“What could you possibly want to show me out here?” I shouted over the downpour. Heavy raindrops didn’t just fall from the sky, they poured, as if the heavens had opened up and every fucking angle was sobbing their heart out. I walked barefoot next to him, already soaked from my bare little feet up to my waist, which wasn’t a good thing considering all that I was wearing was a simple, white, summer dress. The water had turned it opaque from my belly button down and the only saving grace was the fact that no one else was braving a fucking hurricane like the two of us.
We were halfway out into the middle of the park meadow behind Julie’s apartment complex, something of a mix between sports field and open green area. It also happened to be about two feet below the level of the complex itself, which was good, because it was rapidly filling up. I followed along, totally bewildered, stepping carefully as my bare feet splashed down into the sodden field.
Mike had selected something a little more appropriate for a torrential downpour than my own attire. Of course, he’d known where we were going. Sports sandals graced both feet and he had actually put on a pair of swim trunks. I moved closer to him, just a little chilled, trying to stay under both Mike’s hulking mass, as well as the umbrella. He wrapped one arm around me, but that really didn’t mean much. It was a hurricane for God’s sake! The cut grass tickled my toes as we headed for the one possible bit of shelter in the middle of the meadow - a somewhat stunted, live oak that seemed to have shrunk under the torrential rain.
Oddly, there wasn’t a terrible amount of wind, just lots and lots of water. Hurricane Harvey had sort of petered out after striking the central coast of Texas, dropping from a Category 4 hurricane to an abysmal Category 1, even before turning toward Houston. And while it had brought about a zillion buckets of the Gulf of Mexico with it, all which Harvey intended to dump on South Texas, that Saturday morning, the winds weren’t anything more than blustery. We’d survived two or three major rainbands.
Of course, Mike was holding onto the umbrella with both hands, so what the fuck do I know?
We sloshed through ankle deep water, which is par for the course in Houston during this kind of weather and after another minute of skin soaking splatter, we made it to the relative shelter of the tree. Mike looked up, made a frowny face and then closed the umbrella.
“Your fans,” he shouted at me, “sometimes suck!”
I blinked. I hadn’t been told anything. What the hell was he talking about? Then I remembered the tweets. One in particular.
“You mean we’re out here because of me?” I demanded. Rain poured down off the top of my head, taking my red locks into my eyes. I wiped a hand across my face, rain flinging off my fingers. My vision stayed clear for about half a second. Then more rain hit me.
“Yeah!” Mike yelled. “Strip!”
“What? Are you fucking nuts?” I shouted back at him. “In a hurricane?”
He nodded. Then he reached behind his back and lifted his shirt. Tucked into the waistband was one of Julie’s rubber floggers, a skein of nylon rope, and a short hafted crop.
“You mean you dragged me out here, in a hurricane, to strip me naked, tie me to a tree, and whip me?” I demanded, stamping my foot. “They were joking!” The splash hit him, but he didn’t notice. He was soaked to the skin, just like I was.
In fact, stripping wouldn’t have been a problem anyway, because my dress was literally stuck to my flesh like paint and what once had been white cotton was now skin colored tissue, showing every curve, freckle, and pink circle I had.
“Yep!” He shouted, grinning at me. “So strip!” He gestured at my dress, while untying the rope.
“I am not going to let you whip me in a hurricane!” I spluttered, a bit in outrage, but more from the fact that my mouth was filling with water. “This is insane!”
Mike dropped the crop, and the flogger and gave me a look as he unraveled the rope. “Do I have to take your dress off myself?”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’d like to see you try!” I shouted back at him through the storm.
The rope fell from his hands and before I could move, he grabbed the front of my dress. I cried out in alarm as he simply tore it, shredding the front straight down from collar to hem, leaving my bare skin exposed. I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties and my pink slit was soaked with not just water. My nipple stood out, chilled and wet, and I gasped, eyes wide as he reached back to tear the rest off me.
“Hey!” I yelled, angry now. “That was mine!”
“I’ll buy you a new one. Strip or I’ll spank you too!”
Furious, I tore the ruined dress off and threw it to the ground. In seconds it disappeared, soaking up the rain and mud and sinking. “You realize I now have absolutely nothing to wear back to the apartment?” I yelled at him.
Mike shrugged. “You should have thought of that before arguing with me!”
I spluttered again.
