“Good gosh, that was a streak of luck!” Hugo said happily.
“Damn it, this is a lot better than I’d ever dared hope. Sweetheart, are you okay? I mean your conscious doesn’t bother you about anything?”
“Only about Margo, but there’s not much we can do about her. She sold herself.”
“Don’t let’s drink too much of this stuff, Diane.” Hugo’s suggestion was close to an order. “I don’t want to get looped because I’m feeling the strain of all this emotion and tensing myself up tight for your honor. Or something ... The way I feel right now...”
“I am sure I know the way you feel.” I was way ahead of Hugo.
Emotional trauma always makes a man long for intercourse, or to whip a girl’s bottom. Usually it’s both. “Okay, I won’t complain. Should I strip?”
I stripped, then held out my hands to be bound. I was excited and under pretty much the same influence as my master, the man who now owned me safely. But Hugo waved away my passive wrists and, grasping a handful of my hair, propelled me downstairs to whatever fate his male caprice might favor. I was meek as a lamb.
“You know I want to whip you?”
“Of course! I’m your property.”
Hugo fixed my hands above my head, well stretched but not too high. I would be able to kick and struggle to my heart’s content as he appeased his demons with weals upon my skin. When he strapped my wrists far tighter than there was any need. I found myself enveloped in such a flood of sensuality as to cause my breasts to heave and my lips to gasp in a totally illogical ecstasy of pure lust. I was every bit as bad as Hugo!
I had expected to be savagely flogged but in this was wrong.
Hugo was in a conversational mood to say nothing of having a huge erection which explained his fingering and palming of my pussy. The whole thing was delicious, and I refused to think of pain to come or how I would behave. I had put such maiden modesty behind me long ago.
“Are you happy, sweetheart?” Hugo asked. It was a ridiculous question but he was sincere.
“I’m so happy I want to cry,” I told Hugo without a single tear.
“It’s knowing you want me the way you do that makes me feel this way. You know I hate being whipped, but I want it right now in a way I’ve never wanted it before. Don’t bother about my screams.”
My nakedness was suddenly enveloped in Hugo’s hot embrace. I could feel his phallus longing for my sheath but contentedly knew it would be waiting when all else was done. I was the luckiest of girls! In a ridiculous mood of self immolation, I asked, “Are there other things you’ll do go be besides the whip?”
“Like what, for instance?”
“Well, a girl can’t ever be sure. Maybe stringing me up by my thumbs? Or making me sit on the edge of a plank the way you’ve told me about. I don’t want it. I’m just asking.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hugo bit my ear and thrust hard at my bare belly as my breasts rubbed against his shirt. “You’ve never wanted anything more in your whole life than what you know you’re going to get. I expect we should both thank Uncle Andrew for this moment. Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready for a long time. Please whip me, Hugo.”
Hugo whipped me with five swift, wicked strokes as if he could not contain himself. I knew he was thinking of Margo and wishing he had not so easily surrendered a guiltless girl to Andrew Everleigh’s tender mercies. If my pain eased his, I was content. I tried desperately to tell him how I felt but could only get out gasps and moans as I dealt with the pain as best I could. After the fourth stroke I began screaming.
It was a wonderful beginning.
“I’ve marked you enough, Diane,” Hugo said regretfully after the eight stroke across my burning bottom. “This is the third time you’ve been whipped in a few days. We’re going to have to seek fresh ground. Spread your legs apart.”
I wondered if I should be grateful. It had never been Hugo’s idea to whip me now, and when I had asked for it, I had also forgotten how severely marked up my bottom already was. What he was about to do to me probably made good sense, but as I widened my legs apart, I felt ten times more naked than before. When I had got my legs as far apart as strapped wrists permitted. I asked timidly, “Is that okay?”
“Splendid, really splendid! You’re a wonderful girl, Diane. Look, if you want me to stop right now. I will.”
“No, go ahead.”
The first upward cut between my thighs told me I should have stopped while I was winning, I knew Hugo would not stop now, having once given me the opportunity to retreat. I whimpered distressfully as this fresh burn spread venom through my secret place and beyond. The temptation to close my legs tight was almost irresistible, but I forced myself to stay wide and open. I coped with the agony by tugging with the straps and moaning.
“Pretty bad?” Hugo inquired sweetly.
“It’s bloody awful but don’t mind me.” I held my breath for thong’s second delivery of pain.
He gave me five swift, hard strokes up inside with a small whip he said was made especially for that purpose. I took his word for it. That little instrument punished me with an almost personal viciousness. At the end of five, I had screamed a couple of times and was sweating. I was given permission to stand straight for a short period of rest, during which I failed to think logically of anything expect the fire Hugo had created within my crotch. Once more I was comforted by male arms and male lips, and a punished girl’s hope of a speedy end. When Hugo did his familiar cupping of my pussy with his hard male hand, I went absolutely wild. “Sweetheart, you can’t possibly get away, you know,” he reproved gently.
“I know I can’t. I’m sorry Hugo. Jeepers, that hurts!”
“Spread them again. This time you’ll know what to expect.”
I did as I was told. What the hell else could I do! By the end of the second series of five, during which I screamed lustily, Hugo came around to stare at my sweat drenched breasts and scarlet thighs. “Haven’t you had about enough, sweetheart?”
I had had enough and was suddenly and unexpectedly freed of the straps and being carried up to bed. If I had harbored doubt about the ability of my poor, beaten pussy to perform the sexual act, they were scattered to the winds in a surging flood of sensual joy beyond any response I had ever given any man. If the fire had burned low in the night. I would have asked to be whipped again to make its flame flare. There was no need. In the morning I spent time before the big mirror admiring myself like a peacock. Scarlet and purple were much in evidence arid I did not have much desire to sit down. Hugo shared my pleasure, and it was not until after we laughingly argued about who mixed the pigments and applied them to my skin that we suddenly realized I was not handcuffed and bore no bonds at all, an omission instantly corrected by the golden handcuffs I was beginning to adore. Happily, we went to breakfast to talk about our three million dollars.
“I owe it to you, Diane,” Hugo said earnestly. “Whatever Everleigh’s interest in paying me may have been, without you being who and what you are it would never have happened. Look, sweetheart, you’re a wealthy girl now, and I’m wondering if you want your law practice or to be my prisoner?”
“I don’t see why we can’t continue as we are, with me being your prisoner one day and your prisoner the next. Remember, you’ve lost Margo. You don’t want to lose me, too.”
“Damn it, you know I don’t. But I can’t go on whipping you every other day.”
“I could probably heal swiftly enough to cope with five strokes on alternate days, Want to try?”
“Okay, it’s a deal. But, Diane, what about the rest of the time? Won’t it be a frightful bore to be handcuffed or tied to the wall?”