'Mmmmm. . Four more. You can space 'em out a bit. I'm not terribly heroic.'
Ilona Paisley took a deep breath and swung her arm. Never had she felt so involved in sensation. Sensation possessed her. She stared fixedly at the thin red weal forming on Susan's innocent skin, a wound inflicted there by her own hand. . !
Miss Ilona Paisley of Paisley Publications climaxed in the most eruptive orgasm she had ever known. For a long time she quivered under spasm after spasm as she heard her own keening wail blend with Susan's moans. As expressions of physical anguish they were remarkably similar.
'Oh, Susan, I'm? we're both?!'
'We are, aren't we!' The whipped girl laughed at Ilona's chagrin. Their panting gasps had subsided, their loins quiescent. Ruefully, they gazed upon each other and laughed again.
'I'll let you loose dear.'
'Whatever for?' Susan writhed cheerfully against her strapped wrists. 'I'm O.K.'
'But? but? isn't it sort of all over for both of us, for the time being at least?'
'Poor darling!' Susan giggled. 'Do you suffer from what the clinical boys call
'post coital depression'?'
'Well. . ' Ilona blushed again.
'A mixture of feeling drained and guilty?'
'Well. . sort of.'
'Oh, Mistress, you'l have to do better than that. It's in the mind, y'know.' Susan giggled and scratched the inside of a bare leg with an agile toe. 'I never feel that way for more than a minute. Right now my fire's starting to bum again. Being in the spot I'm in helps, of course. Why don't you take your clothes off? I think you should.'
It was a new idea. Ilona examined it. In the course of doing so depression vanished. Doubtfully, she asked: 'But does that go along with my role? I always thought?'
'Darling, we're not acting, we don't have roles. You're thinking of jack boots and black leather.' Susan was vehement. 'But if you want to be classic I believe female slave owners used to disrobe when whipping naughty maids. The idea was they got a less restricted swing with the whip. And there was always the afterwards.'
'Afterwards?'
'The poor whipped girl had to service her, silly. You should make me do the same for you. It's a real punishment, darling, because the whipped girl wants it in the worst way, but all she gets to do is give it to someone else.'
'You really think we should continue? You've still got three to come with this awful crop.'
'Add one. Make it four. I called you silly. Don't ever let me get away with anything like that. I told you: I'm bossy.'
'You're wonderful, Susan.'
'Yes, I am. Now take your clothes off.'
Knowing herself under a spell, Ilona obeyed. Impelled by erotic mischief, she did her strip before the interested eyes of the girl strapped to the bar. With Susan she felt no shyness, only a feminine unity. Without realizing it, she shed years along with her clothes.
'Oh, darling. . !' The youngster's voice was hushed. 'Why do you ever wear clothes!'
'You like?' Ilona stretched and posed. 'I've never done anything to hurt my figure.
Tell me it's good.'
'I'll tell you how good it is. It makes me wish I was free. I'd have a hand between your legs so fast?'
'I'll undo those straps. Oh, Susan. . !'
'No!' The girl undergoing punishment seemed suddenly the elder. 'Mistress, you have to control such impulses. I'm your's, you can use me anytime. Right now I'm being punished.' Slyly, Susan insinuated: 'I thought you were feeling all washed out?'
'Weeee. . Oh, damn!' Ilona ineffectually stamped a bare foot. 'This is so new.
You were right about the clothes: I'm horny.'
'You're a really terrible Mistress.' Susan pouted. 'For a successful tycoon, you've got the most un-orderly mind. It would serve you right if I stopped prompting and just foxed you around to please myself.'
Ilona pursed her lips. 'O.K. Fox me now.'
'I can't.' Susan giggled. 'You called my bluff. You'd best use that crop on my bottom some more. I'm on number four out of seven.'
Ilona made the swift backward swing. It was true! A female did shed inhibitions with her clothes. She had never felt so vigorous or so free. With the lithe motions of nudity she cut another vivid etching on virgin skin.
Susan did not scream, she did not kick. Her only tribute to agony was a controlled sinuous undulation to the tune of pantingly suppressed gasps. As the first wickedness of pain subsided she volunteered: 'I'll scream next time. But I have to do this now and then just to tell myself I can.' She looked back apologetically. 'Don't you think you should lift my arms a bit more, Mistress?'
It was easily done. Ilona gasped at the effect. Susan's breasts were taut, her bel y was taut, her rib cage beginning to manifest itself. The girl was superb. Ilona struck the wealed twin curves once more. Susan's scream was the peal of nightingales.
When the seventh mark had been placed upon the tender rounds, Ilona took her tautly stretched slavegirl in her arms. Their kiss came close to a lasting bond.
'Shall I let you down now, sweetheart?'
'Mmmm. . of course not. My bottom's just had the prelude, now you move on to the symphony.' Susan rubbed an affectionate cheek against Ilona's.
'But aren't you tired, and your wrists hurting?'
'Of course they are, silly! Ooops, there I go again! I'll tell you how to punish that later. But being tired and having hurting wrists is part of the package, I've been naughty.'
'You couldn't be naughty, Mistress. It's one of the precepts you have to remember.
All pretty girls are whippable. Doesn't seem fair to the homely one's.'
'You want a rest though, don't you? How about a cocktail?'
'Mistress, you're hopeless. Punished girls don't get cocktails. They're lucky to get a drink of water.'
'Just this once, this first time?' Ilona snickered. 'I could use one myself.'
'Alright, darling. You're sweet. But don't do it again. Slavegirls absolutely must NOT be spoiled.'
Ilona Paisley felt like a teenager again. The publisher had vanished. She was a vibrant young woman who held a platinum beauty captive and was about to whip her back. That she would do so under the guidance of the victim herself added piquancy to a situation already incredible. Busily, she slopped the spirits and the mix. The drinks were strong.
'I'll get tipsy on this, darling.' Susan opined as she sipped from the tilted glass.
'I'll tell you to do the most atrocious things to me.'
'I won't do them, sweetheart.'
'Some of 'em sound so innocent you won't know. Look, darling, while I'm still sober can I give you a couple of helpful hints about whipping my back?'
'Go ahead. Your back's very precious to me.'
'With a whip you have to sort of get the range. It doesn't matter about the tip snapping on my back, backs are like bottoms they're designed for it, but it's so easy to overlap, and then the tip snaps on my breasts or my bel y or my hip or across my bottom rib.' Susan grinned apologetically for being verbose, and took several more quick sips. 'If my front has to be whipped sometime there's other kinds of whips, not the one we're going to use now.'
'I'll be careful, sweetheart. How about I put your bra' back on? Would it shield?'
'I'm not supposed to wear a bra: while I'm whipped.' Susan chuckled. 'And my bra' wouldn't even shield my nips.'
'Gosh, darling, I don't know how you manage to be so carefree about something that hurts so much.'
'The secret is to not believe it will happen 'till it happens. The other thing to watch, darling, is how hard you whip me? there's such a range. . ! Al the way from a love stroke to a slash bad enough to cut me in two.'
'But you're going to guide me?'
'Sure I am. But when it gets to hurting bad I may get a bit biased. Watch out I don't cheat.'
