Unblocing Carole

Chapter 7: Carole has a Breakthrough

'It would be easier to list the parts of me that don't hurt,' Carole thought. Certainly the list of those that did hurt was lengthy. Her ass and feet, though somewhat healed from yesterday, were far from fully recovered. If anything, standing on the hard floor and dancing under the whip had not been easy on her feet.

Now, added to that, was her back, which still burned from the hard lashes and also from the antiseptic that James had applied where the skin had been broken. She supposed that indicated at least a shred of tenderness on his part, at least showing that he was abiding by the agreement not to cause permanent harm, which an infection could well constitute.

Her arms ached from having taken her weight after her legs had given way under the stress of the flogging. And her hands were cramped from holding onto the bar for dear life as she had fought through the pain. Holding a pen to write would not be easy, but she was determined that she would write no matter what.

Worst of all, were her poor tits, which had always been very sensitive. The flaying of her nipples had taken her beyond what she would have imagined she could endure and they still burned. She was relieved to be naked right now, because she felt that the sensation of even soft fabric on them would be hard to bear.

Then, there was the matter of the video, the thought of which had caused her head to ache, especially in its sleep-deprived state. Would James really release it as he had threatened? Honestly, she didn't know. He had come here to help her-or so he claimed-and all of the domination and punishment, while terribly unpleasant, had at least corresponded to some of the fantasies she had expressed in her writing.

But the video went beyond that. She imagined what people's reactions would be. The idea of strangers watching and masturbating to her enduring her lashes was, she was ashamed to admit, a bit of a turn on.

However, the thought of it being seen by people close to her was frightening. Her mother would cry at the sight of her daughter suffering. Her friend, Jane, who was at least somewhat aware of her writing, would be shocked by the fact that Carole had enacted her fantasies in real life.

The people she worked with might well shun her. Sure, that would involve them admitting to watching that sort of thing, but they could always claim that they had been sent it by someone else. No, that video in the wrong hands could certainly be something that could change her life in ways that scared her.

So, the only way out was through. She had to gather every ounce of strength and write a damn good story. She couldn't be 100% sure that that would prevent James from doing anything with the video other than perhaps watching it for his own enjoyment after he had gotten back home, but she believed she was a good enough judge of character to be confident that he would keep it private if she wrote.

Also, he had promised her the fuck of a lifetime once she wrote her story and that was a promise she was quite certain that he would keep. After all, how many times can one guy so no to a girl begging him to screw her?

Carole sat down at the desk under James' watchful eye. Really, though, this time he had nothing to worry about. It was true that, despite the pain signals from various parts of her body, or, more likely, because of them, she was hornier than she could recall ever having been in her entire life, she was also determined to channel that energy into her writing.

'Write what you know,' was the dictum. Well, what did she know better than what she had experienced in the last day or so? If she couldn't make a story out of that, then she should never call herself a writer ever again.

But she didn't want to just regurgitate what had happened. That was already on video. However, the video didn't capture her thoughts as she had had to face him as he had whipped her tits. Maybe this would:

Carole had spent the morning at her desk attempting to write with a blue ballpoint pen and a spiral notebook. It wasn't working. After two hours she had nothing to show but a couple of paragraphs and a pile of scrunched-up paper that had been tossed to the floor. Carole was frustrated, but, worse, she was scared of what James would say when he returned from the other room.

Suddenly, she felt James' presence behind her. She tensed, waiting for him to speak.

"It looks like you need more of my help to break your writer's block, Carole. Is that right?"

In her mind, she said that she didn't need or want what he was giving. In her mind, she wanted him to go away and leave her alone. She didn't need to write.

However, she knew better than to share her thoughts. "Yes, sir," she said, quietly looking down at her desk.

"Stand!" He yelled a little too loudly.

The naked girl jumped at the forcefulness of his voice and stood still, staring down at her desk.

"Now, turn and look at me," he said in a more calm voice.

She turned to face him, but she was too ashamed to lift her eyes to look at him.

"Head up," he said, reaching out and gently pushing her chin so that she was looking directly at him. She stared deeply into his eyes, realizing that she hadn't looked at him like this before. He was a good-looking man and she hated that he treated her this way.

Then she saw it; the strap he held in his hand. It was smaller than the one he had used last night but just as frightening. "No, please!" she cried, looking down at the weapon in his hand.

"Eyes back up."

Following his command hurt. She didn't want him to look at her, to see the fear in her eyes but she did as she was told.

"Good girl. Now, left hand out, palm up."

She obeyed, realizing for the first time what was about to happen. She looked at her hand and was reprimanded again for looking away from his eyes.

Looking at him, she wanted to do nothing more than close her eyes and hide her fear. The sound of the strap cutting through the air scared her but she kept her eyes on him.

Then, the pain landed on her upturned hand. It shot up her arm and into her brain.

Her arm instinctively pulled back rubbing against her naked breast trying to find some comfort. She was still staring at him, trying to look defiant, but she knew that only pain and humiliation showed in her eyes.

