The Post - Part Two

Of all the various instruments used to scour my skin raw, one of the ones I prefer the most, especially across the breasts, is the leather flogger. The why is simple. It hurts the least. I know that as a certified nympho humiliation pain slut I should be offering my bosom up for the most unspeakable torments, but the reality is that a little bit of pain goes a long way for me. No need to peel my skin off in layers, or break bones, or push needles through my various sensitive bits to push me over the edge I assure you. And if you’re going to get a full body whipping from head to toe, then let me impress upon you - choose the flogger.

Admittedly it also depends on how the person utilizing said weapon is swinging it. But I figure that this is a variable that will change with each of us, and what we’re talking about is the whip, not the person handling it. So when comparing example A: “Julie swinging a flogger, beating my breasts,” and example B: “Julie swinging a rattan cane, beating my breasts,” the choice becomes immediately obvious.

Except, Julie was barely striking me. Oh sure, the leather strips of the flogger were biting at my bosom, but the sting was barely noticeable. It was like she was playing with me. And even when Mistress Savannah brought her crop sideways across my buttocks, I knew that she’d hit me with barely a fraction of her normal force. Still I flinched away, struggling, my body reacting as if I’d just taken felling blows.

In hindsight, which is much clearer than when you’re strung up, hands above your head with your tits and ass serving as the party’s pinatas, all while straddling a massively thick and uncomfortable rubber cock, while struggling to stay up on tiptoe to prevent your oversensitized clit from pressing down on a violently rumbling silicon massager, I understand that they were trying to drag things out. They knew I’d be up there for quite some time and they wanted to be able to hit me for the full duration. So for the first few minutes, rather than wriggle and thrash away from the repeated smacks of Savannah’s crop and Julie flogger, both of which were kissing my bottom and breasts thoroughly, I focused more on the increasingly difficult task of keeping my pussy away from the massager.

And that, my friends, wasn’t easy.

As the burning sensation of staying up began blooming in my calves, I desperately tried to think of options. This isn’t as easy as it sounds when someone is smacking your boobs with a multi-stranded leather whip. As the sting from that kept distracting me, it took way longer than it should of for me to think of pulling myself up by the wrist bindings. I looked up, flinching as another swing took me across the chest, and pulled. I managed to put the majority of my weight on my wrists, only to discover that the rope bit into them horribly. I gritted my teeth and squealed, but in the end I managed only ten or so seconds, punctuated by another two or three light strokes across my rump and rondure. I let out an explosive breath and dropped back down onto my toes. The burning only increased and as my pussy contracted around the overly thick dildo, I knew what was coming. It was inevitable. I was going to drop.

Julie and Savannah switched and suddenly the crop was tapping my breasts, or nipples to be precise. Sharp, hard, swats that left me breathless. Somewhere in my fucked up head I had a thought that going down now, before I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up, would be better than just collapsing and riding the massager, so despite Julie’s stinging strokes to my butt, and Savannah’s attempt to knock my piercings off with her crop notwithstanding, I lowered myself downward, carefully, fear and near panic shooting through my soul. Could my clit withstand the surge of vibrations?

I rode the dildo, sliding down it, feeling it spread me and I realized that the entire rubber shaft was shaking. Having a rapidly oscillating massager taped to the post probably had something to do with it. As my clit got closer, I let out a whimper. Then the bulbed head touched my labia, working its way up, higher and higher until I gasped, eyes widening. I held there, heels an inch off the floor, toes bent, struggling not to go up or down. I sucked in a shuddering breath as my clit touched the massager's head.

It hurt, but like a rug burn, or sand brushed off a sunburn. It also felt good, but like pressing your tongue against a canker sore. It felt sweet, like the sugar coating on a bitter pill. It felt hot, like dry ice. Energy surged through me as the vibrations excited nerve endings already frayed from a day's worth of sexual torment. It was like swallowing a pitcher's worth of water, or standing in the bright sun. My body couldn't take it. I lifted myself away, back into the beating of my breasts and bum which had never stopped, chest heaving, nerves on fire, wanting… wanting… something.

