The Gambling Man

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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.

The Gambling Man

(*****, F/M, Severe, semi-cons caning)

A man foolishly bets with his wife. (Approximately 499 words. Originally published 2003-03.)

"Ouch!"

Rachel laughed. "You're such a wimp. That was a baby swing."

Intellectually, I knew she was right. The blow had been all wrist, designed to sting but not leave a welt. But I vastly preferred being on the other end of the rod.

When I yelped on the next light swipe, Rachel said: "Come on. I bet I could take twice as many as you and never utter a sound!"

I didn't doubt it. While Rachel had never let me cane her more than a dozen strokes, she always took those smiling. But her remark gave me an idea.

"You're on!"

"What do you mean?"

"The bet. I'll hold out as long as I can without making a sound, and you'll take twice as many as me."

"Real strikes?"

"Uh huh." I wondered even then if I was being a fool, but I figured I could take at least a dozen. That would give me twenty-four lovelies to place across Rachel's sweet behind. The thought made me erect.

"Okay," she said. "Prepare for pain."

It was awful. The cane really dug in deep, weal after weal appearing across my ass. I broke into a sweat, gritted my teeth so hard I worried they would crack, but somehow I held out. Rachel taunted me as she thrashed, harder and harder. But I closed my eyes and saw her own gorgeous butt covered with red stripes and juggling as the cane crashed into those plump cheeks.

"That's fourteen," she said. "I'm impressed."

I kept thinking: twenty-eight, thirty, thirty-two. That was how I counted. The idea of thrashing her thirty times was fantastic -- despite all the pain I was in my dick was quite hard.

"Twenty!" she cried. "Damn, you've been holding out on me!"

I was lost in a fog of pain. All I could see were Rachel's buttocks dancing under my rod. By the time I'd taken thirty, my ass was in so much pain I could hardly think. I was weakening. I felt like I'd run a marathon. I was exhausted, dripping sweat.

I struggled through the next few, despite the fact that there was no more room on my butt and the cuts crossed previous weals. But I broke on thirty-six, screaming out a pent-up cry of agony and falling to the floor and writhing.

When I came to, I was smiling blissfully. "Seventy," I said.

"What?" Rachel looked at me innocently.

"Seventy. I took 35, so you get seventy."

She smiled enigmatically and stripped. Her body was stunning, as usual, her buttocks so perfect as to defy description. The skin was flawlessly smooth. When I held the cane in my hands there were two stiff rods pointing upward.

I laid on the first cut full across both cheeks, leaving a sizzling weal. It was gorgeous! And 69 more to go!

But Rachel was standing up. "Ouch," she said with a devilish smile, her deep brown eyes twinkling brightly. "You win."

The End

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