The Beachgirl

Chapter 1

Jennifer heard the swish of the cane, and then it bit into her stretched buttocks. She had promised herself not to, but it forced a howl out of her throat as her strung-up lower body convulsed in the ropes, and a wave of superheat welled up into her in shock gaping cunt. And then she felt George's hand stroking lovingly over the burning welt on her ass.

Nevertheless, Jenifer knew it was not over. While George caressed her still uncontrollably twitching ass, the cane stroked down the length of one of her spread open legs. It was a thing alive, as it touched, felt her, and read her quivers. Then George must have stood back. He let the cane rest in the open gash of her pussy before sliding it caressingly up the other leg, right to the cuff tied to the spreader bar up under the ceiling.

By the time the cane reversed its journey, Jennifer was whimpering in expectation of what the rod would do next. She strained at the padded handcuffs that bound her to the headpiece of the bed, and her eyes bulged into the dark vision under the blindfold. Then, she heard, it seemed from far away, George's sonorous, for her so captivating voice: -

"Will I hear a number from you, or already 'Red'. I'll expect more from my Sub. Sascha once, after having sinned - oh she sinned badly that night - reached an eight with this cane."

While he talked, George slowly drew the length of the bamboo stick through the lips of her pussy. The caress of its rings robbed Jennifer of her voice as she gasped and fought for breath. But then George stopped and asked, "What is it to be, my Jenny?"

Before she could answer, the cane hit, no, merely tapped Jennifer's spread open pussy a few times in quick succession. The electrifying shock on her clit sent her whole body into pre-orgiastic convulsions, with the first waves crushing in.

No longer able to resist, Jennifer burst into a sobbing cry, "Don't stop now, George! Give me the Two!" She did not hear, therefore, the cane's swish before it hit her in terror quivering ass. As she howled out, "Red! Red, George!" her pelvis arched and twisted, and a burst of hot juice gushed over her belly and tits.

George put aside his cane. He covered Jennifer's wildly twisting pussy with a comforting hand. Eventually, two of his fingers began to slide in and out of her hot-squelching cunt until, after quite a while, Jennifer's crying -- was it anger or arousal - settled into a sobbing, gasping for air.

There was the hum of an electric motor, and Jennifer's bar-spread legs were slowly lowered back onto the bed. She felt George's gentle touch as he freed her legs from the bar. When he removed the cuffs, his fingers rubbed healingly over the marks her strung-up weight had imprinted on her skin.

But as she lay now on her back, George could do nothing about the burning marks across her caned ass. She would hurt and remember for days.

Would it mark her as his?

Had he done so, intended it? Would she allow it? Jennifer's mind was still too much in turmoil to think it out. But George - first with his fingers in her cunt, and now gliding his hands slowly, caressingly possession taking, up over her thighs and pubes and tensing belly to her aroused and aching tits -- wasn't he assuming already that she was his?

And then, oh God, he gently removed the devilish clamps from her in pain and lust engorged nipples. Jennifer jerked on her handcuffs. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to grasp his head and force his mouth and teeth onto her clips-tortured tits.

Finally, George squatted next to her face to free her from her handcuffs. Once her hands were free, Jennifer did not reach for her blindfold. She turned her face to press her mouth onto George's thigh.

As her teeth sank into the cloth and not skin, she realised that her imagination had betrayed her. Throughout the mounting thrill of being at the non-mercy of George's hands, Jennifer had visualised him, stripped naked like her.

Against the canvass of her blind, Jennifer had seen his cock rising as he began to play, teasingly at first, the soft leather cat-o'-nine-tails over her tits and belly and pubes. Then, with her twisting body crying out for the next and next and next flick of the cat's tails, George whipped her with sweet stinging cuts all over her body. And Jennifer saw on her mask' canvass how his now rampant cock twitched in lust with every lash he landed on her twisting nakedness.

Then the cat withdrew its claws. Instead, George suddenly knelt close to Jennifer on the bed, and his hands were stroking over her skin. She knew how pleased he was by the way he caressed over the tingling hot streaks the cat must have left on her skin. His hands stroked down the inside of her bar-spread, wide-open legs. Then George drew his fingertips slowly through the, by the cat, hot-whipped lips of her pussy. It made Jennifer arch up with a drawn-out cry that ended in a strangulated moan, "George! My God, fuck me!"

