Splattered

“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.

Idiots.

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.

The rest of this story is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but is available for purchase, contained in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 17."  Get it now at Amazon.com!