The Experience

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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The Experience

(*****, M/F, Severe, severe strapping, bondage)

A woman experiences the ultimate in corporal punishment. (Approximately 5,516 words. Originally published 2004-01.)

"Trust me," Don said. "You are in for a treat."

Kimberly looked at him hesitantly. She was nervous, excited, and as horny as teenager on prom night. She ran her hands across Don's shoulders and then embraced him. "Take me," she whispered. "Take me now."

Don gently plucked her hands from him and pushed her away. "You know the rules. No sex for seven days prior."

"He'll never know."

"Oh, he'll know. One look at you and he'll know."

Kimberly threw herself back into her seat and crossed her arms in front of her and pouted. "I hate you," she said nastily. "You're a big, ugly brute. You'd rather fuck him than me," she added, indicating the driver of the limo.

Don laughed. "The brat act's not going to work. Don't worry, you'll be getting yours soon enough."

"Are you _sure_ this guy's worth it? I mean, ten grand -- for one night?"

"Don't worry," Don said. "We've waited two years for this. You'll get your money's worth and then some."

"Hummpf," muttered the woman. While she sulked, Don made a quick telephone call. By the time he was finished, the limo was pulling up in front of a tall building in a classy section of town.

"This is it?" asked Kimberly.

"This is it." When the door opened, Don exited. He offered her his hand, and she accepted. He helped her out and they turned and looked at their destination. The skyscraper loomed massively above them, scores and scores of floors.

The doorman called ahead and confirmed their arrival, then ushered them to the elevator. "The penthouse suite," commanded Don, and the elevator man nodded.

In minutes, they were there. A press on the doorbell, while Kimberly waited nervously, and then it opened.

The man standing there surprised her. She had no idea what to expect, but had vague images of a tall, scary creature dressed in leather and covered with tattoos. Instead, this man was not much taller than her. He was normal-looking, handsome in a routine sort of way, heavyset. He was dressed casually in dark slacks and leather shoes with a burgandy turtleneck sweater. His smile was pleasant, almost kind, but there was something intense about his eyes. They were small and black, and they radiated fierce intelligence. Immediately, Kimberly felt herself cringe in fear: there was something intimidating about this man.

"Good evening," he said, and his strong voice was rich of tone with no trace of an accent. When he spoke he spoke toward Don, but his eyes were locked on Kimberly. She shivered.

"Don. And this is Kimberly."

The man nodded. He bowed, drawing Kimberly's hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss. His eyes never left hers, and finally she had to look away, a gentle flush overcoming her cheeks.

"Please. Come in."

The entryway was on a small landing that overlooked a magnificent living room that spread out 180 degrees in front of them. The place was white. White walls, white carpet, white furniture, white stone fireplace, white television, white everything. And everything was impossibly immaculate.

Kimberly felt intimidated by the purity of her surroundings. "Wow," she finally said. "This is impressive."

The man, dressed in dark colors, stood out in the sea of white. It made him seem taller, more powerful. He was a ruler, a god, and this was his domain.

He led them to a white sofa and bid them to sit. A white decanter of coffee sat next to three white china cups and saucers. "Would you like some coffee?"

The brew looked impossibly black in the snow cups. Kimberly watched as three white cubes of sugar disappeared into the blackness and she felt similarly overwhelmed. Nervously, she sipped from the cup, her tongue telling it her it was remarkable, but she was too distracted to notice.

"Perhaps it would relax you if we got started," said the man calmly, leaning back and drinking from his cup.

Kimberly stared at him blankly. "Uh, yeah, I guess. Look, I--"

"Disrobe, please."

Kimberly almost dropped her cup. "Excuse me?" she gasped.

"You heard me. Please comply."

The room spun strangely and for a second, Kimberly wondered if he'd put something in her coffee. But they were all drinking from the same pot. Maybe he'd doctored her empty cup?

Then she decided she was being ridiculous. After all, she knew why she was here. His request was not unexpected, it's just that he'd caught her off-guard. She'd figured he'd take her a playroom of some kind before they... got down to business.

She placed the cup and saucer on the table and stood. She was dressed in red high heels and a stunning crimson gown. The back was bare almost down to her ass, the front equally daring. The waist was tight, showing off her slender figure, and the dress flared out over her hips, cascading downward in a shimmer of red. She looked and felt like a lady.

