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Pan Transgender Submissive, 54,  Sydney, Australia
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CindyKay

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CindyKay - photo 14

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Friends:
CROPMSTERSydnySpnkngMnbigezyoungdom63

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I'm a Sydney based cross dresser and I love to dress to the nines to meet new friends, go to unusual places and have fun. I love killer heels and bold makeup, gorgeous clothes and brilliant accessories, sexy encounters and strict punishment when I get out of line. There are a dozen photos here in various outfits if you want to have a look.... and they're all me! I'm always happy to chat with anyone who shares my interests, exchange ideas and to meet strangers for the first time. Occasionally I also play the naughty school boy complete with tight shorts and scruffy socks expecting someone to summon me to the head masters office for the cane. I also like to write short stories and I'm starting to include them in my Journal for anyone to read. xxx xxx Cindy

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 CindyKay

 Submissive Transgender

 Sydney 

 Australia

 5' 7"

 187 lbs

 54

 Pan

 Caucasian

 05/25/13

 10/04/19

Actively Seeking:

Dominant Transgender

Dominant Female

Dominant Male

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Journal Entries:
6/25/2013 3:28:19 PM
A few of my stories:

 

The Television Reporter

 

 

 

by  Cindy K   (3873)

 

 

 

I had just seen my close girl friend off to Sydney and was walking with my new guy through the terminal towards the car park as the TV camera crew rushed into the building, confidently led by one of the young and very attractive female reporters from our local station.   They quickly took over part of the arrivals area, obviously waiting for some celebrity, and while the two operators set up she smoothed the silky little suit over her well rounded backside, brushed her gorgeous long hair and touched up her already impeccable make-up.   My guy was impressed by her precocious behaviour, and although I can, and do, play that game as well as any blonde bimbo when it suits me, I have to admit she did it extremely well, and she did have a cute little bum that I would love to get to know a little better.

 

 

 

Within seconds she was recording an opening segment to the camera and moments later the well known singer appeared, accompanied by his current girl friend, a sexy little creature from one of the popular "soapies".   He responded brilliantly to the interviewer taking every opportunity to plug his current hit while fending off the more pointed questions about his other recent affairs.   The reporter gave as good as she received, keeping the erotic undertone alive in her questions and making him work hard for the publicity he wanted, while creating some great news footage.   We thoroughly enjoyed the spirited exchange although the girl friend was not impressed, particularly when the reporter kissed him lightly on the cheek after the camera had stopped, lingering just a moment too long and leaving a luscious red cupid bow from her immaculate lips.   I just caught her whispered thanks to him and the saucy comment that she would have been in deep trouble with her boss and punished severely if she didn't get the interview today.   Then they were gone,  just as quickly as they had arrived,  with the whole thing taking no more than fifteen minutes but leaving a strong impression in my mind, particularly her quiet reference to the punishment and that imprint from her wonderful sexy lips.

 

 

 

As we drove my guy's place we talked about the incident and I told him about the whispered comment I had overheard, and, feeling quite bitchy about her whole little act, I added that she deserved to be whipped anyway and I would love to be the one to do it to her, as well as a few other things.   His only comment was that all females need to be treated that way from time to time as in days long gone.   Sensing this was dangerous ground to discuss any further I left it at that,  but my guy returned to the topic when the interview was played on the evening news, superbly edited of course to give our bitchy little reporter the upper hand while creating a great story and showing her beautiful face and great body to perfection.   We both agreed she looked fantastic and we could make quite a threesome, but it was her bottom that deserved our special attention, including a really good caning and whipping!

 

 

 

That started the idea for our little game;  he had a good home video set up and would assign me the "story".   I would go out and play the dashing and precocious reporter and he would operate the camera.   After editing the tape and playing it to him for review my bottom would receive the good whipping we had wished on our sexy little reporter.   Yes, a little one sided I agree, but I like to obey a strong dominant guy and it was the start of a whole new experience that was beginning to turn me on in a big way.   The only catch was that he would not tell me the criteria for my punishment, leaving it to my intuition and the little I had learnt about him in the two weeks we had been going together to decide what would please him, or maybe displease him.   However I do know he shares my belief that clothes should be feminine and yet overtly sexy, that bodies should be curved in all the right places, make-up should be both immaculate and stunning and women should be women in the most glamorous way.   Our reporters appearance and behaviour today obviously impressed him, just as it intrigued me in a rather different way, so I have a few good ideas, but could I meet his expectations?   And what if I couldn't;  the comment on her needing a good whipping suddenly had a whole new frightening, and yet exciting meaning.   Only time would tell but I was certainly finding the thought of being whipped very erotic and I was becoming wet and hot deep inside in a whole new delicious way.  

 

 

 

The next day was Saturday and there was now no doubt as to how we would spend the day.   I was becoming very excited;  I might suffer some discomfort but it would be erotic and stimulating and should lead to some fantastic sex, even tonight!

 

 

 

We are both up early and while he tests and assembles his camera gear and loads the car I spend longer than usual getting ready and choosing my outfit.   I am good with make-up, thanks to my modelling career, but for today with my first taste of the lash, it is suddenly more important than any photo assignment, and I develop a new and dramatic look with special emphasis on my sultry eyes and, of course my soft lips that are still my best feature and today beautifully shaped in a strong deep burgundy that will come over brilliantly on the screen.   My hair has a great cut and the style is simple, but extremely sexy as it falls across the side of my face and over one of my eyes.

 

 

 

Even though I have never received so much as a spanking in my life, I find I am deliberately dressing to keep by buttocks totally accessible for the lash and I slip into the tiniest G-string I can find that disappears deep into the crease between my well rounded cheeks.   Suspenders and sheer dark stockings follow together with a gorgeous low cut bra that does wonders for me and thrusts my now enlarged nipples out over the top of the lace.   Oh, god, what would it be like to have my breasts whipped?   Would he be so cruel?   Or dare I provoke him?   What an incredible thought!   But time is moving on; I choose a short clingy black dress that shows my figure brilliantly, and finally a pair of elegant high heels.   I am pleased with the result, it is certainly eye catching, and so is my man who flatters me with a long, low whistle and a firm and meaningful pat on the rump as I leave the bedroom.   It will be a good day, it will be very interesting and deep down I understand that I desperately need to feel his whip cut into my skin.

 

 

 

On the way I am given my assignment:  I am to interview men about the current local issue of allowing massage parlours and I am to get some background shots of the area in question, before returning to edit and present my story at exactly six o'clock.   No if's and no but's ...Get the story and be judged on the results!   I love a challenge but boy, do I get some interesting answers and offers as I throw this topic to various men, dressed as provocatively as I am today.   This issue and the comments I receive keeps me aroused all day, and my body language must show it; certainly my nipples do judging by the looks I am getting.   My guy is getting it all on tape, including the deliberate sway of my backside, the firm shape of my breasts, and the crucial retouching of my make-up, complete with a cheeky and sexy pout.   He also zooms in as I recolour my lips, which I do very slowly and very deliberately, specifically for the camera, before we finish our assignment with a close up in the red light area.  

 

 

 

By early afternoon we are back at his place and he leaves me to do what I can with the story but with the order to meet downstairs for cocktails at five or face severe consequences.   Not surprisingly given the inevitable whipping to follow, I find I respond well to his orders and I do a reasonable job of editing the story, including as many hot and saucy comments as I can find and the best close ups of my tits, body and bum  wiggling, swaying and thrusting, and, of course the hot pouting lips that are my trademark.   Thankfully I still have sufficient time to change and pull my looks together for the critical viewing.   So much for keeping my buttocks available all day, however the thought of the whip and the feel of the silky dress on my bear bum has been a constant reminder of what must follow and it has certainly helped me put some extra spice into the story.   All these thoughts and the anticipation of my very first punishment slowly overcomes me;  my feet gradually move apart, I bend over and reach for my toes, my hands glide to the smooth skin soon to be whipped and my fingers probe deeply within bringing a long and wonderful climax.   For the first time in my life I want to be whipped and whipped hard;  and I know it will happen ....very soon.   Now I understand what drives that other sexy little bitch and makes her so good.  

 

 

 

With nothing but my favourite perfume underneath I slip into a sensuous and strapless red cocktail dress that will so easily lift up over my hips and that reveals far more than it covers of my ample breasts with their fine gold chains dangling between.   I re-do my make-up for maximum glamour, add lashings of mascara, redraw an immaculate lip line and apply a brilliant red lipstick and nail polish that perfectly match the dress.   Smokey grey stockings that don't require suspenders and a gold ankle chain with my strappy red five inch heels display my legs to perfection and long gold earrings with matching bracelets and my diamond rings complete my wanton appearance.   I bask in the sheer pleasure of my seductive and erotic look in the mirror, I turn and flip up my dress knowing how well I can seduce both guys and gals when I choose to flirt with them, but now all I want is the new experience of pain.   I confidently strut in to join him, a full half an hour late, hoping and expecting to be punished for being so late and for the vain and conceited attitude I have felt all day.

 

 

 

I apologise with a quick kiss but he is totally silent and obviously very angry; I see the various implements on the table and without a word I slowly select a heavy leather tawse, I take it to him and kneel to place it in his hands and make the simple request "Whip me!".   Again in silence I bend over the high back chair, my legs wide apart, their length emphasised by the beautiful high heels, and I push my twin cheeks towards him as far as I can for my initiation.   I grab the legs of the chair tightly for reassurance as I feel my dress being lifted up over my hips exposing my stretched white flesh and the dark secret places between.   I am petrified:  I am excited:   I do not understand what I am doing.   Or why!  

 

 

 

The silence is broken by a loud swish and then shattered by the frightening crack as the tawse tears into my buttocks and they explode in unimaginable and terrible pain.   The flash of fire is horrific and a wave of agony moves through and around my body followed by a strange and wonderful heat deep between my legs.   I cannot control the twisting of my hips, nor the kicking of my legs but I grasp the chair for all I am worth, as I realise it could be a lot worse and that I must stay bent over this chair without the ropes and chains that could have been used.   After a few moments I settle down and wait for the next inevitable stroke wondering how I must look from behind and thankful I choose heels that would not kick off.   Then I hear that sound as he applies another horrible stroke and again I feel the fire and the agony flow through my flesh and although I want to cry out, an inner strength and my pride keeps me silent.   He slowly repeats the process again, and then again until six strokes have slashed into my stretched tender cheeks leaving me hugging the cushions, drawing long deep gasps of breath and with teary eyes and a wickedly hot and stinging backside.

 

 

 

I slowly arise from my very first whipping and my hands move to gently touch and massage my poor wounded skin, and feel for the first time the long ridges and welts so effectively etched onto the once smooth flesh.   I gratefully take the drink he offers and smooth my dress back into place as he gently embraces me, and his hands slowly and tenderly wander down to feel the welts and the heat within.   Ecstasy!   I want him so much now, I press my body into his.   Our hips grind through our clothes and I feel his huge erection desperately needing my attention.   This is the heaven after the hell!   Even so I still manage a discrete glance at my watch and into the mirror over his shoulder as my timing and looks are still crucial, and I am sure he is deliberately distracting me.   While it is hard to tear myself away from his arms, I do start the video clip right on time, preferring to stand behind his chair while he sits and watches it several times over, making his notes.

 

 

 

We are both happy with the somewhat average result and although I modestly suggest it is a brilliant two minutes considering it is done by amateurs, there are many flaws that will give him wonderful excuses for my next painful session.   I look great on screen in some shots but not so good in others which, if it were not for my ego, should have been edited out.   The close ups are good but the interviews seem slow even though my editing has eliminated the worst parts.  

 

 

 

He orders me to kneel before him and reads his verdict while I listen, enthralled at his strength and dominance, to his interpretation of the days effort, and his understanding of my deeply hidden desires.   He is absolutely right, my every move today was unconsciously driven by my desire to be punished rather than to avoid it.   My choice of words, my vanity and pouts to the camera, my appearance and all my actions were designed to be overtly sexual and to provoke him into the only possible response, the one we had both wished on our bitchy reporter.   He calmly advises the real punishment will commence a little later in the evening and that I will be bent over and bound securely in position as it will be severe, unlike the mild warm up with the tawse.   I will receive twenty lashes from the whip followed by twelve hard strokes with the cane, however if I wish to avoid the pain I may leave at any time before he starts to tie me.   If I do leave I must not return to him for one whole week, but if I stay he will not stop the punishment until it is finished however much I beg or scream.   It is my choice!  

 

 

 

There is no doubt in my mind I will stay ......he is right, I want to feel the whip and the cane even though I will bitterly regret it once he starts.   I have wanted it ever since I overheard the whispered comment at the airport.   I am happy he will tie me as I could not take it any other way.   Will I scream or will I just beg for mercy?   Oh what a delicious thought, being absolutely helpless while my man viciously whips and canes my poor stretched buttocks.   God, I am such a lucky female!   I am frightened but I can't wait for it to start!

 

 

 

He makes me wait endlessly as we share several drinks and he talks about the punishments in earlier times, the public floggings of criminals and the private canings of females, the strange but practical whipping stools, pillars and posts that were built, the various implements beautifully crafted for just one purpose and the pain that was so freely administered to the victims, be it for punishment or pleasure.   He produces some amazing drawings that stimulate us both while we talk of the sensual and erotic effects of pain, the anticipation and the reality, the limits and the unbelievable joy of going beyond and expanding the tolerance level, and what will soon follow once I am bound at his mercy.  

 

 

 

He shows me the whip he will use on me with its nine leather thongs, each shorter and thinner than I had expected, and thankfully  without any knots or weights.   It is obviously designed to hurt rather than to cut the flesh, and is attached to a superbly carved black handle, brilliantly shaped as a huge male phallus.   I grasp it and while looking directly into his eyes, I lick and kiss it and slide it erotically between my gorgeous red lips.   He acknowledges my silent message and I know he will use it later deep within me while I am bent helpless and hurting.   I return it and my anticipation and fear grows beyond anything I have ever experienced, but so does the desire and the heat within my loins.   He passes me the cane to swing through the air; the sound is wicked but it feels so beautiful in my hands with its curved handle and the long, thin yellow rattan that I slide delicately between my fingers.   How can I take the pain this vicious weapon will deliver?   Then again once I am bound how can I stop it?   What a dilemma!   But it is time!   One last move; I kiss him sensuously; then retrieve my lipstick to repair my lips and I am ready for anything!

 

 

 

I willingly hold out my wrists and then lift my ankles allowing him to wrap a length of soft rope many times around each limb before securing it with a tight knot.   He leads me to different chair, larger and stronger than before and well padded.   I stand behind it legs apart and my ankles are firmly attached to the frame as the rope is wound around again and again and well knotted.   I will never move my legs!   He lifts my dress well clear of my tender backside and pulls my wrists way down low at the front, bending me double over the chair back at a perfect height to hold my hips firm and my buttocks taught.   My wrists are tightly bound and secured and I feel more vulnerable than ever before in my life, knowing I will never move until he allows it.   I am totally helpless, totally accessible, totally at his mercy and about to receive a most severe whipping across my already tender rump.

 

 

 

I wait and listen; but nothing; I can only look down; I study the floor, the binding around my wrists and admire my long red nails; still nothing happens.   Is this a reprieve ....God I hope not ....I want the whip.   The waiting is torture and he knows it.   It is worse than the tawse!   But he is there.   Suddenly all hell breaks loose as he slashes the whip into me once, twice, three times, and more, so quickly, and again and again and again.   It is agony, a new and terrible pain all across me; I can't think, I scream, I beg him to stop, I can't stand it, I want to die, I am on fire, he will kill me; Oh mercy!   Please, please stop!   His voice drifts through the haze of pain and slowly I realise he has stopped.   He tells me I have taken ten strokes and taken them well; but I have ten to go.   I beg him to stop, I plead and promise but to no avail.   He starts again, slash after slash of agony, ten more strokes with no break; I beg and scream, I sink into the depths of the terrible pain as the whip lashes into me, it cuts across my buttocks, my hips and my thighs.   I am sobbing, it is horrible, the pain is killing me, but I can feel that he has stopped and I emerge into the real world again, still stretched and unable to move, still hurting unbelievably, but at least the whip has finished its vicious attack.

 

 

 

He allows me time to settle, time for the pain to ease, time for the wonderful heat to grow within and time to start wanting the cane to do its terrible work.   The agony is not what it seems, it is instant and extreme but it is bearable because there is no choice.   The desire to escape is replaced with a much stronger desire for him to continue, to continue with the cane, and to apply it harder than ever.   God, what has got into me?   Why, why, why?

 

 

 

And apply it hard he does; six strokes of agony that criss cross my inflamed buttocks, a caning that is administered slowly and deliberately as he stands to one side and a caning that is meant to hurt, with the vicious tip flexing around to the side of my hip to add to the anguish.   He counts each stroke aloud as it slashes towards me and I unashamedly scream at the violent impact and struggle helplessly to accept the ever increasing agony.   Without a pause he changes sides and continues the steady pace with the remaining six strokes delivered unmercifully as I scream and sob my way to the end of my terrible ordeal.   It has stopped; I am still alive; my useless contortions cease and my body slowly relaxes as the heat changes from pain to pleasure and floods through my body.   I feel the handle of the whip gently sliding up my thighs, between my cheeks and deep into me creating a whole new pleasure, a pleasure so great that the pain is totally forgotten as it moves around, up and down, delivering the most beautiful climax in my life.   His wonderful huge erection will soon follow and lift me to a whole new level of pleasure;  God, I am so lucky to be whipped, caned and screwed while I am so helpless!   

 

____________________________

 

 

The Return Flight

 

 

 

By Cindy K

 

 

 

 

 

He will call me early one morning; a car will take me to the airport, another will meet me interstate and take me to his country house for our "meeting" and I will return home later the same day in considerable discomfort.   I have never met him and although he has my photos, it has all been planned by phone after I answered his advertisement, being intrigued by his words and ideas, and desperate to try something new and risky.

 

 

 

The call comes early while I am still in bed;  I am to be ready by ten, wearing the exact outfit we had discussed and otherwise immaculately presented as he stipulated.   I leave a message at the office and thankfully have plenty of time to enjoy dressing while I anticipate with fear and excitement what I know the day will bring.   I create a dramatic hair style, apply my make-up to perfection emphasising my dark eyes, I use a gorgeous dark red lipstick that contrasts brilliantly with my pale skin and matches my long nails and toes.   Totally naked, I lean forward across the vanity and towards the mirror for the finishing touches;  I colour my nipples before inserting the gold rings, highlight my breasts and shade the cleavage;  the results are fantastic;  I am hot and aroused inside and my stance with the cool marble against my hips reminds me of the position I will assume later in the day!  

 

 

 

I slip into a tiny red g-string that disappears into the moist crease between my thighs, select a quarter bra that beautifully exposes my nipples with their rings and choose a matching suspender belt to support the sheer dark stockings.   A slinky black tailored suit with its tight skirt and low cut front, strappy five inch high heels, the fine gold chains and earrings, an exotic bracelet and my rings complete the outfit.   I am delighted by the image in the mirror, my body brilliantly displayed, superb make-up and accessories giving me a very sensual look that is exactly what he demanded after seeing my portfolio.   I feel reckless, I am as randy as hell, I am excited and yet petrified by what lies ahead but ready for anything and everything he has in mind regardless of how much he makes me suffer.

 

 

 

The door bell rings, I strut towards the limo with a provocative smile to the chauffeur, my buttocks wiggling, shoulder bag swinging, full of confidence and feeling a million dollars.   I am given a first class seat on the plane next to a businessman with whom I share a little too much champagne while I flirt and talk about some of the more interesting and erotic incidents from my modelling career.   He is good looking, strong and obviously fascinated by my appearance so I take the opportunity to seductively re-touch my make-up before we land, applying my lipstick slowly and carefully with a sexy pout for his benefit.   I cross my legs and allow my skirt to ride up, exposing the lace tops of my stockings and just enough flesh.   I am hot and I tease him like never before.   He responds brilliantly noting my wicked behaviour deserves to be punished!   If only he could know what my day would contain!   I deserve everything I am going to get!

 

 

 

The car takes me through unfamiliar areas to an isolated house;  the driver escorts me downstairs into a large room with a catwalk, stage and other unusual fittings.   He leaves in silence and locks the door.   The room is impressive; its floor, walls and ceiling are covered in a rich red carpet and large well placed mirrors;  the hidden lighting is subtle although spotlights feature the catwalk and stage on which a remarkable bench is mounted.   The background music is the haunting and unforgettable theme from the movie "Story of O" that I have played so many times since he sent it to me.   I explore the room and the equipment; the whips, canes and other instruments neatly laid out, the chains, ropes and manacles hanging from their racks, and the beams and pillars.   This room is superbly set up with money obviously no object.   Again I realise how much I could be making from my bizarre activities, and although I often receive beautiful and expensive gifts, I am not driven by money, it is the erotic and sensual pleasure I cannot resist, in spite of the pain that I can never stop.   But my immediate interest centres on the whipping bench, a strong and beautifully crafted piece of timber furniture equipped with many straps and pads, designed to be used in various ways and presently dominating the room.   I am petrified and excited by the thought that I will soon be tightly secured over this wonderful device to receive the caning that has brought me here.

 

 

 

He enters carrying a fearsome crop, dressed totally in black from his tight leather pants and waistcoat to the high boots and a fascinating mask.   It occurs to me I may never see his face, I have no idea who he is nor where I am and no one even knows I am interstate.   I am frightened but even more stimulated by the delicious thought of the risk I am taking, a meeting so different and a new horizon deliberately set without any possible way out.

 

 

 

He picks up a long yellow cane and motions for me to mount the catwalk and start the ritual I must follow.   I parade up and down and around the bench, using all my modeling skills and a wonderful sexy walk that emphasises my figure;  I slowly and seductively remove my few clothes and continue in the skimpy lace undies, thrusting my breasts towards him while fingering the rings they hold;  wiggling my hips I turn and touch my toes presenting dark skin with a touch of lace beautifully framed by tender cheeks and long legs in seamed stockings and superb high heels.   I try various poses on the bench, all designed to expose different parts of my flesh for punishment or pleasure although I know ultimately it is only the soft flesh of my buttocks he intends to whip.

 

 

 

He is ready;  I move into position and with considerable trepidation allow him to strap my ankles securely, legs well apart.   He passes my lipstick which I again apply meticulously and seductively for his obvious pleasure.   He motions again and I lean forward;  I find my hips well supported as he pulls my wrists firmly down to be secured leaving me doubled over, absolutely helpless and totally unable to move in any way.   Another strap pulls my waist down and my deep crease is again so exposed, my bear buttocks thrust up and out, so vulnerable and perfectly positioned for the cane.   And caned they will be; I am sentenced to receive six strokes, repeated six times over using a selection of wicked devices, a total of thirty six slashes across my poor stretched and tender flesh.   The six implements are placed on the stage within my sight.   It will be hell!

