Fantasy 010: Ellen

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2020 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.

About the Fantasy Series

"What is your deepest, darkest, most secret fantasy?" Those words bring a chill to anyone. To reveal something so private, so personal, is difficult. Yet that's exactly what we have here. In each story, a narrator reveals his or her most private sexual fantasy. In the grand tradition of such things, it is a *fantasy* -- it may not be realistic or even physically possible. It's not necessarily something he/she would want to experience in real life, but the illusion can be appealing. But no matter how bizarre or incomprehensible, fantasies reveal something intimate about ourselves. So . . . learn and enjoy. And send me your fantasies! The Flogmaster

Fantasy010: Ellen

(*****, F12/F, Intense, bathing, whipping, romantic)

A woman is blindfolded and led to a most romantic encounter with her future husband. (Approximately 1,172 words. Originally published 1996-03.)

The place is warm. I can feel the sun against my face, my body. The blindfold is tight; I can see nothing. You are holding my hand, guiding me. I trust you. My heart is beating rapidly, but I trust you. You lead me forward and I smell sweet air and realize with a shock that we are outdoors. I can smell grass and flowers and there's a cool breeze that makes the warmth of the sun feel even more relaxing.

I hear voices around us. I am frightened. You whisper to me. I cannot understand you--your voice is too soft and there is too much for me to hear. Hands touch me and I leap in fear but you sternly order me to remain docile, to cooperate. I humbly obey though I am fearful.

The hands begin to remove my clothing, pulling down my skirt and taking off my jacket. I am frightened but you do not seem alarmed and so I do not speak. I allow myself to be stripped. I am blushing with shame. I am naked, utterly naked, blind and in an unknown place. People are around me, both men and women--I can hear their voices--and they can see me but I cannot see them.

I hear water, running water, quite close. We move toward it, and soon you tell me to lift my feet and I enter the water. It is very cold, almost icy. I gasp and pull away but hands press against me from behind, pushing me forward. The water is shallow, coming up to my knees. I stand shivering, trembling, as hands begin to wash me. I hear giggling and laughter but I cannot understand any words. The ice water is poured over me in small handfuls, gradually wetting me all over. My hair is drenched and wet and hangs down my back in a cold, wet mass. Fingers grasp and massage my breasts, pinching the nipples and wetting my chest with sudden splashes of the freezing water.

Suddenly the hands are gone, your hand is gone, and I am alone in the water. A silence has developed and I am frightened. Then there are giggles and I feel the soft brush of twigs touching my back. More branches caress my body, rubbing against me. The sensation is one of tickling, of mild warmth against my wet flesh. The switches poke into me, pushing between my legs, nuzzling at my openings, sliding between the cheeks of my ass. Other branches rub my nipples, tapping my breasts lightly from below, and lifting them, as though measuring their weight and plumpness.

A twig strikes my haunches hard, making me gasp, but then the touches are caressing again. Soon there's another harsh blow, this one stinging the back of my right leg, and I cry out in surprise and pain. More rubbing soothes me, but it does not last long. Slowly the comforting, inquisitive branches begin to pummel my body with light stinging wallops. I moan in fear but I am aroused. My sex is dripping with desire and I want to feel you inside me, to rub your chest with my fingers, to feel your hands on my body. But you are not here. All I have for satisfaction are the lashing branches, the little bits of tree scolding my body with tiny stings and powerful aches.

The whipping is coming from everywhere now, warmth flooding through my entire body, neck to ankle. I can scarcely feel the water or the cold. My hips dance in vulgar movements in a vain quest for satisfaction and I long to bring my hands down from my neck and touch myself, but you have forbidden it, and I will obey.

My breasts and body burns and throbs and I realize I am weeping, though I feel no real pain, only sensation. I hear loud smacking sounds and realize with a shock that I am being whipped with real whips now, the branches gone. It is heavy strands of leather that attack my skin, carefully kneading it with welts and pain. I do not care, however. I want the whipping, I crave each hard smack of the belt, though it brings tears to my eyes, because at least it is touching me, caressing me, making me feel something. I long to be touched and fondled and if the whips are the only thing I've got then I will welcome them, welcome their harshness and their pain.

I hear moaning, very loud, very close, and I think it is rude that someone should be experiencing pleasure while I suffer so, and it is only later, as the whips cease and I am plunged under the icy water, that I realize with wonder that it was I who cried out and moaned.

I am led dripping from the water, my body tingling with stings and cold. I shiver and a strip of cloth is wrapped around me, the material thin and almost gosamer. I feel like I am a prisoner within its grasp, my arms pinned at my sides. I am tusseled like an Eqyptian mummy, spun round and round as I am wrapped, the soft cloth soothing against my welted flesh. My legs are wrapped separately, my sex and bottom left exposed. My breasts are also left unwrapped, and now I feel vulgar, like a cheap slut left on display at a whorehouse, my sex organs buldging and obvious.

Then you are there. I feel your presence, your touch on my lips, and I am comforted. I desire you so painfully I cannot control myself, and I push against you, but you shove me away. "Wait," you order, and I sob and bow my head.

Then the minister is there, reading the words. When the question is asked is there any doubt my answer? I cannot refuse such a man as you who would conquer not only my body but my soul as well. I am infinitely lucky.

You embrace me and there is a cheer from the crowd and then, like an animal, you throw me to the ground and enter me violently. I can hear the people watching, the giggles and murmurs, but it is distant, and I do not even care. All I can think is that I can finally feel you inside me, huge and pulsing, splitting me open and finally providing me with the satisfaction I have been craving for hours. I release myself to you unconditionally, blindly, and with the relief of a burden held far too long. I relax in your arms. I am content.

It is over quickly, far too quickly, but I am well aware that this is just the beginning. You take me in your arms and carry me, still mummied and helpless, and lay me down inside your car. In minutes we are driving away, just the two of us, and I know we shall be deliriously happy forever and ever.

The End