Midnight. The night was dark, a typically bleak November night, the sky obscured by swiftly traveling clouds, no moon or stars to soften the gloom. Sheldon Black was sitting naked on the floor in the middle of his living room, his legs folded under him, flogging his back with a leather cat o' nine tails, looking out into the night through the large picture window at the front of his house. The house stood on a slight rise in the land, above a slowly meandering stream, affording him an unobstructed panoramic view of the countryside below.
The living room was almost completely dark, mirroring the night outside, save for the faint flicker of a candle standing on a pedestal behind him. It cast eerily dancing shadows of his body and his constantly moving arm and whip on the floor in front of him. He was holding the thick leather grip firmly in his right hand, flinging the whip rhythmically over one shoulder, then over the other, back and forth. He wasn't whipping himself with too much force just yet, wanting to give his back a chance to get used to the flagellation. Yet his penis was already swollen and hard from the invigorating stimulation. His left hand, although perfectly still, was wrapped around the erection. The swishing of the whip and its thudding impact on his back were the only sounds in the room.
Sheldon was thoroughly enjoying the game he was playing with himself. He found the rhythmic lashes of his whip strangely comforting, yet highly arousing at the same time. The sound of leather on skin was inspiring, the soft shimmer of the uncertain candle flame mysteriously enigmatic. He knew exactly how to whip himself in a way so as not to cause any serious harm to himself. However his strokes were forceful enough to provide him with the sexual agitation he desired.
As he gradually worked himself up into a passion, the face of a young woman began to materialize in the windowpane. The face had a beautifully chiseled appearance, oval with high cheekbones, full red lips, and sparkling brown eyes, framed by a cascading wealth of black hair falling down over her shoulders. Then her luscious breasts appeared in the glass, full and proud with strutting nipples. He stared at them with unconcealed lust in his eyes, as they fully appeared. Finally a slender waist emerged, followed by full, well-rounded hips, a pronounced pubic mound, a clean-shaven pussy, and long legs. Her whole bearing was one of breathtaking beauty. She was all woman--and desirable beyond words.
He knew her very well. She had been there many times before, and she belonged to the same dungeon he visited regularly. He was fascinated by her ghostly appearance in the window, yet throughout the spectacle he never missed a single beat with his whip. Concentrating on his castigation with one part of his mind and on the woman in the glass with the other, he moved closer to her until he stood directly in front of her, almost touching her.
At his approach, she leaned back against a brick wall in the dimly lit room of their dungeon and spread her legs and arms for him, smiling encouragingly at him. At this time of the night, they were the only ones in the room, no one else was there to distract them from their activities.
Sheldon picked up four straps of leather from a box on a table and tied her wrists and ankles to the rings mounted on the wall. Then he took two weighted nipple clamps from another box and attached them to her breasts. She cried out when the metal clasps closed around her sensitive nipples and started tugging them down. She stretched her body lusciously, like a content cat, reveling in the pain. He knew how to treat her well. They had learned much from each other since they met in the dungeon some time ago.
Having prepared her properly, Sheldon reached for his whip and let the woven strands glide over her body. She whimpered and averted her eyes when the leather made contact with her skin, but she quickly caught herself, looked him straight in the eyes, and smiled invitingly. She was obviously ready for what was to come.
She always reacted like that. It took her a moment to get used to the situation every time, but once she composed herself, she became the perfect target for his castigation. Her skin was alluringly white and smooth and her desire for pain was deeply ingrained in her psyche, her masochism an integral part of her personality. He always derived immense pleasure from being her tormentor, much more so than from any of the other women in their group.
He spent a considerable time brushing her breasts with his whip, teasing her firm nipples, lifting and dropping the weights attached to them to let her know he could do whatever he felt like doing. He slapped her lightly at intervals until she moaned deeply and tugged at her restraints with her arms, wanting to participate, to share. He grinned triumphantly at her futile attempts to free herself. It made him feel powerful, larger than life, as it were, to be in control of her like that. Her whole body, her mind and soul, were at his mercy. She didn't utter a word the whole time, but she never stopped probing him with her deep eyes.
After toying with her breasts and nipples for a while, he increased the strength and frequency of his strokes. This caused her to cry out and squirm with a mixture of pain and unconcealed pleasure. He was careful not to hit her breasts too forcefully so as not to cause any damage to the delicate tissue; but his strikes were still hard enough to provide her with the pain she desired. He knew very well that this was a game they were playing with each other and that there were definite rules to it just as there were with any game. If he happened to strike her too strongly or cause her any undue pain beyond what she expected and enjoyed, all she had to do was to let him know and he would stop. She'd never asked him to stop.
