Nadya and Richard Consummate Their Wedding

You look so gorgeous, darling, shimmering in dazzling white, even more intense now that the bare skin of your ass is glowing red. My fingertips run the rapids of your spine and you tremor as they reach the super sensitivity of your bottom. The sixth stroke beckons. I make an extra turn of my belt round my hand, which shortens it, reducing its drag in the air and the elasticity along its length. In other words it is going to strike you harder. I aim just below the centreline of your exposure, which is paler than above and below on account of being missed before. It looks like the central reservation in the carriageway of your beating, but not for much longer.

The time I have taken has hushed the crowd and it is into this library silence that your scream cuts like ice shearing from a cliff. It was a scream drawn from the depths of your abdomen and for most of our audience it takes the wind out of them too. But as you start to sob the now audible groans betray those who are getting off on this. Round the room eyes are closed, heads are tilted back and hands are clasped between thighs. Where elegant blouses have been unbuttoned and breasts exposed, often the flush above the breasts is a give-away too. Men who have unzipped themselves, or have been unzipped, are altogether less subtle in their taking of pleasure. Some beautiful cocks, glistening with pre-cum, so tempting for me to kneel down and take into my mouth. But not now, for now it is only you and your pleasure that matters to me.

Your tears have stopped, so I tenderly use my hand to wipe the water from your face. You long for me to step round in front of you and to kiss you but for now you know I will stay behind you and the kiss I plant is on the back of your neck. As I do so my jeans inadvertently press against your prominent and raw ass and you gasp and then try to press back into me. Later baby. Four more strokes to go.

I kneel behind you and for the first time part your bent legs a little so I can get between them. Because your knees are on the bench, to raise up your ass to the correct height, when I am behind you like this my face is at the level of your crack and your white heels frame my haunches. Now I can observe in close up my marking of you. I take in the patination caused by the texture of the belt and the gradation of colour from the almost white of your tan line at the waist of your panties to the deep velvet where the skin has taken the most strokes. I cannot resist gently taking both cheeks in my hands and I can feel the heat radiating from your skin and you trembling at even such gentle touch.

But admiring and stroking your ass is not the only reason I wanted to be in this position. I lean forward further and touch my nose to that place where the definition of your crack is just forming. And I close my eyes and inhale, and revel in the unmistakable scent of your arousal, rising from your now soaking pussy.

I am loving this but outside the audience are impatient for more action. If the cameras would turn you would see the increasing sexual tension manifest in disarray of clothing - buttons undone, zips down, hems lifted, breasts bared - and disarray in behaviour - couples lost in kisses, hands between legs, usually of someone else, open stroking of curves and bulges.

Time is in our hands - it is one of the great privileges of the day. Like on the best of holidays we are at liberty to indulge our passion for as long as we like. What my passion requires now is that you take the seventh stroke.

I let my palms skim over the sides of your torso to signal to you that I am standing up again. Prepare yourself baby. Let me imagine the steady concentration in your wet eyes, the attention you are paying to your breathing and deliberately not trying to grip too hard. I see you push your ass up slightly, a provocation of readiness. I stretch my arm back, control my own breathing, whisper I love you, and then twist my whole body violently anticlockwise to whip you again.

Remember our good friend in green who is sat directly in front of you, her legs parted for your better enjoyment of her pussy? She was watching intently, mesmerised by your beautiful if tear-streaked face, and losing herself in your own concentration. At the moment my belt struck you for this seventh time and your mouth flew open wider than anyone would have thought possible to expel the pain in the most awful scream, she sunk two fingers inside herself, and started to shake. And then her own mouth opened and she started to scream too, in what might have been taken for sympathy but of course was the onset of the most crashing orgasm. Her knees shook uncontrollably, her head flew back and she continued to cry out long after you had quieted. Her neighbours placed hands on her quivering knees - a kindly message that they were with her in this moment, and the man behind her, finding her hat almost in his face, held her shoulders.

