Robert Taylor: Whipped bitch

"Please spread your legs, darling," she said. "I want this to slip in easily."

Janey obeyed, wanting the thing in her convulsing cunt, knowing it would take her over the hump of orgasm.

Mrs. Claymore wriggled it, wetting it well in cunt-juice, then slipped it into that pulsing, overflowing vagina.

Moaning, Janey cried out as the penetration moved quickly into her pussy, driving her to the very edge of her cum. She arched up, jerking.

Suddenly it was gone and her hot cunt clutched emptiness. She shrieked.

Mrs. Claymore grasped her foot and twisted, forcing her to flop over on her belly. "Up on your knees, precious."

Janey's body felt as if it had been torn apart by the denial of orgasm. The head of the whip handle jabbed her cunt from behind. She had to obey, try to back onto it. She raised up on her knees, wagged her ass around, searching for the arrowhead shape on which she had to impale pussy.

Instead she heard the whip sing and Mrs. Claymore's grunt as she slashed the instrument, laying the knotted thongs on Janey's ass.

The pain was instant, as though turning wires had slashed her behind, cutting not just the skin but inches deep into flesh.

"No! No, please don't…"

Again the whip sang and Mrs. Claymore grunted, and the whip cut her ass-cheeks. Janey bit her wrist to hold back the screams of agony.

"There, sweetheart," Mrs. Claymore said. "Your first lesson. Now I will let you cum on the handle, if you beg me to."

"Yes, please!" Janey cried. "Please stick it into me!"

"Very well, little by little as I explain. You will be a Ribbon Girl, Janey. This is a ribbon-girl whip. The thongs are for punishment. The handle is your reward when you obey properly."

A Ribbon Girl, Janey thought. What's a Ribbon Girl?

Then the whip handle nuzzled at the mouth of her vagina. Quaking with eagerness, she held her breath, waiting for the teasing instrument to fill her pussy.

"There are two rules," Mrs. Claymore said. "First, obey. Second, ask no questions."

Slowly the artificial cock was wriggled up her cunt. Janey backed up, and now the woman held firm and filled her cuntal cavity. Janey's vaginal muscles clutched the bony thing. She pulled, and there was a glorious boiling inside, waves of heat slithering about the dildo.

"I'm cum-ming!" she cried.

She looked back and saw Mrs. Claymore kiss and lick her ass-cheeks. Those gentle kisses aroused the whip marks anew, made them burn, but the wrenching of her orgasm made her ignore those slashes of pain.

Moving back at the whip handle, jerking on it now, she felt the heat of her cum burn her body, making her toes and fingers spread tensely, burning her breast-tips, her face.

She shrieked at the unbearable ecstasy.

"That's it, precious, cum all you want," the woman murmured, still kissing Janey's buttocks. "My but your cunt is wet!"

Moaning, Janey surged over the peak, shuddered violently, then collapsed, falling flat on the bed.

All of her stung-up nerves had dissolved. Her cunt still palpitated on the phallus, which thankfully remained inside her pussy. Then tears came.

And she wept, sobbing loudly.

Her behind burned from the whipping. But the pain was less than that of the despair inside her, like a knife blade turning and cutting her flesh.

But she knew better than to ask questions.

Yes, she was learning.

"Go to the bathroom and wash the tears away," Mrs. Claymore said, her voice stem now.

Janey obeyed, went on shaking legs to the lavatory bowl and splashed cold water on her reddened cheeks.

When she returned, Mrs. Claymore was spilling the contents of the plastic bag on the bed.

"Janey, I noticed that your ears are pierced. That saves us the bother. Here, sit by me."

As Janey sat on the bed, the woman untangled a chain some two feet long. Each link was of a different color. There were hooks on the ends. These she slipped into the holes in Janey's ear lobes, then dropped the loop of chain to dangle on her breasts. The chain seemed to be made of featherweight plastic, for she felt no more pull on her ears than when she wore earrings.

Then the woman produced a skirt the like of which Janey had never imagined, but it explained the meaning of Ribbon Girl. It was composed of a belt from which hung dozens of silky ribbons, an inch wide and a foot long, every color of the rainbow.

"The waist is elastic. Step into it."

Janey climbed into the garment. Mrs. Claymore adjusted the waist, bringing it down just below her navel. The ribbons were just long enough to conceal her pussy.

Then sandals of woven leather, as colorful as the skirt and chain-necklace.

"Now, a touch of makeup and you are ready," the woman told her. "Eye shadow and lipstick will suffice."

Janey went to the vanity table and used the makeup. Her eyes, she saw, were wide with fear. She had to get a grip on herself to stop her hands from shaking.

She followed Mrs. Claymore out of the room. The hall curved. They passed several doors, then the woman paused. "I'd better look in on number three."

She put a brass key into a slit beside the door and turned it. As Janey watched, a panel moved away revealing a window.

"You might as well look in," Mrs. Claymore said. "This is a one-way viewer. The other side is a mirror."

Peering through, Janey saw a room exactly like her own. A red-haired girl, a Ribbon Girl with necklace chain, ribbon skirt and sandals, was mounted astride a naked man who knelt on the floor.

He was facing away. Janey could see only his bare ass, his dangling balls, his legs.

As she watched, the redheaded girl brought a strap down on his ass. When the leather fell away, it revealed a broad red stripe of welted flesh.

"I'll turn on the sound," Mrs. Claymore said, pushing a button.

Janey heard the girl's voice. "There, take that, you dirty bastard!"

The girl was facing the window. She raised the strap to strike again, licking her lips. She grinned.

A man's voice cried, "Oh, I deserve it. But don't hit me any more!"

The girl rubbed her crotch against him. "Do you feel my cunt on your back, you dirty pig? How would you like to eat my cunt?"

"No, no, I'm not a cunt-lapper!"

The girl struck his ass again, every muscle tensed, adding power to the belt blow. This one landed across the other stripe, leaving an X on his ass-cheeks.

"There!" she cried. "Now beg to lap my cunt, you shit! Or I'll piss on you. I'll turn you over and piss on your face!"

"Please! Don't make me do it, I've never lapped a woman's pussy…"

Mrs. Claymore turned the key and the panel slid back over the one-way mirror.

"Grace is doing very nicely in there. Very nicely indeed!"

Janey gasped. "But who – is he? Why – I mean – I know I shouldn't ask but…"

The woman sighed. "There you go, asking questions. Down on your knees, hands and knees, Janey."

Tears in her eyes, Janey whimpered. "Please don't…"

Abruptly the woman seized Janey's earring chain, wrapped it around her fist and pushed downward. The hooks tore cruelly at her ear lobes and she had to give way. She fell to the floor, cringing. She felt the whip handle sweep the ribbons aside, baring her ass.

Mrs. Claymore groaned. "How I hate to mark those luscious cheeks. Oh, Janey, if only you'd behave!"

The woman knelt beside her. The whip handle clattered to the floor and soft fingers roved Janey's buttocks. They settled in her cleft, stroked down to her anus. A fingertip circled it teasingly, making her asshole quiver, contract.

"Janey, perhaps I'll forgive you this once." She fingered down to Janey's cunt and stroked the hairy lips. "I should answer your question. That much is only fair. Well, the man in that room wants to be beaten. It is the only way he can get an erection. He's a very simple case, wants a girl to ride him, strap his ass – and his balls just a little – then to lap her. Do you think that odd?"