It was Friday night and Mei was still recovering from her ride on Philip's fuck machine. Its strong motors, the leather straps and his well-timed strikes thrust her to a level of ecstasy so intense she was yet again transported out of her body. She had had no idea that sex like that was even possible. No one had treated her that way, no one had broken her before and no one loved her as much as her Philip did.
So much of her new life with him was a revelation. Before meeting him she had felt, at times, the shadow of a latent bisexuality. Just a hint that there might be the potential for pleasure in a woman's intimate company and in her body. It was as if part of her libido knew that there was someone hiding on the other side of the mirror. Philip changed that too and it seemed the girl behind the mirror took to lesbian sex with surprising alacrity. She could not see a future where she would abandon that half of herself now that the mirror was smashed and she and her reflection were one person.
Mei was very pleased at this and with all the changes Philip had made in her and she gave him full credit for the transformation. The bitch she used to be was well under control, bound and gagged deep in the bowels of her psyche. With growing confidence she expected that Jenny would die a slow death, never to be resurrected. And if she did manage to break free he would be there to whip her into sweet submission and drive her back into her cage. Life was too good for Mei to tolerate a return of her nemesis.
She was splayed out, face down on his bed with her head on a small pillow in his lap. The inflamed welts on her back that he was soothing with a wet cloth were the receipts that proved she earned her new self and which testified to her right to be Mei Chun, his princess.
The depth of her relaxation was due in part to her brain being still saturated with the neurotransmitters that caused feelings of quiet well being. She sank deeper into the velvet bag of sweet repose with each touch of his fingers in her hair and his deep calming voice.
'I am so loved,' she thought, 'so clean and good and loved by my man. Life is so good.'
She didn't have much left in her but wanted the night to end right and contemplated how she could please him while they spoke about the experience and he applied cold compresses to her skin.
"I don't know how to describe it," she said in a voice laden with fatigue and satisfaction, "It's so powerful and mechanical but like it's alive - like it has a personality and a purpose. It's like you made some wicked mechanical twin of yourself just to have it fuck my brains out." She paused and looked up at him out of the corner of her eye, "I think we should give it a name or something."
"Larry the fuck machine?"
"No, something like Max or Gunter. Something German and severe."
"Otto, perhaps?"
"Perfect. Can we get Karla on it?"
"Sure. How did you like the whipping?"
Her voice changed somewhat, now introspective and deliberate. "I don't know how to explain it. I'm a bit embarrassed to share it." He waited and she knew she had no choice but to confess. "I feel self-conscious, like a pervert or something."
He continued to wait, rewetting the cloth, squeezing the cool water back into a mixing bowl on the night stand.
"It made me feel special. Like you cared so much," a tear formed in her eye, "And like I was earning your love for me. Like I was becoming worthy of it." The tear rolled down the bridge of her nose. "The burning felt so... not good, but... made me feel clean." She wiped away the droplet just as it was falling.
"I don't like being cruel."
"It wasn't cruel... you know that. It was the opposite. It's like I have to pay for who I was. I know you love me, ok... so I was ok with the pain. It was a punishment I deserved. As if you were all the guys I toyed with before... all rolled into one, paying me back for their heartbreak."
"Did it make you?... Was it erotic?"
"Oh god yes. It wasn't the pain, it was knowing that it was you beating me. Can we watch the video? Can I make you come watching you really giving it to me?"
A couple of weeks ago he wouldn't have imagined that there could be any erotic value in watching a woman being flogged. However her enthusiasm for it, knowing how she reveled in it turned him on, and yes, getting a blow job watching her come while he whipped her had real erotic appeal.
"We'll see. Was the pain... Was it?"