How beautiful it is to see the orgasm of a woman engulf her body and her mind. It did wonders to leech away your pain, as you watched in awe and love our gorgeous friend so consumed in her ecstasy. And this is a pleasure you have given her, without so much as a touch or a kiss. Just by being here, on your wedding day, half clothed in white, facing her, and letting her watch your submission and hear you scream. Today we will give pleasure to so many as well as to ourselves. This is what this community is all about.

You have the most gorgeous ass, as taut and toned as any that I or anyone here has ever admired, thanks to the discipline you keep in your training and your love of your work, teaching others how to dance with poise, passion and gravity-defying agility on a pole. And today you are here, your beautiful body on display to whoever wished to come, your ass glowing red from seven strokes of my belt, and the knowledge that later you will be watched as you are pleasured in every conceivable way.

How curious it is, that for the most part our public lives and our private desires are kept so separate. The anguish that some face for not being able to express their sexuality openly, in public, with friends and with family, and the exile that some experience from their communities when they do. Here no such constraints exist. When you are back at work after our honeymoon friends will smile and tell you how much they enjoyed seeing you being whipped and fucked, and perhaps share their stories of what they did that day as a result of their own arousal. And you may kiss them and invite them to feel how wet those recollections have made you.

Wet like you are now, overcome with arousal from the public exposure, the heat emanating from your backside and the increasingly overt displays of lust within your sight. I put my hand to your pussy and slip a couple of fingers inside. You are so tight, and you part your legs a little more to ease my entry. This is the first time the camera lady has been able to see so clearly the neat folds of your labia and she zooms in to share that delight with our audience outside. I turn my fingers inside your cunt to fully coat them in your slippery juices, then withdraw and present my fingers to your mouth. I know how much you adore your own taste, and this is a small gift to acknowledge the dignity of your submission over the seven strokes so far, and relax you for the next one. You take my fingers into your mouth greedily and lick them clean, inhaling to appreciate your own scent of arousal on my hand. You have closed your eyes and I know you will be imagining it is my pussy-juice-soaked cock between your lips, as it will be later.

Mirroring is a known human trait - the tendency to sometimes inadvertently copy what you see someone else doing. It is usually as innocuous as leaning on the same elbow in a conversation or tilting your head in unison. But today the community that are around us in the room are already so lost in the action before them that it is no surprise to see quite so many fingers in mouths as there are now. Panties have been quietly slipped down, fingers have been inserted, eyes have closed and fingers have been tasted. A few of the more adventurous and deliberate men and women have lent across and slipped fingers into the open and willing pussies of their neighbours and then copied me in presenting them to the woman in question to lick.

It is time for your eighth stroke. I withdraw my fingers from your mouth and brush your hair with those same fingers as I draw a line from your shoulders through the small of your back, across the white, silken fabric. The hem of your dress has edged its way down almost to your bottom as you have tensed and writhed over the last hour, so I fold it back up again so you are properly exposed. I love you Nadya. I compose myself, gaze with desire upon your half nakedness, and then my belt whistles through the air to land hard across the centre of your cheeks again.

I suspect if you wished to you could have stifled your scream, been a bit quieter, or brought it to an end sooner, because your self control is so strong. But there is something powerful and liberating in being able to fully let go - to know it is okay to scream and scream and scream and let your tears flow in torrents and grip and release and grip and release and eventually subside into heavy sobs, as you did. And it had a profound effect on those in the room, perhaps encouraging them to let go more too. Up to now it seemed there had been a studied attempt at decorum, maintaining an atmosphere of quiet contemplation of your submission, and most of the activity around us had been discrete. But the intensity of your expression of pain this time undid all that. From multiple sides of the circles around us your scream was echoed in the vocal orgasms of women who could take no more and needed their own release. Of course a scream in a protracted orgasm has a different quality from one forced from your mouth by beating - more guttural - presumably designed by evolution to encourage another male to find you and take his turn to thrust his hard cock into you and fill you full of his cum.