He bent down and picked up the rope. “Wrists!” he hollered. I rolled my eyes but obediently held out my wrists, mostly to prevent getting spanked or something, crossing them in front of him. He looped the rope and in less than a minute both of my hands had been tied, tightly too. He tossed the other end of the rope upward and managed to get it over a tree branch just above his head. He pulled and I squawked as I was pulled up on tiptoe, arms pointed upward, the maelstrom lashing my body with water. He tied the excess off on the trunk. I whimpered as Mike found the flogger, the bright pink tips easy to see.
“Count the strokes!” He shouted, and before I could respond, he swung the flogger at my breasts, catching them both perfectly. I gasped, which was stupid, because I immediately choked on all the precipitation that went right into my mouth. I choked and swung away from him, only to feel my toes drag through the water as I was brought back. He hit me again, same spot, and with more than enough force that the stinging sensation of the multi-headed flogger was easily discernible against the backdrop of rain.
It took him five strikes before the sting managed to successfully turn into heat and I had learned a new way to scream - through clenched teeth and partially drawn back lips. The plus was that I was no longer drowning. My nipples, both hardened from the wind and cold rain, began to warm up, but Mike couldn’t tell. Instead he swung again, and then again, working against the rain, whipping my tits.
Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw my head back, eyes shut against the sheets of rain, and screamed. No one would hear me. We were alone, in a field, at a nearby park, and I couldn’t even see the fucking street from where I was tied. The flogger bit over and over into my breasts and I twisted away from him. The second I did, he aimed for my ass, hitting me even harder. It became a game of reaction. If I was facing him, my boobs got lashed. If I turned away, he scored my rump. Soon skin turned red and my nipples and ass throbbed with heat. I let out a choked sob.
“Forty-two,” I managed to whimper against the rain.
“What?” Mike demanded. He swung the whip hard again, catching me across the chest. I squealed, gurgled, burbled, and spat out water. “What was that?”
“Forty-three!” I shouted at him, making the yell more about the pain than the information.
“Good!” He yelled back at me. “Just seven more to go!” He lifted the whip, and as I wheeled away to save my tits, he swung hard, striking me across the buttocks.
Fuck. Oww. Forty-four.
The next minute was brutal as Mike finished flogging me. My chest was a steamy, hot, scarlet mass of reddened flesh and I was pretty damn sure that my ass looked the same way. Mike put away the flogger and picked up the small crop.
“Now, spread your legs!”
Oh fuck. No. I shook my head, my wet hair streaming down, water filling my eyes. I could barely see.
“Spread your fucking legs or I will tie them open!” Mike shouted at me, waving the crop.
Slowly, knowing I had no choice, I spread my legs. Or tried too. Remember? He’d tied me on my tiptoes? I had no purchase. I kicked a little and he went behind me, then loosened the rope. I dropped five inches and stood there, panting, legs wide apart, as he resecured the hemp line.
“Now, I’m going to beat your pussy. How close are you to cumming?” He demanded through the storm.
“Cumming? Are you crazy? I don’t feel like cumming!” I shouted. “I’m cold, wet, and hurting!”
Mike grinned at me. Then, he surged up, wrapped both arms around me, and kissed me. I felt his heat right through his shirt as my sore breasts were pressed against him. His hand grabbed me by the ass, squeezing and kneading the freshly whipped flesh. I groaned and wriggled in his grasp, our mouths pressed together. Then he slid to the side and brought his hand up between my legs, his fingers digging at my petals, touching my clit, rubbing me roughly as the hurricane surged around us.
And time slowed.
Need swelled inside me as each drop of rain held its place. Wetness, and not of mother nature’s doing, burst within me as Mike’s fingers swirled and danced, his thumb pressing hard against my clitoris. I gasped and stiffened, my nipples aching as I threw my head back, ignoring the roar of the storm, the pelting rain, the chill of the wind. I pressed my face against my arm, pulling on the tree branch above me.
And now, now I felt like cumming.
Mike let me go, took a step back, and brought the crop up. He tapped it once on my left breast, just enough to get my attention. I looked at him, blinking the water out of my eyes, and I spread my legs wide. Then wider. My toes pointed outward, buried in muddy, streaming water as the rain sluiced down my body. Mike grinned, mopping a sodden hand across his face. Was it rain? Or my juice? Then he squinted through the monsoon, found his target, and brought the crop up with an underhand blow that would have made softball pitchers around the world proud.