"Harder," she cried out instead, voicing her pleasure for the first time. "Do it harder, please!"
He willingly obliged, whipping her with increasingly forceful strokes until her breasts began to take on a roseate hue. Keeping his eyes on her tantalizing breasts, he gradually moved his whip down along her flank and over her belly, increasing the force of his lashes again until he reached her pubic mound. There he lingered for a while, taking his eyes off her breasts and concentrating on her pubic area, flogging her mound, then her pussy between her spread legs. She screamed with exhilaration and excitement. She could hardly contain herself in her shackles.
"Harder," she cried again. "Harder, please!"
Again he increased his strokes as she pushed her pelvis out from the wall and opened her thighs as wide as she could to give her aching pussy the greatest possible exposure. She kept whimpering and moaning all the while, lolling her head back and forth, straining against the leather straps that kept her immobilized against the wall. She was totally wrapped up in the torture, in the pain, and in the pleasure it afforded her deep down inside.
As he kept whipping her between her legs and over her thighs, he was getting more and more aroused by his flagellation and by her reactions to his treatment. He felt an almost overwhelming temptation to start stroking and rubbing his penis, but he restrained himself and kept his hand perfectly still as he had from the beginning. He allowed himself a couple of squeezes, nothing very much, just a reminder that his penis was still waiting in his hand, throbbing more and more impatiently. But he forced himself to wait.
"That's enough," he finally said, breathless from the exertion, speaking for the first time. He put the whip down, removed the nipple clamps, and grabbed her breasts with both hands. They were soft and pliant, their skin smooth and damp with perspiration. Focusing all his attention on her breasts now that he wasn't wielding his whip anymore, he fondled them to his heart's content, squeezing them and rubbing them while she pushed them into his hands and moaned with mounting excitement.
He kneaded them and squeezed them until she winced. He took both of her nipples between his fingers and pinched them and tugged at them until she cried out with the renewed pain. She was squirming and bouncing her back against the wall so vehemently he thought she was going to rip her hands from the leather restraints.
But she was securely fastened against the wall. He bent over and took one of her nipples between his lips, teasing it with his tongue, closing his teeth around it and tugging at it, sucking it, tasting it. She screamed with the pain of his teeth biting her nipples and with the exhilaration of his caresses. Keeping one hand on her breast, he reached for her pussy with the other, grabbed her swollen lips, grabbed them hard, and started to rub them forcefully. He went on to probing her deeper secrets, shoving a finger into her opening, then two, then three, causing her to yell from his invasion. Then he took to her clit, rubbing and stroking it with as much force as he could. She trembled with delight, moaning and groaning all the while.
He went down on his knees in front of her and started fussing her pussy with his tongue, licking up her abundant juices, reveling in the medley of aromatic delights. Then he put his tongue on her clit and began to rub it and suck it with unconcealed fervor. He felt her body tense up and shiver as he brought her to a shuddering orgasm that buckled her knees. She could barely keep herself up on her shackled feet and was practically hanging from her wrists, overcome by the powerful waves rushing through her body.
"Let me down," she pleaded, her voice barely audible in the cacophony of her ecstatic cries and moans.
Sheldon untied her from the rings and she fell into his arms, exhausted and spent. He held her up and led her to a bench, helped her stretch out on it, and put a pillow under her head to make her more comfortable. He stroked her lightly and gently until her breathing slowed and she began to unwind.
It was then that he allowed himself to stroke his penis. He resumed flogging his back harder and harder; the pain became deeper and more intense with every stroke he inflicted on himself. It didn't take him long to whip and stroke himself to his own shuddering orgasm and he sank against the bench, exhausted and ready for a reprieve.
They stayed like that for quite some time, she with her arm around his neck, he with his hand on her breast, basking in the afterglow of their orgasms and enjoying each other's presence in the silence of the room.
"That was absolutely wonderful," she finally said, running her fingers through his damp hair. "You're so good with me."
"You're an excellent lover yourself," he said, smiling at her, losing himself in her deep eyes. He was grateful for having found her and having come to this point in their relationship where they could trust each other. He was grateful that they knew exactly how to torture and pleasure each other and make each other feel as good as they did.
"Your turn," the woman broke the silence.
He knew what to do and stretched himself out on a table face down. There were wooden pegs in the four corners of the table, and he braced himself against them with his hands and feet. Then he shut his eyes tightly, waiting for her whip to come down on him. She had a special single-strand leather whip of her own, and knew how to use it expertly. She cracked it in the air a couple of times for effect and to give him a moment to compose himself, then brought it down on his back.
