“Okay,
all you need to do is to press this button and then adjust this dial,” Mike the
Hardware Guy said to me. I peered down
at the awkward looking contraption without much in the way of appreciation. It wasn’t like he had invented the latest
alternative to the iPhone. It wasn’t a
new energy efficient car engine that got three hundred miles to the
gallon. It was something infinitely
worse.
I
reached out and pressed the button and immediately the motor began
turning. It was a tiny motor, electric
and it was mounted on top of a steel bar that slid into a hollow pipe, which in
turn was welded to a thick steel base.
Quite pretty actually. Of course
my eyes were a little more focused on what the motor was turning. There was a wooden spoke spinning near my
navel and I tracked the lazy circle the thick tongue of flexible leather made
as it spun around.
For
laughs, I held out my palm, intercepting that tongue and the soft pliable
material impacted into my hand lightly.
It wasn’t much of a spank. I had
barely felt it. Granted, I got it on the
upstroke, but after all, the force imparted by the wheel shouldn’t be different
on the opposite side right? I glanced at
Mike and then shrugged.
“Okay,
I’m game,” I replied nonchalantly. Mike
grinned and turned off the motor. The
leather tongue swished around in a few more unpowered circles and then came to
a rest pointing downward.
“Well,
it was exactly what Master Dan requested,” he commented.
I
gave him a tiny frown. “I’m aware of
that.”
Mike
pointed at the coffee table. “So why the
grumpy attitude?” he asked while I sat my bare bottom down on the thick wooden
platform in front of me. I laid back and
looked up at him as he positioned his new device down between my knees.
“Because
if this thing works you’re about to make four more of them? And then I get to spend how long strapped to
the iBench?” I asked.
Mike
shrugged. “Your problem, not mine.” He adjusted the height of the pole and
stretched out the leather tongue, making sure that it was close enough. I twitched a little. “Do you need to be tied down?” he asked.
I
nodded. “It would probably be a good
idea. Besides, being tied up turns me
on.”
“I
don’t think you being turned on is the idea here,” he said but then pushed my
knees even farther apart and grabbed a nearby skein of rope. I felt his fingers loop the hemp around my
ankles and then bind my legs wide apart so that my sex was spread wide
open.
“Hands
above your head girl,” Mike said.
I
complied, staring up at the whirling ceiling fan and felt him quickly use the
loose end of the rope and tie my wrists together. When he stood back up I was immobilized,
bound to his coffee table like a delectable centerpiece. He came back around to my lower half and
touched my clit. With gentle round
circles of his thumb, he sent shivers through me.
“Um…I guess I
should mention that yesterday I was supposed to edge four times and not cum,” I
said as he ran his hands down my body. I
shivered dutifully.
“And
did you?” he asked.
I
nodded. “Accidentally. Master Dan said
I’m to tell you to make it hurt as long and as hard as possible.”
Mike
the Hardware Guy stopped and began tweaking my nipples, his fingers tightening
around each little nub, though admittedly his actions at my right breast were more
twisting movements thanks to the piercing and padlock that hung there. As he twisted, his eyes narrowed. “And after you accidentally came the first
time, did you merely edge again, or did you masturbate to orgasm?”
Still
wincing, I licked my lips and managed to look sheepish. “I came three more times?” I confessed.
“Hard
and long huh?
I
nodded as he moved his hand down to my clit.
He rubbed it lightly and the pain turned into something akin to having a
new car, chocolate, and a massage, all at the same time. What can I say? I’m easy to please.
“Feel
good?” he asked softly as the waves of pleasure slid up my nervous system. I moaned.
“Good. Here we go.”
His hand left my clit, giving me just a moment of desperate
disappointment, but it didn’t last very long.
I barely heard the motor, but the first slow stroke of the leather
against my clit, slipping down my labia, was certainly something I
noticed. It didn’t hurt, but it was a
firm pat, and it literally caused my hips to lift and present myself for
further blows.
Which
dutifully came. The motor picked up just
a little more speed, steadying at one full rotation every second or so. The next stroke fell a little more firmly and
I pulled against my bonds, my mouth opening in delighted discomfort. The lashing didn’t hurt. It merely accentuated everything I was
feeling. My God, it was incredible. Imagine steady, light pats of someone’s hand
on your sex, or your bottom. Except so
steady, so regular, that your heartbeat pumps in time with it. I writhed on Mike’s coffee table and accepted
my torment so willingly, so readily, my ass coming up off the wood and then
slipping back down as I rolled my hips, that I appeared voracious.
I’ve
rarely felt a torment such as this do so much for me. But being bound on my back, my legs spread
wide, getting the most perfect pussy whipping ever, was so amazing for me that
I think I came in about three minutes. I
screeched out my orgasm and Mike watched, sitting on the couch, his hard cock
out and in his hand. I shivered in
delighted ecstasy for a few more moments as the hormonal cocktail of adrenaline
and endorphins blew through my brain.
But then, as my physical high started to collapse, the steady beat of
the damp leather against my clit changed slightly.
It
became heavier, more intrusive. Mike
hadn’t touched the settings, nor had he moved from his position on the
couch. I started squirming, twisting my
hips, trying to move out from under the falling belt. I heard the wet pop of the leather tongue
slapping into my flesh, smashing my clit downward, dragging along my
labia. If I lifted up, the blow not only
caught my clitoris, but also my petals.
If I was flat, then my mons and clit were center target. My chest started heaving, my breasts rising
and falling as my body began its first reaction to the torture.
Yes,
it was torture. Sure the blows weren’t
hard enough to hurt. But like Chinese
Water Torment, each drop isn’t a hammer stroke either. Try getting it on your sex.
Within
a few moments I was having issues. My
entire body was trying to get away from the steady pounding being delivered
between my legs. Never mind that the
machine was hitting me at the same pace, the same force, as when we
started. It FELT different, stronger,
more intense. Or was it just me?
I
turned my head toward Mike. “Please!
Please turn it off!” I begged him.
