“Won’t you come back in?”
The husband half of the couple I was counseling (for lack of a better term) reentered my office. They are in their late twenties and married about three years. The wife craves the thrill of heavy discipline and the husband, like many American males, can neither understand nor provide it.
“I want you to take this rod and strike my bottom with it as hard as you can four or five times.”
After handing him the thin flexible fiberglass rod I unbuttoned my short plaid skirt letting it fall to the floor and leaned upon the front of my desk resting on my hips with my feet just touching and my legs spread wide apart. I wore dark tan nylons and black panties so I was not nude, but my nylon-covered ass still provided a very nice if large target. Being five ten and 215 (alright, 235) pounds I was not the sexy slut your average stud would cream his shorts over. However, as a practice dummy, I was more than acceptable.
The flesh of my ass and indeed many other areas of my body has been whipped and abused to the level that it requires a pretty good blow from the hand of a real pro just to bring the slightest sting. This guy was not about to hurt me at least not in any way that I would notice let alone be concerned about. The first stroke was pathetic making only a loud noise with out any stimulation what ever.
“Harder! Much harder! Use your whole body and swing through. You want to leave a bright red welt. The faster you stroke the better. I can barely feel that!”
He was in more pain emotionally, socially, and from the physical exertion of trying to accommodate my instructions than I was. After coaching through ten or twelve strokes, I began to feel the tickle of humiliating discomfort. Jera, the TOP who works me on a regular basis, would have had me screaming and begging with the first three strokes.
Twenty strokes with this stick from her hand and I hit the wall passed out in pain for a week. She uses a softer rod with the fear of a tool like this and takes it “easy” so she says. She is to blame for my cowhide rear, upper legs, back, and even some nasty patches on my breasts. Lord love her, I get wet just thinking about what she has done to me and what she may do next.
“Very, well. Let’s try it on your wife. And remember she wants this from you! She lusts for the pain and humiliation with you in control and her totally helpless. I’ll stop you well before you hurt her or do anything she can’t take or may regret.”
I said all this as I removed my blouse so he would pay attention and stepping toward the door to “the other room” (that is what is printed on it), and opening the door motioned with a sexy smile for him to walk through. I really would have felt over dressed and out of place modestly attired. Allowing him to see me in nylons, heels, and a push up near see through bra was stimulating for him and I wanted him stimulated, very stimulated.
“Remove your shoes and disrobe to the waist.”
After taking three or four steps into the large high ceiling room, he froze. There hanging by her wrists from a twelve by twelve overhead beam was his bare ass naked wife. Her shoes were sitting on the floor a few feet away, but not a stitch of her clothing was any where in sight. He could not take his eyes off her stretched out naked body as he slowly removed first his shoes then his shirt.
She was cute, at least to me, with her feet spread as far apart as nature allows by a bar and her lovely form taking on the appearance of an inverted Y. She stands five feet six inches tall and weighs about 135 pounds. Her boobs are a perky C cup at 38 inches. The globes of her ass defied gravity and are perfectly shaped. After disrobing, he looked her over carefully pressing the flesh of his sweet wife in the area of the four bright red welts I had placed on her gorgeous fanny.
“Please dear, don’t be afraid of hurting me. I want you to hit me as hard as Margaret did. I won’t break. I’ll still love you. Please, give me a good hard whipping. Please! Please!”
“Take the rod and give her four across that lovely bottom of hers. I want your four to be redder and brighter than mine.”
He began his back swing and I stopped him.
“Take a few practice strokes. I want to hear the sound of the cane as it passes through the air singing a warning of the agony to come.”
I took his hand like a good tennis pro pressing my bra covered tits up against his bareback with a tender massage of my breasts that brought a deep breath and sigh then moved with him through the stroke while the rod and air sang their sweet wicked song. His wife, although blindfolded was getting pissed with my flirtations. Excellent! After making the sound four or five times, I brought him, like a golf pro would, to the correct position and stance for the assault.
“Great! That’s getting the job done! Give her a sexy kiss and squeeze her tits.”
Where his marks crossed mine a small trickle of blood formed from a broken blister and meandered down her bare leg. I encouraged him to strike harder while laying my head on his neck and hugging his naked chest with my breasts pressed hard against his bare back separated only by the thin nylon bra. She screamed for more and harder as soon as her breathing slowed down allowing clear speech. The first shot had been terrifying leaving a brighter higher welt than any of mine. His wife was sobbing with tears and shaking with fear. We had talked about emotional response and he seemed to understand some of her needs. Besides, he was turned on now and getting into the swing of it, no pun intended.
When I ordered her to strip in front of me, I made remarks, kind remarks, concerning her figure, that tight ass of hers, and those sweet tits. She appeared very self-conscious from my visual attention and verbal sensual comments. After stringing her up securely, I gently fingered the hood of her clitoris while watching the reaction in her eyes. I am sure it is all she could do not to tell me to stop and let her down. She is not the least bit bisexual, but knows that I am. Something I am sure she wants to keep from her husband. The worst humiliation was the pleasure she got from my touch. This does not mean she is a lesbian. We all have ten fingers.
The third and fourth strokes brought visual assurance that I had taught the lesson well. She cried, he cried, hell, we all cried! She told him over and over that she was all right and that she loved him and that she wanted more. I told him something else.
“Get naked and fuck the bitch!”
I didn’t need to repeat that. He was out of his shorts and ready to screw in seconds. I told him to take her from the rear like a dog.
“Don’t concern yourself with her feelings or pleasure, just stick it in and go for it stud!”
That is just what he did! Three stokes, I counted, and she exploded like a smart bomb, with him following in two more for the best sex of their lives. Probably brought on by a number of factors including doing it in front of a stranger, while standing, from the rear, and after beating his wife with a stick.
I lowered her down and ordered her to clean him off with her tongue, which was something a little different, but this time she was well into it smiling as she lapped his cum from his cock. She had not been a real cock sucker until now and he was fine with that. Well, I wasn’t! He was instructed to beat her twice each day this week with oral sex in the morning and fucking her in the evening, if he liked. Her feelings were unimportant, but I was some how sure she would enjoy that activity as much as he would.
“Would you like a little something extra?”
“Yes, Mistress Margaret.” They both answered, but the blindfolded naked cum licking bitch answered loudest. Her husband realized that just as I did.
“Raise her back up! We are both going to give the bitch four strokes right at her bra line. I want her to remember this for the next few days as she feels the discomfort in that area of her back. Now, don’t make any noise, not a peep or we will start all over.”
We exchanged stroke for stroke until we had laid a burning red mark on the middle of her back four times with blood rolling down her back from both his work and mine. She hung there shaking from the agony and fear for two maybe three minutes as we rested wondering how she could endure let alone enjoy such violent lashes. Then she thanked us both in the sweetest way, over and over again, while crying and saying how much she appreciated our “attention”.
After cleaning her up with rubbing alcohol, she left wearing only her shoes and his undershirt and, of course, the blindfold. He was fully clothed carrying the rod and saying how he could not wait to get home and practice some more.
My next client, again for lack of a better term, was not due for half an hour. I slumped on the floor in the corner with tears of joy rolling down my cheeks thinking about what we had accomplished and what would happen to her next week while longing for the stimulation only my Jera could provide.
I pulled off my bra, kicking off my tight high-heeled shoes, and while rubbing my stocking feet together, molested my sagging boobs with one hand and had four wild orgasms masturbating with the other.
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