 

 

 

He takes the longest one and moves into position;  I hold my breath for the first vicious cut;  I hear it coming and instantly my buttocks explode in an agony I have never before experienced as he slashes the cane hard into my flesh.   The fire spreads through my body as he slashes again and again and again until the first six horrible strokes have been applied leaving me gasping for breath and begging to be released.   The pain is terrible, far worse than ever before; this is not what I expected!   He has gone too far!   This is not a caning for female flesh; it is a violent punishment from convict days.   I gain my breath;  I ask to be released;  I explain the mistake!   There is nothing but silence and a long wait!

 

 

 

I hear the fearful swish and again my world dissolves into the unimaginable pain of a second severe caning, another six terrible strokes one after another without a pause to recover or to think.   I beg for mercy;  I ask him to stop;  I can't take any more;  it is too much!   But the six are done;  he allows me to regain some composure, even bent double, although not for long as I see the next cane being selected.   I wait...... I have no choice!

 

 

 

He strikes again...... hard;  it is agony;  I throw my head around...... I will not scream but I beg him to slow down, to go easy, to stop, I can't stand it.   He continues without mercy, the cane cuts into me again and again until his six are finished and I am left alone to suffer and to slowly come back into the world.   I am half way;  I am still alive but fire is consuming me.   I cannot take the rest of the caning.   I will talk rationally;  I will offer my body;  I will pay money!   He will see reason ......after all I am a woman.

 

 

 

But no;  the agony is now delivered with a thick rattan cane bringing me to tears, deep sobs I cannot control, as he beats my injured buttocks again and again creating pain beyond anything I could ever imagine.   It is a long time before I can control the flood of tears enough to gasp and plead for mercy;  to beg him to stop;  to pray for the agony to cease;  to be released!

 

 

 

I wait, helpless, knowing there is more to come;  my buttocks must be cut to pieces;  there must be blood everywhere;  I want to die but slowly the terrible fire behind is replaced by a wonderful heat within;  I press into the bench enjoying a new pleasure;  I can just wiggle enough to add to it.   A strange ecstasy in a world of pain.

 

 

 

Agony again as he strikes hard with a long flexible cane that whips around, harder than before, beyond belief, beyond anything.   A pause;  then again, and even harder;  I will die!   Then again, and harder again;  I scream;  I scream long and loud without stopping;  I cannot control it;  but he continues!   He will kill me!   It goes on and on for ever;  I loose count!   It must be more than six!   I am still screaming but slowly I realise he has stopped after a full twelve strokes and it is finished.   The punishment is complete.   I emerge from the deep haze of pain.   There is silence but I am on fire, inside and outside;  the pain lasts for ever.

 

 

 

I feel the straps being removed from my wrists and my waist;  slowly and gingerly I stand up legs still firmly held apart;  I am hurting;  I touch my wounded backside;  I feel all the ridges and welts that criss cross my flesh with pride;  there is no blood!   My ankles are still strapped;  what next?   I cannot resist the urge within as the pleasure returns and grows beyond belief;  again I lean forward but now my fingers are working inside me;  my hips thrust and sway without needing the cane.   It builds up until I explode in the ecstasy of the most wonderful orgasm ever.   Once again I need a long, long time to recover!     

 

 

 

He has gone;  I release my ankles and slowly, very slowly, move around;  I carefully dress and repair my make-up – slowly & meticulously and taking great care to achieve a perfect lip line.  I look around ;  there is a beautiful necklace for me;  I put it on and admire the results in the mirror, and then turn lifting my skirt to view my wounded and beautifully marked buttocks.   I am very satisfied with everything I see, but it is the necklace that will last for ever, and it is beautiful!

 

 

 

The driver appears and again I strut forward with that provocative smile as I start the long trip home;  sitting is difficult in the car but the leather is beautifully cool.   On the plane I am next to the same gentleman as before;  I realise with a shock that he is the same size and build as the man dressed in leather!   Could they be one and the same?   I remain totally silent!

 

 

 

____________________ 

 

.

 

The  Fashion Parade

 

 

 

By  Cindy K

 

 

 

I am the hostess,  I am the model and I am the entertainment.   Quite simple !

 

Why ?   Because He told me those are the rules !   And I dare not disobey.... The consequences would be too severe,  even with my experience.

 

 

 

He had booked the suite in the hotel,  but I had checked in after lunch to allow plenty of time to be ready for the visitors, a few of his close friends I had never met but, he assured me, who shared our interests.

 

 

 

My instructions are simple, I have to dress immaculately for the private cocktail party and fashion parade; my looks, hair and make-up must be perfect and I should circulate, serve drinks and change into many different stunning outfits to entertain his guests.   They will judge my appearance and modelling skills and, after cocktails I will be tied and whipped according to their score.   Simple, but not easy, even for a confident and experienced transvestite like myself, however it will be stimulating as long as I can bear the punishment.

 

 

 

I am ready early and, though I say so myself, look a million dollars and would attract many a red blooded male.    Even the waiter delivering the drinks can not take his eyes off my hourglass shape and long legs, so beautifully and deliberately displayed by the tight short dress and unbelievably high heels.   My man phones to say he is delayed and I should entertain his guests for a short while.   Fantastic, it gives me the opportunity to have an extra drink, to show off or tease and find other ways to misbehave!

 

 

 

They arrive together, three gorgeous couples, elegantly dressed in formal dinner jackets or beautiful cocktail outfits.   I introduce myself and serve the champagne, trying to assess who will support me, how they will judge me and who will have the cruellest streak with a cane in their hand.   I am obviously impressing the guys who surround me, their eyes exploring every part of my body and struggling with the question of a "female" who is not!   Their conversation is fast, fun and full of erotic double meaning to which I respond brilliantly, winning them, however the girls are watching closely and with great suspicion as I blatantly flirt with their partners.

 

 

 

My man arrives and we share a close hug, my hands on his cheeks, my body pressing hard on his hips, a kiss to please him with a lasting touch of my brilliant red trademark and, as I move away, my fingers linger on his wonderful hidden erection - it will be a good evening!

 

 

 

I quickly change into my first outfit, a sexy burgundy hot pants suit with five inch heels and stunning jewellery, I tidy my hair and retouch my make-up, darken my lipstick to the same luscious deep colour.   I strut into the room to re-join the party, enjoying the warm glow of the champagne and confidently flaunting my long legs in sheer stockings below the skimpy shorts.   They are very impressed but I worry about the girls, they will extract their spiteful revenge on my vulnerable skin for sure!   But I feel great!!!

 

 

 

Again and again I parade and serve drinks to my select and attentive audience; my best and most exciting outfits; various hair styles; stockings and shoes to compliment; and always perfecting my make-up and lips with subtle changes of colour.   I am having a wonderful time, but becoming apprehensive of the punishment that must shortly follow.

 

 

 

I finish my show in an extremely low cut, short, clingy number that leaves little to the imagination for the guys, but will easily lift over my hips when I am required to bend over.   With suspenders, stockings and a tiny g-string they will have clear access to my pale soft buttocks, and the strappy high heels will remain in place even if I kick violently.   I am now prepared for a good whipping and both excited and frightened by the thought of the pain that I must suffer while helpless and unable to stop their sadistic pleasure.

 

 

 

First I will be given ten hard cuts of the cane on each hand as a warm up by one of the guys before the formal punishment is announced.   A thin, but very whippy, light cane is selected and I am instructed precisely how and where to stand in front of the mirror.   The strokes will be applied alternately left and right with the next hand presented immediately and I must count aloud and keep my eyes open.   Any failure to follow these instructions exactly, or to miss a count, will add another two strokes to the offending hand.   I am told to remove my rings to avoid damage and prepare for my ordeal.   The audience forms a semi circle, an aroused and excited look on the faces of the men with obvious erections bursting within their trousers, and sheer bitchy pleasure oozing from the girls.

 

 

 

My left hand is held out, palm uppermost and fingers straight.   I dare not close my eyes.   I watch the swing...... I hear the swish...... my hand explodes in pain...... it cuts the tips of my fingers...... I shake my hand...... I tell myself I can handle it...... I have received worse in the past.   I watch my reaction in the mirror and worry he will break my nails...... how ridiculous.   Reluctantly I state "one".   I need a moment and then raise my right hand a little more slowly and the pain again explodes but is just bearable.   "Two".   Again my fingers are the target and I realise this man is an expert knowing exactly where to strike, how hard and how much pain I can take without loosing control in front of the group.   I now feel stronger knowing I can take all he gives me, even though it will not be easy.

 

 

 

The cane strikes again and again, alternating from hand to hand, each stroke progressing slowly along my fingers and across my palms until my count to twenty is finished.   The audience are enthralled, the devil with the cane looks delighted, the bitches smile, and I my hands are dead, but I have survived so far.   He has tested my will power but given me the strength to continue with the next stage of my punishment, and, most importantly, I still look wonderful in the mirror even with tears in my eyes.   Thank heavens for waterproof mascara...... one of the delights of being a woman!

 

 

 

A glass of brandy is passed which I hold with considerable difficulty but it gives me a beautiful added warmth inside.   I replace my rings and join my man for an erotic and lingering kiss and we deliberately rub our aroused bodies together in a very public display of raw sexuality.   I still know there is worse to come....... to prepare I visit the powder room to tidy my make-up, apply the exotic red lipstick to perfection and refresh the perfume in my hidden places.

 

 

 

The desk has been moved to the centre of the room, it is high, long, narrow and has a large cushion at one end.   I totally understand its purpose, I lift my dress and position myself ensuring the cushion forces my buttocks upwards and outwards stretching the skin tightly to present a perfect target.   Leather manacles surround my wrists and are pulled tightly down and firmly secured to the frame.   Heavy leather straps cross over my back, waist and shoulders and are buckled tightly forcing my buttocks even further outwards.   A ball gag is forced into my mouth and the straps from the ends of the bit are fastened  behind my head.   A shaped cushion is placed under my forehead and another strap holds my head firmly down.   They know exactly what they are doing; my legs are totally free to react to the pain but right now they look so long and shapely from the tip of my heels to the top of my dark tender crease.   No other part of me can move, not even a fraction, I cannot make a sound and yet I can breathe freely, my make-up will not be spoilt but my head is secure.   What a stupid thought...... my make-up!   I am now absolutely petrified but I have no way out.   How did I ever allow this to happen?

 

 

 

I feel hands releasing the clips from the back of my stockings, the suspenders are removed and the thin strand of the g-string pulled deep into my crevice.   I am totally exposed and perfectly presented for punishment.   I am absolutely helpless and must endure whatever follows!

 

 

 

They discuss my performance in detail...... the men are having difficulty finding flaws but the girls are revelling in being incredibly picky.   My walk and stance are debated, my hair styles criticised, my lips poorly outlined with terrible choices of colour, stocking seams were not straight and my general behaviour atrocious!   My clothes would only suit a tart and I should be treated accordingly...... with a severe and lengthy beating!   Dream on!   I look brilliant!   But deep down I want to be the tart, I want to behave that way and know that’s exactly how I look!

 

 

 

I am sentenced to six of the best, repeated six times over, each time with a different implement..... An unbelievable thirty six vicious strokes!   They will all take a turn.   Firstly a leather twin tail tawse, then a black riding crop, a rubber paddle, a rope cat o' nine tails, a thin strap and finally the dreaded cane delivered by MY man.   A total of thirty six strokes of terrible, intense and unimaginable pain.   I am horrified, this is not what I expected, not what I had agreed to, not the plan, not anything I could conceive.   It must be stopped.   There has been a mistake.   Something has gone wrong.   No.   No.   No.

 

 

 

The tawse strikes with a loud crack, then silence and instant pain as the fire explodes from my buttocks and throughout my body.   Another stroke, more pain, and another, and another until the six are completed.   My legs are kicking the air...... They are hitting me too hard...... it is too painful...... I beg for mercy but nothing comes out.   I cannot stop it.   The pain is terrible.   A pause and slowly I start to recover.

 

 

 

I hear a woman's voice with the swish and feel the biting cut of the riding crop as it delivers a different and sharper form of agony.   I want to yell.   I want to move away.   I can't.   Another swish and the next cut arrives.   I react again but I am helpless.   My legs are everywhere but I still cannot move.   The cuts continue again and again until the six are finished and there is silence.   She tells me how much she enjoys hurting me, how horny she feels and how wonderful my reactions have been, describing the marks and colours I cannot see but feel so intensely.   Her hands move gently across my injured flesh, they pause on the ridges left by the crop, they feel beautiful and so cool, I am so happy.

 

 

 

The paddle shocks me back to reality, the pleasure being replaced by instant pain, but not as intense as before.   Are the men being kind or is the erotic pleasure dulling my punishment, or is it both?   My legs are still kicking in a reaction I cannot control but I am surviving and while I would beg for them to stop I no longer need to scream.   There is a pause between each stroke, prolonging the anticipation and helping me survive.   The break arrives after the six, I am half way, I will make it, the pleasure slowly returns and I realise I am enjoying the evening, it is what I so desperately need.

 

 

 

The cat strikes hard and wraps around my hips with a terrible bite, first one side then the other, back and forth until the six are delivered without any pause.   This new form of punishment is so quick I assume they are taking turns to whip me, but then it is finished and there is a break, a long break allowing me to return to my erotic and pleasurable dreams as their hands move over me, gently rubbing, touching, feeling and probing me.   Ecstasy!

 

 

 

I am warned this time to be ready for the strap, but nothing...... just silence for an eternity...... and then it strikes, viciously hard causing pain I cannot bear, but pain I cannot escape.   I hear her sultry and vindictive voice out of my haze of agony thank me for providing the excuse she needed.   And then she strikes again.... very, very hard.   I scream, I kick, I cry, I struggle but nothing but my legs work and then the strap hits them too, and hard.   She strikes well below my buttocks, where it is so tender, and she does it again, and again all the time calling me every terrible name she knows.   This is sheer revenge.   I want to die.   They must stop her, I will be marked for life, I will be injured, I will die.   Then I realise it has stopped, she has extracted her wrath and I am alive but this is so terrible, total agony, I must be bleeding, cut to pieces.   Slowly, so slowly, the pain recedes, but the pleasure does not return this time, it just hurts.

 

 

 

He allows me to recover but it takes time.   He assures me I have beautiful marks but nothing worse, and he delights in reminding me the cane is still to come.   His favourite implement, the long, thin, flexible golden yellow cane that is polished to perfection and that he wields so cruelly to display his dominance in private or with friends.   I think how he makes me scream so easily when I am tied without a gag, but I eventually return for more, I must be addicted to his agony.   I hear the swish as he cuts the air, no doubt to increase my terror.   I know his tricks but they work every time.   I wait.   I have no choice.   The hear the fearful sound, I feel the terrible deep cut followed instantly by the flow of agony into my body.   As always it is horrible but, as always I cannot stop it.   I wait.   Again the sound, the agony, the struggle, and again and yet again until he is finished.

 

 

 

I lie there exhausted, enveloped in pain.   Their fingers trace the marks.   My ordeal is over till the next time, I have survived, I will recover, I am superbly happy, and intensely aroused, I am a well marked tart.   I am free; I stand slowly, dress, make-up and kiss him like never before.   The evenings real pleasures will now begin!

 

________________________________________

 

 

 

The Quadrangle

 

By Cindy K

It’s Friday afternoon and I’m walking across the quadrangle.  Not an unusual event but today is different…… very different.

 

I have two companions with me; one each side and they have both willingly shared with me their valuable experience from the past.  Experience that is so important to me today; in fact experience that will help us all through a very difficult day.  They have both walked as I do now and they understand what is going through my mind.  They, like me, are in their late teens, but both are a year my senior in this exclusive girls college that caters specifically for the daughters of the very wealthy.

 

But today is different;  the three of us are dressed in a way that does not seem right for the early afternoon in the sunny school quadrangle.  We are tall with long shapely legs and we are all wearing high stiletto heels and dark stockings.   But it’s mine that are the full five inches; a very sexy and glamorous strappy design with a fine leather band around my ankle that will ensure they cannot slip off even if I kick my legs around.  My companions however wear slightly lower four-inch heels of a simpler but very elegant style in black patent leather.  Their shoes have no straps as the need does not exist.   Our stockings also differ with mine having a dark seam straight down the back of my leg and they are sheer all the way from the tip of my toes allowing the brilliant red nail polish and three silver rings on my toes to be clearly seen.

 

Our hair styles are also unexpected for a cool sunny day in the open air;  as is the make-up we wear, so beautifully applied, but more appropriate for the most dressy of restaurants or night clubs.   And we all wear differing lipsticks, all strong colours, and all immaculately applied with a perfect lip line and matching our well manicured and very long nails.   Our eye colours and false lashes are also expertly done complimenting our hair and providing an overall effect of high glamour and sophistication; a look more likely to be seen on the cover of a top fashion magazine.  An array of gold bangles and rings add to the exotic effect, as do the many fine chains of various lengths that take the eye to my wonderfully displayed cleavage.   We could well be three top catwalk models just before a major parade, or maybe three hostesses in an expensive club.

 

But clothing, or maybe the lack of it, is most surprising given we are crossing the college quadrangle on a beautiful afternoon.   Other than my heels and stockings, and the necessary lacy suspender belt, I wear nothing but a miniscule g-string, hardly visible between by buttocks, and a tiny quarter cup bra that pushes my boobs and nipples forward.  Nipples, I might add that were recently pierced following a crazy urge shared with my closest colleague, and that are now each adorned with a beautiful fine gold ring.  A short lace see-through top, loosely tied in the front and barely reaching the top of my thighs completes the outfit.  The other girls are dressed in what some would describe as a uniform, but one that leaves little to the imagination.  They are identical, and obviously modeled on the prison guard uniform that featured in a recent X rated fantasy movie.  The black leather hot pants are cut unbelievably high displaying beautifully rounded cheeks through the sheer pantyhose and the matching leather vest follows every curve and yet reveals so much.   To any casual observer it is clear that I am their prisoner and that we are all part of some very elaborate event.

 

It all started with a note from the headmaster that was delivered in a sealed envelope early today just saying I was to be punished during the afternoon and that two girls would arrive to prepare me.   No reason…. Nothing more !!!

 

I had heard of these headmasters’ punishments that occur only once or twice a year and consist of an extremely severe and excruciatingly painful caning across the bear buttocks while securely tied and bent over a sturdy whipping bench.   They are always accompanied by the ritual I was now part of:  the stunningly erotic outfit, the walk across the quad for all to see, the verbal dressing down by the headmaster, the violent caning over the bench and finally, with the assistance of two companions, a difficult and unsteady tour of all the class rooms to display the vivid welts and explain why it occurred.

 

Right now I am terrified;  my fear started the moment I read the letter and I realised what was going to happen to me and that I had no way out.  Why me???……what have I done to deserve this???….. the worst possible punishment in a school well known for the severity of all it’s punishments.   Was I spotted a few days ago in the local pub, or did someone tell about the regular blow jobs I give so willingly to the local guys?  Or was it the piercing of my nipples or our girlie games under the sheets after lights out.   All I do know is that he will tell me when the punishment is announced!   What will it be; six is the minimum, eight and ten quite common and occasionally twelve or even eighteen strokes are delivered.   They say twenty four is the maximum but there are rumours of thirty six being given once in the past.   God, I’m wetting myself!!!

 

My fear has increased all day;  the two girls arrive with a note at precisely 11am and escort me to a room hidden away in the staff quarters.   They were caned, as I now will be, near the end of last year and both had been given eight strokes for being drunk.  I remember the day well; their screams echoing around the school as we all remained silent, listening, almost excited at what was happening.   I remember them later being escorted into our class, in great pain but still looking so gorgeous; turning around and touching their toes for us to clearly see the wicked marks.   I remember feeling wet and wondering what it must be like, to be so helpless, to be punished unbelievably.   It had been a horrific experience for them with the welts lasting weeks and sitting down impossible for many days.  

 

They explained the outfits we would all wear to please the headmaster and how they were expected to secure me to the bench and then assist him in a number of unusual and interesting ways before, during and after my punishment.   These were secrets that had never escaped, and, with the threat of another caning, never would.  Secrets shared by so few girls every year.

 

All the outfits and shoes are laid our, all are the correct size.  There are mirrors, lights, stools, hair dressing equipment and a vast range of make-up and jewellery.  There are large framed photos of previous offenders, so obviously frightened but beautifully presented before their ordeal.   And also some shots of the same girls obviously in great pain but still looking immaculate after the event.   We are all expected to look stunning and have nearly four hours to prepare.  Any shortcomings will ensure that my colleagues also received the cane, and, I now realise, my own appearance will influence both my punishment and theirs.   We all understand what he expects from us and start our preparations!

 

This should be such fun, we three girls dressing to the nines with such wonderful things, but no!!!   I know what will follow, or at least I think I know.   But the fear recedes to the back of my mind and I start to enjoy the preparation.   I take my time and enjoy the sheer pleasure of the sexy, beautiful garments, of stockings and stilettos that do wonderful things for my legs and glorious perfume wafting around the cosy room.  We do each others hair, we fiddle, we comb and spray and we fuss but the results are fantastic… three glorious blondes with stunning hair do’s.  I start on my make-up, as do the others; foundation and powder for a flawless start, eye shadow and liner immaculately, but heavily applied and then the false lashes, top and bottom, mascara and more mascara and of course a beautiful blusher in all the right places.   We critique each other and all add a touch more here and there to enhance the effect.  The girls take their time delicately working on my boobs with colour and shadow for brilliant results….my nipples with their wonderful rings have never looked bigger!!!   Finally, one of my great pleasures; a dark lip liner slowly and accurately applied to perfection, a brilliant red lipstick added, blotted and thoroughly done again, and once again.  My companions are doing the same;  we add our jewellry and finally sit to slowly and meticulously paint our nails, enjoying our reflections in the mirror.   All this just to be caned…. What a strange, strange world! 

 

Finally we are finished and we know we look a million dollars, we know he demands perfection, and we know we will meet his demands.  We will do what he says.   It is not worth taking any risks today.   The camera is out; I pose, and I pose again, and again, and again; I’m good at this but I’ve never done it before!   I’m excited while at the same time petrified, and I’m hot and wet in all the wrong places.  How can the thought of a severe lashing do this to me…. Or is it the dressing up, the posing, the fear or all three?

 

Time to go; back to reality; now the overwhelming apprehension.   We head for the quadrangle, walking purposefully but slowly in our incredible heels, proudly wearing our exotic uniforms.  The bra is wonderful; my breasts and nipples are at their best, sticking out in front like never before.   We do it with great poise as there are many faces at every window, watching the start of another memorable event in the history of the college.   Some are no doubt wondering if they will ever take this walk with me as one of their escorts.  We slowly cross the quad, pass through the main foyer and knock on his door.   We enter and for the first time I see the bench; so solid, so heavy, so frightening; right in the middle of the large room.

