You bought a sturdy dining table just for this. You laid a towel down to make the cleanup easier. And then you had me climb up and lay back.
The first part was easy. You bent my legs and tied thigh to ankle, the rope twisting and cinching, wrapping and restraining. You tied my wrists to the outsides of my knees with the excess, and then ran another rope under the table from left to right to keep me spread open and pinned down.
Only then did you tell me your plan. You set a flogger down between my spread thighs and said, “Tonight we’re going to find out if you can come from just pain.”
My breath stuttered and my cunt clenched. I felt fear begin to creep up my rib cage, squeezing around my lungs, my heart, as it climbed.
“It’s okay if you can’t,” you said, picking up the flogger and caressing my thighs with its soft leather tails. “But I want you to ask for what you need, as long as it’s pain.”
I nodded and mumbled out a small, “Yes, Gege,” and you smiled.
The first strike landed directly on my pussy and I shrieked. I wasn’t exactly expecting you to pull your punches, but I’d thought you might ease me into it. You didn’t. You didn’t even pause before the next strike, my pussy again. And then a third. You moved to my thighs, leather tails meeting flesh and rope until I felt tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.
The skin of my thighs turned warm and red and you told me to lay my head back so you could flog my tits. My tits have never been particularly sensitive but they don’t need to be when they’re being whipped over and over and over again.
My tears broke free and you praised me for them.
My cunt ached from those first strikes, but it felt somehow cold. I knew I was dripping, I could feel the mess soaking into the towel beneath me. My clit throbbed with each hit, no matter where on my body the leather came down. My cunt clenched around nothing, needy and leaking and empty and neglected.
My tits were bright red, nipples peaked and stinging, when I realized what you wanted me to do. You’d told me to ask for what I needed. As long as it’s pain.
“P-please, Gege,” I managed around a sob.
You stopped immediately, coming around the table to place a warm hand against my cheek.
“What do you need, baby?”
“I need—“ I struggled to say it. To ask was humiliating. It hurt. I didn’t want it to hurt. But I also knew it would help. “I n-need you, p-p-please, to h-hit my cunt.”
Your smile was bright and cruel and I knew I’d done exactly as you’d hoped.
“Will that help you come, baby?” you asked. “Will it help you come if I hit your cunt?”
“Y-yesss,” I sobbed again. “I I think s-so.”
“Thank you for asking me,” you said, petting my hair. “Let’s try it and see, hm?”
I nodded and you moved.
The anticipation and dread mounted in me as you walked slowly around the table, step after step. Time slowed as my pain drew closer. It felt as though my skin was shrinking against me, stretching itself taut, the nerve endings and blood vessels rising to the surface, so sensitive even the still air felt like too much.
I kept my head laid back, I couldn’t bear to watch you move. My tears trickled down my temples and gathered in my hair. I closed my eyes.
I flinched hard when you dangled the loose tails just low enough to tickle the soft skin of my belly. You laughed.
“You asked for this,” you reminded me, and then I heard the flogger swish in the air.
This second first strike hurt far worse than and of the earlier three. I cried out, straining against the ropes. The next came quickly after that, too many and too painful for me to keep track of. You began to vary the force, and the intensity of the pain rose and fell to your whims. You sent an errant strike out to one thigh or the other, but mostly you stayed right on my pussy. You built a rhythm with the leather, I could hear it almost more than I could feel it. And with that rhythm my pleasure returned.
My pussy was warm again, that was for sure. And the pain soaked in and saturated my nerves until all I could feel was one massive throb, matched to the offbeats of your flogging. It was a flicker of fire every time the leather caught my clit, and a heavy, resounding thud that jolted me in a way that was so like being fucked.
I thrashed in my ropes, my own weight holding me down. The bindings dug into the meat of my legs and arms, restraining and holding me, an embrace I couldn’t escape but never really wanted to. It was a delicious counterpoint to the pain in my cunt and I leaned into it.
When you stopped I screamed. Without the rhythm, I could feel the fire consuming my entire body. Everywhere you’d struck, everywhere I was tied down. My nervous system lit up and shut off all at once.
I left myself a little then. Cold air prickled my skin, ragged breaths strained my chest, my arms and legs fell lax against the table.
You asked me if I wanted to keep going and I couldn’t answer.
You asked me for my color and I slurred out, “Green.”
“What do you need, baby?”
Speaking is difficult. Words are far away. But I know what you want me to say. “Hit my cunt, please.”
The next strike bolts through me like an electric shock. I feel the edge of my orgasm, like my toes are curling around it. Another and all the heat in my body seems to pool behind my clit, one foot dangling over the abyss. A third hit and I break. All the pain and pleasure in my body crests, the cliffs edge crumbles, and my orgasm rips through me, dragging me down into the darkness below.
Just before I slip fully into unconsciousness, I feel your fingers in my hair and hear you whisper, “Well done.”
