Linda and the Lash

I sat gingerly throughout lunch – Brad insisted I remain naked. My pussy was still glowing, although nowhere near as on fire as it had been when he brought me to a huge climax via cunnilingus after my pussy punishment.

When I asked why I had to remain nude, he replied: "Because it turns me on and provides me with ideas for the book I'm going to write about you."

He told me this as we sat, both of us naked, sipping on a lovely Californian white and munched on open salmon and tomato sandwiches.

"You're going to write a book about

me

?" I asked incredulously. "Little ole librarian me?"

"Of course," the dark-haired author replied, sipping his wine. "I think the tale of an ugly duckling turned magnificent swan who learns to love the rigors the lash will go down very well with our flagellatory group. I must think of a catchy title, though."

I laughed and leaned over to kiss his full, sensual mouth, my breasts brushing against his naked upper torso. "Lashing the Libriarian?" I asked, laughing at the very thought.

"Hmm," said my 40-year-old "whipmaster", "that's not bad. Alliteration is always good in a title. Got any more?"

I nibbled on a sliver of salmon and teased him. "Librarian Loves the Lash. Librarian Learns to Love the Lash. Librarian Linda Loves Being Lashed."

"Silence," he roared, although his shout was softened somewhat by the fact that he was laughing. "Enough alliteration already, for that I will flog you this afternoon."

"Where?" I asked, innocently fluttering my lashes at him.

"On your breasts, you little hussy," he grinned, kissing me tenderly on the mouth, "I don't think your superb little pussy could take another session of the quim quirt today."

I writhed, pressing my thighs together and feeling a lovely dampness in my sex. But he was right. The thought of another session with my thighs spread wide for the cruel caresses of his pussy punisher was possibly too much to bear.

"Oh, OK, you big softy," I smiled, "then I guess it's my tits. Where will you inflict this performance of pain?"

"I said

enough

alliteration already," laughed Brad.

"Or what?" I said, as cheekily as I could.

"Or I'll start you off with some nipple clamp torture before I flog those pert little titties, you lascivious little librarian you," he told me.

"And you were complaining about

my

alliteration," I mocked him.

"That's it," he rumbled. "Now you're for it." And with that the lovely big man swept me off my feet and carried me up to his bedroom, me kicking my legs and thrashing around in his arms, but also trying to kiss him as he hauled me off for my punishment.

Once in the bedroom he tossed me onto the bed. I bounced, legs splayed, and Brad dived onto me, grabbing my arms as I tried to pummel his back in mock desperation. When he had me pinned, his tongue traced a slippery path down the middle of my chest, into my navel and down my abdomen before flicking gloriously onto my sex trench, still slightly tender from his morning's attack.

The glow was still there and millions of little thrills ran through me as he licked and laved at my moistness, occasionally stopping to make sure I was enjoying it. "You OK?" he asked, during one respite from his oral adoration.

"Get off me, you big brute, let me go," I gasped, desperate, of course, for him to continue his tongue tracery along my pussy.

Soon his attentions had me where I wanted to be – on the verge of another thrilling climax. As his mouth worked on me, I heaved a sigh and pulled on his hair to drag him up towards my clitoris.

"Bring me off, Brad, for fuck's sake bring me off!" I pleaded, and the lovely man obeyed, flat-tonguing my clit with a hot, fleshy and moist tongue. I exploded on him in a paroxysm of lust, humping my hips against his face as hard as I could when I felt the waves of my orgasm wash through me.

At last he was done, and he fell off me, panting from his exertions at my pussy as I, in turn, gathered my composure after his wonderful work.

"Fuck me, you lick good pussy," I groaned, coming down from the peak of my excitement.

"And your pussy is very, very good," Brad replied, before raising his head from my belly, where he was resting, to plant a long, lingering kiss on my mouth, his lips tasting tangily and tastily of my own sex. It was a taste I thrilled to.

"But now," he said, in a deep, dark voice, "you have to be punished. Wait while I get dressed!"

I lay back and watched as he pulled on his black leather, open-fronted shorts, his cock standing superbly out from its front.

From a bedside table he extracted a sturdy pair of rubber handcuffs and ordered me to place my hands behind my back. He then tugged the cuffs onto my wrists, using all his strength to widen them so they could be slipped over my hands. With his strength he could get them on, but there was no way I was going to get them off.