 

We move to it in silence; I stand in front of it as I had been so precisely instructed, my legs well apart and my ankles exactly where the thick leather straps extend from the large timber beam.   The girls fix the straps and buckle them tight…. so very, very tight.   He looks me up and down, he studies every inch of my body, he focuses on the rings in my nipples, he walks slowly around and I can feel his eyes scanning every inch of my flesh.  He faces me again, across the bench; he starts his lecture.  There are so many events leading to today; I am amazed.  I have been reported for many things, some way back weeks ago, some I had even forgotten, but they have all been saved up for today.  He is enjoying this!   He goes on and on but I’m shaking, frightened…. I’ve never known such fear as a most severe whipping is now inevitable.

 

He finishes his tirade…. Now the dreaded moment; the sentence.   He moves to the cupboard and slowly and deliberately selects a cane; I can see them all standing there upright; all looking so deadly…. He takes the longest, it must be well over a metre long, thick at one end, obviously a handle with leather binding but tapering to the width of a pencil at the other.   He bends it in half so easily and then releases it…. It is so flexible; he whips it through the air; it’s too fast to see but I hear a loud whistle.  He does it again and again and watches me tremble.  He does it many more times enjoying my fear…. I can’t take my eyes off it!

 

Finally the dreaded number… I am to receive eighteen strokes!   Eighteen severe strokes as my punishment!  I hear the girls gasp; I feel the tears well up in my eyes:  I start to shake;  I want to run, to escape, to get away from this nightmare but my ankles are so secure.

 

Somewhere in the background I hear the dreaded instruction for me to bend over and I feel the girls take my wrists, pull them forward and down and I feel more leather straps, again so tight.  I feel another thick strap pull my waist down, and another over my shoulders.  Then a slow but firm movement as they turn a handle; my hips are pushed outwards and my wrists are pulled further down.  I am being slowly stretched by this incredible bench but it is my buttocks that are so obviously are being positioned for his cane; the skin across them becoming as taught as a drum.  I have become the perfect target for the vicious implement he holds.   All movement stops; I try to wiggle but nothing happens.  I can not move;  I am helpless!!!   Then I feel soft fingers gently pull my g-string to one side followed by what must be male fingers gently exploring and playing deep within.   They are obviously very experienced as they bring so much pleasure and I can not stop the inevitable orgasm that slowly overwhelms me.

 

I hear movement, I hear the whistle, I hear the crack and instantly my world explodes with pain beyond anything I have ever experienced.  I hear an incredible scream and realise it has come from my lips.   There is so much pain and I can’t handle it: I don’t know what to do.  I can’t move….. I’m thinking but slowly, so slowly…. He must stop…. I must tell him it’s too much.

 

Then the swish and whistle and crack again, followed by more incredible pain and my scream that just won’t stop.  I must be on fire…. Nothing could hurt so much.  I’m panting and sobbing and screaming at the same time…. I’m so confused…. What do I do….

 

And then he strikes again…. my screaming just continues and I want to die, to be anywhere but here.  Somewhere in my confused mind the realization exists that it’s only just started, that it will go on for ever.  Again and again he strikes and the fire becomes even greater to bear but I can not stop it – I just scream and sob uncontrollably.

 

It has stopped and slowly I regain some control.  I’m sobbing deeply but not screaming.  There are noises behind; sounds of pleasure, the sound of sex.

 

The straps are removed from my body and wrists and the girls help me to stand even though my ankles are still secured.  The girls bring my bag and help me with repairs to my make-up;  I’m starting to recover although the unbearable pain remains.

 

The headmaster comes before me and sarcastically asks how much did it hurt?   He then takes great pleasure in telling me I’ve only had six strokes so far with twelve to go.  I just burst out in tears but yet again the girls pull me back down and fasten all the straps tightly.

 

The caning resumes, my sobbing is deeper as I gasp for breath and the screams are louder; beyond control.  The pain seems a million times worse as my tender buttocks absorb stroke after stroke but it continues and I’m helpless, I’m confused, I’m in hell.

 

Once again it stops; is this the end or another wicked trick; how many have I taken – how many to go?

The girls are silent but release the straps and repeat the routine with my make up.  The headmaster is watching, obviously enjoying my difficulties.  I can see his erection and know the girls have been working their magic on him and will continue to do so but there is no pleasure for me, just unbearable pain.  He confirms there are another six to go and he will make them the hardest he’s ever given.

 

I’m pulled down and he slashes again and again; I just absorb the agony – there is no choice, no way out, but eventually it comes to an end and there’s silence broken only by my deep sobbing.  I eventually open my eyes to see tears dripping to the floor.  Slowly I regain some degree of control only to sense movement and feel him push deep into me and pump away until he is satisfied with one last thrust.

 

The girls release my wrists and body and I look around but he’s gone – all that remains is a fearful throbbing across my buttocks and the cane laying on the desk.  I reach behind expecting the worst; there are numerous ridges but no blood and my flesh is so tender.  They tell me we only have a few minutes to prepare for the tour, to expose my beaten flesh to the whole school.  My ankles are released and I’m unsteady but they help, they pass my makeup and we work to repair the damage of stress and tears.  It takes a few minutes but I’m starting to recover and, as any girl knows, lipstick applied perfectly is a great boost in any difficult situation.  I need assistance to walk and I reach for the cane, I feel it, hold it and swing it; thinking what fun it would be to severely flog another female butt.  Maybe one day…..

 

We start on the journey, they steady me particularly as a touch my toes and present my buttocks to every class.  In a subdued voice, I explain the best I’m able why I’ve been caned and how it felt, nearly breaking into tears on a couple of occasions but we complete the rounds and finally reach our private sanctuary in the hidden room.

 

I just burst into tears and they cuddle me; we all cling together seeking and giving comfort to one another; we’re kissing and touching; our clothes come off; we’re on the couch, feeling, playing, licking, caressing, and probing.

 

It’s been a long day and it’s time for pleasure.

 

-----------------------------------------------

Looking For trouble

 

By Cindy K

I normally spend my Friday evenings at one of the pubs close to work that are now considered so trendy.  They are full of office workers and professionals enjoying a few drinks after a busy week, as well as singles out for a good evening and great music.  It’s been a good place to pick up guys over the last few months but they’re not particularly exciting, mostly a little conservative and on the few occasions we’ve ended up at my place, sex has been, at best, pretty average.

 

I shouldn’t be too disappointed, as I’ve allowed myself to drift into an easy routine dictated by my work as a secretary with a large legal firm, very different from the advertising agency previously.  I dress for work in smart suits with fairly high heels but not over the top, my make-up is immaculate but understated and accessories limited.  Although I say so myself I’m the best dressed in the office, but I can do so much better whenever I want to.

 

And so today I leave the office a little early, planning to dress to the nines and then head for a pub the other side of town that’s well known for picking up the ‘wrong sort’ of girls; And I’m deliberately going to go out of my way to look like a tarty slut!  First stop is the nail studio where I opt for the longest nails they can do and have them shaped to a teardrop point before being painted, together with my toes, in the most brilliant red available.  The colour is fantastic so I also purchase the matching lipstick and lipliner for tonight; hotter than any of my existing colours.  As a finishing touch, nail dangles are added to several of my fingers and I know what fun these can be once I get a guy out of his pants.

 

Once home and showered I start with a few intimate pieces of body jewellery that no one in the office would ever believe I could wear.  I replace the tiny rings through my nipples that normally remain totally hidden in my bra with the largest hoops I have, knowing they will be clearly visible through the thin fabric of my top, and I further emphasise my boobs with a tiny red quarter cup padded bra, so well designed not to cover my nipples, but to lift and point them forward.  I add two very fine long chains to the rings hidden in my lips deep below, knowing the little zirconia’s at the end will be visible and sparkle beautifully if my skirt rides up or when I’m sitting or bending.  I know what a turn on this is to guys, particularly when I allow them to play around and find the rings.  I also make sure the chains dangle each side of the red thong as I slip it up over my hips, and finally, before starting my make-up, I clip the tiny gold ‘fucking couple’ onto my belly button ring.

 

Tonight it will not be subtle; my make-up will be strong, vibrant and everyone will notice!  I work through foundation & powder, highlighters, shadows and liners, I’m colouring and blending; I’m adding lashes, top and bottom; they’re long but even longer with mascara.  My lips will become the centrepiece, immaculately lined and coloured, blotted and coloured again with the brilliant red lipstick.  Finally my hair teased just a little on top, brushed and allowed to fall seductively across part of my face and my favourite perfume is sprayed everywhere.

 

I move away from the mirror to admire the results; absolutely brilliant but I need a little more dark shadow around my nipples – easily applied with a soft brush – and so very stimulating.

 

The diamond stud goes through the side of my nose, a series of chains around my neck with the locket and charms dangling into my cleavage, and long diamante earrings and series of hoops through my ears add to the effect.

 

Three of my toe rings and black fishnet stockings held up by a thin red suspender belt are next with a couple of twisted gold ankle chains and red five inch ‘fuck-me’ shoes, my gorgeous ultra high-heel strappy sandals, to show off my legs and a short mini-skirt that doesn’t hide too much.  The white clingy top I choose just covers my tits and highlights the nipples with their rings, but leaves plenty of bare flesh at the waist ensuring part of the tattoo of a whip peeps up my thigh from below my skirt.

 

Last but not least my rings, and many of them, including my “Story of O” ring, a heap of bangles on one wrist and on the other, my special diamante bracelets that so cutely sparkle with the words ‘whip-me’, ‘cane-me’, ‘fuck-me’, just hidden by many other chains and charms.

 

A final once over in the mirror, a touch more lipstick and blusher, bag over my shoulder and I’m ready to go, looking every bit the cheap prostitute trying very hard to imitate an expensive call girl; the ultimate slut.  Exactly how I feel and what I want to be tonight!

 

I’m in the taxi, experiencing a strange mixture of confidence and apprehension; No one will miss my entrance tonight but what will follow; what do I want?  To find a big strong muscular guy, a footballer maybe, and head off and play all night?  No, I need more than that!  To be screwed on the pool table with an audience cheering?  Maybe, but we’d probably get thrown out.  To be tied up and have my butt caned hard?  Yummy, but that’s for another night, and I’m still a little tender from last time.  To end up in bed with a group of guys?  Definitely, but that’s for later; I want some fun now!  I want the evening to be different; I want to loose control, I want a new and dangerous experience; I need to be treated as a sex object tonight, to be treated as I look, and as I so obviously deserve; to be paid for sex; something I’ve not done.  Yes, I like that idea; paid, but very, very cheap and then be expected to perform; and not just with one guy!  Yes, that’s what I want!

 

I walk through the lounge door; it’s noisy and there’s a group playing, a few heads turn; then some more; the conversation drops a level, I hear a low wolf whistle to one side and head to the bar, slowly, provocatively, with a swing to my hips.  It’s crowded but I move through the people very easily; a path just opens like magic but many eyes are following me.  The men are obviously impressed but the few girls in the room do not look pleased; they just can’t do what I’m doing; I’m a threat and they’re jealous; and I love it.  Now there’s an idea for the future; wouldn’t they just love to get me over the whipping bench; that’s one session I would remember!

 

The barman serves my champagne immediately and I quickly pay him; sensing there are others willing to cover the cost; but it’s too early yet!  A stool is suddenly available allowing me to slowly and seductively cross my legs.  I’m surrounded and I have an audience, I raise the glass to my lips, it’s icy cold and beautiful and I leave my lipstick on the rim.  It’s soon empty and another arrives - quickly; conversation starts – the classic lines but I’ve heard them all before.  I talk so sweetly for a while but then throw in the occasional crude comment that would make any guy blush; it keeps them off balance.  Eyes keep drifting to my boobs, but I won’t acknowledge it; I know they can see the rings.  Another drink; I lift it to my lips with my other hand to see who spots my bracelets, and who dares to make the first to comment.  I’m watching them closely!

 

He sees it, the big guy leaning on the bar to my right.  He’s cool about it and just looks me in the eye; he knows he’s going to fuck me tonight and I know he’s going to have a long wait for it!  More drinks; I’m getting a little tipsy; I’ll slow down and just flirt for a while.  I love the conversation, full of double meaning, dirty and very basic.  They can’t embarrass me but I can and do surprise them with the very crude comments that come in the sweetest voice from my beautiful red lips.  I keep them off balance!

 

I think it’s time I should entertain; ‘Won’t be long!’  I grab my bag, slip it over my shoulder and making sure I brush the big guys knee, I head through the crowd to the ladies.  There’re a couple of girls at the mirror doing their lipstick who give me a dirty look and leave.  I’ve obviously interrupted an important discussion.

 

I lean across the vanity wiggling my arse for fun, wishing he were behind me right now!  My face still looks good but a little powder takes away the shine, a touch more black eye-liner helps my smouldering eyes, lip-liner again perfectly shapes my lips and a careful application of lipstick adds plenty of colour, some of which I’ll plant on the big guy’s cheek when I return.  And I do, but only after I’ve moved back through the crowd deliberately brushing past some of the guys and giving a couple my best ‘come on’ look!  The big guy doesn’t move away as my lips just touch his cheek, and, in the most feminine way I rub away the lipstick with my little finger.  He’s so calm, but just whispers in my ear he’ll leave his mark on me later; I respond it will cost him and he just smiles!

 

We head off to his place; he’s driving and my hands go to work but without opening his trousers.  He’s big and I want him!

 

His house is large and he shares it with a couple of guys he works with; they’re home watching a porn movie on TV, one I’ve seen a few times before.  It’s good quality and there’s reasonable action including a good caning scene but they’re all so boring and I prefer the real thing.  I tell them so, challenging them in my sweet voice to do better with me!

 

My guy is furious and drags me into his room; Action at last, now for some real fun! 

 

He removes the leather belt from his pants and I tell him he wouldn’t dare use it on me, knowing he will, and real hard.  A quick decision to fight or submit?  Neither;  I put my arms over his shoulders, press my body to his and lean my head back, just out of reach of an immediate kiss but thrusting my hips against his enormous erection and moving just enough to hold his attention.  If he’s going to use that belt I’m going to make him work for the privilege!

 

He’s stronger and pushing me towards the bed but my hands are free and I land a beautiful open handed slap across his cheek; his size prevails and I’m soon on my back with my hands pushed across the bed above my head.  I’ve no idea how but he has some light rope around my wrists and his weight is pressing beautifully between my legs, even through my clothes.  His head is inches from mine and I want him kissing me but now he’s teasing; he won’t kiss me yet, he tells me he won’t spoil my makeup till later; but right now I’m in for a thrashing I’ll not forget for a long time.

 

For the first time tonight I’m panicking, I’ve lost control; I didn’t see the ropes and I’ve been caught out.  I always take punishment on my terms, even though I’m usually firmly secured and the pain goes well beyond my threshold.  I’ve done it many times but this is now very different, and he’s got a wild look in his eyes.  Right now I’m seriously frightened.

 

He drags the bed away from the wall and forces me over the bed head with long ropes pulling my wrists towards the far corners.  He comes behind me, pulls my mini skirt down and ties my ankles to the bed frame, legs wide, wide apart.  The bed head is hip high and I’m in the perfect position to have my buttocks flogged with the cane or belt, or whatever else he intends to use.  In fact this is my favourite position for serious punishment, but I’ve not agreed the implement, nor the quantity on this occasion, and I always control the action.

 

He leaves the suspender belt in place but unclips the rear support from my stockings and then pulls the thong deep into my crease leaving my butt absolutely naked.  He moves away to admire the sight, gorgeous legs in incredible heels and fishnets, leading to a beautiful rounded butt with the twinkle of the chains and diamantes dangling from those amazing gold rings.  I know it’s a fascinating sight and it’s all too much for him, he fondles the chains and rings making me so hot and them moves to my boobs, lifting them out and playing with the nipples and their rings.  God, I want to be fucked and thrashed right now!  I can’t wait; so I tell him he’s a wimp and he doesn’t have the guts to do it, and if he did he wouldn’t know how!

 

That’s got him going; Now he away!  He moves behind me, picks up his belt and wraps it around his hand leaving about half a metre free.  He swings it hard landing right across the centre of my cheeks.  The crack is frightening and pain floods into my buttocks, my body jerking violently.  I take a gasp of air and feel my eyes watering.  Another crack and more pain, and again and again he belts my butt.  I’m struggling; pulling at the ropes; I need to get free; I can’t take it but I’m going nowhere.  I’m sobbing, the pain is too much but he keeps swinging, harder and harder.  I’m begging him to stop, I’ve reached my limit but he ignores me and keeps the belt moving.  I can’t help myself but now I’m screaming and he still won’t stop.

 

The other guys come in.  I’m sure they’ll rescue me but no, they just stand and watch.  They’re enjoying it and very quickly see my tits bouncing as I jerk against the ropes with every stroke.  They go one each side and start playing; squeezing my nipples, pulling the rings, turning them, hurting me.  But there is pleasure with the pain and the more they play, the more the pleasure overwhelms me.  I didn’t even notice but the belt is no longer hitting me.  Instead his fingers are playing again; moving in and out, stroking, squeezing, exploring!  Both orifices and deep!  The pleasure is beautiful; Heaven.

 

It ends and I’m left alone, unable to move and very sore but also extremely frustrated.  I need to be screwed and hard; right where I am.  But they return with a cane; it’s long, slender and whippy.  I’m so tender already, surely they won’t cane me now; surely they all want to fuck me, so beautiful, so helpless, so exposed and so well marked.

 

But I’m wrong as I hear the swish, the crack and my buttocks explode in the most terrible pain and fire; a shudder passes through my entire body.  I’m instantly screaming; it’s beyond belief.  I’ve been caned many times but never like this!  They’ll kill me!

 

My guy produces a ball gag and forces it into my mouth, buckling it tight behind my head.  For a split second I think of my lipstick being spoilt but the next stroke takes all my thoughts away as I struggle, squirming wildly over the bed head, desperately trying to handle the fire and pain spreading throughout my body.

 

The cane is whipped down for the third time for the hardest stroke yet and I’m yelling and gasping, but in total silence.  I can’t move, I can’t scream and the cane keeps lashing into me so hard; they’re taking turns, seeing who can slash me the hardest, who can produce the worst marks.  They’re not playing, this is a beating from the penal days, from the prisons where judicial caning was a serious punishment. 

 

I’m starting to loose my strength, it’s being sapped away by the cane; my body’s weakening, relaxing; I’m absorbing the pain, I’m feeling strange, aroused, but they keep lashing into my body, now working the tender flesh below my buttocks.  I’m starting to enjoy the heat, the fire; maybe they’re not hitting me so hard after all.  Maybe I will survive!

 

The caning stops; hands and fingers move over my body, into my exposed flesh, tracing my welts, squeezing my nipples, playing with the chains, the rings.  Then at last what I want; my guy thrusts deep into me; he’s large, so hard and keeps pumping until I feel him come deep inside me.  Then the other guys take their turn and they’re all strong, large and powerful.  This is one of the best fucks I’ve ever had and I’m exhausted, but so happy, and so sore.

 

Finally my gag is removed, my wrists are released and my guy helps me to stand, legs still wide apart and secure but slowly I take control. He passes my bag and tells me he’ll give me another whipping if I don’t look perfect in the next few minutes.  I’m tempted, but a bit too sore for another dose; at least tonight.  I’ll have some different fun; I work slowly, seductively and provocatively on my makeup; I’m watching them watching me.  My guy moves right behind me, I feel his prick pressing – beautiful.  His hands cup my boobs, squeeze my nipples, play with the rings.  He’s watching over my shoulder – I’m onto my lipstick – I deliberately take time – a meticulous pencil line, the colour with a brush – perfect – and a gloss.  He gets harder and harder and finally thrusts into me again as I stand, lipstick still in my hand.  Wonderful!

 

But he pulls out;  He whispers into my ear he’ll only fuck me again if I take another six strokes in total silence.  He understands me completely, he knows I’ll say yes and I do.  I lean forward, no gag around my head, no ropes on my wrists; just will power.

 

I wiggle my arse the best I can, I thrust it out wanting the cane and he delivers – hard.

Oh God, it hurts but he’ll not beat me and I take all six in silence but with great difficulty.  Then his fingers, then he’s deep into me and it’s fantastic, incredible, and he goes on and on until we explode together.

 

He unties my ankles and we climb into bed, we’re kissing, my makeup is being destroyed but for once I don’t care; he’s so close it’s wonderful to kiss until we both fall asleep in each others arms knowing we’ll be at it again as soon as we wake.

 

------------------------------

In Position

By Cindy K

 

Another gentle tap – no doubt to just again confirm it will land in exactly the right place… it’s about the tenth so far but I’m far too nervous to count.

 

 

 

All I can see is the floor, covered in a thick woven carpet, my hands with so many wonderful rings, my beautiful long red nails and of course the wide leather straps that hold my wrists so firmly and tightly to the solid timber bar.

 

 

 

My long earrings brush against my cheeks and occasionally they come into sight if I move my head…. the only part of my body I am able move.

 

 

 

I can also feel the leather around my ankles, held wide apart and strapped to another solid beam;  the leather holding my feet firmly onto the floor but allowing for my ultra high stiletto heels.

 

 

 

There are more straps squeezing my body against the sloping padded bench, my boobs are squashed and my waist pulled down at the curve of my back thrusting my buttocks high into the air.  Neither my laced corset nor my seamed stockings reach to cover me and even the suspender straps have been removed leaving my buttocks totally naked.

 

 

 

I’m in a dangerous position and extremely vulnerable;  I’m bent over this bench, unable to move, with my head and body sloping downwards, my legs vertical and delightfully shaped by the height of my heels but pulled wide apart, my cheeks separated exposing everything, my buttocks pushed upwards and outwards and the skin covering them horribly stretched.

 

 

 

And he just stands there with the cane in his hand.  Another gentle tap…. He’s in the right position and he knows it…. He’s just playing with me…. Increasing my apprehension and fear as he always does.  It works!  I’ve been like this for nearly half an hour and I’m petrified but he will soon start and slash the cane into my buttocks with all his might. 

 

 

 

And he will do it again and again while I scream and beg and sob and plead but he will not stop until he has finished…. And then he will fuck me while I’m still strapped to the bench.  That’s what I’ve agreed to!

 

 

 

Why am I here again? 

 

How did it all start? 

 

What have I done to deserve this terrible beating?

 

 

 

It all started a year ago when we met in a club that caters for the ‘unusual’ activities I so enjoy; that wonderful combination of sex and pain.   I had volunteered to be the ‘prize’ for the feature event of the evening and this guy won the raffle to apply ‘six of the best’ with a long whippy cane while I touched my toes. He was new to the club and took the opportunity very seriously – so much so that I was unable to hold my position…. much to the delight of the other members, and to my extreme embarrassment.  I straightened up several times with tears in my eyes, desperately rubbing my poor buttocks, however I had just enough will power to bend over again and again until he finished.  I must add these were usually fairly mild sessions that left me frustrated – hence regularly ‘volunteering’ for corporal punishment with the mixed hope and fear that I might find a serious player.  Well I certainly had! 