But George's attention shifted now to Jennifer's, for her age still almost perfect, straining into his grip, boobs. They were, from the cat's whipping, hot, with its prominent, lusciously berry-like nipples, showily excited.

George chuckled: -

"These tits of yours, my Jenny, fell in love with the cat. They are giving you away as the horny, so fuckable woman you are. With these nipples, there is no hiding! For betraying you, they need to be punished, don't they?"

And Jennifer, twisting under George's brutal grip on her tits, moaned her consent, "Yes! Yes! Punish these horny tits!"

George released her breasts; she heard a clinking of metal, and then a clamp bit into her left nipple with a force no teeth had ever done. Jennifer howled in shock, and as the second clamp closed on her right nipple, her body arched and shook uncontrollably. And the chain across her body set the clamps aquiver, which forced Jennifer, gasping and whimpering, into trying to hold still her convulsing body.

Then, from far away, she heard George's question, "Does that punish you enough? Do you want more?" To test her, George lifted the clamps' chain. As he pulled -- gently, actually - the throbbing in Jennifer's nipples threatened to change into searing pain. And Jennifer surrendered by crying out, "Red, George! Damn you! Red!"

As George rested the chain on her heaving belly, Jennifer fought against the cuffs holding her captive. She wanted to throw herself now-- she knew - at George's triumphant cock. And God, she would do with her teeth to his manhood what the clamps were doing to her throbbing, more and more lust-engorged nipples.

But this was then: - before her bar-spread legs were raised to the ceiling, the chain swung freely from her searing tits and, finally, the cane sent her cunt into a hitherto unimaginable frenzy to be fucked. And now it was over, and George had untied her.

He, whom she had imagined -- no, seen -- naked and wildly aroused, sat fully clothed and, Jennifer suspected, coolly in control, next to her on the bed. And she could not sink now, being free, her starving mouth on a -- she had imagined - for her in final arousal, pulsating cock. So, Jennifer turned angrily way.

George got up without touching her. His voice was calm and controlled as he said: -

"I'll leave you now, Jenny. Take all the time you want to shower, get dressed. If you still need to, decide if you want to be my woman and Sub. If not, the backdoor is open, my car unlocked. I will drive you home, no questions asked. I will regret it but never bother you again. But if I, as a man and a Dom, meet and inflame your desire as you do mine, join me in the lounge. We will work out our future."

As she heard the door click shut, Jennifer took off her mask. Then she stumbled somewhat unsteady on her so unusually stretched legs to the bathroom. When she turned on the light, she was confronted by her reflection in the two full-length mirrors.

Except on the white globes of her boobs which were usually covered by the now, regretfully, necessarily more oversized top of her bikini and the panties triangle well below the navel, the cat's only teasing claws had left no visible marks on Jennifer's tanned skin.

Seeing now the telling pink markings on her tits and how George had directed the cat's tails to sting her shaven pubes and flick her pussy, made her swallow in excitement. And the two flaming red streaks across her ass still burned in her mind as much as on her skin. She suddenly realised that none of her bikini pants would hide George's markings across her ass.

As the water streamed down on her still tingling body, Jennifer burst into a tension relieving laughter and shouted, "Yes, George! Yes!"

No man, and not one of her escapades and sexual adventures in the past thirty-five years had made her feel like now. And if George wanted her, she would wear his brand on her ass with pride on every beach in Australia!

She will be his, Jennifer decided. But -- just as Sasha - not as an unconditionally compliant slave!

On returning to the 'playroom' -- she had decided on this name -- Jennifer looked, for the first time, with knowing eyes at its features. She had agreed to the Sub-trial over glasses of champagne in the lounge. When George had taken her back to the room, now an hour or so ago, it had been for her a quickly darkened blur. He had too promptly covered her eyes as she quaked in anticipation of what was to come.

But now she could look. And Jennifer saw not only the silken sheets, pillows, and cover on the king-size bed she had rested on last night, but also the almost decorative stainless-steel flanges bolted to the solid headboard and sides of the bed. And now she could see herself, stretched-out and fettered by ropes running through these flanges, waiting on the silken sheets for what George could now do to her. And would! It made her draw a shuddering breath.

George had left the toys from their playtime on sight. On a sideboard lay the soft-leather padded cuffs that had bound her wrists and ankles. And then, as if on display, there was the evil bamboo-cane, the stingingly caressing soft-leather cat, and the jewellery-like chain and teeth of the nipple clamps. And there was a phone-like, she realised, remote control for the winch.