He winced. He was never quite prepared for the first lash, even though she always started with light strokes. His back was still throbbing with pain from his own flagellation and he cringed and screamed with every one of her lashes. Fortunately, she realized that it was getting to be too much for him and moved down to his buttocks. She kept lashing him rapidly and forcefully until his buttocks were bright red and he couldn't stand much more of her treatment. Yet he reveled in the pain her whip caused him, screaming at her to stop, no, to hit him harder, harder, not to stop. She complied readily by whipping his buttocks with increasingly forceful lashes. He felt his penis already getting hard again under him.
"Over on your back," she commanded in a stern voice.
He obeyed, spreading his arms and legs the way she had done against the wall. She took the four leather straps and tied his wrists and ankles to the four pegs, making sure he wasn't able to move. Then she took her whip into her hand again, cracked it in the air above him, and brought it down on his chest, lashing him again and again. The pain was absolutely delicious. She was very good at this, and always managed to hit just the right spots with her whip. Agonizing as the flagellation was, the pleasure he derived from being whipped by a woman he had just whipped himself far outweighed the discomfort it caused. And by a woman like her no less; this fact greatly increased the all-encompassing joy that flooded his tormented body.
The woman moved down from his chest over his belly, down to his hard penis. Knowing exactly how to proceed, she stroked him lightly at first, letting the whip slide over his erection and over his balls. She then increased the strength of her strokes, just enough to provide him with the right amount of pain. At the same time, she was very careful not to cause him any injuries. It was the best part of the procedure for him, having his erection treated like that. He moaned and groaned deeply, reveling in the stimulating mixture of intense pleasure and intense pain.
When the woman felt he had enough of the flagellation, she dropped the whip to the floor, reached for a candle in a box, and lit the wick. Standing right next to him, she held the burning candle over his body and tipped it to let the molten wax drip down on him. He screamed when the first droplets hit his skin like liquid fire, but then gradually absorbed the pain with his mind and switched his perception from agony to ecstasy.
Again and again the hot wax dripped down on his chest, his belly, his thighs, driving him to distraction. The urge to shield himself with his hands grew stronger and more intense with every drop, and he tried in vain to free his hands from the pegs. The woman laughed gleefully when she saw his futile attempts. She was obviously enjoying herself thoroughly at his expense. But then, he had taken equally great pleasure in tormenting her when it was her turn. Now that the roles were reversed, she was entitled to her own pleasure as well. It was only fair.
Much as he enjoyed his role when she was tied to the wall and he was in complete control of the proceedings, he found equally great pleasure in being the submissive one and letting her do everything to him. It relieved him of all responsibility. He didn't have to think about what to do. He didn't even have to do anything at all except lie there and let her do whatever she chose. Like all self-respecting members of the dungeon, he was Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch in one. Both sides of his personality thrived on enduring pain as well as dispensing it, and delighting in the passionate pleasure both variations brought with them.
After some time of torturing him with the hot wax, the woman pulled a chair to the table, climbed up on it, and straddled him. Propping herself up on his chest and grabbing his nipples firmly with her fingers, she slowly, teasingly, lowered her pelvis until her pussy just touched his penis, titillating him until he squirmed in anticipation. Finally, she impaled herself on his throbbing staff, taking it inside herself as far as she possibly could. He groaned with pleasure as she started to move up and down on him, her breasts dangling above him, just out of reach. He involuntarily tugged at the leather straps again to reach for her breasts with his hands, but she had made sure he was securely tied to the pegs.
The woman kept moving up and down on him, very slowly now to prolong the pleasure for both of them, squeezing and pinching his nipples to heighten his pleasure. After a while, she increased the speed of her movement and rode herself to another orgasm. Then she lowered her breasts so he could reach them with his mouth, and rode him to his own delicious orgasm. After he came deep inside of her, she let herself down on him, pressing her breasts against his chest, and keeping his penis inside of her. She stroked his head with her hand. When they emerged from their afterglow and caught their breath again, she disengaged herself from him and climbed off the table.
She untied his hands and feet and he climbed off as well, took her into his arms, and hugged her affectionately.
"Thank you," he said. "You were wonderful again, as always."
"It was my pleasure entirely," the woman replied, snuggling up against him.
Outside, the horizon was beginning to lighten, slowly bringing relief from the darkness of the night. Soon it would be morning again. Sheldon dropped his whip on the floor, then let himself slide down on the carpet, being careful not to touch his bruised back and buttocks to the floor. He curled up on the soft carpet, his hands between his knees, the candle burning itself out with a few final spurts. Then he fell asleep, satiated and totally satisfied with himself, the image of the woman still strong and vivid in his mind.