Julie switched back to my bosom and the flogger slapped against my curves with biting heat. Stinging warmth spread across my tits as I struggled. Then, between one stroke and the next, I had another idea. I could rest one foot at a time. The flogger smacked my breasts harder, making me gasp. Panting, shaking, hurting, and wanting, I quivered on the impaling post, and lifted my right foot. I relied on my pussy, tightening around the rubber phallus to hold me in place.

But the ankle cuffs prevented me from lifting. I let out a frustrated whine and then my left foot gave out. I dropped down flat footed, both feet, jamming my pussy full of the dildo, and mashing the massager against my clit. Nerves misfired as bioelectrical impulses short circuited. I screamed out loud, yelling as surging, cutting bliss hit me. The flogger encased my breasts, spreading the prickling burn to every soft curving edge. I lifted myself back up, away from the overstimulation, my buttocks tightening as Savannah beat out a sharp tattoo.

That's when I lost it. Banana fucking nuts crazy. I blubbered, begging them to let me go, the flogger slashing across my nipples with heated insistency. I lifted my feet, goose stepping up and down as I began bouncing, unable to tolerate pressing myself to the massager, but unable to stay off it. Each elevator like movement seemed frantic and forced, my own frailty conspiring to bring me down, while my oversensitized panic forced me up. The flogger flashed, whacking at my breasts, sparking heat and sizzling hurt. My ass tightened as the crop snipped and snapped downward, along my legs. My feet rose and fell, the anklets crimping at my legs, as I expended energy in spurts and dashes. The minutes crawled by as I shuddered, hurt, and began creaming. My breasts were on fire and my ass stung. It was a struggle to even breathe without crying out. I rode the dildo and massager, twitching and squirming until finally I slumped, flat footed, unable to lift myself even the few inches needed.

A tsunami of sensation stormed up into me, like nails on a chalkboard, or machine gun fire. And there was nothing I could do about it. It was like fucking a waterfall, a tornado, a mountain. It was like trying to drink from a fire hose. It was like burning in the sunlight. And yet it was torture too, like Savannah licking my clit, or Julie taking my clothes, or Mike impaling me with the dildo, or Kari beating my pussy with her leather sap, smashing my clit over and over until I jammed my fingers in my mouth, muffling my cries of agonized ecstasy.

And this was all that and more. I’d been brought not to the edge, but past it. Suddenly I felt a surge of adrenaline, my body preparing for fight or flight, and suddenly I was bouncing again, fucking the thick, conical dildo with a passion. The bracing impact of the massager against my clit only punctuated my animalistic thrust and the ladies switched again, so that Savannah’s stick crossed my breasts, aiming at the tips, as I jittered and jounced, squealing. Brillant warmth flashed across my rump as the flogger struck in waves, beating and heating, until it was all lost in a single, overwhelming burst of sensory overload that fried my synaptic paths and turned my brain into sexual mush.

Colors spun in my vision and I remember seeing Mike the Hardware Guy sitting there, jeans down around his knees, his extended and rising cock in his hand, stroking himself. I remember darkness and flashes of light. I remember pain and pleasure, stinging heat and searing cold. I remember crying out, head lifted high, eyes closing as I let myself down, not easily, not gently, but with my full weight on a single post, capped with a dildo, letting the violent spasms of the massager hurl me out over the abyss.

I’ve spoken of orgasm as a cliff, and of the ways to approach the edge. Often times I am forced inch by inch to the limit, sometimes to slip and fall with small satisfaction, other times to tumble with a sigh of relief. I’ve run full tilt, throwing myself over, and sometimes I’ve been pushed, suddenly and forcefully. I’ve scrambled in the dust, struggling to keep myself from falling. And I’ve stepped gladly, willingly even, into the euphoric bliss or orgasm.

That night I was strapped to a fucking rocket and launched out into the darkness, screaming.

The explosion started deep in my loins, where my pink, soft, wet depths clenched around the dildo. Bolts of energy shot up and down my body, some going to my calves and toes, forcing me to bounce up and down. The nerves in my clit, already overload, misfired, unable to tell the difference between what feels good and what doesn’t, and I ground my pussy down on the massager, fucking it almost as much as I did the dildo. My back arched as energy surged, folding upon itself like Damascus steel, rigid and flexible, brittle and crystalline. The flogger came back to my breasts, slashing left and right and that only tempered me, aligning my thoughts to a single unity of purpose. Cumming. I had to cum. Oh my fucking GOD I had to cum.