Up until now I've taken plenty of time between one strike and the next, to allow you to fully recover your composure and to add to the anticipation in the room. And I'll be honest it is also for my pleasure. Just as I prefer to unwrap a present slowly, or even set it aside until later in the day, so my arousal is intensified by the waiting.

I enjoy seeing you naked, even more so when that nakedness is accentuated by the fact that parts of you are still covered. Naked from the waist down is somehow even more erotic than if you were totally naked. It is a manifestation of your confidence and daring that in other circumstances than this would shock.

I enjoy seeing you bent forward on your knees as you are now, your pert bottom in the air, your thighs slightly parted. It communicates submission but more importantly trust. You cannot see what is happening behind you but you submit and trust in whatever I may choose to do to you. That I may choose to do whatever I wish and know you are accepting of that, is a huge turn on for me.

I enjoy paying close attention to how your body is reacting and preparing. The slight glistening of sweat, the residual tremors from the last stroke, the spreading and deepening colour.

My mind pictures what I am going to do to you, and this at least doubles the pleasure. The more I think about it and how you will respond, the more my desire grows.

But this time I set aside all that and the ninth stroke that lands whilst you are still sobbing catches you by surprise. It is more howl than scream that emanates from your mouth, and for the first time you lose your grip and momentarily slump onto the padded bar. Your hands instinctively fly back to protect your ass from a pain that is becoming unbearable but as soon as they touch you yell out again as the skin is too raw to take your own touch. Perhaps I should have bound your wrists after all. You return your hands to the bar and gasp and sob uncontrollably.

Nine strokes you have taken and there is only one left yet suddenly it feels to you like too much to bear. I can see you gritting your teeth and sense the mental fight in which you are now engaged. And the noise around us has dropped to almost a complete hush as everyone is transfixed by the unexpected drama. If you would only look up and see the eyes upon you, you would see every pair willing you to prevail in your war of mind over body.

I was never in doubt. I've never met anyone with a stronger mind and such a high pain threshold. As the seconds tick past your tears slacken and I can see the grip returning to your muscles. Your breathing is starting to steady too. And round the room everyone else relaxes and starts to smile. For the first time since we began I walk round and kneel in front of you and take your wet face protectively in my hands. I kiss you on the forehead like a father would his child. And then I look into your eyes and convey the intensity of my love with the kindest of smiles. Just one more. Then another whole world of pleasure awaits.

You smile back and the connection between us feels so deep, and so meaningful that the world could have emptied around us. I kiss you once more on your forehead and rise and walk deliberately back to where your shimmering hot ass awaits me. Just one more. I feel the weight of the belt in my hand. I wrap it round and round until it is a tight coil across my palm, and then unwind it to the right length. And then I do that again, buying time for my own churning emotions of love to settle. Just one more. I reach out with my left hand and push the folds of your wedding dress a little higher up your back. I let my hand dawdle on your taut skin, enjoying the touch, then I step back and line myself up. In the near total silence I can hear your breathing. I close my eyes, breathe deeply, open them again, and with all the force I can muster, hurl the woven band with the sharpest of cracks against your quivering red bottom.

The pain you feel and express into the room this time is unlike anything we have known before. It is so raw and overwhelming, yet somehow everything we both wanted. And whilst your screams are deafening in reality, they are muffled to me, in that strange way that happens in rapid descent on a flight. My consciousness is elsewhere, a mix of intense arousal that is evident in the extreme pressure in my jeans and the wetness I can feel on the head of my cock, and a transcendental love for you. And as you gasp for air, then scream again as the heat continues to sear across your backside, know you feel that too. I recover myself, walk round in front of you, and unbutton my jeans. I see your eyes acknowledge me through your tears and as I push the waistband down my cock springs out, as hard as I have ever known it. And then I take your head in my hands and stifle your cries by pushing my cock deep into your mouth.