Kimberly carefully stepped out of the shoes. She placed them a few steps away, then deliberately slid the straps off her shoulders and let the dress fall to her ankles. She wore no bra, and the translucent white panties were closer to lingerie than underwear.

For a moment, there was silence. The man was watching her carefully, drinking in the sight of her naked body. For the first time in many years, Kimberly felt embarrassed by her nudity, but her pride wouldn't allow her to show that shame. She remained rigid, waiting for him to make the first move.

After several minutes, Kimberly began to sweat. The man was just watching her relentlessly. Don sat in his chair and looked between the two of them and sipped his coffee. Another minute passed.

Finally, the man gave a brief nod, and Kimberly knew what that meant. She turned her back to him, showing him her ass. She was proud of her ass. At one point in her life she'd cursed it, for her wide hips had made it too prominent for her to get the top modelling jobs, but then she'd discovered that in certain circles, a large butt was a tremendous asset.

She slipped her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slowly, wiggling her hips, slid the underpants down to her ankles. Then she daintily stepped out of them. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the man was still watching her with the same serious expression, like a student cramming for a final exam. She turned and faced him.

His eyes slowly drank in every part of her body. He studied at her face, then her breasts, her belly, her crotch. She was suddenly grateful she kept her pussy hair so neatly groomed. She knew how she looked: surely he couldn't be finding fault?

It was impossible to judge anything from the man's studious concentration. He never smiled, not even his eyes. He was all business.

"Sit," he said, waving a hand at the sofa where Kimberly had been sitting. "Drink your coffee before it gets cold."

The mention of cold made Kimberly realize she was chilly: the room was cool, a few degrees below comfort level. Naked, she noticed it acutely. The hot coffee sounded wonderful. She hurried to her chair and sat, gulping the coffee and trying not to think about how exposed she was.

The man and Don talked quietly about nothings: the rain, the Red Sox, the stock of some biotech company. It was as though Kimberly wasn't there. She stared at them indignantly. "Hey, I'm sitting here NAKED," she wanted to scream, but drank her coffee instead.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Neither man said a word to Kimberly, but continued to talk quietly sports and stocks. Twice she almost said something, but chickened out. Finally, she got up and crossed to the penthouse window and looked out at the city skyline. In the glass she could see a faint reflection of the room behind her, Don and the man sitting and talking. More distinct was the reflection of her bare breasts, reminding her of her nudity.

She glanced back at the men. It was like they never noticed her get up. She wanted to scream, but she was half-afraid that would get things started. She wanted this, yes. But she feared it as well. That was part of the reason she wanted it, of course. It was supposed to push her beyond her normal limits, beyond her safety zone.

Kimberly must have zoned out, for suddenly she was aware of a presence. Her eyes opened in alarm and she tensed. In the glass in front of her, she saw the man was standing behind her, so close he was almost touching her. If she moved, she'd run into him.

His expression was harmless, innocent, blank. Yet she didn't believe it. His presence was malevolent and dangerous. He was very dangerous, she suddenly realized, and with a start she saw that Don was no longer sitting on the sofa.

"Don--"

She started to turn, but he caught her. His fingers were incredibly strong, his grip masterful. She felt helpless in his power, like a fly trapped in a web with the spider approaching.

"Your husband is gone."

The way he said it, it was almost like Don was gone forever, dead. Kimberly felt panicky for a moment, then relaxed. Don would never leave her if this wasn't safe. It was safe, right? She could trust this stranger?

She looked into his eyes but saw nothing recognizable. He was intelligent, determined, and arrogant, but she already knew that. There was nothing there that reassured her.

"Are you ready to be whipped?" he whispered. He said it blandly, the way one might ask "Are you ready to go to dinner?"

Kimberly's mouth went dry and she felt momentary terror. But then, between her legs, her felt an incredible surge of desire. She was desperately hungry, and she nodded.

"After you," he said politely, indicating the direction she was to go.

Nervously leading, Kimberly padded forward. She went down a narrow corridor passed two closed doors and stopped in front of a third. At his nod, she opened it.

Her first impression was that it was a Jazzercize room. The walls to her left and right were covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. They reflected each other infinitely, making the room seem much larger. Then she realized it was a dungeon.