Next he took a little wooden implement from the drawer. It was two lengths of wood some 18 inches long and three or so inches wide, held together at each end by a deep metal bolt, with screws at the tops. It was, I quickly realised, a breast pillory. I felt a tingle of excitement run through my pussy as he placed it over my perky 34-inch titties.

While the lower wooden length supported the bottom of my breasts, the upper strip went across the tops of my globes. Brad regarded my breasts thrusting through the strips. "Comfy, my darling?" he asked, solicitously.

"Yes, thank-you, whipmaster," I replied, quite truthfully.

"Well then," he grinned, "we'd better do something about that, don't you think?"

And with that he indicated that I crawl to the edge of the bed so as to be closer to him. I obeyed and he then started to screw the two sides of the pillory down, so the wood started to press against my pert breasts, gradually tightening them until the veins started to stand out as my globes became tighter and tighter in the constraints.

"There," he said, standing back and looking at his handiwork, "that's much more like it. Now, I promised you nipple torture and nipple torture's what you're going to get, you little tramp."

I felt tremors of excitement run through me on hearing the words "torture" and "little tramp". I knew my pussy was wet and I knew he was turning me into a wanton hussy – and I didn't care.

From the seemingly inexhaustible supply in the bedside table drawer, Brad now produced a pair of nipple clamps on a chain, which went through the center of a rubber ball.

Kneeling close to my titties he sucked on one nipple, bringing it to an even tauter erection than had been caused by the pressure of the breast pillory. He then applied one of the nipple clamps, its tiny teeth sinking into my hard nipple flesh and drawing a gasp of pleasure from me as the pain nipped into my tit.

"Now the other one, my dear little slut," Brad smiled, and he bent to suck the other nipple to erection before clamping the second metal teeth to the pink hardness. Again I dragged my breath in with another intake of pain mingled with pleasure.

Brad stood back and let the rubber ball fall against my chest. I gave out a small cry as the weight of the ball dragged down on the lengths of chain, jerking at the nipple clamps and sending torrents of torment through my titties.

"Oh dear," he said, in mock sympathy, "is that painful on your poor little titties?"

"Yes, whipmaster," I replied, through gritted teeth as the weight of the ball served to intensify my torment.

"Then let's see if I can alleviate your suffering, my little lash lover," he said, taking the ball in one hand and placing it towards my mouth. "Open wide, there's a pet."

I obeyed and as I did he pushed the red rubber ball into my mouth. All this did, of course, was move the position of the ball. It did nothing to "alleviate" my suffering as the chains, instead of dragging downwards had the same effect by being dragged upwards to continue the throbbing in my tormented tits.

"Now," said my tormentor, with a sadistic smile, "I'm going to start on my new book about Linda, a librarian who learns to love the lash. I don't want to hear a peep out of you for at least 20 minutes, gottit? If that ball's not in your mouth when I get back, you're in even greater trouble."

"Mmmmmf," I replied, through the ball in my mouth, which was also operating, of course, as a gag.

Brad then turned and walked into the office alongside the master bedroom and I heard him start tapping away at his keyboard. As he did I tried to drag my mind away from the cruel pain flooding through my nipples and breasts. The initial sharp, shooting pain had now subsided into a constant dull throbbing. I brought my knees together and felt the dampness at my crotch. I was becoming a total pain slut!

After some minutes, Brad called out: "Listen to this, Linda. 'The lissom young nude woman struggled in a futile protest as the large guards dragged her body to the whipping frame. Her breasts were nipple-hard, and although she knew she was on display to an audience of naked men, Linda felt a shiver of excitement mingled with embarrassment course through her slender figure at the knowledge that her pussy was seeping torrents of sex juice'.

"How's that Linda, read OK?"

"Mmmmmmf," was all I could respond.

Twice more during a 20-minutes that I thought would never end, Brad read me lascivious excerpts from his story about Linda, then he called out: "Now, before I get to the part where the big black guard flogs her naked breasts, I guess I'd better do some research. Agreed, my little slut?"

"Mmmmmmf," was my totally inadequate response, as Brad returned to the bedroom, his cock jutting out from his open-fronted leather shorts, pre-cum glistening from his slightly pulled-back foreskin.

This time he did not need to delve into his "equipment" drawer from the bedside table as he was carrying a little rubber flogger which he ominously swished from side to side as he approached the bed.