It drew her eyes up to the ceiling, focusing on the spreader bar still attached to the hook of a pulley. Jennifer had heard the sound of the winch when her spread open legs were heaved up and, eventually, mercifully let down again once the cane had left its mark.

The pulley's hook and bar were now in the ceiling's centre and no longer over the bed. Suddenly Jennifer remembered that she had wondered about the position of the hook last night when George had so gently bedded her down after her bath.

Chapter 2

However much the care of George and the spa bath had restored her, in the morning Jennifer was still somewhat hung over and shaken from her experience earlier in the night. Lying wide awake in the luxurious bed, she stared up at the ceiling, at the encased rail running from the ceiling's centre to over the bed. It occurred to Jennifer that this room was meant for an invalid or paraplegic. But the pulley and steel hook were not over the bed, as she had once seen in a hospital.

Looking up at the contraption made Jennifer remember Brian for the first time in years. He had been her golden boy surfer, the one lover that had fucked virgin her from the beginning into a blinding sexual bliss. But then his spine was shattered on the rocks, now more than thirty years ago. And she, his champion Beachgirl, proved to be a coward. After one brief visit, Jennifer never went back to the hospital, and their town was just big enough to avoid having to meet her broken lover again!

Suddenly, back in the dark trance of her past, Jennifer believed she heard the voice of Mr Hempel, her nerdy Form 6 English teacher, reciting his fucking Shakespeare, "Golden lads and girls all must, like chimney sweepers come to dust." Yes, this was her: an aging Milf, now an opportunistic charity-fuck for golden lads like Steve. Just like Brian had been when she was young -- she counted -- thirty-seven years ago.

Jennifer began to cry and sunk into the pit of grey despair. As then with Brian, finally, her time had come too. All that was left for her was to be picked up from the floor and taken into care by an almost elderly George!

And yesterday had begun so well. In her yellow, the newest of her eleven bikinis, Jennifer had locked the door of her unit. With her Chilli Surfboard under her arm and beach bag shouldered, she had strolled down to her favourite beach. It was a fab day, not too burning hot, with just enough of a breeze and enough of a swell to please her five-foot-six Chilli.

By one-o-clock, her usual mob -- including the hard-partying late sleepers and a few short-time adopted backpackers -- had arrived. Their afternoon passed with surfing and the usual horseplay in the waves and on the sand. Although so much younger than Jennifer in her well-preserved fifties, this mob were her kind of people.

Jennifer had already invited most of them, once or twice, for a pizza or pie night to her unit. Therefore, she had expected to be included in tonight's farewell party. Three of their backpacker friends, two German girls and a Danish boy, were leaving for home. Flush with money from their last jobs and the flight home paid by their affluent parents, they stayed for their final days in the luxury of the Esplanade, Banks Inlets largest hotel.

As the night progressed, their party in one of the hotel's smaller function rooms got lively. Most of the boys stuck to beer, while the girls, Jennifer included, followed the local tradition. They were drowning their inhibitions -- if any - in Bundy-and-Coke. And as the hours passed, in the mix in their glasses the golden glow of the Bundaberg rum prevailed more and more over the sobering brown of the Yankee Cola.

The boys, as usual in their parties, outnumbered the girls by about two to one. Therefore, they soon divided into one matey group of serious drinkers and the boys on the make. The latter either had a girlfriend or were in hope for a fuck of the night. And Jennifer thought, after her third glass of Bundy-and-Coke, cunningly mixed for her by Steve, that she might be in unforeseen luck.

Steve was, although only twenty-one, in Jennifer's beach-girl judgement, the Alpha male in their mob. Well on the way to becoming a top-competition surfer, Steve, with his blond mane, athletic body, and ready smile, was the type of man/boy Jennifer had lusted after since her early teens.

And tonight, Steve had chosen her, always close to her, laughing and joking. His hand cupped more and more often one of her bra-sheltered boobs or came to rest on her thigh. It was, Jennifer was sure, a seductive caress and not just a grope in passing. And God, did she not know the difference, after her thirty-plus beach-girl years!

So, when Steve finally decided to catch the wave and bluntly asked "You want to fuck, Jenny, don't you?", her hand had slid up his thigh for a feel of his cock. In reply Steve's hand gripped her thigh precariously close to her heating up pussy as he added "God, Jenny, I love fucking sexy Milfs like you!"