But it was unlike any dungeon she'd ever seen. Dungeons were always black and dark. This one was brightly lit, white, and anticeptically clean. It was more like a hospital's operating room, or perhaps more accurately, as she spotted various harnesses and stainless steel mounts, a gynecological examination room. It was terrifying in a different way. Everything was so cold and sterile, so clean on the surface, that it stirred the imagination to wonder what evil could lurk beneath. Thus every item in the room took on an ominous tone. Kimberly's palms began to sweat.

"Here," said the man. He indicated a white cord hanging from the ceiling, a white cloth cuff on the end.

She wrapped the cuff around her wrist and fastened it firmly, but comfortable, her heart thumping louder and louder as this was becoming more real. She realized with surprise that the ceiling cord wasn't rope, but an elastic band.

Another band was dangling from the other side of the ceiling, and the man took this and brought it to her. She had to stretch her arms wide to reach, and even then the distance was such that she was on her tiptoes to make it work. The man locked the cuff and Kimberly realized with a tremble inside that it was now truly over: she was his. She could not possibly escape. Don was gone, and this man could do whatever he wanted to her and there was nothing she could do about it.

She watched as he pulled more bands from the floor near the side walls, and stretched these to bind around her ankles a few feet apart. In a minute, she was spread eagled, hanging from the ceiling. Her weight kept her almost on the ground, but it was a perfectly precise balance: she was almost floating but could touch the floor with her outstretched toes. It was a strange, exotic feeling. The elastic gave her a feeling of freedom, but it also pulled at her, tearing her apart. She could resist it, but that would be tiring. If she relaxed, it felt like it would pop her arms and legs off.

Suddenly Kimberly became aware of the man. He was watching her. She could see him in the mirror in front of her. He was sitting on a small stool directly behind her, staring at her butt. She could feel his eyes boring into her. "Right up my asshole," she thought with alarm. He was very close to her: his head was inches from her bottom.

For an interminable amount of time, nothing happened. The man sat and stared, never moving his body, but his eyes slowly studied every inch of her ass. For Kimberly, this seemed to last forever. How long had it been? Ten minutes? An hour? A week? A month? A year? And still it continued.

Finally the man moved: he cocked his head. For several minutes he studied her ass from that angle, then turned his head the other direction and started again. Kimberly felt this was nuts.

"Come on, get on with it," she croaked finally, exasperated. Her skin was damp with sweat and worry, and she was growing more and more nervous about whatever this strange guy would do.

The man didn't move or acknowledge her comment. He continued his work, absorbing every detail of her ass, pore by pore.

"Fuck!" cried Kimberly, after another long period of silence. "Why don't you just make a mold if you like my ass so much! What the hell are you doing?"

The man looked up, stared at her face for an eternally long forty seconds, and finally said, "I am preparing to whip you."

"Well hurry it up! I can't stand this waiting."

The man shook his head. "I must understand you before I can whip you. I must understand your body, your personality... your soul, if you will. Everything is connected. Every detail is important. It's like an architect, a good architect at least, designing a house. He first starts by understanding the property, and he designs around nature, he doesn't subliminate nature in the quest to impress his vision on the world. I'm an artist, attempting to understand my canvas. Once I am one with the canvas, and it can tell me nothing else, we will begin."

For a long time Kimberly hung there, speechless. Her mind was brimming with ideas, her sex starving, and she wished, oh how she wished, he'd just begin the whipping. But no. He insisted on "understanding" her body. After a day or two of looking at her ass, he moved the stool to her front and looked at each breast for a day, and then her sex for a couple more days. Kimberly was growing frantic with pent-up frustration.

At one point the man smiled at her, a riding crop magically in his hand. He ran the tip down her body, over her breasts and into the valley of her juicy pussy. There, he tickled and teased her. "I am pleased you obeyed my instructions on abstainance," he commented. Kimberly just groaned.

Finally, the man stood and looked into her face. Kimberly stared at him, trying to communicate telepathically. She wondered if he'd understood her message. Surely he could read her face. But his remained impassive, brutally serious and focused.

She tried to disrupt him, making funny faces at him, sticking out her tongue and bulging her eyes. Nothing. She displayed various emotions, like she'd learned in an acting class years ago: anger, love, sadness, jealousy, evilness, humor, happiness, fear. He didn't react, just continued his relentless study.

Time passed at a glacier pace. Kimberly felt like she was going out of her mind. The silence was unnerving, so she began talking. Rather, she babbled. At first she feared he would stop her: usually doms didn't allow subs to speak without permission, or at least without purpose. But this man ignored her, or at least didn't react to anything she said.

