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.
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
(***, FFFFFF/M, Severe, sexual torture, whipping)
After a long absence, a man returns to his favorite dominatri. (Approximately 1,121 words. Originally published 1998-03.)
I am nervous as I arrive. The doorman takes my luggage and leads me inside. Jean-Pascal, the manager, greets me warmly.
"It has been a long time," he says.
Too long. I nod pleasantly, glancing around. The place has not changed. It is elegant without being ostentatious.
Jean-Pascal leads me to my room. The porter places my bags in the closet and Jean-Pascal nods at him to leave. When we are alone, he indicates the computer.
"I've preset it to your last selection," he said. "Just as a starting point. Feel free to change anything."
"Let us know your decision in the morning."
I am alone. I stare at the computer. Am I really ready? I decide there is no time to lose. If I wait, I change my mind.
The screen lights up with the faces of three women I remember well. There's Tricia, the acrobat. Candy, who once let me shave her pussy. And Ashley, the southern belle with a terrific bell curve.
There had been others, but these three had been my favorites. How many sessions had we enjoyed over the years? Was enjoyed even the right word?
This time I want a challenge, however. I want something more intense than I've ever had before. For the next hour I scan the databank. Finally, I narrow down my list to the final six: Cinamon, a coffee-skinned girl from some island paradise; Monique, a creamy French delight; Fanny, a dream that lives up to her name; Maria, a sexy Swedish seductress; and of course, Ashley and Candy. Tricia I sadly decide to omit. I'm not sure I can handle six, let alone seven.
In the morning, Jean-Pascal eyes me with a raised eyebrow.
"Six? Are you sure?"
"It has been a long time--"
"Very well. The girls will be ready at four o'clock. We will send for you."
At four I am a nervous wreck. My stomach twitches and I wonder if I should have eaten lunch. I sit on the bed and wish I had not come.
There's a soft knock at the door. "Come in," I say.
It is Maria. She is tall, blonde, and classy. She wears a dashing evening gown with a slit up the side nearly to her armpit. Her smooth skin is flawless. Jean-Pascal chose well to send her to fetch me.
She does not speak but holds out her hand. I rise and move to go, but she stops me. She begins to undo the belt buckle of my pants.
"What are you doing?" I ask, but she only flashes a brilliant smile at me and I forget what I asked.
She strips me as naked as a newborn. I am fit and not ashamed of my body, but next to her I feel inadequate. She leads me away, a slender arm around mine. Her dress is silky as it rubs against my naked flesh. I am aroused, walking down the public hallway, naked with a beautiful escort.
In the elevator she presses the button for the basement and I shiver in terrified memory. The last time... God, the last time had been too much. I couldn't come back. At least I thought I couldn't. But here I am. And it is going to happen again.
The private playroom in the basement is large and full of complex furniture. A trio of women stand at one end of the room. They look gorgeous, each wearing long dresses that accent the curves of their bodies and make them look elegant and refined. I long to rip the clothing off them, to reduce them to the sluts they are.
The women approach. Ashley is in lead, looking as devilishly beautiful as always. She smiles at me.
"Hello, Noel. Did you miss me?"
I cannot speak.
"You missed having your cock in my mouth, didn't you," she whispers, her voice hoarse and seductive. "You want me to take now, don't you. Take the whole thing in my mouth."
I shudder as she kneels in front of me. Her tongue darts out. I shudder. "Oh, God," I moan.
"Don't worry," she says. "We will make this last until tomorrow."
Ashley snaps her fingers. Cinamon and Candy step up from behind me. They are carrying cloth ties and quickly bind my wrists. They drag me to a wooden frame and stretch me out. My arms and legs are pulled wide and bound to the frame. My cock is free and exposed. I am helpless.
Behind the grinning, taunting face of Ashley I can see Monique stripping off her dress. She is totally naked except for her high heels and a long black whip. She approaches. I shudder.
Ashley kneels before me, her tongue hanging out but not touching me. I am eager, aroused, and terrified.
Monique moves behind me. I cannot see her. As I crane my neck to watch her, Maria, my Swedish escort, slips a red kerchief across my eyes and fastens it firmly.
Now I am blind and helpless. I hear the girls laughing. I hear clothing being torn off in a frenzy. There are slaps, giggles, slobbery kisses, and grunts. Hands caress me. Fingers pinch me. Nails scratch me. Wet lips and tongues moisten my skin.
A loud snap by my ear nearly deafens me. I freeze in terror, my bowels quivering in fear. I could feel the wind from that whip. God, why had I picked a French whip expert!
The pain comes slowly, almost tenderly. Every lash is followed by fondling, licking, caressing. My body is confused -- which is pain and which is pleasure? The pain comes in hot, unbearable flashes. The pleasure is constant, unsatisfied torture.
Finally the warm mouth of a women on my cock does the trick -- I explode with hot spasms as the whip falls with merciless abandon.
Giggles greet my panting relief.
"That's one," says the cheery voice of Ashley, the demon. "Five more to go. Ladies, how long do you think we can make five comes last?"
"Until morning, surely!" says an unfamiliar voice. The accent is British. I decide it must be Fanny. "Shall I go next? I'm dying to use my cane."
"By all means," laughs Ashley. "And I believe it's Monique's turn up front."
"Perhaps he'd prefer my whip to my mouth," mutters the French girl, and I shudder as I feel the heavy leather cords tickling my cock. Everyone laughs.
"God, please," I moan, my face burning with shame. My cock stiffens despite my humiliation. Behind me I hear the whistle of a thin rod through the air. I cringe.
It's going to be a long night.