In her eagerness, Jennifer swallowed the insult of being seen as a Milf. Without dislodging Steve's hand stroking over her dampening crotch, Jennifer giggled drunkenly and said, "Great idea. But where and when!" The question was for her rhetorical; she had pretty much made up her mind to take Steve home tonight to her Condo.

However, Steve had other ideas. He got up and walked across the room to the drinkers. There, Steve leaned affectionately over Karl, the gay Danish backpacker. Jennifer watched him smiling up at Steve as he reached in his pocket for his room card.

On returning to Jennifer, Steve waved the plastic before her face and grinned, "This is the where it's happening tonight!" Holding out one hand, inviting her to stand up, he asked with a sly grin, "Why not, Jennifer? Karl's room is only one floor up." Jennifer dismissed with a why-not shrug her twinge of reluctance and rose. Steve grabbed the Bundy bottle from the table and, with his arm slung possession-taking around Jennifer's bare midriff, dragged her away.

Once they were in Karl's room, Jennifer's unease mounted. As the door clicked shut and Steve switched on the light, she had turned towards him to press her needy body against his. Lifting her face, she expected his kiss, and Steve reluctantly put his closed lips on hers. Then he mumbled, "We didn't come for a smooch, did we, Jennifer?" Grabbing her hair, he pushed her down on her knees. Pressing her face on his crotch, he chuckled, "You came for this! You are a cock-hungry Milf, aren't you, Jennifer? Come on, show me!"

Although Jennifer's unease was mounting, the Bundy and lust prevailed over sense. Her practised fingers found the zip and unwrapped her trophy. When Jennifer looked up, Steve's face was turned sideways, and his expression gave nothing away. For a moment, Jennifer wondered whether Steve meant the Milf word to insult her or was it a clumsy tease to begin their sexy frolics? As her lips closed over Steve's semi-limp prick, Jennifer was determined to either teach the boy a lesson or turn her Adonis into the lover a girl like her still deserved.

Steve's cock was slow in responding to Jennifer's loving ministrations. Getting impatient, once his cock achieved a level of hardness, Steve attempted to fuck Jennifer's mouth. As he did not hold, much less caress her head, and she was no longer an ignorant girl, Jennifer frustrated his attempts by pulling back her face in countering each of Steve's ineffective thrusts.

Disappointed, Steve reached down for her. Jennifer lifted her arms, expecting Steve to strip her of her half-blouse and free her boobs from the confines of her bra. She was eager to get naked, to show Steve what a beautiful woman she was. But Steve reached under her arms and jerked her up. She heard a tear, and her boobs sagged a little. As she looked questioningly at Steve, his face seemed no longer pretty, as he flatly ordered: -

"Get on the bed and your knees! You Milfs, with your old pussies, love a good shag from behind, don't you!"

In a state of momentary shock, Jennifer allowed herself to be shunted back and onto the bed. As her face pressed into the bedcover and Steve's grasping fingers tore the panties off her crotch, a flash of clarity in her mind made her decide not to resist.

She would give this stupid boy his meaningless fuck! She had been foolish. To rush off now offended or to cry rape would only subject her to ridicule and condescending pity in their circle of friends. With luck, Steve would not tell and boast how she had surrendered to his useless cock.

So, Jennifer let him hump away, stupidly, artless, until, after two minutes or so, Steve unloaded in her with a drawn-out grunt. There had been no need for Jennifer to bite into the covers. And as Steve withdrew his quickly shrinking member from her from the dry-fuck slightly burning cunt, she turned away from him and curled up. Steve mumbled something as he got dressed. Then there was a click.

When Jennifer eventually sat up on the bed, Steve was gone. However, he had left his half bottle of Bundy on the bedside table. As she reached for it, Jennifer grinned. The boy was too insensitive and stupid to have left it knowingly behind as her consolation.

And as she took her first burning mouthful of Bundy straight, she swallowed with it the knowledge that she was now too old and would, from now on, be too wise to get charity-fucked by a stupid bully boy again. And with every next sip, as she emptied the bottle, the pain of such loss lessened!

Much later in the night, Jennifer heard from far away a knocking which she ignored. But then, somebody shook her arm, and a foreign-sounding voice told her to get up and leave. It was the Dane. As she stumbled to the door, Steve's sticky left-behinds oozed down her leg.