She talked about Don for a bit, how wonderful he was to her. She told the man about her college days, her first modelling gig, the first time she'd gone to an s&m club, her first spanking. Finally, as she was becoming thirsty and tired and he continued to do nothing but stare at her, she began to curse him. She swore elaborate oaths she'd picked up from a sailor lover, insulted the man, his family, his friends, even his pets. The man said nothing.

Finally, Kimberly fell silent again. She no longer cared what happened to her. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was on her favorite beach in Tahiti. But it was too chilly for that, a cool breeze from a vent above drifting down across her body. She knew that once the whipping got started, she'd appreciate that air, but now it just made her shiver. She imagined she was in Alaska. She was outside in the snow, naked. The snowflakes melted against her skin as they drifted downward, pinpoints of cool on her warm flesh. She'd been freshly whipped, her ass red and welted, and the snow felt wonderful. She lay down on her back to make a snow angel, and the flakes descended and gently tickled her exposed pussy. It was a tease, but it felt soooo good. She ached for a snowball to hit her in the right spot, give her the stimulation she needed, and suddenly it was there, thudding into her sex, pain and intense pleasure indistinguishable. God she was excited. She was ready to fuck a icicle.

Kimberly was startled from her erotic dream by a hand stroking her breast. Her eyes flipped open and she saw that the man was carressing her. "Get your fucking hands off me," she said. "I mean it, you have no right to do that. You can whip me, but that's it."

The man gave no indication that he'd heard her. It was like he was thousands of miles away, lost in a snowflake world of his own, perhaps. His hand continued to squeeze her left breast, testing its resilience, its weight. Despite her growing hatred of this abominable man, she felt her sex stir. Her nipples were already hard, plump eraser tips that she absurdly wished he'd bite.

The man moved behind her, his hand never leaving her body, but gliding across her side and lower back to upper slopes of her ass. He began to caress her bottom, at first with just the one hand, then with both. He squeezed, weighed, and played with her buttocks for a long time. His fingers explored every nuance. Strong hands pulled her cheeks apart and she imagined his nose poking into her asshole and sniffing. She couldn't see what he was really doing, only that his hands gripped her asscheeks and his head was right in there, up close and personal.

For a reason she couldn't fathom, Kimberly felt violated by this process. She'd had many men, of course, in all sorts of ways, and certainly wasn't an anal virgin. But this! This was so impersonal. She wasn't even ackowledged as a sexy bitch, a sub, or even given the dignity of being a slave or a dog. She was barely an object, merely a doll for him to play with.

The man's hand slipped between her legs and gently wiped away the moisture. He dried his hand on her asscheeks. He did this again and again, so many times that Kimberly lost count. This was, of course, a futile gesture, for every touch spurred her juices and she became even more wet. By the time he finally stopped she was soaked. The insides of her thighs were dripping. Even her ass was wet, covered with her own juice the man had wiped off there.

She could smell herself, the smell of sex, and that excited her. The man came to her front, his face still expressionless. He wet his hand again, but this time he wiped it off on her face. The smell was overpowering, but it just made her juicer. She stared at him with hatred and lust, her mind tortured by her arousal. He calmly wetted her neck, her breasts, her belly.

"Oh God, please," she moaned. She felt she was near cracking. She'd never felt anything like this. If he didn't even whip her, if this was the entire evening, she'd be more than satisfied. He'd taken her to new places within her soul, forced her to confront things she didn't want to see. She felt spent, exhausted. She hadn't had a come in a week, and she felt like she was going to explode with passion.

As though in answer to her prayers, the man turned away. He opened a white cabinet on the nearby wall and Kimberly, staring at it out of the corner of her eyes, felt a spasm of fear and excitement. The cabinet was full of the tools of torture. There were dozens and dozens of crops, whips, straps, canes, and paddles.

The man selected a heavy leather strap. It was very wide -- at least four inches -- and Kimberly found that she was crying with relief. At last, he would begin.

But he still took his time. He drank in her body with one last studious glance, then seemed to make a decision and began to work the strap across her ass. Because it was such a wide strap, the air slowed it down and even brutally hard strokes were cushioned. But every blow covered a large area, and in just minutes Kimberly's expansive bottom was a nice pink.