 

 

 

The following week we met in private in the club’s cellar and he secured me tightly over the whipping horse for a serious ‘six’ with the cane on my bear flesh.  I had no choice but to stay in position this time and it hurt like crazy.  I was in tears by half way and begging him to stop but he ignored my pleas.  However, a short while later as the immediate pain subsided I felt more satisfied than ever before and realised how much pleasure it had created.  We started meeting every month and he increased the number of strokes on each occasion from the initial six to eight, to ten, to twelve and so on.

 

 

 

These evenings have now become for me the most important outing of the month and I dress accordingly in the sexiest outfits and accessories I can find.  My personal style is changing rapidly and has been influenced by my need to make a ‘statement’ as I arrive each month and receive his approval or otherwise.  I now know what he likes and dislikes and there is an arrangement of penalty strokes if I get it wrong and a generous financial contribution towards the cost of any new outfits he really likes.

 

 

 

I have always enjoyed dressing up whether to arrive at work in a smart tailored suit, shopping in tight jeans or going on a date in a gorgeous cocktail dress.  I love using make-up, often with false lashes and always with strong lip and nail colours.  However, I now choose to wear more daring outfits to work than ever before and regularly have a tightly laced corset underneath to further slim my waist and lift my boobs.  I can wear my long blonde hair in many different ways and I have some very sexy accessories, great costume jewellery and decorative chains, particularly to attach to the four gold rings in my secret hidden places.

 

 

 

Suits are considered necessary in my specialised sales role but I’ve taken the suit concept well beyond what was intended leading to a number of serious discussions with my senior manager.  We resolved everything one night with a few drinks, a great dinner, a little female magic and the best fuck he’s ever had in his life!

 

 

 

I also had to deal with the big boss which was a little harder but a long weekend interstate, some very sexy undies, his favourite perfume plus the opportunity to explore all the gold rings and fine chains on my body did the trick.

 

 

 

But for all that, it is my sales results that have killed any serious opposition to my ‘over the top’ style.  I constantly pull in more new clients than anyone else, and I find the more extreme my appearance the better my results, although it’s a very fine line to avoid looking like hooker rather than a top model.  My skirts are shorter and tighter, my jackets are buttoned lower, my heels are higher and my make-up heavier but always absolutely perfect.  The guys love it and the girls hate me…. Great!

 

 

 

But tonight I’m still strapped to the bench and he’s still there with the cane.  I’m helpless and petrified, all the more so because I’m deliberately wearing black seamed stockings with white stilettos – a combination I know looks cheap and that he hates.  He is right of course, it looks terrible, but it was deliberate and on the spur of the moment I chose the combination when I was getting dressed with the thought of extra penalty strokes a big turn on.  Right now I know it was a stupid idea and I’ll pay dearly as the penalty is at least another six on top of the twenty-two strokes due tonight.

 

 

 

It will nearly kill me – no one can take that punishment!

 

 

 

I hear the whistle, the swish; my muscles tense; I close my eyes!

 

 

 

I love getting ready for these evenings.  This morning I had a very successful shopping trip, finding a wonderful dress in a soft black clingy fabric; a very low cut vee front supported by fine spaghetti straps, a tight waist flaring out to a short swing skirt that would lift easily to provide clear access to my buttocks.  Overall it’s like a disco outfit and very sexy.

 

 

 

I always allow several hours to get ready and today, as always after my shower, I slide into high heel slippers to blow-dry my hair.  Then I start ‘dressing’ by attaching a dozen gold chains to my hidden cunt rings and ensure they dangle both sides of the tiny thong that sits neatly between my lips.  Next a lace up corset, the one with the extra padding that lifts my boobs without covering the nipples, but points them forward in an amazing way.  I pull the laces very tight, squeezing my waist and further emphasising my tits and finally I replace the tiny rings through my nipples with larger ones; I want their shape clearly visible through the fabric of my dress, as I know it turns him on big time.

 

 

 

My make-up is always superb because I love it that way and I’ll always try new looks and ideas but today is special and I want it to be absolutely perfect…. after all, I’m about to be caned by my lover!

 

 

 

Foundation and powder, eye shadows and liner, blusher and highlighter are all applied with great care; long false lashes, top and bottom and many coats of mascara complete the eyes.  A deep strong red lip liner is meticulously applied followed by a slightly lighter glossy lipstick, blotted and reapplied several times.  A little dark shadow emphasises my nipples; highlighter and blusher add to the contours of my tits, my hair is brushed to shape and the result stunning, if I say so myself.

 

 

 

I spray my favourite perfume in many unusual places that I know he’ll appreciate.  I add some wonderful long earrings, several bracelets, a number of long chains that dangle between my boobs and my favourite rings for every finger and thumb.  There are also a few rings for my toes and my favourite obscene piece of jewellery hanging from my belly button featuring a tiny couple screwing doggy style. A quick check that the red nail polish on my toes is still perfect and I roll on my stockings, ensuring the seam is dead straight, and clip them to the corset suspenders.  Last but not least I paint my long nails in the same brilliant red to match my toes.

 

 

 

I’m about to put my highest black stilettos and see the white pair of ultra high stiletto sandals, not worn for a while as they only work with certain outfits.  They’re so tarty, so slutty, and so wrong with black that I know I must wear them and on they go; the ultimate ‘fuck-me-shoes’.  Thankfully they have ankle straps, so important for a serious caning, so I can’t kick them off.  God, I’m so turned on at the thought of the punishment to come, and the extra strokes I’ll certainly now earn.

 

 

 

I stand in front of the mirror, amazed how sexy I look, I’m still without my dress but standing in great heels, enjoying the feel of these incredible shoes shaping my legs; legs that now move apart as my fingers find the chains and rings.  Thankfully I have time to spare and I make the most of it!

 

 

 

Time now to slip into the dress, to check my nipples, my hair and make-up, add another coat of lipstick and ensure my handbag has all the make-up I’ll need for later before slipping it over my shoulder. 

 

 

 

I look at the clock; Decision time; I take a very deep breath and reach up for the handcuffs hanging from the ceiling and quickly tighten them around both wrists.  My fate is sealed; I’ve signalled my agreement to proceed; he will find me like this and take me to the dungeon and he’ll cane me; there’s nothing I can now do to stop him.  I’m relieved; the decision is made; I will be caned; I will scream; I will hate him; And I will do it again one day soon.

 

 

 

I hear the key in the lock; I panic; How can I change my mind?  How can I now stop him?  I can’t take another caning!  I can’t handle it!

 

 

 

-----------------------------------

 

 

Every Morning

 

 

 

By Cindy K

 

Six of the best at 9am every day for the rest of my stay.

 

 

 

The sentence was handed down at the beginning of last week and today is Thursday.  I have now been caned ten times and once again I’m strapped onto the whipping bench for another dose.  My buttocks are covered in bruises and welts but they have taken care not to break the skin…. Just to create unbelievable pain again and again and to ensure I’m fit enough for another session the next day.  There is no break at weekends and there are still five weeks to go; another thirty-six beatings but with a horrendous ending that is just unbelievable!  This should not be happening to a nineteen-year-old girl but justice in this country is very different from home.

 

 

 

I’m locked up at night and two staff members collect me each morning and march me, or drag me if necessary, to the punishment room.  I’m then held to the bench by a series of thick leather straps around my wrists, ankles, waist and shoulders.  And then the caning starts – very hard.  I scream again and again; there’s no way I can stop screaming even after they finish.  Some time later they release me and I’m forced to dress and I’m marched to class where I stand, handcuffed to a special bench.  There are always two guards with me unless I’m attached to chains or locked in my cell.

 

 

 

I’m allowed lunch and dinner only if I’m seated which is near impossible in the middle of the day but I can just manage it some evenings.  And then I try to sleep, obviously on my stomach, knowing the pain will start again in the morning.

 

 

 

It is an extreme punishment even for this institution and it comes after being caught on my second attempt to escape.

 

 

 

My originally crime was having sex with my boy friend in a private house, but we were obviously a bit too noisy and someone called the special police who burst through the door while we were still hard at it.  We were immediately forced to dress in their ‘offenders’ robes, handcuffed and taken directly to a special court where the judge, upon hearing the police evidence, seeing our state of dress and being told we were not married found us both guilty within minutes.

 

 

 

My boyfriend was sentenced to be whipped - fifty lashes – and then deported and I was sentenced to twenty-five strokes of the cane followed by six months in a remedial institution with both floggings to be carried out that afternoon.  My boyfriend, still in handcuffs was taken away before we could talk but he looked absolutely horrified; I just burst into tears – I couldn’t believe it was happening even though we had heard stories of the harsh local justice, even to foreigners.  What had happened to the concept of ‘defence’; where was our embassy representative – did anyone even know we had been arrested?

 

 

 

I have never been caned, even at school; the whole idea of corporal punishment has long gone from our society and my only knowledge of whipping comes from history books of the early colonial era.  I could only assume it would be painful but I had no idea what was to follow for both of us.

 

 

 

A few minutes later I am taken into the punishment room where my boyfriend is already fastened to the stone wall with both of his wrists held high and wide by thick leather straps attached to rings in the stone.  He is totally naked as he faces the wall, his legs also wide apart held by similar leather straps but his feet are on the ground and taking his weight, but only just.  He is stretched and obviously unable to move other than his head, which turns as I call his name; he tries a smile but is obviously petrified at the thought of what is to follow.

 

 

 

It appears I am to witness his punishment as the two warders attach my handcuffed wrists to a ring above my head, my back to the wall.

 

 

 

The warder picks up the whip, a single leather thong about two metres long with a solid thick handle tapering to the diameter of a pencil and a little thinner towards the end.  Thankfully there are no lumps of metal or knots at the end designed to tear away the flesh that I remember from my history books, but it still looks vicious and very frightening.

 

 

 

He moves into place, raises his arm with the whip behind him, takes aim and slashes it through the air, landing the thong across my boyfriend’s shoulders with a fearful crack.  Immediately a blood curdling scream echoes around the room, his body jerks and shakes as a vicious red line appears.  He is straining at the straps, so obviously trying to escape but with no success.  Then another crack as the next stroke is applied and another horrendous scream.  I can’t believe what I’m seeing; such violence, such a sadistic attack on my lover, such brutality.  We have done nothing wrong!

 

 

 

But it continues, slowly, methodically and violently; his back becoming a criss cross of red and purple welts; a little blood appearing where the lines cross.  His screaming has not stopped but his voice is croaky, he’s sounding exhausted.  His body still thrashes with each stroke but much less so than earlier.

 

 

 

I’ve lost count; it seems to go on forever but they’ve not finished yet.  The next stroke strikes lower down and across his buttocks; his screams intensify and then weaken as they continue to whip his butt and his thighs.

 

 

 

The warder puts the whip down and obviously his punishment is over.  My lover just hangs there, barely conscious, now silent, the welts seeming to cover his entire body with a little blood trickling from some of the worst cuts.

 

 

 

I’m sobbing, tears of fear and sympathy, but they come for me anyway and release my arms, they drag me to the whipping bench, strip the smock away leaving me totally naked.  I’m pushed face down along the bench and feel a strap across my upper body pulling me tightly onto the padded top, squashing my boobs below me.  Another strap pulls the small of my back down and then I feel my ankles pulled apart and firmly strapped to the legs of this bench.  Finally my wrists are also fixed to the front legs with wide leather straps.  Everything is pulled very tight and while I can wiggle a little in places, it’s impossible to move and I’m certainly held here whatever they do to me.

 

 

 

The second warder picks up the cane, takes great delight in bending it, showing me it’s flexibility, and then he disappears out of sight behind.

 

 

 

I hear a whistle, a crack and my body explodes with pain, my arse is on fire, my body shakes and strains against the straps, I scream; I can’t stop screaming.  I can’t believe the pain; it’s killing me!

 

 

 

He hits me again and it’s far worse, so much worse.  I’m screaming, I’m crying, I’m gasping: I’m totally disoriented; the pain is unbearable.

 

 

 

He continues, again and again he whips the cane viciously across my exposed flesh; I can’t take it; I want to die; I want it to end but it goes on and on forever.  I’m held in place, taking this unbelievable caning, unable to move, unable to stop him; all I can do is scream and scream again.

 

 

 

I’m exhausted and the caning seems to have stopped but I’m still strapped to the bench.  Somehow I’ve remained conscious but the pain is terrible; my entire body hurts; every muscle aches, I’m saturated in sweat; my arse is on fire like a red hot poker is on it.  I’m too weak to struggle; I’m sobbing, gasping for air; just lying there.

 

 

 

Sometime later the straps are removed and I’m dragged away.  My boyfriend is no longer there.  I’m dumped in the cell and just lie there sobbing in so much pain.  I reach around and touch my buttocks, so swollen, covered in ridges, in welts; so painful to touch.  I fall asleep, sobbing, exhausted and wanting to die.  I wake many times, hurting, aching, crying, trying to lie in a position that doesn’t hurt.

 

 

 

Daylight comes through the window and I slowly rise to my feet; I reach behind and touch the welts, still so painfull and now with a deep ache all through my buttocks; all through my body.  God, I can’t believe the pain of a caning, beyond anything I could ever conceive, so cruel.  I take a few slow steps, holding the wall for support.  I see my smock on the floor and put it on with considerable difficulty.  I just want to rest.

 

 

 

They leave me alone all day but some food and water is pushed under the door during the morning and evening and while I need the water, I’ve no appetite.  I just lie on my stomach, constantly sobbing, trying to recover. 

 

 

 

It’s three days before they come for me and I’m taken to an office.  The head of the prison tells me in very broken English how much he hates westerners and how he will ensure my punishment matches my illegal and immoral activities, and that I should pay dearly for corrupting my boyfriend.  He also believes the judge got it wrong and I should have received all the punishment as it was my entire fault.  Men are the masters in his world and I would now be sent into classes every day for moral education.

 

 

 

And so the next day I find myself in this strange class, still very sore and finding it almost impossible to sit, with about twenty young women including a couple of other westerners.  While no one speaks English, it is very obvious there is a ‘no talking’ rule and the female ‘teacher’ caries a short whip which is used on one occasion when a local girl speaks out of turn.  Just one stroke while she sits there but she clearly gets the massage.  I have no idea what is being said and just sit there, bored and still in considerable pain.

 

 

 

This goes on for several weeks and my backside slowly recovers but I hate the place and desperately want to get out of this terrible country.

 

 

 

One night I find my cell door ajar and unlocked and I can get into the courtyard.  There is only the outer gate and wall keeping me from my freedom.  It’s totally dark with no moon so I take a risk to at least see if gate can be opened knowing I can quickly return to my cell if there’s no way out.

 

 

 

I’m at the main gate, looking at the lock when the floodlights come on and the chief warden appears with several guards.  God, I’m a fool and have fallen into his trap!  I’m dragged straight to the punishment room and stripped in front of him.  He announces the punishment for attempted escape is fifty strokes of the cane, but the tattoo on my lower back deserves another ten strokes.  I’m to be strapped to the bench immediately and the punishment will be conducted in the morning.  I’m pushed into place and the straps are fastened, but even tighter than last time.

 

 

 

It’s a long, long wait, all alone and petrified by the inevitable caning a few hours away; so many more strokes than before and that nearly killed me.  But there’s nothing I can do – just wait.

 

 

 

It’s been light for quite a while when they arrive, the head man and a large group of warders.  This is obviously a big event for the prison, the opportunity to see a foreign white girl given such a severe caning and so many strokes.  It’s clear they’re all sadistic and will enjoy my pain; there’s much laughter, money is passed around, bets are taken but I’ve no idea on what basis.  I see the chief select the cane and he comes over to me; he just tells me in his poor English that I deserve to die and he will beat me to death if he can.  He will be the one to apply the cane because he’s the strongest man around and he will do it as hard as he is able and he will enjoy doing it!

 

 

 

I’m literally shaking with fear, I’m sobbing, pleading for mercy but for nothing!  He lashes the cane and my arse explodes as the first stroke whips deep into my flesh.  My scream is instantaneous; uncontrollable; so loud as I thrash around within the confines of the leather straps.  In the haze of pain I don’t realise it but he’s pausing between strokes, not for mercy but to make me suffer as long as possible.  All I know is there’s pain I just can’t handle as I gasp for breath trying to survive, to get to the end, to get free, to lie down.  It takes forever before the second stroke cuts into me and has an even more devastating effect; my scream won’t stop, my lungs are bursting, my throat is dry, the fire in my buttocks is consuming me, burning through my body.  Another stroke, more screams, more fire; and then again, and again, and yet again!

 

 

 

At some point I pass out and water is thrown over me and the caning continues.  There is laughter around me but I’m drifting in and out of consciousness as the pain drains my body, destroys me.

 

 

 

I come around in an empty room, still attached to the bench, still held by the straps.  They leave me here all day, suffering in horrendous pain, sobbing, helpless.  It’s dark when they finally release me and drag me to the cell where I remain for a week with no visitors; just the basic food and water under the door.

 

 

 

Finally, I’m taken one morning back to the classroom and the ‘lessons’ continue while I stand, still in considerable pain.  No one speaks to me but there are many curious, but nervous looks.

 

 

 

There’s no way I’m taking any more risks; the punishments are too severe, too painful; I don’t think I could survive the cane again. I’ll just behave and toe the line; do exactly what’s required.

 

 

 

That is until the fire started.  I’ve no idea how or where but suddenly there’s smoke in my building and fire towards the end of it.  Bells are ringing and there’s total chaos but a warder comes and opens all the cell doors letting us all out to the courtyard.  A fire truck arrives, people are running, hoses are rolled out but the main gate has been left open.  Several of us see it and in a flash we’re outside, running into the narrow streets, all in different directions.

 

 

 

It is difficult as I stand out so obviously in the prison smock, particularly as a white girl in this strange country, but thankfully a friendly voice calls to me in good English;  ‘I can help you; I know where you’ve been’.  I’ve no choice but it’s another big mistake and within hours I’m back in the prison again being sentenced to the cane.

 

 

 

The sadistic chief tells me there’s no way I will escape the full punishment again by passing out…. I will be caned every day for the rest of my sentence and in true English style I will receive six of the best every day.  He will do it himself, as hard as he is able; he will do it every day for the next seven weeks until the morning of my release, and then as a final punishment he will give me 100 strokes regardless of whether I’m conscious or not, and then the guards will throw me out of gate!

 

 

 

And so it’s 9am on Thursday and he walks through the door yet again with the cane in hand and wastes no time giving me another six vicious strokes using all his might.

 

 

 

--------------------------------

 

 

A  Shopping  Trip
 

 

 

By  Cindy K

 

 

 

We had arranged to meet in town in a delightful little sidewalk coffee shop amongst all my favourite boutiques and the bustle of the immaculately dressed city girls making the most of their short lunch break.   Over a light meal we would negotiate the "deal" that would allow me to shop for some beautiful clothes and accessories that I could never otherwise afford.

 

 

 

We first met a week before through one of my personal ads in a very interesting and unusual magazine, and over dinner we realised we had much in common, my love to dress to the nines in wonderful and exotic clothes and a long standing need for severe discipline and punishment, while he wanted an attractive and sexy she-male companion to date, to screw, and to whip with his collection of fascinating implements.   Was this to be a match made in heaven, or would it end in hell ?   Only time would tell!

 

 

 

I selected a gorgeous black tailored suit for our lunch, one with a very short and tight skirt that showed my long, slim legs to perfection in the sheer black stockings and high heels, and with a low cut jacket that displayed the contours of my breasts enticingly through the lace camisole.   Hidden from sight, but so important for my svelte hour glass figure, was the superb lace up corset pulled incredibly tight, and a wonderful fat rubber plug that gives such a sexy sway to my walk.   My make-up was absolutely flawless, my smouldering eyes framed by dark lashes, my long streaked blond hair flowed over my shoulders and I felt a million dollars as I walked through the shops attracting the eye of every male in sight.

 

 

 

He slowly eyed me up and down as I walked in, visibly impressed but still undressing every inch of my body in his mind.   With a wonderful compliment full of double meanings he kissed me lightly taking great care not to spoil my perfectly applied lipstick.   As always I am extremely impressed by a man who is capable of such a delicate touch in public but I secretly hope and believe he will passionately and violently crush my vivid red lips after I have suffered the strict discipline that is still to be administered.

 

 

 

We debate at length the terms and definitions that will later determine my level of suffering and that range from "moderate" that I know I can accept with just a few gasps of breath, through "hard" which, when I am well secured, will see me begging for mercy, to "very hard" that will have me screaming if I am not gagged.   Today he is not interested in anything less severe than "hard", nor any implement other than a traditional long whippy cane with a curved handle, and I begin to realise with growing apprehension that I will need shop very carefully.   Our discussions continue and I use all my sultry persuasion and feminine wiles to negotiate the best shopping deal for the least number of painful strokes, but ultimately my desire to earn at least one stunning outfit overwhelms my caution and the arrangement is sealed with another kiss.

 

 

 

He is the most delightful and complimentary shopping companion a girl could ever ask for, and, as we move from boutique to boutique, I become a top fashion model as I parade the most beautiful selection of impressive garments that make me feel so elegant, feminine and sexy.   His likes and opinions closely match my own and I find I am performing brilliantly both to my own image in the mirror and to my partner who is obviously enjoying the spectacle as much as myself.   The atmosphere between us is electric, my apprehension of what must follow has dissipated and our excitement grows continually as does the fascinating shape that has developed in his trousers.   Oh, the sheer joy of being a woman!  

 

 

 

An exotic pair of impossibly high heels are selected and his credit card is once again passed to a helpful but discrete assistant; it has been well used this afternoon as and the number of bags with fashionable names that he carries for me has progressively increased in spite of the reminders of the cost I must later bear.   It would be difficult to tell who is now enjoying this the most, even though our motives are so totally different.   I am in my seventh heaven!

 

 

 

Enough is enough and while the cab takes us to his terrace I reflect on my greed and the pain I now face based on the hundreds of dollars he has invested in our little venture.   He reads my thoughts and takes great pleasure in reminding me he had kindly conceded that only half the strokes would be administered very hard rather than every last one.   I think he really believes he is being kind ....he obviously has no idea of the pain a cane inflicts on tightly stretched bare skin ....it is terrible, horrific:  I know ....I've been there before!

 

 

 

It is in a quiet tree lined inner city street and tastefully furnished.   The long bench in the middle of the lounge area looks ominous, however after pouring two glasses of an excellent wine we move to the bedroom and lay out the purchases.   He selects the clingy cocktail dress he wants me to wear and we agree on shoes and accessories that will let me play the sexy and precocious role I so love and that I believe will turn us both on like crazy.   On a more sobering note I am, however, firmly instructed to ensure that there is clear and easy access to my bare buttocks when the appointed time arrives for my punishment.  

