The Weekend Ch 2

(for Rebecca)

* * *

Two hours...two hours she had been tied to the post, while He spanked and flogged her ass. She was so turned on she was on the edge of exhaustion. He had forbade her from cumming and He was continually taking her to her limits, extending them as He worked on her.

When they entered the house, He had blindfolded her and led her to this room. Here, He had bound her roughly, not seeming to care about her comfort. He strapped her first to a table, binding her wrists to chains and making her bend at the waist, feet flat, legs spread wide. Then He spanked her, making her count the blows, 50 of them, until she was crying, bawling, begging for release. He did not refuse, but stopped only to start again, spanking her pussylips 10 times more. Then He released her wrists, pulled her up by the hair, and moved her across the room. She begged to be allowed to cum, knowing it would anger Him more. He laughed and slapped her face...hard...telling her that she would cum when HE was damned good & ready for her to cum, not before. Then He bound her to the rough wooden post, her breasts rubbing against the wood, her pussy rubbing there, too, and her ass exposed to Him. Then He removed the blindfold and picked up the flogger.

Rebecca shuddered, recalling how it whistled and snapped and stung her as it struck. She had counted every blow, loudly, through her tears of frustration, pain, and ecstasy. This was what she had hoped He would do...punish her, take her to the edge, make her extend her limitations farther than ever before. 50 more blows...50 more moments of painful bliss.

* * * * *

Two hours...two hours, Tom had tested her, tried her boundaries, waiting for her to say the word. He had whispered, "Popcorn will stop it all" as he moved her though the house. And throughout the two hours, as she had begged him to stop, screamed her agony & desire, he had listened, fearing she would say the word. The only time he had been angry had been when she asked to cum for him. How dare she! She knew, had to know, that he would make her cum when he was ready. That they would both cum, repeatedly, before the weekend ended, she had to know. For that transgression, he had slapped her face as hard as he dared. He knew it hurt her...his palm had stung after the blow. But she stood and cried, yet said nothing. He was terribly afraid that he had gone too far, but when she whimpered, "I'm sorry, Master. I deserved that", he had breathed a sigh of relief. And when he bound her to the post, her clit and nipples being rubbed against the pine, and removed the blindfold, her eyes were shining with lust.

He smiled...he almost danced for joy. She was truly his!

After that, he flogged her, using the buffalo hide cat. It was heavy and made a stunning impression on her already sore, red ass. She whimpered, rubbing herself against the post with each stroke. He knew how quickly this could cause an unintentional orgasm, so he paced himself, giving her five at a time, varying the speed, force, and angle of each blow. As she reached each five count, he stopped, letting her catch her breath. Often he walked up behind her, soothing her, touching her hair, her neck, her shoulders, while whispering, "Good girl, Rebecca, hold off the urge, fight the urge to cum." He knew that this had two, quite opposite, effects. First, it gentled her, calmed her down; but, more sadistic, it aroused her, hearing his voice, feeling his hands. She so desired to cum, he could taste her need. And it fed his hunger.

So, Tom kept up the beating.....15, 20, 25....a very long break. He left the room, relaxed, used the john, teased himself to the brink and stopped, then got two glasses of wine and returned. She needed to relieve herself and he released her, making her crawl to the toilet, then crawl back. He reset her bonds, being certain her swollen sex rubbed against the tiny nubbin of wood he had carved out to tease his slave's clits. Then the beating began again, until her ass was utterly red and sore and her sex was flowing with her need. 30,35,40...an intermediate break to let her cool off. More wine, then the final ten. He took a 30-second break between each blow, aiming very carefully, letting the tails nip at her exposed anus and pussy with each shot he took. 45, then excruciatingly, 50.

He released her, caught her in his arms, and looked into her eyes, still filled with tears. He whispered, "You are a very good pet."

She whimpered, "Thank You, Master" and collapsed in His arms. She felt so safe there, even though those Hands had just whipped her into complete exhaustion. She felt she could go no further, until His fingers explored her aching nipples, rubbed sore by the pole, and her swollen, open pussy. When He touched her clit, she exploded in a massive orgasm, so long denied. The orgasm she had desired since the moment He walked into the restaurant. And when she came, He whispered, "Good pet, cum for me." And she did, again and again, until she faded into oblivion and slept.

Tom carried her to his bed and laid her in it. He lay next to her, hearing her gentle breathing. His needs would wait until she awoke. After all, it was only the first night of what he now felt might be forever.