Suburban Slave

Part 2: A Belting

I heard the buckle tinkle softly as my husband pulled his belt from around his waist. Then, there was a sharp slap as he doubled the thick leather strap in to a loop and pulled it taught.

He reached up and pulled the butt plug from my mouth.

"We'll try it without the gag first, but if you scream too loudly, the plug goes back in."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Remember, you brought this on yourself, slut."

"Yes, sir. I know," I said softly.

"Legs apart, hands behind your head. Present your udders for punishment."

I immediately complied, assuming the correct posture and sticking my chest out as far as possible to make it easier for my owner to whip my large breasts.

"Ask for it, cunt."

"Please whip this whore's udders sir," I asked meekly, then braced myself.

There was a brief pause. I couldn't see what my husband was doing because of he had pulled my panties over my head and face, obscuring my vision.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, I heard a slight swoosh followed by a loud crack as the thick leather belt struck me sharply across the left nipple. The pain was instantaneous and all-encompassing. In seconds, the entire left side of my chest was on fire. I gasped, but didn't scream or call out. I took two deep breaths.

"One, thank you sir."

He paused for a beat.

Another soft sound of air being displaced followed by another loud crack. This time he hit me on the underside of my right breast. The pain was spectacular. I began panting through my open mouth.

"Two, thank you sir," I grunted.

A third stroke arrived at exactly the same location as the second, on the underside of my right breast. I felt as if my flesh would break open like a ripe melon from the impact.

"Ahhrgh. Oh, God!" I wailed.

"Count it out, slut," said my owner evenly.

"Three, thank you sir," I whimpered after taking a moment to collect myself.

The drumbeat upon my breasts seemed to go on forever. Sometimes my master would take slow deliberate aim and strike the same exact spot several times in a row. Other times, he hit me with a rapid combination of strokes across my entire chest.

He was an expert with the belt. He hit what he aimed at.

I was adrift in a sea of pain, but I never moved to cover myself. I never took my hands from behind my head and I never backed away. I had been corrected before. I knew the rules. I counted out each and every stroke.

At last we reached the count of twenty. I was crying quietly underneath my sodden panties when the onslaught finally ceased. I took several deep breaths to steady myself. My sobs finally subsided. My owner roughly lifted the panties from my head, then grabbed me by the hair.

"Come have a look at what happens to the udders of disobedient sows like you."

He dragged me across the room until I was standing in front of the large dresser mirror. I continued to hold my hands behind my head as I looked at my reflection in the glass.

My breasts were striped with red, angry welts. There were purpling bruises surrounding the base of both nipples and extending out in to the soft globes of both breasts. The nipples themselves were swollen and inflamed.

No bikini tops for me on this trip, I thought morosely.

As I continued to examine my reflection in the hotel mirror, my owner roughly plunged two fingers in to my cunt from behind. Again, I was not surprised that I was wet. Despite the fire in my breasts, I began to move against his hand almost immediately.

I tried to stop myself. I really did. I told myself I didn't like the pain. I was not going to be an accomplice to my own degradation. I would not play the eager pain slut for him. Not this time.

That was when I realized I was about to come on his hand.

"Can I please come, sir?" I asked almost in a panic. I had no choice. A slave always has to ask.

He immediately pulled out his fingers and smacked me smartly on the cunt.

"Are you fucking kidding me, you stupid cow?" he asked incredulously. "This is supposed to be a punishment. God, what a whore you are."

He brought his fingers to my mouth for cleaning. No hesitation on my part, this time. That particular spark of rebellion had been belted out of me, but good. I sucked and slurped for all I was worth.

In a moment, he pulled his hand out of my mouth and wiped it on my hair. Then, her brought the belt up to my lips.

"Kiss it, cunt."

I kissed the stiff leather surface, then went back to staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I couldn't help but notice that I was rocking my pelvis back and forth in slow, deliberate arcs, grinding myself against nothing but the air in the upscale hotel room. I moaned in misery and need.

Then, I realized that the worst part of my punishment was still to come and I had to choke back a sob.

A triple-twenty. Twenty strokes to the tits, ass and cunt. Each.

My husband pulled me roughly over to the desk chair.

"Bend over. Ass up."

I dutifully complied.

"Bring that ass up higher and put your head down, cunt."

I pivoted slightly, shifting my upper body down and lifting my ass up as high as I could.

"Legs a little wider, please."

I assumed the required position.

"Ask," he said.

"Please whip this whore's ass, sir," I breathed softly and closed my eyes.

After a moment, the belt came down. I counted. The leather sang and my ass burned, but it really wasn't too bad. The ass-whipping is the easiest part of a triple-twenty. Here is where a girl can catch her breath. Here is where you can pause and get your mind right for the last part, the worst part.

The cunt whipping.

Too soon, my owner was finished belting my ass.

"On the bed, whore. Legs wide open and I better not see you close them one centimeter or we add strokes, understood?"

"Yes sir," I muttered softly.