The wet, black, leather tip of the crop found my labia and sent a splatter of both girl goo and rain upward against my stomach, even as the strength of the blow created a sting so strong that I was barely able to hold the position. I squealed and pulled myself upward on the rope, the branch I was hanging from dipping down. Mike laughed crazily and swung the crop at my left tit, striking it with similar heat, leaving me both screaming and swinging. My legs swung wildly as I kicked and bounced. Then he reached down, grabbed a flailing foot, and hauled it upward, forcing me to stand on one leg, still on tiptoe, hanging from the branch to keep me from falling forward. Then he slashed at my exposed gash with the crop, leaving a scorching burn from my perineum to my clit.
“Oh fuck!” I shrieked into the wind. Mike hit me again, still holding my leg, preventing me from twisting away or kicking. The crop tasted my sweet bits once more, except this time biting deep, flattening my petals and leaving a sting so sharp, so cutting, that I screamed out loud, thrusting my hips. Mike let go of my foot and I swung away from him, sobbing, unseen tears mixing with the pelting storm and he grabbed my foot from behind. He pulled me against him, reaching around my hip with his small crop, and with fast, hard blows, he spanked my clit. Over and over until I saw lightning. Until I heard thunder. Until my heart throbbed and my body quivered and there was no choice, no alternative. I wailed into the teeth of the storm, rain streaming down over me, wetting me in every way, in every spot, as the crop slapped and smacked and struck my most sensitive spot into paste. The orgasm overwhelmed me and I shuddered to a halt, shutting down, going limp against Mike. He let two or three more strokes land between my legs before realizing my state, feeling me jerk, but no more. His hand dropped my leg and I felt my knees buckle, all my weight on my arms.
I felt him untie me and I collapsed into the sodden field, a wet, whipped and cropped fuck bunny and I smelt the earth. My body was splattered with mud. Then Mike flipped me onto my back and I kept my eyes shut as the rain pelted my face. Something covered me and I heard the impact of the rain on the umbrella. Mike had opened it and set it over my head like a little lean to. Then he stood above me, kicked off his sandals, and for the first time in my memory, I watched him strip in public.
His cock was rigid and straight and he dropped to his knees, roughly shoving my legs open. I was still hurting, despite the orgasm, and I cried out, grimacing as he shoved himself deep into my sex. He stuck his head close to mine, taking a tiny bit of shelter as the torrents of water still struck us from the neck down. He fucked me down into the wet field, water running around my sides and feet and I could feel the mud sucking at me. But then he groaned, a gutteral cry escaped his lips and I could feel the throb of his cock, the heat and force of his thrust, and I reached up and wrapped my arms around him.
“Yes,” I bubbled, “Take me. Fuck me. Use me,” I said to him, not knowing if he could hear me above the pounding rain. And then he burst, like the raincloud itself, his own special volley of moisture filling me. Mike groaned and sagged against me, my breasts tender from where he’d whipped me, his pubic hair rough against my abraded and cropped sex. Finally he pulled his lip cock from my slit and he knelt above me, grinning. He wiped the water out of his face.
“We’re both a mess!” He declared, reaching out one hand to help me up, even as the other grabbed the umbrella. I let out a weak laugh, then shivered.
“I’m cold!” I shouted at him. “Did this satisfy you?”
He shrugged. “Me personally?” He asked as he picked his swim trunks up out of the water. “Yes!”
“Can we go in now?” I begged. “I’m cold!”
He stuck his feet into the trunks, then found his sandals. I watched, huddling under the umbrella, shivering.
“Okay! Let’s go back to the apartment!”
I frowned. “You’re going to have to get me some clothes!” I yelled. “I can’t go up naked!”
He laughed. “I know. But you’ll look great walking back there!” He ducked under the umbrella with me, the rain even louder as it struck the reinforced plastic. Still, I could hear him just a bit better. “You look fantastic naked, in the rain.”
I sighed. But then my teeth started chattering. Mike shook his head. “Time to go!” And he wrapped an arm around me and together we hurried through the hurricane, across the field, and out of the rain.
Hurricanes? They aren’t so bad.
Breanne Erickson is the author of Coming of Age: A BDSM Romance, as well as the amazing series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut. Check our her amazing work at Amazon.com