 

 

 

I remove my skirt and jacket and strut into the en-suite, heels clicking on the tiles, still in the my black and red underwear, and I sip at the wine while leaning forward over the vanity towards the mirror to work on up my make-up.   I love doing this, the results are so worth while and it makes me feel so calm and yet it is so erotically stimulating.   I reach around to gently remove my rubber companion and I wiggle and thrust my protruding rump knowing just how provocative I look from the rear and hoping he will walk in with both a whip and his huge erection and use them both while I perfect my face to satisfy one of his many fantasies.   I desperately want him right now, however it is not to be and I remain frustrated, empty and alone.   A touch more eyeliner and lashings of mascara, a spray of perfume, a little blusher and powder, a perfect lip line followed by another of my favourite deep red lipsticks and I am ready for the dress.   It is brilliant and fits like a glove and leaves little to the imagination, the new shoes are perfect and incredibly high and the long earrings and other jewellery is dazzling.   A sultry, spoilt and provocative siren faces me in the mirror; I am so horny that if he were in the room I would beg to be mercilessly screwed and thrashed for ever.   My heart pounds with lust and anticipation as I finish my drink, still admiring my incredible image in the mirror, and then I make my grand entrance ready for anything and everything he can give me!

 

 

 

He is standing there ominously swishing the cane through the air, his shirt removed revealing a hairy and muscular chest, his trousers replaced by riding britches that bulge and throb beautifully at the crotch and are complimented by long black boots and a red band at the waist.   I am absolutely enthralled and terrified; he looks every bit the part I had hoped and I know he will cane me like no one ever before, and yet I am totally mesmorised and I know I will do exactly as I am told.   We slowly share another drink while he calmly flips through the dockets and advises I am sentenced to eighteen strokes of the cane of which nine should be applied very hard according to our arrangement.   I am shocked and delighted both at the number and the severity of what must follow; I cannot survive such an ordeal but I want it, I want it so badly I hurt deep inside.   Surely I never agreed to this: I should have kept count: I was warned!   He continues his judgement and mercifully reduces the most severe strokes to six in number, to be administered after the twelve others.

 

 

 

It is time ....I am petrified as he leads me in silence to the bench.   My ankles are pulled apart and thick leather bands attached and clipped firmly to the timber.   My skirt is lifted up over my hips and my shoes firmly held on the floor, my long legs are kept straight but brilliantly shaped by the five inch heels and their effect on my calves.   What a sight I must be from behind, legs that go on forever from the fine steel tips of my new patent stilettos, up the seamed stocking guaranteed to give a sexy dark outline and on to the soft pale flesh of my thighs topped by the well rounded buttocks each side of the dark and secret crack so well designed for pleasure.   What an enticing target!

 

 

 

A large ball is forced into my mouth and the strap secured behind my head; it allows me to breath freely although in total silence.   A thick cushion sits on the edge of the bench and, as I am pulled forward it pushes my hips outwards and upwards.   My wrists are strapped, pulled harshly down and also attached near the floor.   I can hardly move but even so I feel more heavy straps pull my waist down forcing my buttocks up into even more fearful prominence with the bare skin stretched so tight it tingles and feels ready to split.   I feel the fine g-string being pulled deep into my crack until it snaps and is delicately removed.   I am so totally exposed, so naked and about to suffer a terrible ordeal but I must do so in total silence and without any movement.   I wait!

 

 

 

My buttocks explode as he strikes the first time.   It is unbearable but I bear it.   He waits and then slashes again.   It is worse; I struggle but I cannot move.   I beg but nothing comes out.   A third agonising stroke cuts into me, then another as I try to think, try to count, try to understand what I have done to deserve this.   In the haze I feel two more fearful cuts before he pauses and I try to come to grips with the pain.   I have taken the first six and my cheeks are on fire but I know more is soon to come.   I want to cry out for the pain to go away, to stop, I want to back out of the arrangement, I want to give everything back!   I want it to stop!   I want out!

 

 

 

Slowly the agony fades, I am surviving and the fire is turning into a very different and erotic heat.   I am hot!   I want him inside me now and I am so perfectly positioned.   Please, please, please.   But no, the cane whips through the air into me and I dissolve in agony yet again.   The excruciating cuts continue slowly but they are still applied hard and I squirm and wiggle for all I am worth.   He is working his way up and down my stretched and tender flesh and overlapping the previous six strokes creating a new and awful form of pain that I have never before experienced.   He doesn't understand what he is doing; how can I tell him; how can I make it stop, how will I survive.   I am in a world of agony centred on my cut and burning buttocks.

 

 

 

Slowly I become aware that it has stopped, there is silence, there is nothing, I am on fire and all alone.   The sensations change and I feel something warm and hard slide and press against me and slowly move into the deep dark hole that is surrounded by fire.   The hole is enlarged as the smooth round shape is gently forced deeper and deeper.  It is long and thick and delicious and pleasurable.   It starts to vibrate as it is gently wiggled around inside me creating wonderful sensations that start to replace the pain.   I am in heaven again.   Oh how things change so quickly.   This must never stop; I love him so much: I want him so much: I want the cane to continue: I want it hard: I want this joy to remain in me forever: I need it!   But it is removed and I realise the real punishment will now begin, the six cruel and very hard strokes from his awful cane.

 

 

 

I hear it coming, a loud and frightening swish with instant and awful pain.   I scream a long and loud scream in absolute silence.   My mind disappears into the haze of agony but slowly it tells me this is far worse than any of the others.   He must be cutting my pitifully tight skin to shreds.   He is so cruel to me; he is sadistic: I hate him!   I hate him!   There is a long pause full of my suffering and then I hear it again and feel the terrible impact as it cuts my cheeks and wraps around onto my hips.   I will die ....no one can take this.   But I can and I do, and I wait.   Again the silence is broken by the fearsome swish and the inevitable, unstoppable, unimaginable fire follows as I struggle to move, to escape, to end the agony.   But all I do is absorb the pain throughout my body as it spreads into every part of me.

 

 

 

A voice drifts into my brain; there is a message of hope; I am half way.   The pain recedes and optimism grows.   I will make it: I will live; I am almost there.   I am ready for more; I want more; please give me more; there is wonderful pleasure somewhere out there.   The next cut shrieks in and my other hip takes the tip with agony.   Please, please stop, please, please continue: I am in ecstasy, in agony: I hate it, I want it!   Silence!   Two to go.   I hear it, I feel it, I react as it buries itself in my flesh.   Ecstasy; Agony; Pleasure; Pain!   Nothing!   Have I lost count?   Has he finished?   Nothing!   Silence!   What's happening?  

 

 

 

Then I hear it, the swish, the whistle, the whine through the air, all together and louder than ever before.   Instantly I am cut in two by the most awful searing pain, so deep, so hard, so terrible.   It blazes through me: I gasp; I scream; I struggle; I beg; I push; I pull.   The gag holds ....the straps hold ....I am still secured.   My contortions are in vain, my screams go nowhere!   Slowly, ever so slowly, the fire subsides.   I am exhausted; I am soaked in perspiration .... It is over.   I lie there, I cannot move, I hurt ....but it is over.   I have survived.   I relax.   I go over it again and again in my mind.   It was a bad caning, very bad but no worse than the others I have taken.   It was wonderful.   I know I will want to do it again when I have had a few days to forget the extremes, and when I see all the beautiful marks in the mirror.   It was everything I had hoped it would be; he lived up to his word and was not afraid to lay it on; and I have some superb presents from the shops.   The risk was worth it.   It was a match made in both heaven and hell!   The cane does amazing things for me!   I am now so hot, so horny, so aroused I just want him inside me ....deep and hard.   Now!

 

 

 

The pleasure begins.   I know he will screw me here while I am strapped so tight, and again in bed where my feet can rest on his shoulders, and again in the morning.   I know I will use the mirrors to watch the marks and colours develop, to admire the results of the whipping and, of course, to admire my perfect face and body.   After all ....I love being a woman! 

 

__________

 

 

A Night With The Girls
 

 

 

By  Cindy K    3981

 

 

 

I arrived in town early in the week but I was committed to flying out on Saturday; my schedule was fixed.   It was my second trip to this fascinating city and, while I would be busy with work commitments every morning, I planned to make the most of every moment of my spare time indulging in both of my other very private interests.   I would have the afternoons and evenings to hunt around, to visit new shops and to meet some of the more interesting contacts who had written to me in recent weeks and, most importantly, I could do all this dressed so wonderfully as a sexy, hot and attractive young lady.   With luck I should also manage to earn myself a really good whipping and hopefully another great screw in my exciting new female life.   It should be a good trip.

 

 

 

The afternoons were fabulous, I worked my way through many of my stunning outfits, trying various combinations with different accessories and all sorts of sexy undies until I was totally satisfied I had achieved the most provocative results and I could easily and quickly offer my bare buttocks for punishment or for fun.   I tried several new hair styles that worked superbly for me, I experimented with my make-up, testing new colours and shades, until the look was brilliant.   I played the role to perfection, looking every bit the fashionable, sophisticated and immaculately dressed city girl, confident that no one would ever guess my true being.   I was in and out of the hotel, around the city arcades, mixing with the after work social drinkers and all the time receiving wonderful flattering looks from the men who perved, and daggers from the women who felt threatened.   I was shouted drinks several times by various guys who thought I would be an easy pick up, but as I steered the conversation towards my need for the whip they ducked for cover and found reasons to depart.   It didn't matter because I was still having the time of my life knowing that all the time, money and effort spent on my appearance had really paid off.

 

 

 

I was, however, a little less successful with my planned contacts, with two no-shows even after a couple of phone calls and a very mild spanking from a well meaning guy who was pleased with our brief liaison, but it did nothing for me other than increase my frustration.   I desperately needed a good caning that would leave glorious marks for ages and that I would remember for a long, long time.   The week was passing all too quickly.   

 

 

 

It was Friday morning and I was on my way to my last business meeting when I first saw them, two of the most gorgeous and glamourous women I had ever set my eyes on.   They were tall, slim and shapely, and were both so well dressed, one in a sexy little red suit and superb high heels, the other in a fabulous white body shirt with tight blue jeans and exotic high boots.   Their hair and make-up was so brilliantly done I assumed they must both be top fashion models, particularly as they walked with such style and confidence.   I was enthralled but sadly they disappeared into the morning rush and I continued on my way, their image indelibly stencilled into my mind.

 

 

 

Their memorable style had inspired me, and that afternoon I went to even greater efforts than normal, leaving the hotel for my last trip around the shops looking a million dollars with my perfectly shaped body in a clingy, low cut, strapless cocktail outfit, dressed down just enough for decency by a little jacket over the shoulders and a hair style that I knew I could later change.   To complete the outfit I added sheer dark stockings, fabulous heels that were ridiculously high for daytime, an exotic perfume and, in my bag, sufficient make-up to allow me to prepare for anything that could arise during my last night in town.   I knew I looked great and I really felt excited about the unknown events ahead.   I could almost feel the delicious cut of the whip!

 

 

 

I was browsing through one of the more exclusive upper level arcades in the best part of town; it was richly carpeted and much less crowded than below, even on a Friday.   The shops were expensive and superb, their windows artfully displaying a limited but gorgeous selection.   And there she was, changing a display in one of these windows, the girl of my dreams in the little red suit.   I watched her work, delicately putting the finishing touch to a small jewellery stand.   She smiled to me, acknowledging my interest and I immediately sensed she understood and accepted me without judgement.   I was drawn inside even though I would normally have considered such a boutique too expensive for my limited means.

 

 

 

She was dressed more conservatively than the last time, it was obviously necessary here, but she was still unbelievable and every inch the super model etched into my mind.   We talked as I tried on some wonderful earrings; she had set up the shop with an old school friend and it had been very successful, largely due to their regular buying trips to Europe and America.   She told me how exciting those trips were, how they took her to such interesting and unusual places and how she met such a strange mix of people through her business.   There were hidden meanings in her words but she left it hanging there and wouldn't say more even when I gently probed.   Finally and with her help I chose the long drop earrings that I had first fallen in love with; they were expensive, but not ridiculously so and certainly worth every cent.

 

 

 

It was while she was ringing up the sale I noticed the open bag in the corner behind the counter, the tip of a riding crop sticking out of one end and leather manacles and other coiled rope just visible in the shadows.   Was it meant to be seen?   I will never know, but I suspect so.   She saw me looking but her only comment was to suggest I return just before she closed at six if the bag interested me and I had the evening free.   She told me name was Angela.   There was no doubt in my mind I would be there!

 

 

 

I was right on time; she locked the door and led me to the back room.   She introduced me to the other gorgeous girl from this morning, Carol, and another stunning blond, Suzie.   We all kissed cheeks and many compliments flowed my way; they were amazed by my near perfect transformation, enthralled and excited by my need for real pain; but most of all there was instant rapport between us all.   The conversation was great and Angela explained how they all like to dress up for a night like this, to become tarty sirens and set the mood, particularly as it should end with my skin being well striped tonight.   I was getting slightly nervous but also very stimulated by the fascinating developments.

 

 

 

The tiny back room suddenly became a busy dressing room; ordinary clothes were swapped for shattering outfits, expensive stockings were rolled, perfume sprayed, brilliant jewellery added, hair combed and teased, make-up applied to perfection and long nails vividly coloured.   They helped me; a feminine touch here, some advise there and my jacket discarded to reveal more than ever; they assisted each other as they had obviously done many times before.   My previously understated make-up was now radiant and flawless for the evening and Carol gave me the best hair style I have ever seen before leaving me at the mirror for the erotic fun of creating an immaculate pout with the great range lipsticks.   Four sexy, precocious, dazzling and extremely glamorous girls emerge to set the town alight!

 

 

 

First stop the sophisticated bar in the hotel next door with all eyes turning and conversation slowing as we make our grand entrance and sashay between the tables playing to our instant captive audience.   They follow our every move as we find a little table with high stools that will flaunt our long, slim legs, sensuously crossed for effect and visibility.   Slowly the normal hum returns to the room even though many guys are now facing our way.   We are all delighted with the reaction although it is certainly not a first for the girls who are pure extroverts and love to tease all and sundry.   Several delicious cocktails are served by a delighted waiter who spontaneously returns all our provocative banter.   We sip our drinks leaving behind the lush red imprints of our lips while calmly exploring a whole range of options for the pain and games that will complete the evening.   These three girls do not lack imagination!

 

 

 

It is only a short walk with our heels clicking, our bags swinging and many heads turning before we enter a popular little restaurant to enjoy a delightful light meal with some great wine.   I am very relaxed by the drinks but the ideas are developing fast; the four poster bed has been selected for the ritual; ropes, straps and manacles will hold me in place; my back will receive the whip which is Suzie's speciality and the crop will feature on my rump courtesy of Carol.   The severity they have in mind is obvious, these girls are very capable and confident, they work hard, they play hard and they will whip hard too; I know am going to receive a severe beating and I am becoming quite apprehensive but very, very excited.   Angela remains dangerously quiet on the whole subject but her eyes have the occasional cruel glint as other intriguing implements are discussed and their use planned.

 

 

 

Coffee is finished and we take turns to retreat to the powder room for the essential repairs to our faces and lips before Carol fetches her car and I willingly settle the bill.   It is only a short drive through totally unfamiliar and darkened streets, and I suspect they are deliberately confusing me with extra turns here and there.   I have lost all sense of direction as we turn into the driveway of a large older style house and pass through automatic doors into a double garage.   I slide out of the car, smooth the dress down over my thighs, look around only to see shiny handcuffs appear and secure my wrists before I realise what is happening.   I am escorted from the garage, through a passageway and up stairs to the master bedroom.   The soft colours, delicate decor and flimsy clothing lying around suggest a woman's room even though the most striking feature, a large timber framed four poster bed with a huge mirror at its head, seems out of place even though the drapes help it blend in with the other tasteful furnishings.   It is too dominant for the room, too strong and its purpose so obvious;  I can now easily visualise some of the strange and exciting activities they discussed that must happen here on a regular basis.   The thought makes me shiver!

 

 

 

Suzie takes my wrists and the link between them is attached to a chain that descends with a soft whir from the ceiling;  Angela operates a control on the wall and it rises, pulling my arms high until I am well stretched, but not uncomfortable.   The girls start another of their little shows for my benefit, slowly and provocatively removing their outer garments until they remain in their sexy and revealing undies, gorgeous stockings and beautiful heels.   I watch, frightened and enthralled, as they strut around, as furniture is moved and a small padded hip high bench appears.   Several high back chairs are placed along the wall and the chest of drawers reveals an amazing collection of whips and canes, ropes and chains, didilos, straps and rubber shapes that are neatly laid out on top.   There are now so many possibilities for punishment, for fun, so many places, so many implements and so many ideas.   I can do nothing but wait and watch, stretched and secured by one simple chain.

 

 

 

They are ready for me; their hands slip my dress down but linger and deliciously play over my body while my skimpy pants are removed to further expose my rounded cheeks for the inevitable cut of the crop.   The chain loosens just enough to allow my to be taken to the foot of the bed and the handcuffs are replaced by strong leather bands attached to heavy chains from the top of the strong timber frame.   My arms are held high and wide and my vulnerable back is unprotected save for the black lace up wispie that squeezes my waist to such tiny proportions.   I am pulled backwards allowing the bench to slide between my hips and the bed thrusting my buttocks out fearfully and stretching my upper body and arms that are so well secured by the straps and chain.   My legs are spread wide apart and ropes are used to tightly attach my ankles to the frame.   I feel the suspenders holding the back of my stockings being removed while the front ones remain untouched.   They have thought of everything; they are experienced; they are experts!

 

 

 

I feel wonderful, I am excited and yet I cannot move; my body is perfectly positioned for the inevitable ritual of pain that has been so carefully planned.   The mirror displays my upper half, a defiant and voluptuous blonde she-male, with brilliant make-up and magnificent hair, helplessly stretched and spread ready for punishment.   But what a sight I must be from behind: long and shapely legs pulled wide apart, high heels and stockings, beautifully presented and thrusting bare buttocks, skin tightly stretched, an inviting deep and dark orifice, a constrained waist leading to the unmarked flesh of my back, perfectly angled for the whip, and all so brilliantly secured and helpless and vulnerable for their sadistic pleasure.   Indeed, what a sight! 

 

 

 

I have never been whipped in front of a mirror before; it is a new and interesting and frightening experience.   I watch their sultry movements, I admire their sexy bodies, I look for the gag I expect to receive, I wait for crop to be lifted, or the whip to be swung; but no, they are admiring their handiwork:  my body prepared for their ceremony of pleasure and pain.   They are watching, anticipating and enjoying the moment, sitting together, their hands wandering freely while sharing a little brandy.   The cruel eyes watch and she comes forward, tilting her glass to my lips; it burns my throat deliciously and heats my insides; her hand roams between my legs, she probes and strokes and caresses; her red lips fleetingly touch mine, her tongue briefly slides between my lips and is gone, it is heaven.   She stops all too soon but the pleasure remains.   I must soon pay the price!

 

 

 

Carol has the crop in her hand; it is thin, long, black and wicked.   She cuts the air dramatically; her look says it all: she will have fun with me as she lashes my taught buttocks while I beg her to stop.   Suzie holds the whip, beautifully plaited and crafted from rich brown leather, and, although it is much shorter than I expected it tapers to a pair of vicious fine thongs.   It will be brutally painful and cut my skin terribly; she will have me screaming before the night is over and I know that's what she wants; I am petrified.   Angela catches my eye in the mirror and takes great delight in selecting a long yellow whippy cane, thicker and heavier than normal, but still with a traditional curved handle; but she does so only after deliberately and maliciously swinging many of the lighter ones for my benefit.   I don't want the cane, I didn't expect it, they never mentioned it; the other devices will hurt enough but this cane will inflict terrible pain as it wraps around, the tip burying itself into the flesh of the hip.   I have screamed my way through many a good caning before; but this is a heavy cane, it will be far far worse, and I know she will use it well.   It will not be pleasant!   It will be horrible!   It will be terrible!

 

 

 

The time has come:  Carol takes her position ......the crop will start the age old ritual of inflicting pain on female flesh for pure pleasure.   I watch, fascinated, her arm rises, she swings and I hear it coming.   Instantly my buttocks explode in fire as she cuts deep into me.   I gasp, I bite my lip, but I remain silent.   I will not give her the pleasure of my cries for mercy.   I brace myself for the next stroke and take it with difficulty.   Again her arm swings and again I take it with only a gasp, but the fire is building.   How many?   I have no idea.   Six is easy;  twelve is hard;  any more will break my silence.   She continues, pacing the painful strokes and allowing me time to recover after each one, but she systematically spreads them across my wounded flesh.  We reach the magic number of six but pass it without the pause I had expected and hoped for.   Each stroke is now killing me;  I pull and strain, but to no avail;  I want to scream, to yell, to beg but I still remain quiet, ...although only just!   We reach ten and she stops.   My eyes are watering;  my breathing is fast;  my buttocks burn;  my body is hanging but the straps are firm.   I have used all my will power to remain silent.   But there is still more, much more to come, and I am already near my limit.

 

 

 

The brandy returns, it soothes me and my resilience returns;  the erotic mix of pain and pleasure gives me strength, it excites me and I know I want more;  I  am in the hands of experts who have mastered this strange balance, who will take me further than ever before.   I just hang and wait and watch for their next move!

 

 

 

Suzie swings and the thong sears across my shoulders, the tips biting into the soft flesh below my stretched arms.   The agony is instant; muscles react and strain; a cry escapes; I beg it to stop; I pull; I twist; but I am held.   A cold sweat takes hold; I can't handle this.   It must stop!   But I watch as she struts slowly to the other side, chooses her position carefully and swings again, duplicating the agony.   I plead for her to stop, but to no avail as she methodically moves from side to side, progressively working the fiery thong up and down the tender and damaged skin that was once my back.   Again and again I beg her to stop, I cry for mercy, I plead, but she continues, on and on.   I strain and pull against the ropes and chains, my head twists and shakes violently, tears flow and I cry, but I do not scream.   I begin to understand this is not the viscous flogging it could be, it is intended to hurt but not to injure, she will go on and on to make me suffer; it is beyond my threshold but I will survive.   I am vaguely aware of the girls standing, watching, judging, smiling and encouraging her.   They want me screaming, they want my total submission, but I will not give them the pleasure.   Eventually she stops and I hang exhausted, panting and sobbing, but I did not scream; I will beat them at this game, my inner strength is coming through.   I am winning.

 

 

 

Thankfully, a long and much needed break allows me to recover a little, soothing brandy passes my lips yet again, gentle fingers trace the welts on my back and warm hands erotically caress me elsewhere.   A rubber shape slides deep into me, it twists and thrusts, it vibrates.   Soft lips touch my ear; Angela seductively whispers her exciting ideas for later as I watch her amazing image in the mirror.   She compliments me on my beautiful reactions to the twenty whip strokes, then caustically reminds me of her joy, her favourite cane, it is next and she will wield it until I scream long and loud and to her satisfaction.   She means it!   She wants my submission, she wants total control.   Can she beat it out of me?   Can I hold out?   Can I resist her will imposed with such a wicked cane?   Will I even try!

 

 

 

They take their positions; they watch intently; this is the highlight; it is in their eyes; they have been building up to it all night.   She is cruel; she licks her lips; her cane gently touches; she measures her position.   I'm shivering; I'm petrified; I want to die; Let me go!   Silence; fear; anticipation.   The air is heavy.