"And now, my little pain slut, it's time to test your titty endurance," said Brad, smiling at my still rubber ball-gagged mouth, "so you may spit the gag out."

I did, then winced and almost yelled out aloud as the ball fell beneath my breasts and dragged the chains down, jerking the nipple clamps and sending fresh rivers of pain through my punished nubbins.

Brad then removed the clamp clips from my nipples and watched carefully as I reacted to their removal. Soon he was smiling broadly as he saw my reaction.

The clamps may have been gone, but the blood rushing back into the nipples sent agonies afresh rippling through my titties and breasts. Then he made it even worse for me.

Leaning over my breasts he sucked first on my left nipple. The sweet sucking sent more agonies through me, as he knew it would before he performed his suckling. Then he switched his attentions to my other nipple, delighting in my jerking as his licking and kissing and sucking added exquisitely to my torments.

Finally he stood and smiled down at me. "Oh, a little tender are they, my lovely little slut? Ah well, never mind, I've got something to take your mind off that, my dear."

And with that Brad swung the rubber flogger smartly across my taut breasts. The implement's half a dozen lashes cracked against the smoothness of my globes, making a cracking sound as they caressed my flesh.

"Aaaargh," was the only sound I could hear myself make as the rubber made contact. Then the flogger was sweeping down once more, and once more I yelled out an agonised "Aaaargh" as the punisher inflicted a flurry of six shocks through my boobs.

As Brad continued to flog my breast-pilloried mammaries with the flogger in one hand, he began to massage his stiff cock with the free hand, pulling his foreskin back almost to the ring, then letting it release back towards his helmet. He was so aroused that his cock head was dripping pre-cum on the carpet.

Then he moved to my other side, switched the rubber martinet into his other hand, while his former flogging hand now stroked his seven-inch hard-on.

"Enjoying this, my pet?" he asked, draping the robber thongs of the whip across my heaving breasts.

"Yes, whipmaster, thank-you, whipmaster," I replied obediently, as I gasped from the pain flooding through my poor battered breasts.

"Good, my darling, then I'll continue," he laughed, and swung the flogger sharply down onto my sorely compressed breasts once more.

Finally, after another five strokes had burned their way onto my fiery flesh, Brad dropped the flogger and bent to remove the pillory from my breasts. I felt as if a huge weight had been removed from my poor titties as he did so, then he reached behind me and freed my rubber-cuffed wrists.

Pushing me down roughly onto my back, Brad then grabbed my right inner thigh and dragged it away from its mate, making my sopping wet pussy totally available to his lust.

I felt a burning cock head press against my cunt, then he was driving into me, his shaft strong and smooth, its urgency sliding sweetly into my vagina until he was completely in me, our pubic bones bumping.

"Fuck, I just love the way you jerk and writhe for the whip," he whispered into my ear as he started humping and pumping, his chest crushing my pain-wracked breasts.

I grabbed his taut buttocks and kissed him fiercely on the mouth, as if to transfer my pain to him. Suddenly, Brad rolled me expertly onto my back and I went into a kneeling position, keeping his cock firmly in my cunt but sitting away from his torso so my breasts and their pain would not remain in contact with his heaving chest.

Slowly, the sharp shooting pains in my globes began to subside, and as they did I had this sudden, huge urge to have his cruel, sensual mouth on my nipples.

Putting my bunched fists on the side of his shoulders and keeping my arms straight I lowered my breasts to his face, fearing the effects his tongue and mouth would have on me, but knowing that I had to have their adoration or I would burst.

Softly he kissed first my left nipple, then my right, before beginning to suck on my left. As he did so, sharp torrents of pain stabbed through the nipple, then into my breast. After about a minute, he transferred his attention to my right nipple. As he sucked the nubbin the pain began to slowly ebb from the other nipple.

Then Brad began moving his head back and forth across my hanging breasts, sucking first one nipple, then the other, interspersed with kisses on my flogged inner globes as he switched from one erect nipple to the next.

The pain then went from sharp shootings of agony to one long sort of electric shock, flowing from my nipples down through my chest to my clitoris. I knew I was seeping sex juice like there was no tomorrow and then there was no pain, just a huge building of anticipation as I knew my climax was only seconds away.

Brad, sensing my impending orgasm, increased the tempo of his suckling on my breasts and then I was carried away with the Big O, crying out gasping words of encouragement and frenzy as the sexual surge splashed all over me before I collapsed, breasts heaving on his chest.