The tips of my breasts tingled and pulsed and a ripple shot through my sex. I didn’t even realize that both feet were planted firmly on the ground as I pressed my clit against the massager. Suddenly I felt a release, like a bowstring releasing, an arrow shooting out, energy and power flashing up and out, blossoming like a fireball. I cried out, shuddering as waves of utter bliss overwhelmed every thought, every feeling, every need. My vision darkened as I settled, the rapid tremors shaking me. And beneath it all, a whisper of crushed glass, grinding and cutting and rubbing at me between my legs…

I didn’t pass out. At least, I don't think I did. But when my brain rebooted and took stock of my situation, I was lying on my back, supported on the mattress, while Mistress Savannah untied my wrists.

I felt… damn… it's hard to describe. Used? Flushed? Uncomfortable? Perfect? I couldn't even tell. Part of me recognized the euphoria that comes with powerful orgasms, but this had other elements attached. I tried to catalog them while the ropes were pulled from my hands, but holding a thought longer than a few seconds seemed impossible. So I gave up and just breathed. That seemed like a good idea.

When my wrists came free I stretched them out, a natural reaction to being bound. But I felt Savannah’s hands in mine, and she pulled gently. At first, I thought it was a massage, but then the strap encircled my wrist and was pulled tight. I jerked my left arm, but it was now secured to the mattress tightly. A bubble of concern managed to form in my head, but before my fried synapses could formulate a response, my other hand was bound too.

Which is when I realized that Julie was pulling on my foot. Drawn outward, another strap went around my ankle. Now I started to panic, a fresh jolt of energy waking me up. I managed to kick once, but then Julie had my other foot in her iron like fingers and that was that. I was spread-eagled and bound.

A dozen thoughts rattled through my head. They couldn't possibly be thinking about torturing me again, could they? I was in no condition for another session. In fact, a whole host of minor, but distracting pains we're waking up, now that I wasn't so befuddled. I lifted my head and looked down my body at Julie. She was grinning up at me and I watched as she moved to my side. Savannah knelt down opposite her, and my worst fears began to realize as they slipped the straps beneath my legs and pulled me open. That couldn’t mean anything good.

I blubbered something unintelligible, but Julie just shushed me.

"Hush Bre. It's for your own good," she declared.

How being tied open could possibly be good for me under those particular circumstances escaped me. I struggled fruitlessly for a moment and only succeeded in leaving myself breathless. Then Savannah loomed over me, standing just above my feet. Julie backed away and disappeared from view. And then… then Mistress Savannah began to strip.

Well, strip tease.

The first thing she took off was her suit coat. The powder pink jacket was folded and tossed to the side and I saw the creamy white blouse she wore beneath. Slowly, her eyes smoldering, she began unbuttoning the shirt, revealing a deep cleavage and a pastel pink lace bra. It was a little too much pink, even for me, but when she shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it down, I had to gulp a little. Savannah was freaking gorgeous and her breasts looked soft and scrumptious, like big balls of vanilla pudding.  She unzipped the pencil skirt and stepped out of it. Her panties matched her bra and then, as my heartbeat quickened, she undid the harness holding her breasts.

Huge, pink nipples capped the white splendor of her bosom and I barely was able to tear my eyes away as she hooked her panties with her thumbs and drove them down her bare legs. She stepped out of the lace, kicking it aside, and I realized she was still wearing the white pumps. She stood above me, victorious and nude, and I stared, mouth open and expectant. What was she doing? What was she going to do? Then Julie swung back into view, handing Savannah a bottle.

I didn’t have enough time to process what was coming and Savannah upended the container and began pouring before I could even twitch. Something cool and slick struck my belly, trickled down into my navel, and then Savannah fixed her aim. I felt the oil fall across my pubis, coat my clit, and then seep between my folds. Then the southern goddess above me left trails down each spread open leg, my inner thighs turned upward because of the straps holding me open, and back up to my chest. She did my arms too and I shuddered. It was a lot of oil.

