Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 29

The Whisperer circled her slowly, admiring her splayed nudity. As usual, he wore eighteenth-century clothes, but he’d removed his cloak and hat. His hair fowed to his shoulders, black and thick. Instead of the scarf he’d worn on previous occasions, he now wore a tight-ftting swath of black knit fabric that covered the lower half of his face from the bridge of his nose to his neck. His dark eyes gleamed with hot lust and anticipation.

As he disappeared behind her, she felt his sleeve brush against her inner thigh, and she shivered involuntarily. A moment later his hand caressed her helpless bottom cheek familiarly. He stroked both cheeks, then his fngers strayed between them, gently brushing her clenched anus. A thrill shot through her at the unbearably intimate contact, and she gasped loudly, her bottom fexing futilely. He paid no heed, his touch continuing down to the delicate lips of her exposed pussy. He tickled the sensitive pink fesh for a few moments, then pinched the little hood that enclosed her clit. Jessica squealed at the sudden pain, but then his touch was gone, and she heard him move away. She couldn’t see where he went, but she heard the steamer trunk open with an ominous creak.

He was back a few moments later, standing behind her with a foot-long strap in his hands. Taking careful aim, holding the business end in his free hand to steady it, he let fy, and the strap streaked to its target—Jessica’s naked bottom! It popped loudly against the smooth skin, making her yelp and jerk in surprise. The sting was ferce, and she clenched her teeth against the wave of burning pain. He struck again before it had passed, the supple leather strap bouncing off the other bottom cheek with a sharp crack.

“Ahhh!” she cried, for the blow had been considerably harder than the frst, and the terrible stinging pain took her by surprise. A moment later the strap fell just as hard on the frst cheek, wringing another sharp cry of pain from her. The blows continued, alternating from one side to the other, the heavy strap striking vertically and soon covering her bounc- ing round buttocks with overlapping rectangles of pink.

As the strapping continued, she soon found that the sharpness of the blows diminished. Her arousal was rising again, just as it had before, turning the torture into pleasure whether she wanted it to or not. She was helpless as her emotions surged, the familiar demons of guilt and shame coloring her cheeks and overshadowing her pleasure. But this time they were not as strong, the suffering they caused her not as acute. Once again she was powerless to stop what was happening to her, and the accusing fnger of guilt couldn’t indict her.

Jessica’s spread pussy grew moist and plump beneath her pummeled buttocks, fully visible to her torturer. He ignored it, letting it grow wetter and pinker as he continued to strap her naked bottom. He kept beating her soft fesh until it was an overall bright red, the individual marks of the strap no longer visible, and still he continued, striking the left cheek, then the right, left, right, left, right, as though guided by a metronome. He was beating her quite hard now, but her reactions to the strapping had diminished to a soft grunt at each impact.

Gradually her swollen labia unfurled before his eyes, and between them the thick, clear nectar gleamed in a distinct line, as though it sealed the lips together from top to bottom. Still he continued to pound at her bottom, frst one cheek, then the other, the frm mounds bouncing beneath each blow. Each impact drew a soft little cry from the girl, but there was no distress in her voice now. When the heavy syrup of her passion swelled and at last spilled forth, it ran down over her clit and drooled in a long glistening strand to the dusty faded rug below. Only then did the Whisperer cease the rhythmic tattoo of her prolonged strapping. By then her bottom was a smoothly graduated dark red color.

He was overheated from his continued exertion, and he paused to unbutton his shirt and strip it away, revealing broad, powerful shoulders and a hard, muscular torso, gleaming with sweat. He stepped around to the front of the contraption, to where Jessica’s head hung down, her hair hiding her face. He grabbed a handful of her thick hair and yanked her head up. Her eyes opened and focused on him slowly, as though he had awakened her from a dream, her small mouth slightly open.

Jessica had, in fact, slipped into a strange, dreamlike state of mind, where she had been drifting in a surging sea of sensation, all thoughts and concerns eased away by the steady, hypnotic pounding of the strap on her helpless bottom. She had all but forgotten where she was, and the nagging demons from her psyche had long since drowned in the torpor. She had never felt such a peaceful, pleasurable state before, and she was reluctant to leave it. She gazed up into her Master’s intense black eyes dreamily, like an innocent, trusting fawn.

Beneath his mask, the Whisperer smiled. This was further proof that this girl was born to be a slave, for only one with the instincts for submission could achieve such a state under torture. He let her head drop, spinning on his heel and returning to his position behind her. Without warning he abruptly forced two fngers right up into her hot, juicy pussy. Her head came up sharply, and she gasped. Her juices gushed out around his fngers, trickling down over her swollen clitoris and dripping to the foor. He explored the inside of her excited passage roughly, wringing a series of whim- pers from her. Adding his thumb briefy to the digits already inside her, he then withdrew it, glistening with her juices, and forced it inside her puckered anus. Then, with his thumb in her ass and two fngers in her pussy, he began to pump her with hard, fast strokes.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh god…” she moaned.