 

 

 

The rattan screams through the air as she strikes viciously hard and my world explodes in agony like nothing ever before.   It is terrible, wicked, unimaginable, the fire penetrates everywhere, waves of pain go around and around and around.   Every muscle pulls, pushes, strains and contorts but nothing gives; the straps hold, the chains are strong, the rope well tied; I am held; I am helpless; I must endure!   She strikes again with no pause, and again, and again.   I am screaming, I have no control, she will kill me!  I will die!   She continues to wield the terrible cane with all her strength, without mercy, without stopping, without care; I scream over and over and over.   The agony goes on for ever and ever.

 

 

 

Slowly I emerge from the murky haze of pain;  the cane has stopped;  it is quiet;  I open my eyes;  the girls have gone;  I am alone;  I am still hanging:  I am still secured.   Again I wait ....for a long, long time!

 

 

 

They breeze in with the champagne, they are laughing, joking, celebrating as though nothing has happened, just a party.   I watch, I have no choice!   She picks it up, the cruel eyes glint again as she straps it on, it is long, thick and black and it is too big.   She moves up behind;  she pulls my wounded cheeks apart;  I gasp, they are so tender and sore;  I feel it pushing me, stretching me, sliding in, wiggling, thrusting, pumping.   The others are playing with me, touching me, caressing me, kissing me, squeezing me, rubbing me.   Lips touch mine, they are warm and soft, they kiss me, they open, our tongues touch, we kiss and kiss again, a long passionate kiss that goes on and on.   The pleasure is overwhelming, the joy of the deep thrusts within, of hands everywhere and the soft luscious red lips on mine.   Ecstasy, it goes on for an eternity, replacing the fearful memory of the cane, the crop and the whip.

 

 

 

But all things must end;  they move away;  the pleasures cease and I am gently released from my bondage.   I gingerly touch the ridges and welts from my ordeal with pride and joy and slowly dress and attend to my face and lips.   They again deliberately parade their fantastic looks while stepping into their flimsy clothes, getting ready to drop me at my hotel, and all too soon we are saying our goodbyes with lingering hugs and kisses.   What a night;  what incredible girls;  my hands are busy;  sleep comes slowly!   Daylight, but the pleasures of this night will remain with me for a lifetime, well beyond the other reminders below me.   I discretely wiggle around while trying to sit comfortably on the plane, my mind a million miles away.               

 

 

 

__________

 

 

A  Date  With  A  Difference
 

 

 

By  Cindy K

 

 

 

I stepped back from the full length mirror and critically admired the final result of the last two pleasurable hours getting ready for my date.   Not bad all things considered, one very sexy lady, but was it good enough or would I earn extra punishment?    I was sure I would find out as the evening unfolded.   I leaned forward and again applied my lipstick, a strong deep red that contrasted beautifully with the pale skin and perfectly matched the long nails holding the small golden phallic shaped cylinder.  How symbolic I thought as I wound it back down and dropped it into my bag, checking I had everything I would need to fix my make-up through the difficult events that surely lay ahead.

 

 

 

There was a knock and I opened the door to welcome James, a friendly, well built guy I had never met but with whom I had talked on the phone many times recently and provided the intimate details of my unusual desires.  I lightly kissed his cheek while my heart thumped in excitement, anticipation and fear and then removed the touch of red from his cheek with my little finger, just in case!   I had been warned that from the moment we met my every word and every move would be judged and noted for later review with consequences that could be very uncomfortable.

 

 

 

We chatted in the taxi on the way to the restaurant, an easy going conversation typical of any first date, while my mind drifted back over the last few hours,  checking in, unpacking and sorting through an interesting collection of leather belongings, and laying them out for later use.  Carefully choosing my underwear, clothes and accessories I picked my favourite black and red lace up corset to give a wonderful hour-glass figure, and with suspenders to support the sheerest black stockings you have ever seen.  These, together with a tiny g-string that disappears between my cheeks ensures my bottom is totally accessible when required.  I also selected my favourite sexy "little black dress", a short satin, low cut number that fits like a glove and beautifully shows off my figure and long legs, especially as I slip into my very high black patent heels.   I spend longer than usual perfecting my make-up and styling my long fashionably streaked blond hair with results equalling the best I have seen in any fashion magazine.  An exotic perfume, a few fine gold chains dangling enticingly between the contours of my breasts, my favourite rings and long drop earrings add a finishing touch to create the erotic yet wildly sophisticated look that is so important tonight.

 

 

 

Our table was in a quiet corner of the delightful restaurant and while we enjoyed an excellent wine I received my first indication from James of the rules and penalties that would apply as the evening progressed.   I had certainly expected to receive the cane before the night was over but the number and severity of the strokes now sounded frightening and there were still so many ways I would add to the total.   I started to panic although thankfully I managed not to show it as I'm sure even that would work against me.  For a moment I wondered if it was all a dream or had I made a serious mistake, however as our conversation moved on and we discussed many other exciting and erotic ideas my worries gradually faded away.

 

 

 

After dinner we ordered coffee and I took the opportunity to visit the powder room,  enjoying the obviously lecherous glances from a number of men as I crossed the room with a wonderful sway to my hips accentuated by the long and beautifully shaped rubber device that I carried deep inside me secured by a thin, but strong chain from my waist.   The looks from a couple of well-dressed women sent an all-together different and very bitchy message which I absolutely loved.   How delighted they would be if only they could see me later, well tied up and desperately struggling while receiving a good thrashing.

 

 

 

A quick, but careful touch of powder and blusher, a twist of mascara, a spray of perfume and most importantly an immaculate finish to my perfectly shaped lips before I returned to the table, hips swinging, with a happy and confident smile to everyone, and particularly to the men, who glanced my way.   Another big, big mistake and James took great delight in calmly telling me that the punishment for such over confidence and blatant flirting would be three strokes with the tawse, to be administered before the cane.   I lowered my eyes and apologised then flashed my long false eyelashes and offered a subdued but sexy smile quietly thinking the looks I had received made it all worth while.

 

 

 

We walked a little way in silence holding hands before catching the cab and my apprehension again started to increase as I realised my punishment was getting very close.   I tried to relax during the ride back with my head on his shoulder while I gently stroked his leg slowly moving up towards the bulge that was becoming larger and larger by the minute.  The zip opened easily releasing the now fully erect object of so much interest and with one hand I gripped the wonderfully hard shaft and started a slow pumping action while the other played around the head using the tips of those deep red nails, evoking a soft sigh of pleasure from his lips.

 

 

 

All too soon we were in my room at the hotel and, as I had been instructed, I held my arms out to receive the shiny handcuffs on my wrists and then moved fearfully to the middle of the room behind a high backed dining chair that was obviously to serve as the whipping stool over the next hour.   He then reached down and fastened a leather manacle to each ankle clipping a short chain between the two allowing only very small steps.   I started to tremble as I now realised there was no way out of the pain to follow however I received a short reprieve as I was handed a small glass of port while James sat and made some notes at the small desk.   I faced the strange task of lifting the glass to my red lips with two hands, fascinated by the tinkling of the chain that joined my wrists so effectively, and then sipping the rich brown liquid to ease the tension throughout my body.

 

 

 

James summoned me to the desk, freed one wrist only to order me around and fasten it again to the other behind my back, and in a stern voice I hardly recognised proceeded to read my sentence "Cindy, you have obviously enjoyed the evening so far, however the time has arrived for you to pay for your pleasure and to face the penalty for the errors of your ways".   He continued "You are hereby sentenced to receive six strokes with the heavy tawse applied moderately hard, six lashes from the cat'o nine tails and a final six slashes applied hard with the cane.   You will be gagged to ensure there is no excessive noise, you will be firmly strapped over the chair unable to move and your bare round cheeks will be exposed for my pleasure and for your pain".  "There will be a short pause between each six and you will be advised of your errors as the punishment proceeds.   Go to the back of the chair NOW!"

 

 

 

I was flabbergasted and frightened but I instantly obeyed out of fear, this was way beyond anything I had imagined, I was going to suffer horribly and there was no way out with my legs and wrists chained.   The twin tailed tawse was awful, the cat had thick leather thongs that cut like crazy but the cane was worst of all, long, thin, flexible and so, so painful.   Why oh why did I bring my three most feared instruments and why did he choose them?   James picked up the crop with a wicked and meaningful smile and I was led to the fateful place for the ankle chains to be attached to the outside of the chair forcing my legs wide apart and exposing more tender flesh.   Additional leather straps were placed around the ankles and above the knees, then pulled very tight leaving me in no doubt that I would not move an inch.   The gag appeared, a round ball on a solid bar, similar to but longer than a horse bit.  A swish of the crop through the air was enough for me to open my mouth as wide as I could and take the ball with some difficulty.  A leather strap pulled it tightly into place and I was silenced for ever.  My arms were freed, my dress lifted up over my hips and I was pulled forward and downward only to see my wrists manacled and then strapped to the front of the chair.   The chain from my waist continued to hold the rubber plug firmly in place but I was so helpless, I couldn't move, I couldn't speak but worst of all my buttocks seemed to fill the room, so vulnerable as they stuck out and up awaiting the terrible pain.

 

 

 

The silence was terrifying, I could sense movement behind, a swish, then a blaze of pain as the tawse struck, then again and once again.  I cried out to stop, "not so hard", "please don't", but nothing passed the gag.  "That was for the little incident in the restaurant and the next three are purely for my pleasure".   He struck again and again until the six were completed.   I hurt, my bottom was on fire, I was breathing hard but the first six were done.   The minutes passed and the fire subsided, but still I could see nothing but the floor and wait for the inevitable in the deadly silence.

 

 

 

Suddenly a new and horrible and different pain as the cat struck, wrapping around my hips, first one side, then the other and back again.   All six were delivered quickly and without a break bringing me to a cold sweat as I tried unsuccessfully to plead for mercy.  It was terrible, the pain was everywhere, my whole body suffered but I survived with the realisation that it had been no worse than the tawse and I only had six to go, the six I feared the most.   "Those were for poor table manners, smudged lipstick at dinner and allowing your dress to ride up as you left the taxi; two on each count.   Your final six are the price you agreed to pay for my company over dinner tonight but they will be delivered harder than planned due to your general appearance being less perfect that I demand.   I will use the heavy cane and you will suffer as you have never done in your life before.   Comfort may follow later in bed if you survive!".

 

 

 

The cane was terrible, it sliced throughout my body, it hurt horribly, far worse than anything I had ever conceived and even though the strokes were well spaced I would have screamed a million times if it were not for the gag.  As it was a few silly faint noises emerged as I sobbed and begged in vain for the pain to end.  After two strokes I doubted I would survive, after four I wanted to die, but they continued, eventually ending leaving me a helpless sobbing mess that slowly emerged to the realisation it was over and I was still alive.

 

 

 

He left me there for an eternity as I regained my composure and came to grips with the dull throb that was replacing the intense pain and fire of the tawse, whip and cane that had been my thrashing.   I was released, standing as all the restraints removed.  My hands gingerly touched the ridges and welts that now crossed my derriere and slowly intense waves of pleasure replaced the pain.

 

 

 

I retreated to the bathroom turning the best I could to see the damage.   Surprisingly there was no blood, but red marks were everywhere, some turning darker, others with the tell tale parallel lines of the cane or the solid blister from the end of the whip.   I would watch them with joy over the next week as the bruises developed, the reds became purple and a rainbow of other colours appeared.   Feeling very satisfied I straightened my clothes, brushed my hair, repaired my tear stained eyes and reshaped my vivid red lips so spoilt by the gag,  finally removing the rubber friend that had helped through my ordeal.

 

 

 

I emerged into his arms and we kissed and hugged as my hands found their way towards his huge erection that desperately needed the female touch I had now mastered so well.   His pants dropped and I quickly removed the rest of the clothes, rubbing against him and touching him everywhere.   He tore off my dress, siezed my wounded buttocks sending new and exciting sensations through my body as we fell onto the bed, my legs apart and over his shoulders inviting his superb penis into my single welcoming orifice.  He looked sensational towering over me, his smile framed by my legs still in beautiful stockings and heels while he pumped away for an eternity with every thrust sending beautiful feelings throughout my body until finally he came with one last powerful deep lunge that lasted forever.

 

 

 

Exhausted we lay in each others arms and I drifted to sleep planning my next unusual experience dressed so beautifully as a female.   It would be exciting and fun to date a woman, to have a wild girls night out followed by both the cruel pain and erotic pleasure that only a true lady could provide!

 

 

 

__________

 
The Gentleman’s Club

 

By Cindy K

 

The Club Room

 

I had heard about these clubs existing in both Melbourne and Sydney, intended for wealthy business men, and apparently similar to ones in London that go back many, many years into history.   They are reputed to be beautifully furnished, provide excellent ‘old fashioned’ service and, of course, being a feature of the past, do not allow ladies to enter.   But I am to be an exception for a very special evening with a small group of members.

 

I would be picked up by the club’s chauffer driven limousine at 6pm and I intended to allow most of the afternoon to get ready for a very interesting evening………..

 

The string of events started in the cocktail bar in one of Sydney’s five star hotels where I was to meet a guy for a first date after exchanging e-mails and photos.   He was very late and I was on my second glass of champagne, but very comfortable on a high stool at the bar, sitting with my legs crossed, but still showing ‘just enough’ to keep a little interest from a few guys in the room.  Maybe my date had been frightened away with pictures showing me just a little too sophisticated in some great outfits, or maybe he just got cold feet at the thought of dating a girl who was in fact something else.  

 

Anyway, it’s not the first time I’ve been stood up and it doesn’t worry me, but I was just thinking where I might go for the next few hours, dance a little, a few more drinks, maybe pick up another guy and have fun seeing if anyone would pick me.   These days I always pass as a smart woman, whether I’m around the shops in town, at the races, having dinner in a great restaurant or dancing at one of my favourite clubs, however I always make sure I tell my date after an hour or so and they are usually surprised and amazed.

 

I was about to leave when a smart looking guy in his fourties came in and ordered a drink at the bar nearby.   I caught him giving me the ‘once over’, he looked impressed so I caught his eye and a casual conversation started quite naturally.  I’m very flirtatious when I’m dressed up and out ‘on the town’, particularly after a few drinks and we were soon getting along like a house on fire, although he obviously had no idea about me at this stage.   Feeling very mischievous I decided to see how long I could fool him while playing an increasingly sexy game, something I can do quite well.

 

He invited me to join him for dinner so we moved to the dining room, but on the way I excused myself to visit the powder room to tidy my hair and make-up and ensure my lipstick was perfect.  I was going to have some fun tonight!

 

As we walk back in I could see the male eyes following me, my long legs and high heels attracting a few admiring looks, particularly as I put an extra swing into my hips.   We sit and make some small talk, choose some wine and I deliberately lean forward just enough to show my cleavage and some gorgeous chains that dangle a fraction too low.  He does not miss the point and the conversation quickly becomes very provocative full of double meanings;  he’s good at this but I give every bit as good as I get – in fact I think I’m doing much better.  We pause to order our meal and continue with our raunchy exchange until he stops me dead for a split second with a comment that I’m behaving like a very naughty girl and that I deserve to be punished.   Well, the cheek of it !!!   My response is he wouldn’t dare…… and we were away in a new and dangerous direction from which neither of us would retreat.   In the end he is stirring me with his belief based on the old fashioned concept that women should comply with his standards, or, as in days gone by, be punished until they submitted to their ‘master’.   My final challenge to him is there is nothing he could do to me that would make me ‘submit’ to anything.   Calculatingly, he invited me to ‘his’ club the following week and I willingly accepted knowing in the back of my mind I would regret being so stubborn, but I was determined to win.   We kissed passionately and parted, and I realised in the taxi home I had not explained just who I was, nor had he picked it.   All the more reason to play my biggest deception when we next met………..

 

And so by late afternoon I am almost ready with an hour to go.   I am wearing a short cocktail dress in a jet black clingy stretch fabric, perfectly cut for my narrow waist and well curved hips, and finishing way above the knees to display my long shapely legs in dark seamed stockings further highlighted by superb five inch black patent stilettos.   Fine straps over the shoulders supported the cups that partially covered my boobs emphasised by a low cut vee shaped front.  A thin lace bolero jacket covered my shoulders and fell to the side of my boobs further emphasising their size and firmness.

 

Underneath, however, it is another story, as I am fully expecting to remove many of my garments for the evenings activities, but I am determined to maintain my totally female persona.   The key being my specially made and padded lace up corset, finished in black satin and lace, that pulls my waist so tight and thrusts my boobs up magnificently while leaving my buttocks and most of my back fully exposed for any attention they are likely to receive.   A fine flesh coloured thong beneath provides just enough cover but slips deep into my rear crease to be almost invisible.  Black lace suspenders follow the curves from my waist to support the stockings.

 

My make-up is perfect, my eyes superbly lined and shaded with false lashes as the finishing touch and of course my lips are beautifully done with a dark red liner and brilliant red lipstick, applied and blotted several times.  My long fingernails are painted in the same brilliant red as are my toes, visible with their silver rings through the peephole cut out of the shoes.   The jewellery I have selected included a set of five chains, all slightly different lengths dangling into my cleavage, many fine bangles on each wrist, a combination of silver and gold rings on my fingers and thumb, earrings with fantastic gold and silver fine chains and sparkly zirconia tips, and one final set of three twisted fine chains on my left ankle.  As always, I’ve sprayed my favourite perfume generously, and included a few unusual places that I expect will please and tease during the evening.

 

My hair is long and blonde with streaks in many golden tones.   I’ll wear it down tonight, but brushed and teased enough to look fantastic while just dropping over my eyes, one more than the other.

 

I parade before the mirror and I’m delighted with the results.  A little over the top, but overall a fantastic and sophisticated look that will catch every male eye.   I’m deliberately looking more tarty than last time we met and now I’m confident I can take whatever punishment he can give me; in fact I want and need it right now.   I’ve been caned before and I know that’s what he has in mind, however it was only moderately hard last time, and while it hurt unbelievably I was very frustrated afterwards and certainly needed it more and much harder.   Maybe this will be the night when it occurs, however I’m ready for anything and everything he has in mind!

 

The chauffer drops me at the door and with considerable apprehension and great care in my extreme heels, I climb the steps and the door is opened for me.  I enter a beautifully decorated foyer with rich carpets, timber panelling and superb furniture and artworks.  It is very impressive and I’m all alone.   He is waiting for me and welcomes me warmly with a hug, pressing his body to mine, and a gentle kiss on the lips leaving a touch of my colour behind; I wipe it away from his lips provocatively as only a woman can do.   He passes a very complimentary remark on my appearance, boosting my confidence no end, given I have achieved a look that is somewhere between a film star on awards night and a high-class prostitute.

His next question flaws me as it is so abrupt:-  Am I still willing to accept punishment and sign a suitable document indicating my agreement?  If not I should leave immediately!

My pulse races as I search for the right answer……. and in a deliberately disdainful voice “Of course – I can take anything you can give me”; I add…... “I dare you to make me scream”.

He responds in a new and icy cold voice “Have no fear, we will and you will regret that remark!”

He asks me to hold out my hands; I put my bag over my shoulder and he fits a pair of handcuffs and in a very formal voice instructs me to follow him through an ornately panelled wooden door.

 

We enter a large room with about a dozen men in small groups enjoying a few drinks; I hear a bolt slide obviously locking the door behind.  My mind is racing…. the lock, the handcuffs, so many men, his last comment…. God what have I done.  Then silence as they immediately stop talking and look me over, their eyes clearly taking in every part of my body and, judging by their expressions, they seem impressed.   I am taken to a table and given the document to read and sign which I do quickly and two of them witness my signature. I’m now so aroused about what will obviously happen that I’m past caring about the consequences.   I’m given a glass of champagne, a little difficult to drink with handcuffs but I quickly learn to move both hands together and enjoy the excellent quality.

 

“Cindy is here to be punished and has challenged us to make her scream!” my companion announces.

No one looks surprised and he proceeds to take me around and introduce me to everyone present.  Another glass of champagne arrives, we chat and, amongst many topics, I am told in a very casual way of some of the other girls that had been caned and whipped here and how they had reacted and their state by the end of the evening, as they were carried into a recovery room for the night.  I am progressively becoming terrified and wondering what I have allowed myself into.

 

 

 

The Games Room

 

“We should start…..”  and I am led next door.  I have every right to be fearful – the room looks like a torture chamber, but a very luxurious torture chamber.   It is well carpeted, both floor and walls – no doubt for extra soundproofing, and with many mirrors, obviously strategically placed.  Right in the middle of the floor stands a large solid timber whipping horse with a padded leather top and numerous leather straps, so clearly placed to hold the victims wrists, ankles, arms, legs and torso.  There are chains hanging from the many beams in the ceiling, plenty of rings attached to the walls and, most fearsomely, a large cupboard, its doors wide open, displaying a wide range of canes, whips, crops, paddles and other devices I could not name, but so obviously intended to inflict pain.

God, I am in for it tonight!!!

 

My handcuffs are removed; I think of escape but there is no way.  I am told to tidy my make-up; I will make the most of this and turn to face them; then slowly and deliberately take my time using a small compact mirror and finish with the most provocative application of my lipstick.  My handbag is taken and I am escorted to the cupboard and told I should select the cane to be used.  I pick a thin one, knowing it will give more pain initially but less damage in the long run. 

My man picks the whip, with a sturdy handle and a single leather thong about the diameter of a pencil and a metre long with a tiny, but obviously hard knot at the end.

My turn to select a tawse from the three on display; all the same length and thickness but with one, two or three tails respectively.  I chose the single tail hoping it is the least severe given they are all as long as any I’d seen and far thicker than any I’d ever felt.

Then a paddle, his choice, made of wood and about half a meter long, the width of his hand and drilled with dozens of holes.

Now my choice of a birch, all of which are small bundles of about six straight thin canes rather than the soft bushy or twiggy style used by some people.  They are all too long for my liking but I think I find one that is slightly thinner, or maybe it is wishful thinking.

He finally selects a quirt with three thongs just under a metre long that looks like they were made from a black cable or rubber.

So it looks like I’m to be thrashed with at least six different implements, all very severe and very painful looking.

 

I am moved to the bench, I place my legs wide enough apart to match the leather straps, and while still standing, they are buckled firmly around my ankles but obviously with great care to avoid laddering my stockings or damaging my decorative chains.  It is not uncomfortable even though the straps are tight and my heels are high, but I am very aware I will never move until I’m released.   I now expect to be ordered forward so my wrists can be secured, but no…… I am instructed to remove my rings and hold out my left hand, palm up, for six strokes of the cane.   I obey with unbelievable fear as reality takes hold.  I feel someone behind me, pressing me towards the bench, I feel their hardness pressing on my butt; not attempting to enter and not moving but very firm and hard.  It gives me some security and pleasure, and I can’t fall backwards. 

Then he hits me…. the whistle, the searing pain, my scream all come together.  It is too much to bear, my hand drops, it just burns.

The voice demands I hold it out again and I do, and again the cane whistles and I scream.  And again, and again until the six are done.