In a moment I was laying on the bed with my legs spread. I pulled a pillow under the small of my back and leaned back, then tilted my pelvis upward to make it easier for my owner to whip my shaved cunt.

"Ask for it, slut."

"Please whip this whore's cunt, sir," I said softly.

My husband picked up my discarded panties off the floor, then walked over and stuffed them roughly in my mouth.

"I know you won't be able to stop yourself," he said not unkindly. "You don't have to count."

He smiled down at me. I looked up at him in desperation over the bunched cotton underwear in my mouth, but found no mercy in his eyes.

My husband chuckled and looked away, then walked casually to the foot of the bed, taking up his position between my legs. He slapped the belt gently against the flat of his left hand a few times as if planning out his attack.

Then he took a step back and looked me directly in the eyes. I held his gaze for a few moments, then looked away, turning my head to the right and closing my eyes. It was best not to see the first one coming.

There was a beat of silence, followed by the sentinel sound of rushing air.

Then, my entire vulva exploded in pain. He had struck me full force, a direct hit across the middle of my slit with the thick leather belt.

My eyes popped open and I craned my neck against the bed as I screamed in to the panties in my mouth. Again, I felt the hot tears rise.

The next stroke came without warning and landed directly on my clit. This time, my scream was louder, longer and deeper. More guttural. It seemed to last forever.

Again, the belt fell. Next on my taint. Then back to the clit. The next blow was placed directly across the rim of my exposed asshole.

I was sobbing and mewling in to my panties as the strokes continued to fall. My entire pelvis was on fire. I was experiencing whole new dimensions of pain as I writhed in agony on the hotel bed.

But then, inevitably, I began to feel something else as well.

The belt continued to fall, but I gradually stopped screaming and began moaning instead. My clit started to tingle. Then I felt a warm, wet wave rising slowly, but steadily from the molten core of my sex.

I knew then that the dark alchemy of my affliction was upon me. There was no going back now. I shuddered inwardly at what was coming. At what I would do.

My husband began to strike me repeatedly on my engorged clit. Stroke after stroke landed with perfect precision. After a while, that small nubbin of flesh between my legs became the fulcrum of my universe, balancing the extremity of my pain and pleasure in perfect equipoise.

After a few more strokes, the warring sensations of agony and ecstasy assaulting my clit fused in to one searing, throbbing current of electricity that thrummed outward from my aching loins up in to the center of my very being. My entire body began to vibrate.

I was lost now.

I began to thrust out my pelvis to meet each new stroke, lifting my ass off the bed as high as I could to maximize the force of the impact.

My husband noticed the transformation in me. He always did. He changed to a steady rhythm now, keeping every stroke trained deliberately on my clit.

Again and again, the stiff leather kissed my most sensitive flesh.

I continued to rise up to meet each stroke. I was up on the backs of my heels now, my legs wide open, offering the flower of my sex to the belt. I was covered with a sheen of sweat. I grunted quietly in to the panties in my mouth. I was long past screaming now.

I was vaguely aware that we were way past twenty strokes.

I didn't give a fuck.

I was calling the belt now with my cunt, trying to draw it into me, making it hurt me more. I needed more pain. I was almost there.

I began to recite the familiar mantra.

"Harder," I croaked around the panties in my mouth.

I thrust my pussy up even higher, bouncing up and down on the bed and throwing myself against the belt with as much violence as I could muster.

"Harder." I grunted with more urgency this time.

My husband was breathing heavily now, swinging the belt with all his strength.

I was panting like an animal.

Close.

Ten more strokes fell.

Twenty.

It was coming.

Ten more.

Five more.

Finally, it was here. I froze with my back arched and my cunt thrust out above me with my legs spread as wide as humanly possible. I was presenting a perfect stationary target with the ideal angle of approach.

I needed one more perfect stroke.

My husband did not disappoint me. He pulled his arm back as far as he could and swung the belt in a perfect arc. It actually whistled as it fell and found its mark.

The sound of the impact was drowned out by the cacophony of my screams as my orgasm overtook me and I exploded in to a thousand shards of bright, white elemental ecstasy.

I was crying softly when I became aware of my surrounding again. My husband was stroking my hair as he held my head in his lap.

"It's over, Suzanne. You did well. All is forgiven," he said softly.

I knew our sessions were over when my husband began calling me by my real name.

He sat up on the bed, pulling me up gently to sit beside him.

"Now go get cleaned up and let's get dinner. I'm going to spoil your rotten tonight."

He stood.

"Wait," I said. "I have to thank you for my punishment, sir."

He smiled. "Don't worry about it honey. Come on, let's go. The session is over."

I didn't listen. I rolled off the bed on to my knees and crawled to the feet of my owner. I bent my head and kissed both of his shoes.

"Thank you for punishing me, sir."

I bent again, hugging his legs loosely as I kissed his feet again.

I was overwhelmed by the depth of my emotions.

"Thank you for my belting," I said softly with my face pressed against his shoe.

I was not at all surprised to find that I meant it.