Truth be told, Philip didn't enjoy administering pain, not much anyway. Yes, he enjoyed the rush of power, he would admit that, but it was a guilty, reluctant pleasure. What he did enjoy immensely was the way she reacted. When he gave her that first whack across the ass she would look back at him with a calm intensity in her eyes that displayed the depth and strength of her lust. It sent a quiver along his spine. She looked simultaneously pissed off and hungry, like she was going to fuck him to death. Then she would say something like, "Oh, fuck yes. Do it again," with a smoldering intensity which made the second and subsequent strikes much easier to administer.
Then there was the result. After a spanking Mei changed from a normal young woman, sometimes mildly bitchy, self-centered and vain, as the beautiful often were, into a sublimely affectionate kitten. She bathed him with praise and devotion, sought to lift every care from him and please him in any way possible. She cooed and purred and opened her heart which beguiled him.
He was beginning to realize the attraction of the whole experience: her flirtatious foreplay when she signaled that she needed something 'spicy', the commands he issued for her to kneel or bend over to which she submitted with a flash in her eyes and a demure, quiet, "Yes, master," the binding of her beautiful and fragile body, and teasing her with the whip or flog all got him going. Then the first strike and her gasp that hardened his cock. Each time her skin resounded with a new blow she grunted a rapturous, living moan of pleasure. Then when she gave birth to the orgasms and was exhausted he would comfort her and finish off with a lovely, tender sex that brought them closer together.
These sessions became something he looked forward to and something he feared.
"Each whip was excruciating," she continued, "like a... like a... you know, a whip on my skin. But I feel so much better afterward." She mustered her strength, rolled over and stroked his forearm as he gently lay the cold cloth over her nipple. She wanted him to nestle in her arms and suckle her breast like a baby and let her sing to him, and fall asleep but servitude wasn't about nurturing in that way, it was giving what he wanted to take for himself, or that was what she figured. She continued, "I blacked out and found myself floating above my body, watching you strike me. I don't know, I kinda felt like this spirit, clean and holy and detached. Then I crashed back into myself and you started saying that number and I've never come like that. Even last week wasn't the same. I mean, last week was awesome, just fuc... just really fantastic but it was smooth and undulating like a kids' roller coaster. Tonight it was like, I don't know, driving sixty on a logging road with no shocks."
"I don't want to go that far again."
"You're sweet. I don't think you have to. Just as a special gift or for our anniversary or something." Then she said, "It was really sweet of you, Philip, to whip me like that." She leant forward and kissed him tenderly, then winced as he touched a welt on her arm.
"You're going to have a few bruises I'm afraid."
"That's ok. Like temporary tattoos," she said and took a moment to ponder. "Would you like my nipple in your mouth?"
He lay the cloth over her, spun in bed to exchange places, putting his head in her lap. It was the answer she was hoping for. She sat up, moved a pillow or two behind her, leant over and ushered one to his mouth as if he were a baby. With one hand cupping her breast she fed him her nipple. She watched his tongue from below as it surrounded her and gently licked her. "God that feels fantastic," she said, "Not really erotic but so fulfilling." Thirty seconds later, mesmerized by the sight of his wet, pink softness caress her, she said, "Would you like to come inside me?"
He spoke into her nipple, "I like the way you asked that, Mei. As an offer, not a question."
"Oh, thank you, mast... Philip." She so wanted to call him 'master,' a title that encapsulated her feelings for him, but she was forbidden unless it was during sex.
"That's right, honey. Obedience makes me happy." He didn't really have an obedience thing but found he liked how it felt to say it.
"Me too," she purred. "Would you like to come inside me? My ass is still nice and loose, I think you'd like it. Or maybe you don't want to work for it? I could give you a nice, wet blow job that would be so relaxing."
'Choices,' he thought.
"You've only come twice tonight and I feel so selfish since you've given me so many."
"Hmm..." she let him consider how she might please him. With excited expectation she watched his face for an indication, as though watching the wheel of fortune slowing, ticking the pegs at its edge, not wishing for one or the other result, just delighted at the prospect of him coming.
"I'm not sure I can come again so soon."