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It’s ok, though. I know that I can take a whip like this. I’m already wired.
The rhythm is perfect, almost hypnotic as the flashes of the whip slice and stripe my back. Some of the strikes wrap around my ribcage, and I cry out louder at those, groaning like a true pain slut as the whip wielder manages to land some lashes across my bound tits. Fuck, yes how it hurts. The pain builds, and my cries become more frantic, but I don’t fight, or protest, just accept the lashing I’m given, without a care.
I’m so lost in the grip of subspace that I barely notice my main Master stepping back up in front of me. He slaps my tits hard in their bonds before sliding his hand down between my legs.
“Just a taster, for being a good girl,” he says, and pushes three fingers into my pussy. But I need more. I beg between whip lashes.
“Please, Master. Please give me more.”
Another whip lash and he slides in another finger. But he’s not deep enough. He’s not making it hurt enough. It’s just a tease to counter the screaming pain on my back, and the aching throb of my swollen tits.
The whip cracks stop for a moment, and I hear a shuffle of feet. Master keeps on fingering me, the clamps biting, the pain surreal, and the next round of lashes are harder, and to an entirely different tune. No rhythm, just wild strikes that have me screaming. I must have a criss-crossed mess of red welts across my back, but that doesn’t mean shit to me. Another shuffle of feet and someone else starts up an attack, even harder.
And Master gets rougher, grinding his fingers inside me.
Oh, how I fucking screech.
I let my cries out freely, my fists clenching in my shackles. My breaths are frantic as the whip strikes change angle to wrap around my ribs, and they sear in pain with every blow – but when my swollen tits are caught by the lashes, it’s beyond fire, and flames, and fury. It’s pure unadulterated hell.
How I love hell like this.
I love being tortured by demons and handing them my slutty soul.
I lose track of the whip strikes, and the number of lashes. The sensations become a solid burn, like lightning bolts as the strikes hit, sparking like sin across my back.
Master yanks his fingers from me and I scream again when he lands some solid slaps across my tits.
“More?” he asks, and I nod, uncaring.
“Yes please, Master.”
I can barely breathe when he twists my nipple clamps.
“More?” he asks but I can only scream through gritted teeth as he twists the clamps back and forth.
He twists harder and I squirm in my shackles, blind to just how much he’s torturing me when the first paddle blow strikes across my ass cheeks and sends me forward into the bulk of my master. He’s like a solid wall, big and strong. My nipple clamps press tight to his chest and they send poker hot flashes right through me.
But this is bliss. True bliss.
I can take a lot from a paddle, so it’s almost a welcome relief from the whipping. I brace myself for the steady build up, and these guys know what they are doing. Tap, tap, tap then SMACK. Tap, tap, SMACK. Until the taps are gone and there are only hard, heavy smacks, faster and faster.
I’m a fish on a line, subject to their every whim.
Master hitches my thighs open, and the filthy games climb another rung on the hardcore ladder. Jesus wept, and so do I as my dirty clients use a vicious flogger between my legs from behind. I’m trembling and cursing as the swipes slash against the clamps on my pussy lips, but that’s ok. I can take it. Or I think I can, until Master spreads me open like a tortured flower and the whip changes from a flogger to a single tailed monster. I hear it being tested in the air. They tease me by lashing my thighs first, and it hurts so much it scares me.
“You know what’s coming, don’t you?” Master asks me, and I moan.
“Yes, Master.”
“We’re going to whip your slit, and it’s going to catch your clit, isn’t it? Such beautiful torture.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Do you want to stop? Say the word, and I’ll unbind you.”
I pause, because my whole back feels lashed to shit, and my tits are aching and prickling, my pussy already savaged. It would be so easy to baulk at this.
“How many do I have to take?” I ask him.