The pressure behind me is harder; pushing firmly.

The voice calls for my other hand and the agony is repeated six more times until it finishes.  I’m sobbing, I can’t believe I did it, how did I keep putting my hands forward for the pain.  My mascara must be running, I ask for my handbag, some how I retrieve my compact, open the mirror with hands that have no feeling but pain.  I take some comfort in applying a little powder, blusher, mascara and lipstick.  I almost feel normal but for the throbbing at the ends of my arms where my hands should be.  I find some measure of security in my make-up.

 

The voice announces the next stage will commence but that it will be double what had been planned due to my deception, and will be the most severe whipping they have ever dished out to teach me a real lesson.  My heart stops…. They know.  What an idiot I’ve been to think I could fool them.  They want revenge and I’m helpless to do anything about it.  I want to run, to hide, to escape but there’s no way I’m going anywhere.  I’ve been caned and whipped before, and quite hard but they mean business and I know I will suffer beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before.  Already my hands prove they’re not playing…. They’re very serious.

 

The six implements are placed in a row on the floor in front of me, including the cane that so recently whipped into my hands.   My mind races; am I now to receive the cane across my buttocks as well as my hands; what does it all mean?  What will double mean; what is normal?

 

My arms are being pulled forwards and downwards, the straps go around my wrists, they are so very tight, they are pulled further down.  A thick strap crosses by back and another my shoulders pulling me tightly onto the bench, my wrists are pulled further down, my buttocks seem to rise.  With my legs so wide apart and so many other straps I can’t move in any direction and I feel my butt must dominate the room.  It is soon going to receive so much terrible attention.  My skirt is lifted and pinned up; my suspenders unclipped and also pulled up out of the way.   I feel my thong pulled deep into my crease.   I am so exposed.   I wait.  I am totally at their mercy with no chance of doing anything about it.  I am totally petrified.

 

In front of me an anonymous hand selects and takes the paddle.

 

I hear a rush of air and my buttocks explode in violent pain.  Every muscle in my body wants to move me away and yet I don’t move at all.  A voice tells me the paddle is just to warm me up a little before they get serious.  But this is no warm up…. He must be hitting me as hard as he is capable.  Again the noise and even worse pain as it again hits my now tender flesh.   I scream without any control as the pain takes over.   Again and again he strikes and again and again I scream until it stops and I’m told I have received twelve strokes and they had all shared the effort and pleasure.

 

The birch is the next implement to be removed and before I know it the whippy canes are biting into me and again and I’m screaming for all I’m worth.   The pain goes on forever; my buttocks must be torn to shreds; will I die tonight; I’ll be hospitalised; I’ll never survive; but I do….. and slowly the pain recedes and I’m silent again.

 

There seems to be a long pause; they’re giving me time to recover before the thrashing starts again.

 

The tawse is selected and I feel it’s enormous weight crash into my buttocks with so much force I seem to be moving across the room.   I’m screaming again but the pain is very different as it thuds across my tender damaged flesh time after time hurting deep down within my body.

 

My wrists are being released; the other straps holding me down are undone and I’m helped into an upright position but ominously my ankles are still held and I know there are several instruments not yet used.   My jacket is removed and my dress pulled up over my head and taken away.   I am more vulnerable than ever with only my corset as protection from behind, and it’s deliberately low cut to allow for exotic dresses or events such as tonight.  I’m now bitterly regretting every decision that has led me to be here – what a fool I’ve been.

 

My bag is passed and I’m told to put my hair up out of the way and to repair my make up so damaged by the tears and stress of the last hour.   It’s difficult with so much pain in every part of my body but it’s something I can always manage and shortly I’m looking fabulous again and feeling quite normal.   The pain recedes and I slowly realise the beating was maybe not as terrible as it felt at the time; but I’m apprehensive there’s much more to come and my back is so naked.

 

And there is!  My wrists are again secured, but this time by different straps to a solid black steel bar that has been lowered from the beam above me.   It is pulled up and up and a little forward until my body is stretched tight but my hips are still firmly against the whipping horse.   A large ball gag is produced and I’m told to open my mouth.  I’m not willing until the cane whips across my buttocks a number of times.  I accept the gag and it’s buckled behind.  The ‘Story of O’ comes to mind as I realise how helpless I am right now, how willing I am to be here and how excited I am by the thought of the pain I’m receiving.

 

I see the quirt selected and try to prepare myself for more punishment not sure where it will land but knowing both my back and buttocks are totally accessible.  However there can be no preparation for the intense pain and the three thongs of the quirt cut across and deep into my buttocks.   A dozen lashes tear into my flesh at a measured pace that seems to increase my suffering.  I’m screaming and sobbing in total silence and feel the tears run down my cheeks without caring what it must do to my make-up.  My buttocks hurt beyond belief; they’ve been thrashed so many times tonight, and in so many ways; the pain is impossible to bear but I bear it because I can’t escape – I have no choice.

 

A long pause and it is time for the whip, no doubt across my back that is so far untouched.  But it is not to be the dozen strokes that have set the pace so far but a terrifying twenty-five lashes, a flogging from the dark ages where flesh is deliberately sliced away leaving scars for life.

 

The first lash lands producing pain beyond anything I’ve previously experienced; a flogging is truly terrible making the other implements a mild, almost childish, experience.

 

Another lash cuts me, and another, and yet another

 

I’m trying to count but lost in a haze of intense pain, of tears, of silenced screams.

 

The lashes keep coming from alternate sides, criss crossing my back and building in intensity as they land on progressively more damaged flesh.  I feel I must pass out but it is not to be; they just keep coming and coming with no pause.  But finally it does stop and I just hang there exhausted; it is only my bound wrists keeping me upright.  

 

Slowly it registers deep within that it might all be finished and I’ve survived, survived the worst thrashing of my life.

 

The pain is slowly receding; I’m slowly aware of my surrounds;  the men are circled around me;  They congratulate me on my strength, my stamina.  This is crazy – did I have any choice once the door closed!

 

The gag is loosened and removed.   I’m sobbing but the screams are exhausted.  I’m told I’ll be released when I am back in control and not before!  My sobs abate; I can gain control but it takes time.

 

I want to see the damage, to understand whether I’m marked for life, to know if I’m injured; will I recover.

 

My arms are lowered, the straps removed, my ankles freed.  I steady myself against the horse for a few minutes; then I stand and slowly walk.  I’m starting to feel normal and suddenly see my reflection in a mirror.  God – what a mess.

 

I retrieve my bag, my clothes and retreat to the bathroom.  Thankfully several mirrors reassure me there is no blood, no torn flesh and certainly no serious damage.  I carry many red welts on my back and colourful bruises on my buttocks but I know from past experience these will fade over a number of weeks.  I gently feel the ridges; so tender and still very painful to touch but even now I’m feeling in control although it will be impossible to sit for a few days, or maybe a little longer.

 

There is no question – they’re experts in inflicting punishment, in going over the limit but only so far; the pain was unbelievably terrible but there are no injuries.  It has fulfilled my fantasy in every way although I took an enormous risk that could have gone horribly wrong and left me seriously damaged.  Maybe that’s a big part of why I do it…. Maybe deep down I do want it to go horribly wrong one day; to be seriously punished as in the middle ages and to really suffer.  Maybe I should go overseas, the middle east, and break some real laws and come face to face with serious justice and judicial corporal punishment.

 

But to work; I must prepare for some fun and games with the guys.  Again my hair and make-up are done to perfection but I choose a different lipstick, a hot, hot pink, to signal it’s time to play.  And then I want to lean over the horse again and present my buttocks for very different attention, but I’ll be the one to flip my skirt up, to spread my legs and push my arse out – hopefully many times.

 

The Recovery Room

 

I love to make a grand entrance, and now my whipping is over and my make-up perfected, I’m full of confidence and strut into their midst making the most of my heels, determined to flirt, to play and to be screwed many many times.

 

But first a drink, a champagne – obviously of excellent quality;  I’m ushered next door into a large room with seductively dim lighting and dominated by a massive four poster bed with chains, straps and ropes hanging in many places.

 

I walk to it, turn and coyly sit on the edge allowing my skirt to slide far too high.   Two guys help me out of my dress again but I’m the one who bends over, as if for the cane, but to remove the thong in front of the whole group, before slowly crawling onto the bed in just my corset, heels and stockings.   I kneel in the middle; thrust my bruised and striped rear up towards them, my head is down and my knees apart.  I want them to enjoy this.  Who will be the first?

 

Clothes are coming off and I’m joined on the bed.  Bodies surround me; hands are everywhere; I feel pressure behind and then feel it slide deep inside.  Now I’m sucking; and both my hands are full.  The guys are swapping around; it goes on until we’re all exhausted; they leave one by one and I fall asleep, still in heels, still heavily bruised and still sore in so many places but ecstatic over the greatest experience in my life and knowing I’ll be back here again.

---------------------------------------


5/30/2013 4:41:15 PM
Another one of my stories

 

A Night With The Girls

 By  Cindy K

 

I arrived in town early in the week but I was committed to flying out on Saturday; my schedule was fixed.   It was my second trip to this fascinating city and, while I would be busy with work commitments every morning, I planned to make the most of every moment of my spare time indulging in both of my other very private interests.   I would have the afternoons and evenings to hunt around, to visit new shops and to meet some of the more interesting contacts who had written to me in recent weeks and, most importantly, I could do all this dressed so wonderfully as a sexy, hot and attractive young lady.   With luck I should also manage to earn myself a really good whipping and hopefully another great screw in my exciting new female life.   It should be a good trip.

 

The afternoons were fabulous, I worked my way through many of my stunning outfits, trying various combinations with different accessories and all sorts of sexy undies until I was totally satisfied I had achieved the most provocative results and I could easily and quickly offer my bare buttocks for punishment or for fun.   I tried several new hair styles that worked superbly for me, I experimented with my make-up, testing new colours and shades, until the look was brilliant.   I played the role to perfection, looking every bit the fashionable, sophisticated and immaculately dressed city girl, confident that no one would ever guess my true being.   I was in and out of the hotel, around the city arcades, mixing with the after work social drinkers and all the time receiving wonderful flattering looks from the men who perved, and daggers from the women who felt threatened.   I was shouted drinks several times by various guys who thought I would be an easy pick up, but as I steered the conversation towards my need for the whip they ducked for cover and found reasons to depart.   It didn't matter because I was still having the time of my life knowing that all the time, money and effort spent on my appearance had really paid off.

 

I was, however, a little less successful with my planned contacts, with two no-shows even after a couple of phone calls and a very mild spanking from a well meaning guy who was pleased with our brief liaison, but it did nothing for me other than increase my frustration.   I desperately needed a good caning that would leave glorious marks for ages and that I would remember for a long, long time.   The week was passing all too quickly.   

 

It was Friday morning and I was on my way to my last business meeting when I first saw them, two of the most gorgeous and glamourous women I had ever set my eyes on.   They were tall, slim and shapely, and were both so well dressed, one in a sexy little red suit and superb high heels, the other in a fabulous white body shirt with tight blue jeans and exotic high boots.   Their hair and make-up was so brilliantly done I assumed they must both be top fashion models, particularly as they walked with such style and confidence.   I was enthralled but sadly they disappeared into the morning rush and I continued on my way, their image indelibly stencilled into my mind.

 

Their memorable style had inspired me, and that afternoon I went to even greater efforts than normal, leaving the hotel for my last trip around the shops looking a million dollars with my perfectly shaped body in a clingy, low cut, strapless cocktail outfit, dressed down just enough for decency by a little jacket over the shoulders and a hair style that I knew I could later change.   To complete the outfit I added sheer dark stockings, fabulous heels that were ridiculously high for daytime, an exotic perfume and, in my bag, sufficient make-up to allow me to prepare for anything that could arise during my last night in town.   I knew I looked great and I really felt excited about the unknown events ahead.   I could almost feel the delicious cut of the whip!

 

I was browsing through one of the more exclusive upper level arcades in the best part of town; it was richly carpeted and much less crowded than below, even on a Friday.   The shops were expensive and superb, their windows artfully displaying a limited but gorgeous selection.   And there she was, changing a display in one of these windows, the girl of my dreams in the little red suit.   I watched her work, delicately putting the finishing touch to a small jewellery stand.   She smiled to me, acknowledging my interest and I immediately sensed she understood and accepted me without judgement.   I was drawn inside even though I would normally have considered such a boutique too expensive for my limited means.

 

She was dressed more conservatively than the last time, it was obviously necessary here, but she was still unbelievable and every inch the super model etched into my mind.   We talked as I tried on some wonderful earrings; she had set up the shop with an old school friend and it had been very successful, largely due to their regular buying trips to Europe and America.   She told me how exciting those trips were, how they took her to such interesting and unusual places and how she met such a strange mix of people through her business.   There were hidden meanings in her words but she left it hanging there and wouldn't say more even when I gently probed.   Finally and with her help I chose the long drop earrings that I had first fallen in love with; they were expensive, but not ridiculously so and certainly worth every cent.

 

It was while she was ringing up the sale I noticed the open bag in the corner behind the counter, the tip of a riding crop sticking out of one end and leather manacles and other coiled rope just visible in the shadows.   Was it meant to be seen?   I will never know, but I suspect so.   She saw me looking but her only comment was to suggest I return just before she closed at six if the bag interested me and I had the evening free.   She told me name was Angela.   There was no doubt in my mind I would be there!

 

I was right on time; she locked the door and led me to the back room.   She introduced me to the other gorgeous girl from this morning, Carol, and another stunning blond, Suzie.   We all kissed cheeks and many compliments flowed my way; they were amazed by my near perfect transformation, enthralled and excited by my need for real pain; but most of all there was instant rapport between us all.   The conversation was great and Angela explained how they all like to dress up for a night like this, to become tarty sirens and set the mood, particularly as it should end with my skin being well striped tonight.   I was getting slightly nervous but also very stimulated by the fascinating developments.

 

The tiny back room suddenly became a busy dressing room; ordinary clothes were swapped for shattering outfits, expensive stockings were rolled, perfume sprayed, brilliant jewellery added, hair combed and teased, make-up applied to perfection and long nails vividly coloured.   They helped me; a feminine touch here, some advise there and my jacket discarded to reveal more than ever; they assisted each other as they had obviously done many times before.   My previously understated make-up was now radiant and flawless for the evening and Carol gave me the best hair style I have ever seen before leaving me at the mirror for the erotic fun of creating an immaculate pout with the great range lipsticks.   Four sexy, precocious, dazzling and extremely glamorous girls emerge to set the town alight!

 

First stop the sophisticated bar in the hotel next door with all eyes turning and conversation slowing as we make our grand entrance and sashay between the tables playing to our instant captive audience.   They follow our every move as we find a little table with high stools that will flaunt our long, slim legs, sensuously crossed for effect and visibility.   Slowly the normal hum returns to the room even though many guys are now facing our way.   We are all delighted with the reaction although it is certainly not a first for the girls who are pure extroverts and love to tease all and sundry.   Several delicious cocktails are served by a delighted waiter who spontaneously returns all our provocative banter.   We sip our drinks leaving behind the lush red imprints of our lips while calmly exploring a whole range of options for the pain and games that will complete the evening.   These three girls do not lack imagination!

 

It is only a short walk with our heels clicking, our bags swinging and many heads turning before we enter a popular little restaurant to enjoy a delightful light meal with some great wine.   I am very relaxed by the drinks but the ideas are developing fast; the four poster bed has been selected for the ritual; ropes, straps and manacles will hold me in place; my back will receive the whip which is Suzie's speciality and the crop will feature on my rump courtesy of Carol.   The severity they have in mind is obvious, these girls are very capable and confident, they work hard, they play hard and they will whip hard too; I know am going to receive a severe beating and I am becoming quite apprehensive but very, very excited.   Angela remains dangerously quiet on the whole subject but her eyes have the occasional cruel glint as other intriguing implements are discussed and their use planned.

 

Coffee is finished and we take turns to retreat to the powder room for the essential repairs to our faces and lips before Carol fetches her car and I willingly settle the bill.   It is only a short drive through totally unfamiliar and darkened streets, and I suspect they are deliberately confusing me with extra turns here and there.   I have lost all sense of direction as we turn into the driveway of a large older style house and pass through automatic doors into a double garage.   I slide out of the car, smooth the dress down over my thighs, look around only to see shiny handcuffs appear and secure my wrists before I realise what is happening.   I am escorted from the garage, through a passageway and up stairs to the master bedroom.   The soft colours, delicate decor and flimsy clothing lying around suggest a woman's room even though the most striking feature, a large timber framed four poster bed with a huge mirror at its head, seems out of place even though the drapes help it blend in with the other tasteful furnishings.   It is too dominant for the room, too strong and its purpose so obvious;  I can now easily visualise some of the strange and exciting activities they discussed that must happen here on a regular basis.   The thought makes me shiver!

 

Suzie takes my wrists and the link between them is attached to a chain that descends with a soft whir from the ceiling;  Angela operates a control on the wall and it rises, pulling my arms high until I am well stretched, but not uncomfortable.   The girls start another of their little shows for my benefit, slowly and provocatively removing their outer garments until they remain in their sexy and revealing undies, gorgeous stockings and beautiful heels.   I watch, frightened and enthralled, as they strut around, as furniture is moved and a small padded hip high bench appears.   Several high back chairs are placed along the wall and the chest of drawers reveals an amazing collection of whips and canes, ropes and chains, didilos, straps and rubber shapes that are neatly laid out on top.   There are now so many possibilities for punishment, for fun, so many places, so many implements and so many ideas.   I can do nothing but wait and watch, stretched and secured by one simple chain.

 

They are ready for me; their hands slip my dress down but linger and deliciously play over my body while my skimpy pants are removed to further expose my rounded cheeks for the inevitable cut of the crop.   The chain loosens just enough to allow my to be taken to the foot of the bed and the handcuffs are replaced by strong leather bands attached to heavy chains from the top of the strong timber frame.   My arms are held high and wide and my vulnerable back is unprotected save for the black lace up wispie that squeezes my waist to such tiny proportions.   I am pulled backwards allowing the bench to slide between my hips and the bed thrusting my buttocks out fearfully and stretching my upper body and arms that are so well secured by the straps and chain.   My legs are spread wide apart and ropes are used to tightly attach my ankles to the frame.   I feel the suspenders holding the back of my stockings being removed while the front ones remain untouched.   They have thought of everything; they are experienced; they are experts!

 

I feel wonderful, I am excited and yet I cannot move; my body is perfectly positioned for the inevitable ritual of pain that has been so carefully planned.   The mirror displays my upper half, a defiant and voluptuous blonde she-male, with brilliant make-up and magnificent hair, helplessly stretched and spread ready for punishment.   But what a sight I must be from behind: long and shapely legs pulled wide apart, high heels and stockings, beautifully presented and thrusting bare buttocks, skin tightly stretched, an inviting deep and dark orifice, a constrained waist leading to the unmarked flesh of my back, perfectly angled for the whip, and all so brilliantly secured and helpless and vulnerable for their sadistic pleasure.   Indeed, what a sight! 

 

I have never been whipped in front of a mirror before; it is a new and interesting and frightening experience.   I watch their sultry movements, I admire their sexy bodies, I look for the gag I expect to receive, I wait for crop to be lifted, or the whip to be swung; but no, they are admiring their handiwork:  my body prepared for their ceremony of pleasure and pain.   They are watching, anticipating and enjoying the moment, sitting together, their hands wandering freely while sharing a little brandy.   The cruel eyes watch and she comes forward, tilting her glass to my lips; it burns my throat deliciously and heats my insides; her hand roams between my legs, she probes and strokes and caresses; her red lips fleetingly touch mine, her tongue briefly slides between my lips and is gone, it is heaven.   She stops all too soon but the pleasure remains.   I must soon pay the price!

 

Carol has the crop in her hand; it is thin, long, black and wicked.   She cuts the air dramatically; her look says it all: she will have fun with me as she lashes my taught buttocks while I beg her to stop.   Suzie holds the whip, beautifully plaited and crafted from rich brown leather, and, although it is much shorter than I expected it tapers to a pair of vicious fine thongs.   It will be brutally painful and cut my skin terribly; she will have me screaming before the night is over and I know that's what she wants; I am petrified.   Angela catches my eye in the mirror and takes great delight in selecting a long yellow whippy cane, thicker and heavier than normal, but still with a traditional curved handle; but she does so only after deliberately and maliciously swinging many of the lighter ones for my benefit.   I don't want the cane, I didn't expect it, they never mentioned it; the other devices will hurt enough but this cane will inflict terrible pain as it wraps around, the tip burying itself into the flesh of the hip.   I have screamed my way through many a good caning before; but this is a heavy cane, it will be far far worse, and I know she will use it well.   It will not be pleasant!   It will be horrible!   It will be terrible!

 

The time has come:  Carol takes her position ......the crop will start the age old ritual of inflicting pain on female flesh for pure pleasure.   I watch, fascinated, her arm rises, she swings and I hear it coming.   Instantly my buttocks explode in fire as she cuts deep into me.   I gasp, I bite my lip, but I remain silent.   I will not give her the pleasure of my cries for mercy.   I brace myself for the next stroke and take it with difficulty.   Again her arm swings and again I take it with only a gasp, but the fire is building.   How many?   I have no idea.   Six is easy;  twelve is hard;  any more will break my silence.   She continues, pacing the painful strokes and allowing me time to recover after each one, but she systematically spreads them across my wounded flesh.  We reach the magic number of six but pass it without the pause I had expected and hoped for.   Each stroke is now killing me;  I pull and strain, but to no avail;  I want to scream, to yell, to beg but I still remain quiet, ...although only just!   We reach ten and she stops.   My eyes are watering;  my breathing is fast;  my buttocks burn;  my body is hanging but the straps are firm.   I have used all my will power to remain silent.   But there is still more, much more to come, and I am already near my limit.

 

The brandy returns, it soothes me and my resilience returns;  the erotic mix of pain and pleasure gives me strength, it excites me and I know I want more;  I  am in the hands of experts who have mastered this strange balance, who will take me further than ever before.   I just hang and wait and watch for their next move!

 

Suzie swings and the thong sears across my shoulders, the tips biting into the soft flesh below my stretched arms.   The agony is instant; muscles react and strain; a cry escapes; I beg it to stop; I pull; I twist; but I am held.   A cold sweat takes hold; I can't handle this.   It must stop!   But I watch as she struts slowly to the other side, chooses her position carefully and swings again, duplicating the agony.   I plead for her to stop, but to no avail as she methodically moves from side to side, progressively working the fiery thong up and down the tender and damaged skin that was once my back.   Again and again I beg her to stop, I cry for mercy, I plead, but she continues, on and on.   I strain and pull against the ropes and chains, my head twists and shakes violently, tears flow and I cry, but I do not scream.   I begin to understand this is not the viscous flogging it could be, it is intended to hurt but not to injure, she will go on and on to make me suffer; it is beyond my threshold but I will survive.   I am vaguely aware of the girls standing, watching, judging, smiling and encouraging her.   They want me screaming, they want my total submission, but I will not give them the pleasure.   Eventually she stops and I hang exhausted, panting and sobbing, but I did not scream; I will beat them at this game, my inner strength is coming through.   I am winning.