She realized right then that yesterday she hadn't had to face James while he was torturing her. She had been in her own world trying to manage the pain. This was so much worse. He could see the tears welling in her eyes. He could see her pain.

He didn't say a word but she knew to put her hand out again. By the third time that he hit her, the tears were rolling down her face but she continued to look at him and let him see her pain.

She had worked hard on it, not even pausing for lunch when he had gone into the kitchen and heated up the leftovers from last night, which had smelled very good. It was late afternoon when she got it done, slowed by the cramps in her hand, but she knew it was good. "Here, sir, I think you should look at this," she said. "I apologize for the bad penmanship. My hand was cramping."

He took the notebook, sat down on the sofa and read it. He appeared to be reading it twice. Finally, he put it down. "Stand up!" he ordered.

Her heart was pounding. Did he hate it and would she have to endure another punishment, perhaps one even harsher than the last one, which had been at the limits of what she could stand? He hadn't ripped it up, which was a good sign, she supposed.

He approached her. His face was unreadable. She was trembling. Finally, he smiled and took her in his arms, holding her close. The pressure of his hands on her back and his clothes rubbing against her breasts made her wince, but when he pressed his mouth against hers, she didn't mind. Despite all the intimacy they had shared, this was the first time they had kissed and it made her pussy ache with desire.

"It's very good, Carole. A really interesting and erotic perspective. Of course it will have to be expanded into a full story, but the germ is there. I think your writer's block is broken."

She began sobbing, this time in joy and relief, rather than in pain and humiliation. "I'm so happy you like it!" she exclaimed, through her tears. He released her from his arms. "So, now we can go to the bedroom and fuck," she said. "After all, you promised."

"I did and I fully intend to fuck your brains out. But I'm hungry and I think your breakthrough calls for a celebration. Let's go out for a nice dinner and then come back and spend the rest of the evening screwing."

"But, I stink from sweat and I'm sore all over and I don't think I could stand to feel clothes on my skin right now, certainly not on the fresh whip marks. Can't we do take out like last night?"

"Tonight is special. Go have a shower-I'll make sure you keep your hands off your pussy-and I'll rub some lotion on to soothe the burn. You can wear a halter top with no bra so chafing will be minimal."

"A halter top?" she exclaimed. "Everyone will see my whip marks!"

He smiled at that.

As she showered, she thought about which restaurants in the area had the dimmest lighting, so that her embarrassment would be as minimal as possible. 'Gino's is always fairly dark and they have a terrace so we won't even have to go inside,' she thought. It was a warm early fall evening, so they could sit outside comfortably.

When she got out of the shower, he helped her to dry off, patting her gently with the soft towel and rubbing lotion on her back, breasts and ass. She accepted the sheer halter top with spaghetti straps, which he picked for her after rooting through her closet. It was probably the most revealing one she had. He forbade a bra, of course, not that she could have stood the feel of one against her inflamed nipples. She added a loose-fitting skirt-with no panties; she didn't think she could bear them rubbing against her buttocks-and sandals, flat so as to minimize any stress on her feet.

She reached for a cardigan to cover as much of her marked skin as she could, but he reached his arm out to stop her. "It's warm out, you won't need it," he said.

She sighed. The sun was setting, and in the dim light you could make out the marks on her upper body if you were looking for them, but perhaps, she hoped, if you weren't that observant you might think she had been out in the sun too long, even though her face and neck didn't look burnt at all. 'Well,' she thought, 'I don't suppose I'll be able to go to Gino's again after this. But it's better than having someone see that video.'

Out in the living room, she called Gino's and reserved a table on the terrace for an hour from now. "Let's have a drink to celebrate," she proposed. She hoped it would give her courage to face her public ordeal. She had some scotch in the kitchen. She poured them each a shot with ice. They sat on the sofa and watched an old sitcom.

"Would you like another?" she asked, when they had drained their glasses.

"I'm driving," he replied. "But you go ahead." She poured herself another one and drank it quickly. She was as ready as she would ever be.

At the restaurant, the hostess seemed to barely glance at them as she led them to their table. The waiter looked down her top as he took their orders, but she figured he probably would have done that regardless of the whip marks. The woman at the next table seemed to looking at her oddly, but maybe that was her imagination.

They had a nice dinner, sharing a bottle of wine and an antipasto. He had veal marsala and she had chicken al limone and they shared a piece of blueberry cheesecake for dessert. James paid the bill and they got into his car.

Finally, she was going to get laid! At least she hoped he wouldn't come up with any more tasks for her to fulfill. It was all she could do not to touch herself in the car. She was so excited that she fumbled with the keys, but eventually managed to unlock the door.

Inside, he took her into his arms and kissed her deeply. He pulled her top over her head, carefully so as to rub as little as possible against her irritated skin. He traced the whip marks on her breasts with his finger, marks that he had put there himself. She shivered.

"Shall we retire to the bedroom?" he asked.

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied.