John Friday - Cuffed and whipped wife

The bullwhip hissed again with a menacing sound. It cracked her ass with a sting of pain so intense that Lanore felt as though she'd been cut. The echoing crack of the whip increased that illusion.

She yelped and twisted, pitching over on her back with both hands clamped on her burning ass. Her panties were torn where the whip had struck, the check of her ass wetted beneath. The whip flew again, right up the middle of her chest.

The man she'd kicked stood over her and smiled, "There, my pretty little bitch. That's what it feels like to be kicked in the balls!"

He laughed and began to pull his cock out, still leering with rage. Other men began to do the same thing, all of them gathering close, leaving an opening in the circle at her feet for the lash of the whip.

Eyes laming brightly behind the mask, the dominant one lashed out. Lanore shrieked in horror and all the men watching began to pump their cocks. There must have been a dozen of them circling her – pricks of all shapes and sizes.

As the stinging braid lashed her again and again, the men all whipped their cocks faster, obviously enjoying the lewd spectacle of her distress. Repeated snaps ripped her panties so that they fell off when she writhed on the floor. And then all the men bunched around her began to climax.

Jism fell like a pouring rain. "Some creamy cum to soothe your welts," one man said with a hideous laugh.

Lanore sobbed pitifully, stark naked on the floor in a circle of jetting cocks. Jism sprayed her anguished face. Cum spattered on her heaving tits, running down from her nipples. It fell in silver-white globs in her golden tangle of cunt hair.

Lanore could see nothing through her tear-streaked eyes but the men's cocks. She shuddered and opened her mouth to scream. When she did, three men took aim and shot spurts of jism into her mouth.

With the men so close around her, all with their pricks out, there wasn't room for the masked woman to swing her whip. When Lanore realized that, the obscene rain of jism didn't seem quite so bad.

And strangely, it did seem to ease the sting of her burning welts. Lanore began to rub it in all over her body, squirming on the floor.

Slick cum made their hands glide so smoothly.

Lanore's skin sheened when they lifted her. By then, she was hardly aware of what was going on, but someone had wheeled a hospital gurney into the room. Blake Bennett was standing beside it and smiling when they laid her out.

"This is some of the equipment our little group of public-spirited citizens will be donating to the new hospital wing," he said, looking almost saintly.

The narrow bed on wheels was fitted with restraints. Someone cinched a strap across her chest just below bet large tits, also partly flinging her arms. Another went around her waist, a third over her knees.

Lanore felt the helpless terror of being bound. This was worse than handcuffs. She could hardly move a muscle. She pleaded with Blake, "Let me go."

"Not yet, my sweet beauty. You haven't even met my son yet. Take her to the operating room," he told the others.

"The operating room? What are you talking about?"

"My son likes to play doctor," he said.

They wheeled her into a room that was all harsh white, lit by a blinding light fixture overhead.

She wanted to scream, but was too numb with fear. Half a dozen strange spectators gathered around her, all people in pale green surgical gowns, caps and white gauze masks. With all but their leering eyes hidden, she couldn't tell men from women with any certainty.

"Is the patient ready?" the tallest figure asked. That was a young man's voice. He had ceded, stern, dark eyes that never seemed to move.

"Yes, doctor." That was Marge Bennett, Lanore recognized her voice.

"Scalpel," he said.

"Scalpel!" Marge repeated in the detached tone of a real nurse, slapping a gleaming surgical knife into the man's gloved hand.

Lanore screamed. She twisted and strained against the straps binding her. She didn't know the scalpel had been specially ground to a dull, smoothly rounded edge and kept chilling cold. It looked like the real thing to her.

He held it over her, eyes flashing. He pressed the tip of the cold blade into the hollow at the base of her neck and swept his hand down, seeming to make an incision that reached cleat to her pussy mound.

The blade was so bitter cold that Lanore thought surely she had been cut. She screamed hysterically and winced her eyes shut.

"Suction," she heard the doctor say.

Lanore's eyes fluttered, expecting some kind of mechanical device, but two of the robed and capped attendants pulled down their masks and bent over her.

"Suction," they both repeated. One was a man with a bushy mustache, the other a woman with anxiously quivering lips. Each one sucked on a tit and whirled her nipple around. Lanore was gasping fearfully, still thinking she'd been badly cut.

The man playing doctor beamed a reassuring glance to her. "You'll be all right," he said calmly. "You'll receive the best of care. Lather, please, nurse."

"Yes, doctor. Lather." Marge handed him an old-fashioned mug and shaving brush overflowing with white foam. He began to lather her pussy mound. The heated warmth made her squirm, and the two strangers were sucking on her tits, each tongue lashing a nipple with a different stroke.

The young man playing doctor seemed to enjoy lathering her cunt. He took a long time doing it and often tingled her clit with the soft warmth of the shaving brush. Lanore was breathing unevenly, cringing with fear. Finally he handed the brush and mug to Marge Bennett, his mother no doubt.

"Release the lower strap," he said. "Two of you spread her legs and relax for me."

"Yes, doctor," said two voices from the foot of the table. Because of the glaring light directly overhead, Lanore could hardly see them, but both voices were male and both sets of hands were very strong. Lanore felt her soft, shapely legs being wrenched cruelly apart.

"Razor," the would-be doctor said. He paused to wipe his sweating brow with the back of his gloved hand.

"Razor," Marge repeated, handing it to him – an old-fashioned straight razor, the kind her grandfather had used.

"No!" Lanore screamed, trying again to kick her feet loose.

"My dear, don't thrash about. My skilled hands might slip and cut your pretty cunt."

"Don't touch me!" she screamed. "Ooooh, God! You're all crazy!"

"More suction," the doctor ordered.

The two lapping and sucking her tits pulled painfully hard on her soft mounds. Lanore whined, hating that and fearing the razor that flashed over her pussy mound.

She had figured out by now that the scalpel hadn't cut her – there wasn't a trace of blood when she looked down toward her lathered cunt. But the razor was keenly sharp and she could see it shaving off her pussy hair, starting at the top while wide spread.

"Ooohhhooo!" she sobbed, not wanting to watch anymore. The razor slithered and scraped methodically, moving up and down. He pulled her soft flesh tight with the other hand and shaved it bald.

"Irrigation, please. There's so much shorn hair and lather, I can't see the operating field."

"Yes, doctor. Irrigation." A masked man at the middle of the table pulled out his flaccid cock, aimed for Lanore's pussy and started to piss. The heat and stench of it made her feel sick.

"Aaahhh, just a little wisp left here. Lather, please."

Lanore felt the stroke of the brush and then the scrape of the razor's sharp edge. She moaned desperately, knowing that her pussy was completely bald now. The depraved make believe doctor was holding up a mirror so that she could see all of her denuded cunt.

"Another successful operation," he said proudly. "Another lovely cunt restored to the bald, blushing innocence of girlhood. Water, please. Lots of it." Madge Bennett, her son and the others backed away from the table.