Savannah dropped down, kneeling on the mattress between my outstretched feet and she put the bottle to the side. She put her hands on my shins, smearing and spreading the oil down toward my strapped ankles, and then back up to my knees. In seconds my legs glistened and then she moved her fingers to my feet, rubbing and kneading my tired soles.

Holy fuck, that felt good! I moaned, this time in utter pleasure. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been impaled, vibrated, and whipped, but it had to have been more than twenty minutes. At least, that what my toes and arches and calves were telling me. But Savannah soothed those parts of me easily and I felt myself relaxing, my breathing slowing as she massaged those aches and pains away.

Then she moved higher and now I stiffened slightly, afraid of what her fingers might do to my clit. But she avoided my loins, rubbing my thighs both lightly and with force, her nails grazing the skin, only to be replaced by deep, forceful gouges that worked the muscles perfectly. She went upward to my hips, tracing circles on my skin. Then she climbed over my right leg, moving to my side. She rubbed my belly, emptying my navel of oil and spreading it fully. When she got to my breasts I gasped. I was tender there and I lifted my head to look down. Unsurprisingly, my bosom was flushed, the remnants of both Savannah’s crop and Julie’s flogger marking my skin. It had been Julie’s strokes that turned the whole area into a bright, rosy shade of pink. But it had been Savannah’s crop that had left the three or four darker welts that I could see. The ridges of each line stood up and I couldn’t fail to notice that each one bisected at least one nipple. And one crossed both.

Savannah began rubbing my breasts, cupping and smearing the oil, squeezing and pinching the tips of my breasts. I groaned, wincing and turning my head, but there was still something arousing about it. Savannah wasn’t gentle, but she wasn’t rough either, but she must have spent almost a full five or six minutes rubbing, kneading, and handling my abused breasts before moving on to spread oil up and down my arms. She moved up above me, kneeling on either side of my head as she finished the oil massage. I looked up at her massive breasts dangling down, just far enough away that it wasn’t even worth the effort to stick my tongue out and lift my head. Instead I waited. I could smell her arousal. And considering where she’d ended up, I knew now what was going to happen. I smiled. Savannah scooted forward, her knees touching my shoulders, and she spread herself open, dropping down perfectly.

Her pussy was shaved bare, though like most of the mistresses of the Society, she’d left a small, well trimmed patch above her clit. For me though, at that particular angle, I saw the perfectly light pink petals of her sex, dripping with need. Her skin was like ivory and I opened my mouth and stuck up my tongue as she dropped onto all fours, pressing her sex into my face, her breasts falling to land on my belly. Her clit rubbed at my chin as I began lapping and licking, occasionally thrusting my tongue into her well. At first she tasted like strawberries and cream, but then came the flavor of her juices, a salty, tangy sensation that danced across my tongue. There was a sweetness there too, and I devoured her as best I could, licking her folds, lapping at her clit, and even suckling her sensitive nub when she let me.

I thought everything was going rather well, what with my tongue up inside her as she writhed on top of me, until she slid down my body, away from my mouth, and used her large, soft breast to smear the oil on my pubis down over my clit. The sudden intensity of that sensation, of her fucking nipple gliding across my clitoris, felt like being shocked. I stiffened, gasping. In hindsight I should of screamed or something, because she drew back, repositioned her breast, and did it again. Her nipple, soft but firm, taut and pointed, struck my clit and it slid across it. Even with the oil it was like being rasped with a file. I shuddered, a very unique and confusing pain shooting up from between my legs. I’ve rarely been so stimulated and for the first time I think I understood what Kari goes through after sex. Over-sensitization. I hadn’t thought I had limits, but I guess I was wrong. Savannah did it again, pressing her boob into my slit and shimmying around. I twisted frantically, trying to get away from the sensation, but I was bound to the mattress with a hundred and thirty pound woman on top of me.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, she scooted back up to my face and tried to fuck my nose and chin. The relief of not having her touch my clit was enough to relax me again, and instead I stuck my tongue out. Savannah rocked her hips, her breath quick and loud. She moaned and I wished my hands were free so that I could wrap my arms around her legs and hold her to me.