The stinging was all on the surface of her flesh. The wide strap could never penetrate deeper, and as the whipping went on and on, Kimberly began to crave deeper penetration. She longed for the hard wood of a heavy paddle, the bruising of a hairbrush. She would even have welcomed the burrowing pain of a rattan cane. But instead all she got was the strap. It was heavy, and the strokes stung fiercely, and she could feel welts rising across her buttocks, but it wasn't the same.

How long the whipping of her buttocks lasted, Kimberly never knew. She lost count before the hundredth stroke, and it went on for a very long time after that. Gradually she became aware that he wasn't whipping her ass any more, but strapping her thighs. These blows made her quiver and dance, bouncing on her elastic bonds.

Eventually, when her legs were as scorched as her bottom, he turned his attention to her front. He strapped her belly, and then her breasts, still using the same wide, heavy strap. It was wide enough to cover her breasts, and every blow made her see stars and sent her reeling.

Kimberly was lost. She was scarcely conscious of anything. She wasn't a person, not even a slave. She was pain, that was all. A being of pain. She hung there, trembling and vibrating, and the lash descended at a steady pace of one stroke every two seconds. Every blow left her hungrier for the next.

She was covered with sweat and tears and her own sex juices. Every pore on her body seemed to have opened up and was secreting some kind of liquid. She sobbed, not because of the pain, but because there was just too much going on. Her senses were overloaded and she couldn't contain the emotions she was feeling. She had to let them out, and they emerged in the form of tears.

The strap was now attacking her hips, striking from side to side, the tail snapping her behind with cruel bites of pain. As if in response to her own passion, the tempo of the whip increased to a stroke a second, then to a furious two strokes a second. The back-and-forth motion of the belt was devastating, the pace unbelievable. Kimberly began to scream and writhe in the first stages of true agony.

Then the belt was whipping upward, between her spread legs. The tip smacked at her asscrack, bathing the tender flesh of the overhang of her bottom with pain. The middle part of the strap, however, pressed against the dripping lips of her sex. She was so wet every blow made a splattering sound. Currents of electricity coursed through her, but they were too far away to satisfy her. She wanted the lightning bolt inside her cunt, burning at her passionate insides. She moaned in despair because the wide strap would never satisfy her. It could never slip into the crack of her pussy and sting the delicate inner flesh that so ached for contact. No, the wide strap was merely tease and torment, not satisfaction, and it made Kimberly weep to realize she would have to wait for release.

There was a momentary respite while the man exchanged the strap for another instrument. Kimberly's brain spun. She gasped for air and moaned loudly just to hear her own voice, realize she was still alive. Every fiber of her being was on fire, burning with a slow, fierce flame. She was in a great deal of pain, she knew that vaguely, but she didn't care. All that concerned her was the tremendous void between her legs. She was so hungry for something substantial there she would have accepted anything, from a flagpole to a Nerf football. She just wanted _something_.

Then the man was back. A long black leather crop was in his hand. It was large and heavy, and when he slid it up her thighs and tapped her sex with it, Kimberly thought it was electrified, such surges of power passed through her body.

Then began the real whipping. Seconds earlier, if asked, Kimberly would have told you she'd been suffering terribly, and that the whipping was one of the most intense she'd ever endured. But from the first stroke of that crop, she realized with a deep fear in her belly, that she had yet to experience pain.

Every blow of the crop was delivered full force. It rocked her body on the elastic bands. It crushed her ass flat as paper. The weals left behind were enormous, finger thick, and swollen to a quarter inch above the surface of her flesh. Her crimson skin was now turning scarlet, the weals almost purplish in their fury.

Kimberly screamed. The pitch went up slightly with each terrible strike, but generally she just screamed non-stop. The crop danced across her buttocks and her thighs leaving the once-smooth flesh ravaged and angry.

At first, the pain was so intense it made Kimberly forget the raging desire between her legs. Her hunger softened and she just screamed and writhed in agony for an eternity or two. But then the hunger came back, doubly fierce this time, and as Kimberly craved the cruel strokes of the heavy crop, she found that even that pain was not enough to hold back the tempestuous passion that engulfed her sex.