 

Thankfully, a long and much needed break allows me to recover a little, soothing brandy passes my lips yet again, gentle fingers trace the welts on my back and warm hands erotically caress me elsewhere.   A rubber shape slides deep into me, it twists and thrusts, it vibrates.   Soft lips touch my ear; Angela seductively whispers her exciting ideas for later as I watch her amazing image in the mirror.   She compliments me on my beautiful reactions to the twenty whip strokes, then caustically reminds me of her joy, her favourite cane, it is next and she will wield it until I scream long and loud and to her satisfaction.   She means it!   She wants my submission, she wants total control.   Can she beat it out of me?   Can I hold out?   Can I resist her will imposed with such a wicked cane?   Will I even try!

 

They take their positions; they watch intently; this is the highlight; it is in their eyes; they have been building up to it all night.   She is cruel; she licks her lips; her cane gently touches; she measures her position.   I'm shivering; I'm petrified; I want to die; Let me go!   Silence; fear; anticipation.   The air is heavy.

 

The rattan screams through the air as she strikes viciously hard and my world explodes in agony like nothing ever before.   It is terrible, wicked, unimaginable, the fire penetrates everywhere, waves of pain go around and around and around.   Every muscle pulls, pushes, strains and contorts but nothing gives; the straps hold, the chains are strong, the rope well tied; I am held; I am helpless; I must endure!   She strikes again with no pause, and again, and again.   I am screaming, I have no control, she will kill me!  I will die!   She continues to wield the terrible cane with all her strength, without mercy, without stopping, without care; I scream over and over and over.   The agony goes on for ever and ever.

 

Slowly I emerge from the murky haze of pain;  the cane has stopped;  it is quiet;  I open my eyes;  the girls have gone;  I am alone;  I am still hanging:  I am still secured.   Again I wait ....for a long, long time!

 

They breeze in with the champagne, they are laughing, joking, celebrating as though nothing has happened, just a party.   I watch, I have no choice!   She picks it up, the cruel eyes glint again as she straps it on, it is long, thick and black and it is too big.   She moves up behind;  she pulls my wounded cheeks apart;  I gasp, they are so tender and sore;  I feel it pushing me, stretching me, sliding in, wiggling, thrusting, pumping.   The others are playing with me, touching me, caressing me, kissing me, squeezing me, rubbing me.   Lips touch mine, they are warm and soft, they kiss me, they open, our tongues touch, we kiss and kiss again, a long passionate kiss that goes on and on.   The pleasure is overwhelming, the joy of the deep thrusts within, of hands everywhere and the soft luscious red lips on mine.   Ecstasy, it goes on for an eternity, replacing the fearful memory of the cane, the crop and the whip.

 

But all things must end;  they move away;  the pleasures cease and I am gently released from my bondage.   I gingerly touch the ridges and welts from my ordeal with pride and joy and slowly dress and attend to my face and lips.   They again deliberately parade their fantastic looks while stepping into their flimsy clothes, getting ready to drop me at my hotel, and all too soon we are saying our goodbyes with lingering hugs and kisses.   What a night;  what incredible girls;  my hands are busy;  sleep comes slowly!   Daylight, but the pleasures of this night will remain with me for a lifetime, well beyond the other reminders below me.   I discretely wiggle around while trying to sit comfortably on the plane, my mind a million miles away.            

------------------------------------   


5/29/2013 8:48:50 PM

To all my friends, present and future.

I'm going to include a series of stories in my journal that I've written in recent years.

I hope you enjoy them

Kisses  Cindy  Kiss

 

The Gentleman’s Club 

By Cindy K 

The Club Room

 

I had heard about these clubs existing in both Melbourne and Sydney, intended for wealthy business men, and apparently similar to ones in London that go back many, many years into history.   They are reputed to be beautifully furnished, provide excellent ‘old fashioned’ service and, of course, being a feature of the past, do not allow ladies to enter.   But I am to be an exception for a very special evening with a small group of members.

 

I would be picked up by the club’s chauffer driven limousine at 6pm and I intended to allow most of the afternoon to get ready for a very interesting evening………..

 

The string of events started in the cocktail bar in one of Sydney’s five star hotels where I was to meet a guy for a first date after exchanging e-mails and photos.   He was very late and I was on my second glass of champagne, but very comfortable on a high stool at the bar, sitting with my legs crossed, but still showing ‘just enough’ to keep a little interest from a few guys in the room.  Maybe my date had been frightened away with pictures showing me just a little too sophisticated in some great outfits, or maybe he just got cold feet at the thought of dating a girl who was in fact something else.  

 

Anyway, it’s not the first time I’ve been stood up and it doesn’t worry me, but I was just thinking where I might go for the next few hours, dance a little, a few more drinks, maybe pick up another guy and have fun seeing if anyone would pick me.   These days I always pass as a smart woman, whether I’m around the shops in town, at the races, having dinner in a great restaurant or dancing at one of my favourite clubs, however I always make sure I tell my date after an hour or so and they are usually surprised and amazed.

 

I was about to leave when a smart looking guy in his fourties came in and ordered a drink at the bar nearby.   I caught him giving me the ‘once over’, he looked impressed so I caught his eye and a casual conversation started quite naturally.  I’m very flirtatious when I’m dressed up and out ‘on the town’, particularly after a few drinks and we were soon getting along like a house on fire, although he obviously had no idea about me at this stage.   Feeling very mischievous I decided to see how long I could fool him while playing an increasingly sexy game, something I can do quite well.

 

He invited me to join him for dinner so we moved to the dining room, but on the way I excused myself to visit the powder room to tidy my hair and make-up and ensure my lipstick was perfect.  I was going to have some fun tonight!

 

As we walk back in I could see the male eyes following me, my long legs and high heels attracting a few admiring looks, particularly as I put an extra swing into my hips.   We sit and make some small talk, choose some wine and I deliberately lean forward just enough to show my cleavage and some gorgeous chains that dangle a fraction too low.  He does not miss the point and the conversation quickly becomes very provocative full of double meanings;  he’s good at this but I give every bit as good as I get – in fact I think I’m doing much better.  We pause to order our meal and continue with our raunchy exchange until he stops me dead for a split second with a comment that I’m behaving like a very naughty girl and that I deserve to be punished.   Well, the cheek of it !!!   My response is he wouldn’t dare…… and we were away in a new and dangerous direction from which neither of us would retreat.   In the end he is stirring me with his belief based on the old fashioned concept that women should comply with his standards, or, as in days gone by, be punished until they submitted to their ‘master’.   My final challenge to him is there is nothing he could do to me that would make me ‘submit’ to anything.   Calculatingly, he invited me to ‘his’ club the following week and I willingly accepted knowing in the back of my mind I would regret being so stubborn, but I was determined to win.   We kissed passionately and parted, and I realised in the taxi home I had not explained just who I was, nor had he picked it.   All the more reason to play my biggest deception when we next met………..

 

And so by late afternoon I am almost ready with an hour to go.   I am wearing a short cocktail dress in a jet black clingy stretch fabric, perfectly cut for my narrow waist and well curved hips, and finishing way above the knees to display my long shapely legs in dark seamed stockings further highlighted by superb five inch black patent stilettos.   Fine straps over the shoulders supported the cups that partially covered my boobs emphasised by a low cut vee shaped front.  A thin lace bolero jacket covered my shoulders and fell to the side of my boobs further emphasising their size and firmness.

 

Underneath, however, it is another story, as I am fully expecting to remove many of my garments for the evenings activities, but I am determined to maintain my totally female persona.   The key being my specially made and padded lace up corset, finished in black satin and lace, that pulls my waist so tight and thrusts my boobs up magnificently while leaving my buttocks and most of my back fully exposed for any attention they are likely to receive.   A fine flesh coloured thong beneath provides just enough cover but slips deep into my rear crease to be almost invisible.  Black lace suspenders follow the curves from my waist to support the stockings.

 

My make-up is perfect, my eyes superbly lined and shaded with false lashes as the finishing touch and of course my lips are beautifully done with a dark red liner and brilliant red lipstick, applied and blotted several times.  My long fingernails are painted in the same brilliant red as are my toes, visible with their silver rings through the peephole cut out of the shoes.   The jewellery I have selected included a set of five chains, all slightly different lengths dangling into my cleavage, many fine bangles on each wrist, a combination of silver and gold rings on my fingers and thumb, earrings with fantastic gold and silver fine chains and sparkly zirconia tips, and one final set of three twisted fine chains on my left ankle.  As always, I’ve sprayed my favourite perfume generously, and included a few unusual places that I expect will please and tease during the evening.

 

My hair is long and blonde with streaks in many golden tones.   I’ll wear it down tonight, but brushed and teased enough to look fantastic while just dropping over my eyes, one more than the other.

 

I parade before the mirror and I’m delighted with the results.  A little over the top, but overall a fantastic and sophisticated look that will catch every male eye.   I’m deliberately looking more tarty than last time we met and now I’m confident I can take whatever punishment he can give me; in fact I want and need it right now.   I’ve been caned before and I know that’s what he has in mind, however it was only moderately hard last time, and while it hurt unbelievably I was very frustrated afterwards and certainly needed it more and much harder.   Maybe this will be the night when it occurs, however I’m ready for anything and everything he has in mind!

 

The chauffer drops me at the door and with considerable apprehension and great care in my extreme heels, I climb the steps and the door is opened for me.  I enter a beautifully decorated foyer with rich carpets, timber panelling and superb furniture and artworks.  It is very impressive and I’m all alone.   He is waiting for me and welcomes me warmly with a hug, pressing his body to mine, and a gentle kiss on the lips leaving a touch of my colour behind; I wipe it away from his lips provocatively as only a woman can do.   He passes a very complimentary remark on my appearance, boosting my confidence no end, given I have achieved a look that is somewhere between a film star on awards night and a high-class prostitute.

His next question flaws me as it is so abrupt:-  Am I still willing to accept punishment and sign a suitable document indicating my agreement?  If not I should leave immediately!

My pulse races as I search for the right answer……. and in a deliberately disdainful voice “Of course – I can take anything you can give me”; I add…... “I dare you to make me scream”.

He responds in a new and icy cold voice “Have no fear, we will and you will regret that remark!”

He asks me to hold out my hands; I put my bag over my shoulder and he fits a pair of handcuffs and in a very formal voice instructs me to follow him through an ornately panelled wooden door.

 

We enter a large room with about a dozen men in small groups enjoying a few drinks; I hear a bolt slide obviously locking the door behind.  My mind is racing…. the lock, the handcuffs, so many men, his last comment…. God what have I done.  Then silence as they immediately stop talking and look me over, their eyes clearly taking in every part of my body and, judging by their expressions, they seem impressed.   I am taken to a table and given the document to read and sign which I do quickly and two of them witness my signature. I’m now so aroused about what will obviously happen that I’m past caring about the consequences.   I’m given a glass of champagne, a little difficult to drink with handcuffs but I quickly learn to move both hands together and enjoy the excellent quality.

 

“Cindy is here to be punished and has challenged us to make her scream!” my companion announces.

No one looks surprised and he proceeds to take me around and introduce me to everyone present.  Another glass of champagne arrives, we chat and, amongst many topics, I am told in a very casual way of some of the other girls that had been caned and whipped here and how they had reacted and their state by the end of the evening, as they were carried into a recovery room for the night.  I am progressively becoming terrified and wondering what I have allowed myself into.

 

 

 

The Games Room

 

“We should start…..”  and I am led next door.  I have every right to be fearful – the room looks like a torture chamber, but a very luxurious torture chamber.   It is well carpeted, both floor and walls – no doubt for extra soundproofing, and with many mirrors, obviously strategically placed.  Right in the middle of the floor stands a large solid timber whipping horse with a padded leather top and numerous leather straps, so clearly placed to hold the victims wrists, ankles, arms, legs and torso.  There are chains hanging from the many beams in the ceiling, plenty of rings attached to the walls and, most fearsomely, a large cupboard, its doors wide open, displaying a wide range of canes, whips, crops, paddles and other devices I could not name, but so obviously intended to inflict pain.

God, I am in for it tonight!!!

 

My handcuffs are removed; I think of escape but there is no way.  I am told to tidy my make-up; I will make the most of this and turn to face them; then slowly and deliberately take my time using a small compact mirror and finish with the most provocative application of my lipstick.  My handbag is taken and I am escorted to the cupboard and told I should select the cane to be used.  I pick a thin one, knowing it will give more pain initially but less damage in the long run. 

My man picks the whip, with a sturdy handle and a single leather thong about the diameter of a pencil and a metre long with a tiny, but obviously hard knot at the end.

My turn to select a tawse from the three on display; all the same length and thickness but with one, two or three tails respectively.  I chose the single tail hoping it is the least severe given they are all as long as any I’d seen and far thicker than any I’d ever felt.

Then a paddle, his choice, made of wood and about half a meter long, the width of his hand and drilled with dozens of holes.

Now my choice of a birch, all of which are small bundles of about six straight thin canes rather than the soft bushy or twiggy style used by some people.  They are all too long for my liking but I think I find one that is slightly thinner, or maybe it is wishful thinking.

He finally selects a quirt with three thongs just under a metre long that looks like they were made from a black cable or rubber.

So it looks like I’m to be thrashed with at least six different implements, all very severe and very painful looking.

 

I am moved to the bench, I place my legs wide enough apart to match the leather straps, and while still standing, they are buckled firmly around my ankles but obviously with great care to avoid laddering my stockings or damaging my decorative chains.  It is not uncomfortable even though the straps are tight and my heels are high, but I am very aware I will never move until I’m released.   I now expect to be ordered forward so my wrists can be secured, but no…… I am instructed to remove my rings and hold out my left hand, palm up, for six strokes of the cane.   I obey with unbelievable fear as reality takes hold.  I feel someone behind me, pressing me towards the bench, I feel their hardness pressing on my butt; not attempting to enter and not moving but very firm and hard.  It gives me some security and pleasure, and I can’t fall backwards. 

Then he hits me…. the whistle, the searing pain, my scream all come together.  It is too much to bear, my hand drops, it just burns.

The voice demands I hold it out again and I do, and again the cane whistles and I scream.  And again, and again until the six are done.

The pressure behind me is harder; pushing firmly.

The voice calls for my other hand and the agony is repeated six more times until it finishes.  I’m sobbing, I can’t believe I did it, how did I keep putting my hands forward for the pain.  My mascara must be running, I ask for my handbag, some how I retrieve my compact, open the mirror with hands that have no feeling but pain.  I take some comfort in applying a little powder, blusher, mascara and lipstick.  I almost feel normal but for the throbbing at the ends of my arms where my hands should be.  I find some measure of security in my make-up.

 

The voice announces the next stage will commence but that it will be double what had been planned due to my deception, and will be the most severe whipping they have ever dished out to teach me a real lesson.  My heart stops…. They know.  What an idiot I’ve been to think I could fool them.  They want revenge and I’m helpless to do anything about it.  I want to run, to hide, to escape but there’s no way I’m going anywhere.  I’ve been caned and whipped before, and quite hard but they mean business and I know I will suffer beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before.  Already my hands prove they’re not playing…. They’re very serious.

 

The six implements are placed in a row on the floor in front of me, including the cane that so recently whipped into my hands.   My mind races; am I now to receive the cane across my buttocks as well as my hands; what does it all mean?  What will double mean; what is normal?

 

My arms are being pulled forwards and downwards, the straps go around my wrists, they are so very tight, they are pulled further down.  A thick strap crosses by back and another my shoulders pulling me tightly onto the bench, my wrists are pulled further down, my buttocks seem to rise.  With my legs so wide apart and so many other straps I can’t move in any direction and I feel my butt must dominate the room.  It is soon going to receive so much terrible attention.  My skirt is lifted and pinned up; my suspenders unclipped and also pulled up out of the way.   I feel my thong pulled deep into my crease.   I am so exposed.   I wait.  I am totally at their mercy with no chance of doing anything about it.  I am totally petrified.

 

In front of me an anonymous hand selects and takes the paddle.

 

I hear a rush of air and my buttocks explode in violent pain.  Every muscle in my body wants to move me away and yet I don’t move at all.  A voice tells me the paddle is just to warm me up a little before they get serious.  But this is no warm up…. He must be hitting me as hard as he is capable.  Again the noise and even worse pain as it again hits my now tender flesh.   I scream without any control as the pain takes over.   Again and again he strikes and again and again I scream until it stops and I’m told I have received twelve strokes and they had all shared the effort and pleasure.

 

The birch is the next implement to be removed and before I know it the whippy canes are biting into me and again and I’m screaming for all I’m worth.   The pain goes on forever; my buttocks must be torn to shreds; will I die tonight; I’ll be hospitalised; I’ll never survive; but I do….. and slowly the pain recedes and I’m silent again.

 

There seems to be a long pause; they’re giving me time to recover before the thrashing starts again.

 

The tawse is selected and I feel it’s enormous weight crash into my buttocks with so much force I seem to be moving across the room.   I’m screaming again but the pain is very different as it thuds across my tender damaged flesh time after time hurting deep down within my body.

 

My wrists are being released; the other straps holding me down are undone and I’m helped into an upright position but ominously my ankles are still held and I know there are several instruments not yet used.   My jacket is removed and my dress pulled up over my head and taken away.   I am more vulnerable than ever with only my corset as protection from behind, and it’s deliberately low cut to allow for exotic dresses or events such as tonight.  I’m now bitterly regretting every decision that has led me to be here – what a fool I’ve been.

 

My bag is passed and I’m told to put my hair up out of the way and to repair my make up so damaged by the tears and stress of the last hour.   It’s difficult with so much pain in every part of my body but it’s something I can always manage and shortly I’m looking fabulous again and feeling quite normal.   The pain recedes and I slowly realise the beating was maybe not as terrible as it felt at the time; but I’m apprehensive there’s much more to come and my back is so naked.

 

And there is!  My wrists are again secured, but this time by different straps to a solid black steel bar that has been lowered from the beam above me.   It is pulled up and up and a little forward until my body is stretched tight but my hips are still firmly against the whipping horse.   A large ball gag is produced and I’m told to open my mouth.  I’m not willing until the cane whips across my buttocks a number of times.  I accept the gag and it’s buckled behind.  The ‘Story of O’ comes to mind as I realise how helpless I am right now, how willing I am to be here and how excited I am by the thought of the pain I’m receiving.

 

I see the quirt selected and try to prepare myself for more punishment not sure where it will land but knowing both my back and buttocks are totally accessible.  However there can be no preparation for the intense pain and the three thongs of the quirt cut across and deep into my buttocks.   A dozen lashes tear into my flesh at a measured pace that seems to increase my suffering.  I’m screaming and sobbing in total silence and feel the tears run down my cheeks without caring what it must do to my make-up.  My buttocks hurt beyond belief; they’ve been thrashed so many times tonight, and in so many ways; the pain is impossible to bear but I bear it because I can’t escape – I have no choice.

 

A long pause and it is time for the whip, no doubt across my back that is so far untouched.  But it is not to be the dozen strokes that have set the pace so far but a terrifying twenty-five lashes, a flogging from the dark ages where flesh is deliberately sliced away leaving scars for life.

 

The first lash lands producing pain beyond anything I’ve previously experienced; a flogging is truly terrible making the other implements a mild, almost childish, experience.

 

Another lash cuts me, and another, and yet another

 

I’m trying to count but lost in a haze of intense pain, of tears, of silenced screams.

 

The lashes keep coming from alternate sides, criss crossing my back and building in intensity as they land on progressively more damaged flesh.  I feel I must pass out but it is not to be; they just keep coming and coming with no pause.  But finally it does stop and I just hang there exhausted; it is only my bound wrists keeping me upright.  

 

Slowly it registers deep within that it might all be finished and I’ve survived, survived the worst thrashing of my life.

 

The pain is slowly receding; I’m slowly aware of my surrounds;  the men are circled around me;  They congratulate me on my strength, my stamina.  This is crazy – did I have any choice once the door closed!

 

The gag is loosened and removed.   I’m sobbing but the screams are exhausted.  I’m told I’ll be released when I am back in control and not before!  My sobs abate; I can gain control but it takes time.

 

I want to see the damage, to understand whether I’m marked for life, to know if I’m injured; will I recover.

 

My arms are lowered, the straps removed, my ankles freed.  I steady myself against the horse for a few minutes; then I stand and slowly walk.  I’m starting to feel normal and suddenly see my reflection in a mirror.  God – what a mess.

 

I retrieve my bag, my clothes and retreat to the bathroom.  Thankfully several mirrors reassure me there is no blood, no torn flesh and certainly no serious damage.  I carry many red welts on my back and colourful bruises on my buttocks but I know from past experience these will fade over a number of weeks.  I gently feel the ridges; so tender and still very painful to touch but even now I’m feeling in control although it will be impossible to sit for a few days, or maybe a little longer.

 

There is no question – they’re experts in inflicting punishment, in going over the limit but only so far; the pain was unbelievably terrible but there are no injuries.  It has fulfilled my fantasy in every way although I took an enormous risk that could have gone horribly wrong and left me seriously damaged.  Maybe that’s a big part of why I do it…. Maybe deep down I do want it to go horribly wrong one day; to be seriously punished as in the middle ages and to really suffer.  Maybe I should go overseas, the middle east, and break some real laws and come face to face with serious justice and judicial corporal punishment.

 

But to work; I must prepare for some fun and games with the guys.  Again my hair and make-up are done to perfection but I choose a different lipstick, a hot, hot pink, to signal it’s time to play.  And then I want to lean over the horse again and present my buttocks for very different attention, but I’ll be the one to flip my skirt up, to spread my legs and push my arse out – hopefully many times.

 

The Recovery Room

 

I love to make a grand entrance, and now my whipping is over and my make-up perfected, I’m full of confidence and strut into their midst making the most of my heels, determined to flirt, to play and to be screwed many many times.

 

But first a drink, a champagne – obviously of excellent quality;  I’m ushered next door into a large room with seductively dim lighting and dominated by a massive four poster bed with chains, straps and ropes hanging in many places.

 

I walk to it, turn and coyly sit on the edge allowing my skirt to slide far too high.   Two guys help me out of my dress again but I’m the one who bends over, as if for the cane, but to remove the thong in front of the whole group, before slowly crawling onto the bed in just my corset, heels and stockings.   I kneel in the middle; thrust my bruised and striped rear up towards them, my head is down and my knees apart.  I want them to enjoy this.  Who will be the first?

 

Clothes are coming off and I’m joined on the bed.  Bodies surround me; hands are everywhere; I feel pressure behind and then feel it slide deep inside.  Now I’m sucking; and both my hands are full.  The guys are swapping around; it goes on until we’re all exhausted; they leave one by one and I fall asleep, still in heels, still heavily bruised and still sore in so many places but ecstatic over the greatest experience in my life and knowing I’ll be back here again.

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