"Yes!" I heard her exclaim. "Yes! Yes! Yesssss!" Then she cried, falling forward, her breasts pressed to my belly as I lifted my head, still lapping at her gushing slit. She shuddered, pulling away from me just a little and I.closed my eyes as her weight pressed me down. Slowly she rolled off me, landing on the carpeted floor, one shoe knocked loose. Julie reappeared, looking down at Savannah, not me.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

Before Savannah could reply I whimpered. "No.".

Both of them glanced at me, but Savannah's lazy smile spoke volumes and I realized that Julie’s question wasn’t meant for me. "I think I'm going to do that to Kylie," Savannah hummed.

Good, I thought. That little vixen playing Overwatch with my daughter needed to be strung up, impaled, vibrated and whipped.

Savannah picked up her panties and pulled them on. Then she rose, found her bra, and began dressing. No one moved to untie me. I laid there, trying to sort out a bevy of conflicting feelings. What Savannah had done to me was sexy as hell, but I was too sore and tender for it to be arousing. Right? I'd just had my twelfth orgasm of the day, along with a full body whipping, and then a rub down, and then...

But, if I'm being honest, there was something there; a spark. A cinder. Something. And I was still naked, still tied up, still spread open, still covered in oil.

As Savannah put on her clothes, Julie began peeling off her jeans. My heart skipped a beat as my mistress' long, pretty legs were bared. She wasn’t wearing shoes, which I thought sexy as hell, and when she tugged her shirt off over her head, standing naked in front of me, I couldn't help licking my lips. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for another round of sapphic licking.

Except Julie didn't straddle my face. She sat down at the end of the bed, her feet between my knees. Then she leaned back, lifted her right foot, and pressed it to my thigh. I sucked in a sharp breath as she slowly slid her toes upward. It felt good and I relaxed when she pulled back, staying away from my sex. For the next five minutes she played footsie with me, caressing both legs with the soles of her feet, smoothing and spreading the oil until I was heartily glad that there was carpet on the floor. Otherwise she would have slipped. Her toes glistened that much, as did the tender arch.

It felt so good that I was close to falling asleep, even bound open, so I was totally unprepared when she did it. Her toes slid up my inner thigh, curled down toward my buttocks, and then pressed in, dipping first to my ass, then sliding up, spreading my labia. I cried out as her foot found my nub and she rubbed me soundly, pushing with her heel.

It hurt. My clit, even after the rest, was abraded, swollen, and tender. I pulled back from her, but that meant nothing considering the straps holding me down and open. I squealed, words forming in my brain, but unable to get to my mouth. Julie began moving her foot up and down through my crotch, using the sole to caress, rub, and spread my folds. Back and forth. It was too heavy, with too much pressure, and despite it being sexual in nature, my pussy couldn't take it. I started blubbering, head shaking back and forth, until strong hands grabbed me, twisted my head to the right and a thick cock was jammed into my open mouth.

Julie didn't stop, her foot gliding over my clit, back and forth. It felt like I was being sawed in half. Slowly. Incrementally. And yet, the arch of her narrow foot was soft. It slid across my folds and over the engorged nodule of my clit, sending this toe curling sensation that wasn't quite pain, but definitely wasn’t pleasure. Incredibly I found myself thrusting even as I sucked and licked Mike's cock, the duality of what was happening to me breaking lines of thought and reasoned response into involuntary reaction. I mewled, shaken and stirred, which evidently was exactly what Julie was waiting for.

She pulled her foot away from my slit and hurled herself forward, her face pressed to my wet, oiled slit. I keened a wild whine around the muting sausage in my mouth, but as her tongue began lapping at my clit, the self imposed limit I had placed on my own body was revealed to be wildly conservative. My back arched, and while it felt like a belt sander was being pressed to my sex, instead of Julie's tongue, the surge of sexual need still blasted through me.

And it was worse.

Julie seemed to be pretending that my pussy was an ice cream cone and she was licking and circling it eagerly, devouring the sweet goodness. Each time her tongue swirled over my clit my entire body went rigid, tensing violently. It almost became a rhythm. Sweet but intense pleasure, then this sudden blast of super sexual, arousing hurt, then back to intense pleasure. And let's face it. Tied down, spread open, sucking cock, while being licked… how could I not respond to that?