Suddenly, even as the man flogged her mercilessly, Kimberly experienced and orgy between her legs. She didn't just have one orgasm, but a _series_ of orgasms. They hit her like waves on a beach, each one more powerful than the previous. The first was impossibly quick, a bright flash of light that was gone before she could experience it. She cried out in despair as the feeling faded but then it was there again, stronger this time, a tremendous pulsing surge that electrified her entire body. She screamed herself hoarse as wave after wave of fantastic pleasure engulfed her. The crop was still lashing her ass, but the agony was distant, dwarfed by the unbelievable sensations passing through her sex.

Each wave of orgasm was slower than the previous, delivering deep, penetrating pulses of sweet pleasure that lasted for wonderfully long seconds. Kimberly could only writhe and quiver with delight, wishing the moment would last forever.

Then the crop brought her back to reality, harsh stinging blows across her tender breasts. It hurt so badly Kimberly sobbed and wished for it to stop, but that desire only lasted a few seconds, and then she was begging for the pain, aching for it, as the ridiculously fierce hunger between her legs had not been sated but only teased and tormented by the series of jolting pleasures.

"More, more!" cried Kimberly. "Harder, harder!"

The whips came in sharply, biting and stinging, leaving her breasts brutally welted and sore, but she drank it all in and lusted for more. Her nipples were cruelly wounded and pain almost made her pass out, but she didn't care: she still craved the agony, needed the agony to quench the furious fire between her legs.

Then the crop was striking her belly, descending slowly, and Kimberly realized where the pain was headed. Her shrieks of excitement and pleasure made the glass mirrors tremble. She bounced up and down on her elastic bonds, frantic for the touch she knew was coming. The crop moved closer and closer, and every second Kimberly's writhing grew more passionate and desperate.

Suddenly, finally, it was there. The crop striking upward against her exposed sex. The pain was stunning, yet it was blended with fierce pleasure. Then there was an explosion and the waves of orgasm started again. This time they were even more engulfing, so much more powerful they made the first set seem like ripples in a pond compared to a tidal wave. These orgasms slammed into Kimberly with the force of a sledgehammer.

The crop was a blur of furious pain, but it wasn't enough to put out the fire. Kimberly felt there was a jackhammer up her cunt, pounding away at her, every tremendous thrust electrifying her. Her body went berserk, vibrating violently as though she was having a seizure. She went into a series of convulsions that threatened to snap her arms off or break the elastic bonds.

Gradually, the spasms slowed, and soon Kimberly was just dangling there, her body spent. Her breathing was labored, panting not enough to bring in the oxygen her body demanded. She gasped and gasped. Her heart pounded frantically, a thousand beats a minute. She felt dizzy and confused. Her flesh reeked of pain: she could _smell_ the hurt.

A long time passed. Kimberly was scarcely conscious of anything. Eventually, she realized something cool was touching her. It was mist from a spray bottle. Her whole body was being sprayed. It felt so good, and yet her skin was so sensitive each tiny droplet of water felt like a sharp needle poking her.

Slowly, she groggily raised her head. Something was pushed into her mouth and she eventually realized it was a straw. She drank eagerly, and the water was pure heaven.

After drinking, she became more conscious. She realized that it was Don before her. He was petting her face and kissing her, nuzzling her hair and whispering in her ear. She couldn't make out anything he was saying, but the tone was comforting and she just wept with happiness.

"Oh Don, oh Don, oh Don," she finally managed, saying his name over and over and over. "Where have you been?"

"I'm here," he said. "I've always been here. I was watching through the mirror."

"I love you," she gasped, the intensity of her emotions so sharp it was like a pain.

"I love you," he said. Her heart swelled.

"This... this was the most amazing birthday present ever. A once in a lifetime experience. Thank you, thank you so much."

As Don embraced her, Kimberly was astonished to feel her body responding again. It was dim, extremely dim, but she sensed the stirring in her sex.

"Let's go home," she whispered. "Let's go home and fuck our brains out."

Don laughed, and it was a wonderfully warm and comforting laugh. "My dear Kimberly," he said gently. "There'll be plenty of time for that tomorrow. You need to sleep now. Rest, and tomorrow there'll be nothing but rewards."

She found herself in a warm bed with silky white sheets. She didn't remember getting there, but was so relieved she began to cry. It was impossibly comfortable, like a womb, she thought drowsily. She curled up and in seconds was sound asleep.

Don stood nearby and watched her. The smile on her face matched his. He tenderly covered her with a blanket. He turned off the light and closed the door.

"Sleep tight, honeybuns," he whispered. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

The End

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