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The night before when they’d reconvened in The Enclave living room, Ellen had been directed to bend over and grasp her ankles. While he’d enjoyed the tantalizing view of her pretty cunt and ass, he’d also noted how she’d managed to keep her legs perfectly straight as she’d bent forward. Clearly, she was quite limber and in good shape. It would be fun to see how long she could hold the position he had in mind, especially while being whipped.
“Climb up and straddle the bench,” he ordered.
Ellen obeyed, moving with the grace of a dancer.
“Now lie on your back, positioned so your ass is right up to the edge of the bench.
She scooted forward and then lay back, wincing slightly as her recently flogged skin made contact with the padded leather.
“Now lift your legs straight in the air and then open them in as close to an approximation of a split as you can manage. You may place your hands on your inner thighs for balance. Keep your hands down near your knees so they don’t interfere with what I’m doing. Hold that position for the duration of this exercise.”
Yet another blush washed over her face but, to her credit, she immediately lifted her legs and then parted them. The view was spectacular, her long legs parted in a V, her pretty little cunt split wide to reveal the delicate folds of her labia surrounding her hooded clit and the enticing entrance below.
As he stepped between her spread legs, he was sorely tempted to fuck her then and there. Instead, he unzipped his gear bag and took out his favorite riding crop. The shaft was made from reinforced graphite, the handle wrapped in leather. It featured an extra-wide popper, perfect for covering every inch of Ellen’s pretty vulva.
“I’m going to crop your cunt,” he informed his temporary slave girl. “If you fall out of position, whether from fatigue or to avoid the crop, you will be soundly punished. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Despite his recent climax, Damon’s cock stiffened as he drew the popper lightly over Ellen’s sex. She shivered slightly as the leather stroked her. Her eyes were closed, her lips pressed into a thin, anticipatory line.
“Relax your mouth,” he directed. “Don’t anticipate.”
He waited until she parted her lips. Satisfied, he let the folded leather land with a thwack against her sex. She drew in a small breath but was otherwise still.
Little by little, he increased the intensity, alternating between sensual strokes and stinging slaps. It wasn’t long before Ellen was panting, along with the occasional soft cry of pain. Her legs were quivering, the muscles no doubt fatiguing as she held the difficult position.
After one especially stinging blow, Ellen yelped, her fingers tightening in a white-knuckled grip on her wide-spread knees. Without giving her a chance to recover, he smacked her again, the leather covering her entire vulva as it landed.
Her eyes were squeezed shut, her chest heaving. He struck her again, even harder. She howled her pain but still kept her beautiful, elegant pose, legs spread in a wide V, pussy red and swollen at their apex.
Power coursing through him like a drug, he continued to crop her, though not quite as hard as before. Tears were streaming down the sides of her face and trickling into her hair. Her skin was sheened with sweat, her legs trembling from the exertion of holding the difficult position. He couldn’t help but be impressed with her physical strength and relative poise in the face of such intense erotic pain.
Satisfied she’d had enough, he dropped the crop and leaned forward. Placing his hands below hers on her inner thighs, he brought his face level with her well-cropped cunt. He could feel the heat emanating from her core as he inhaled the heady scent of her feminine musk.
Parting his lips, he snaked his tongue over her reddened, swollen folds. She shivered, a long sigh escaping her lips. He circled her hard clit and licked down to her entrance, which was slick with her juices. She tasted sweet and spicy, like hot honey. He flicked and teased her clit until she was moaning softly, her entire body shaking with barely suppressed lust.
“Oh, god,” she finally cried. “Please, Sir! May I come, Sir?”
Abruptly, he lifted his head to see her face. Her beseeching eyes met his. He let his lips lift into a smile as his eyes hooded with power and sadistic pleasure.
“No. You may not.”
Chapter 7
Ellen let her head fall back against the bench as she struggled to catch her breath and contain her sexual frustration. With the absence of his warm, sensual mouth against her sex, the pain of the intensive cropping consumed her. Her cunt was on fire and her muscles trembled with fatigue.
Mercifully, Master Damon said, “You may lower your legs.”
She managed to bring them together and bend them, her feet finding purchase on the knee rests on either side of the bench. Her sex ached with the need for release. At the same time, exhaustion swept over her like a wave, her body going limp.
Then strong arms were sliding beneath her back and knees. Master Damon lifted her as if she weighed nothing. As the endorphin-induced high from the intensive scene ebbed away, she felt herself crashing. She hung like a rag doll in his arms, her head lolling back, eyes closed, too spent to move as he carried her from the room.
She felt the give of a mattress as he lay her on the bed. The cool, silky quilt felt good against her heated skin. “Rest there while I get the bath going,” he said.
Ellen was too exhausted even to respond. She lay in a stupor, vaguely aware of the sound of running water. She was drifting on the edge of a dream when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Bath’s ready. Come into the bathroom.”
