|Courtesy of hyperknight07!|
“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.
This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7" Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!