said, running a hand over her tits. “You want to taste them?”
“I thought you weren’t going to have sex with me.”
“You’re tempting me.” She grabbed the cat o’ nine tails and walked over to him, running the handle down his back. “Very much.”
His mind went to woman he’d had sex with earlier. It was unsatisfactory, just a bodily function, nothing more. He knew it would be the same with Cyn. He wanted Ivy, not another substitute.
“Just whip me.”
She pouted. “You sure? You got me all horny now, and as long as you don’t tell Ivy, we can have sex.”
“Are you bipolar? You constantly change your mind.”
“No, just a horny female with a huge chip on her shoulder called Ivy.” She raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. “So, you sure you don’t want to fuck? I’m real good. I used to be a concubine for a Yakuza until he was murdered. I don’t look it, but I’m half Japanese.”
“I don’t want to know your life history; I just want to be whipped.”
“You really are rude.”
“Then gag me and get on with the job.”
She shook her head. “Since you’re turning me down, I want to hear you scream.”
“Then gag yourself, because you talk too much.”
She grimaced. “I’m going to take pleasure in hurting you.”
“Get to it, then.” He placed his forehead against the soft padded wall, waiting for the first strike. His heart pounded in excitement, the initial stage of trepidation tightening his muscles. He willed himself to relax, the slice of the whip not something to fear.
She ran the whip down his back again, taking it lower, between his ass cheeks.
“Cyn,” he growled. “Do what I ask or I won’t pay you.”
“Spoilsport. Now ... ready ... steady... Go!”
He heard the whirl of the whip before he felt the strike, the knotted tails of the cat-o-nine laying a path down his back. He didn’t flinch, the strike not hard enough, the woman barely tickling his ruined flesh. His nerve endings were damaged from the years of whipping. She needed to break through the barrier of scars to affect him.
“Harder,” he said. “I hardly felt that.”
She whipped him again, only a little pain getting through.
“Harder!”
“That was hard, and if I do more I’ll cause some serious damage.”
“I doubt it; you just need to look at my back to see that.”
“This isn’t BDSM; it’s torture.”
“I didn’t say it was that pretend shit, so stop talking and fucking whip me, puttana .”
“Okay! You asked for it.” The whip struck his back again, slicing into it, making him cry out, this time the woman succeeding in hurting him. And it was delicious , the pain taking over his mind.
“Shit!” she swore. “Was that too hard?”
“No, it was perfect,” he croaked out, shivering from the pleasure. “Keep going.”
“Whatever, nutjob.” She whipped him again, Brando shouting out this time. She continued, the knotted leather strips slicing his skin. She stopped after several strokes. “Is that enough?”
Brando shook his head, the pain now swamping the pleasure. Still, he wanted it to continue. He didn’t want to think or reply; he just wanted to concentrate on the slice of the whip, needing it to completely take over his mind.
She brought the whip across his back again, making him yell out, his voice now hoarse.
“I should stop,” she said, “your back’s looking bad.”
“No! Make me pass out. You can tend to my wounds afterwards.”
“I don’t think—”
“Do it!”
“Okay!”
The whip cut between his shoulder blades, his body pulling tight from the strike. More followed, his pain turning into pleasure once more, his cock now rock hard. The next strike took it further, the buildup below moving to his groin. He gasped as his cock shot cum over the wall. Cyn continued to whip him, taking him to another place, his mind now partway in Heaven and partway in Hell. She struck him yet again, but he didn’t feel it. He was floating outside of his body,
“I thought you weren’t going to have sex with me.”
“You’re tempting me.” She grabbed the cat o’ nine tails and walked over to him, running the handle down his back. “Very much.”
His mind went to woman he’d had sex with earlier. It was unsatisfactory, just a bodily function, nothing more. He knew it would be the same with Cyn. He wanted Ivy, not another substitute.
“Just whip me.”
She pouted. “You sure? You got me all horny now, and as long as you don’t tell Ivy, we can have sex.”
“Are you bipolar? You constantly change your mind.”
“No, just a horny female with a huge chip on her shoulder called Ivy.” She raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. “So, you sure you don’t want to fuck? I’m real good. I used to be a concubine for a Yakuza until he was murdered. I don’t look it, but I’m half Japanese.”
“I don’t want to know your life history; I just want to be whipped.”
“You really are rude.”
“Then gag me and get on with the job.”
She shook her head. “Since you’re turning me down, I want to hear you scream.”
“Then gag yourself, because you talk too much.”
She grimaced. “I’m going to take pleasure in hurting you.”
“Get to it, then.” He placed his forehead against the soft padded wall, waiting for the first strike. His heart pounded in excitement, the initial stage of trepidation tightening his muscles. He willed himself to relax, the slice of the whip not something to fear.
She ran the whip down his back again, taking it lower, between his ass cheeks.
“Cyn,” he growled. “Do what I ask or I won’t pay you.”
“Spoilsport. Now ... ready ... steady... Go!”
He heard the whirl of the whip before he felt the strike, the knotted tails of the cat-o-nine laying a path down his back. He didn’t flinch, the strike not hard enough, the woman barely tickling his ruined flesh. His nerve endings were damaged from the years of whipping. She needed to break through the barrier of scars to affect him.
“Harder,” he said. “I hardly felt that.”
She whipped him again, only a little pain getting through.
“Harder!”
“That was hard, and if I do more I’ll cause some serious damage.”
“I doubt it; you just need to look at my back to see that.”
“This isn’t BDSM; it’s torture.”
“I didn’t say it was that pretend shit, so stop talking and fucking whip me, puttana .”
“Okay! You asked for it.” The whip struck his back again, slicing into it, making him cry out, this time the woman succeeding in hurting him. And it was delicious , the pain taking over his mind.
“Shit!” she swore. “Was that too hard?”
“No, it was perfect,” he croaked out, shivering from the pleasure. “Keep going.”
“Whatever, nutjob.” She whipped him again, Brando shouting out this time. She continued, the knotted leather strips slicing his skin. She stopped after several strokes. “Is that enough?”
Brando shook his head, the pain now swamping the pleasure. Still, he wanted it to continue. He didn’t want to think or reply; he just wanted to concentrate on the slice of the whip, needing it to completely take over his mind.
She brought the whip across his back again, making him yell out, his voice now hoarse.
“I should stop,” she said, “your back’s looking bad.”
“No! Make me pass out. You can tend to my wounds afterwards.”
“I don’t think—”
“Do it!”
“Okay!”
The whip cut between his shoulder blades, his body pulling tight from the strike. More followed, his pain turning into pleasure once more, his cock now rock hard. The next strike took it further, the buildup below moving to his groin. He gasped as his cock shot cum over the wall. Cyn continued to whip him, taking him to another place, his mind now partway in Heaven and partway in Hell. She struck him yet again, but he didn’t feel it. He was floating outside of his body,
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