The ride home was short; but terribly, agonizingly long. You didn't speak a word to me, but I could see the tension in the muscles of your jaw. I was in for a long night.
You didn't open the passenger door for me when we arrived home, and I felt foolish sitting there while you walked past me. You didn't wait for me at the front door either. I was no match for your long strides in my stripper heels.
When I walked in, you were standing by the fire place, which was blazing. "Strip," you commanded, "just put the heels back on after you get your stockings off." What was left of the stockings, anyway. They had been torn up by the rough bricks you had fucked me against. I did as you instructed, sliding my arms out of the now buttonless red blouse. You cringed when you saw the scrapes all over my lovely tits. Next the skirt. It slid over my hips easily. There was no discreet way to remove my stocking without any panties on, so I decided I might as well give you a show. I propped one foot up on the coffee table and unbuckled my shoe, giving you a nice view of my bald cunt. I had rolled the stocking halfway down my calf when you said, "That's enough performing, slut. Just get them off." I reddened, and hurriedly removed the other shoe and stocking. Then I replaced my shoes, as instructed. I looked at you, awaiting further instruction. "Burn them." I cocked my head to one side, quizzically. The stockings and blouse were ruined, but there was nothing wrong with my skirt other than the spot where cum had leaked out of my ass on the way home, and we already knew that cum comes out in the wash. "Don't make me repeat myself," you growled. I quickly tossed the bundle into the fire. It smoked and I coughed. We watched the fabric melt away. "I don't want any reminders of what happened tonight," I could hardly bear the pain in your eyes. But damnit! You fucked her! You saw me ice over and grabbed a fistful of my long hair. "C'mon, slut, time for round two of your punishment."
You pulled me down the stairs to the basement, where you'd made a makeshift dungeon by padding the walls. No one outside could hear my screams. I started to beg for mercy: "Please Master, you already punished me. Once you punish me you're supposed to forgive me. Please-"
A sharp jerk to my head shut me up. "That was for running away, and trying to fuck another man. I forgive you for that, my slut; because I know whores like you can't control themselves. All they think about are their slutty little cunts. But now you need to be punished for snooping."
In the middle of our "dungeon" was a bar stool; a little odd, but not the least bit intimidating. On the far wall, however, was your bullwhip, a souvenir from your days on the farm. On the shelf were some other tools: a spreader bar with shackles, a pair of handcuffs, dildos of various shapes, sizes and materials. But the bullwhip. The bullwhip made me shudder whenever I saw it.
You led me over to the bar stool and told me to assume the position. I bent my body over the stool so that my ass was high in the air, my belly on the seat, and my tits swung free. All my holes were accessible to you in this position, and my heels brought my ass and pussy up to the perfect fucking height for you.
First you cuffed my hand around the wrung of the barstool. Next you roughly kicked my legs apart and attached the spreader bar to my ankle, my legs so wide apart that if the stool had not supported me I would have fallen on my face. Then you stood back to admire your handiwork. "Well, whore... you must be punished, there's no way around it. You have violated our trust, and you know how important trust is to me." You squatted down in front of me, bringing us to eye level. "Haven't I always told you that we have to trust one another?" I couldn't speak. How dare you lecture to me about trust? "Well whore, I think the bullwhip is called for." You sprang up and took it off the wall stroking the leather as though it were a lover. You walked behind me. I waited silently for my sentence. "Fifteen," you pronounced. "You are going to take fifteen lashes, whore, and I'm not going to go easy. Count them. You don't have to thank me."
*CRACK* "One Master!" You hadn't lied. You'd never lashed me so hard.
*CRACK* "OWW Master two!"
*CRACK* *CRACK* "Three, four, oh God please..."
*CRACK* "Five!" My voice cracked.
*CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* Six, seven, and eight followed quickly, and I gasped and cried as I counted.
*CRACK* "Nine, Master, please no more-"
*CRACK* I screamed as I felt number ten slice my skin open. I couldn't count, I couldn't breathe; the searing pain was the center of my universe. I felt a trickle of blood run down my ass cheek and leg.
I waited for eleven. It never came. I sensed that somewhere behind me you were trying to regain control. Finally you spoke: "I'm not going to continue. Ten is enough. But your little cunt is dripping. Let's see if we can satisfy it." I tried to relax my pussy muscles, expecting you to drive your thick cock into my wet core. I screamed again when I felt something sharp tear into me.
"STOP that," I screamed. The object paused, but only long enough for your hand to come crashing down on my burning red ass cheek.
"Stop? Does my cunt tell me to stop? Does she tell me no? NO! My cunt takes it. Scream all you want. I'll fuck you with anything I want, you piece of shit whore! And if you don't like the handle of my whip tearing you up, then I'll just fuck you harder." You began again, harder. In the back of my mind I understood: you were fucking me with the handle of the bullwhip, and the dried leather knot on the end was what was scratching at my delicate pussy muscles. You rubbed my clit until I came, my orgasm squeezing the muscles of my cunt around the cruel leather, cutting the soft tissue even deeper. You left the whip inside of me and walked around to my front. You roughly grabbed my face and began stroking your cock in and out of my mouth and throat. I was not giving you a blow job; you were fucking my face. I tried to relax my throat muscles because I knew that if I puked on your dick there would be hell to pay. My entire body was starting to relax, setting in to the rhythm of you fucking me, when I heard the door behind me open. I tensed up. You obviously knew whoever had entered our home, because you continued fucking my throat until a petite blonde appeared at your side.
My God. She was gorgeous. Tiny frame, blonde hair not quite long as mine, and perky breasts with pink nipples. I hated the sight of her. You pulled your cock from my mouth just as someone behind me yanked the bullwhip from my cunt, making me scream again as it tore out of me. "Master, please tell me what's going on, please," I cried to you.
"It's simple, whore. Heather here is going to suck my cock, and then I'm going to fuck her. And you're going to watch. And just so you don't feel left out, Ryan is going to fuck you as well." You reached for a blindfold and slid it over Heather's eyes. Heather. I hated the bitch. Was she the one at work you were fucking?