After a while, he kissed me tenderly on a cheek, them climbed from the bed. He returned some minutes later bearing a tray with a bottle of Bollinger and two champagne flutes.

"Now," he said, after we had clinked glasses and drunk some of the sparkling bubbly, "tell me about your job. Surely you're young to be a librarian, aren't you? Don't you need some sort of degree for such a job these days?"

"Not if your father is one of the major stockholders of the publishing house and is a very good friend of the chief publisher," I replied. "And anyway, I'm more of a researcher than a librarian, although the modern librarian

is

mostly a researcher these days."

"And what have you been researching lately?" he asked, stroking my still throbbing breasts.

"I'm collaborating with an east coast author on baseball's urban legends, baseball's urban myths, I suppose you'd call them," I told him.

"Such as?" said Brad, sipping his Bolly.

"Well, the very first run scored against the awful Mets in their very first game."

"That's easy," smiled my author-whipmaster. "Pitcher – Roger someone or other – drops the ball with a runner on third. It's called a balk, umpire waves runner home. Everyone knows that."

"An urban myth," I said, "perpetuated by Jimmy Breslin's brilliant book. Roger Craig was the pitcher and Bill White of the Cardinals was on third, but the very first run scored against the Mets came from a Stan Musial bloop single – that's how White scored."

"Stan Musial never hit a bloop single in his life," said Brad.

"Yes, he did," I told him, "and I've looked it up."

Amazing," said Brad. "I've read Breslin's book, Can't Anybody Here Play This Game? and I've always thought it was a balk."

"Nope," I said, confidently. "Want to know something else?"

"All right, disappoint me again," said Brad.

"Casey Stengel never said 'Can't anybody here play this game?' aybe he should have, it certainly sounds like something he would have said. But Breslin made it up."

"Tell you what," said Brad.

"What?" I smiled, confident I'd impressed him with my knowledge of a baseball myth.

"It's time you had a spanking," he said. "Only unlike baseball it's not gonna be three strikes and you're out. In fact, after three strikes, I'll hardly be into my warm-up!"

I kissed him and stood up. "Where do you want me?"

"Wonderful, a woman who knows her place," Brad grinned. "Over my lap, hands on the floor. Now get here!"

And with that he swung his legs over so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. I settled down across his lap, his erection sticking into my belly as I arranged myself. My feet grazed the floor, my fingers grabbed at the carpet.

I felt his finger probing between my thighs, and opened them slightly wider to accommodate him. What felt like a forefinger slipped into my dripping wet cunt, then traced back over my anus before I heard the sounds of sucking.

"Fuck you taste good," Brad said, but suddenly his compliment was removed from my mind by a stinging, thwacking crack as his hand struck my buttocks.

"Ouch," I yelped.

Brad's response was another cracking blow: "Ouch, thank-you, whipmaster!"

"Ouch, thank-you, whipmaster," I responded, trying desperately to suppress a giggle as I did so.

Then another blow fell, followed by the delicate tracing of his finger through my sex, across my anus and up to his mouth. I heard an inhalation, then a sucking sound, and another compliment: "This is the sweetest tasting pussy I've fingered all day!"

I yelped in outrage: "Whipmaster, really – what a back-handed compliment!"

His response was another stunning blow which made my buttocks jounce from its force.

"And that was a forehand, my sweet-assed little tramp," he said, as the blow burned its way into my posterior.

Brad continued spanking me, announcing from time to time that my buttocks were turning a nice shade of pink. In between each stroke, his finger slipped into my sex trench, travelled from cunt to anus, sometimes from cunt to clit, and by the time he had rained some 20 blows onto my backside I was throbbing with lust.

"Now get up, suck my cock and thank me for your first spanking, then get into the reverse position for your second," he instructed me in a no-nonsense tone.

I stood, ruefully rubbing my buttocks, then bent over and sucked on his rigid manhood, its tip gleaming with pre-cum, its foreskin pulled slightly back and presenting a little glimpse of pink helmet flesh.

"Thank-you whipmaster," I whispered, "please continue with my punishment."

Then I arranged myself so I was across his lap facing in the opposite direction. This time he spanked me with his other hand, but that made no difference – his hand was just as strong as the first, his finger still continued its probing of my dripping sex between strokes and soon I was trying hard to maintain my composure as he fingered me towards a climax.