt of fluids elicited by the impact. Her moans had become almost background music, like the constant sound of surf on the beach. Slowly, ineluctably, the speed and solidity of the strokes increased. Savannah's thighs spasmed as she tried to open her legs wider, to accommodate herself more openly to the flashing lashes that rained mercilessly, now, against her exposed inner flesh, and she screamed in ecstasy as I finished with 10 of the hardest, most brutal blows that I could land before settling into sudden stillness.
A break was required, and I dropped myself for a minute into the hotel room's non-descript easy chair, catching my breath, allowing my arm to recharge, and feasting upon my lover's still-twitching, jerking, writhing, shivering body. Her vaginal sphincter gaped wide between the expansively blooming ruby labia, clenching convulsively, a dark black mouth that pleaded to be filled. Taking a long pull from the water bottle, I rose and retrieved from the floor my final implement for the night - a medium-weight flogger in black leather, 24" from tip to tail, its lashes broad and flat.
I felt like an explorer on the threshold of new and heretofore unknown territory as I turned back toward the bed and my lover's bound and immobilized body spread upon it. I'd used this flogger in pussy-torment scenarios in the past, but mostly as a threat. Light impact, intimidation strokes, that sort of thing. Today, things were going to unfold differently.
This time, it was not my knees upon which I stood as I mounted that mattress; this time, I stood astride the strong, full body of my lovely submissive, facing the foot of the bed, looking down at the genital area that stretched, open and defenseless, between my feet. The flogger held in my right hand, I slowly drew its tresses through my left, stretching a thick black line through the air in front of me pensively. I took my time, savoring the moment, as that black line became vertical, running along the midline of my body, my left hand going high, my right going low, the flogger pulled tightly between them.
The first blow fell. The tips of the leather tail-bundle landed perfectly upon the vaginal opening at the base of the gaping genital cleft, a resounding "crack" ringing through the room with the slapping impact, and a pleading, yearning moan of desperate desire echoed immediately behind it. For a second, my vision tunneled, like a drug rush ... to truly flog a pussy -- what an incredible high. Again, I stretched the tails out full-length between my hands, raising their ends high above my head in my left hand before bringing them slashing downwards to impact again perfectly along the gaping ruby slit, slapping with a thunderous "smack" against the ultra-sensitive tissues announced by that crimson cleft. Savannah's entire body bucked, and a hungry cry rippled through the air. And again, the lash fell, a little harder this time. And again. And again. Vaginal juices splashed, her pussy gushing with each impact. My initial nervousness concerning my lovely pain-slut's ability to take such a flat-out flaying dissipated quickly. This pussy could clearly take anything I had to give.
I wielded the flogger brutally, mercilessly, using the tips to deliver the most biting blows possible to the flesh upon which they fell like hail in summer. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty, passed as my entranced submissive's moans and cries flowed like music through the room, incoherent and unstructured, accompanied by the percussion beat of leather against flesh. I held nothing back, pounding those tissues with full-strength, full-swing blows, and she opened herself to the beating like a flower blooming beneath the sun. It was a sublime experience, beyond mere pleasure or beauty, transcending normal categories, and both she and I were floating within it.
I heard the desperate animal moans behind me building to a crescendo, heard pleading erupt from an unseen mouth. "Please, don't stop. Harder! Yes!" With a shout, a fast series of maddened blows descended, culminating in one final impact backed by everything left in my fatigued arm, and savannah's choked scream filled the room as I became still.
Savannah was locked in ongoing, convulsive, involuntary orgasms that rolled across her like pounding surf, shaking her and stealing her breath. Laughing, crying, pleading, limbs jerked, torso heaved, waist and hips twisted and jerked, loins lifted and sought, head and neck arched and rolled. Her body was in continuous motion as the rolling climaxes reduced her to a pure mass of animal sensation, as she submitted to the grip of her flesh.
She was convulsing, still, as I unbound her wrists and manacles from the bed's corners. She was shaking, quaking, jerking spasmodically, as I spread her legs wide, folded her knees upwards toward her chest, and buried my raging erection with one long stroke into her punished pussy. A keening wail arose from her as my cock slid within the brutalized tissues, and vaginal muscles rippled around me as the orgasms grew stronger. I slammed my cock into her, fucking her as hard as I could, truly pounding her swollen, fiery flesh. I placed her calves across my shoulders, allowing me to drive deeply and unobstructedly into her and improving my leverage. The wail grew more shrill, driving me to redouble my efforts.
With a guttural shout, I buried myself in her depths and held her pinned to me, spasming upon me, convulsive vaginal muscles milking me mindlessly. I placed my mouth upon my pleasure-entranced submissive, held her as she screamed into my mouth with her ultimate crescendo, held her as the screams slowly faded.
Long, long minutes passed as we lay there upon the bed, as I embraced savannah's shaking, quaking body, long minutes as the involuntary orgasms faded. More long minutes would be spent with tears of joy, and then my beloved victim slowly sank into unconsciousness, into the embrace of exhaustion. And two more days yet remained before my departure. We had just begun to explore. But those are tales for another day.
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