Julie looked up, her lips and chin shiny from oil, or possibly my gushing cunt. She grinned up at Mike. "She sounds like a Japanese porn flick. All those high pitch squeals, doesn’t she?"

Mike chuckled. "She seems to like it when you lick her clit."

Julie nodded, stuck out her tongue, and ran it in a slow circle around my swollen nub. I squealed again, like a Japanese porn star. Then Julie stuck a finger in me, pumping as she lapped and then sucked on my clit. You should have heard the noise I made for that.

This went on and on, the seconds mounting into minutes, then passing five, and then ten. It became a circle of sensorial overload, hurt and pleasure, in equal installments of $19.95 each. It was torture. It was bliss. Then my nervous system overloaded, as usual, and the mixed dichotomy of sensations screwed with my perceptions. Everything hurt. Everything felt amazing. I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. I couldn't stop. I couldn't cum.

And my body wanted to cum. Badly. But while the things being done to me pushed me toward the edge, toward another orgasm, it hurt so much! I was being dragged, by the hair, through brambles.

Wow. Sorry. That's a fucked up metaphor, isn't it?

Mike yanked his cock out of my mouth. His voice was tense. "Julie, I'm almost there," he grunted. Julie lifted herself up.

"Come here dearheart," she encouraged. I gasped, panting. My body hummed with energy, with need, but no one was sucking, lapping, or touching my clit. That was a major relief. Mike went to Julie and she moved out from between my legs. I lifted my head. I wanted to see them fuck. I wanted him to throw her down and jam his cock into Julie's pussy and fuck her brains out. I wanted her clit to feel like mine. I wanted her screaming as she came.

She reached out and grabbed his wet shaft, slipping on a condom. He stood there, a masculine god, and she turned him back toward me. I looked at Mike in confusion. How could he fuck her facing me? Why was he kneeling on the mattress? How was she going to relieve… oh. Oh fuck no. Oh Holy Shit Fuck NO.

"No! No! No! You can’t!" I blurted out, but it was too late. His thick hard shaft slid into my sauced slit so easily you would have thought I was a sheath specifically designed for his weapon. He drove in to the hilt, grinding his hips into me. My pussy fluttered around his cock, clenching and rippling. But it was his pubic hair, the rough patch above his penis, that tore a scream of agony out of my mouth. The course texture, his weight, and the thrusting action of his hips, rubbed at my abraded, sensitized, swollen clit, and shredded me.

Julie leaned over me and began licking my nipple, as if that mattered. I didn't even feel it.

Pain shot through me, obliterating the pleasure and I clenched my teeth, enduring the forceful, rapid pounding. Julie moved, straddling my head. I didn't want to lick her. But certain actions have been trained into me, and I couldn’t help myself as I stabbed her clit with my tongue. I tried to channel the hurt into her, but deep down, I knew that all I was doing was giving her the best tongue lashing her sweet little clit had ever had. She started sounding like a Japanese schoolgirl on a porn set.

Mike was like a jackhammer, and as I sucked and chewed on Julie’s clit, he pummeled me with his coital might. Twenty, thirty, forty thrusts. Fifty, sixty. Then, somewhere between the next set, Mike exploded, ramming himself deep. I cried out, the sound muffled as it hummed through Julie's cunt. My fingers clenched into fists as my toes curled. It hurt. It fucking hurt so much! And yet, my pussy convulsed. I felt another sensation. A need. A longing. I wanted to cum too. I didn't know what to say or do. Too much of everything. Then Mike pulled out, rolling away with a happy sigh. I cried in relief. But also in want.

Julie panted above me, hips rocking, and I began lapping more gently. I tingled everywhere, but mostly between my legs. My mistress, lover, and friend ground her sex down on my face and with delicate grace, whimpered, shuddered, and then came. A flood of fluids drenched me, soaking my face down to my ears. She lifted away and fell over to the side, and I saw Savannah, fully dressed again, stand over the three of us. She clapped her hands appreciatively.

"Bravo," she said softly. "Bravo."

To be continued... 

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