The Wedding Day

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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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*** Author's Note ***

Greetings, fellow citizens of fine Assville! It has been a considerable time since I last posted, and my postings of late have been few. I must apologize for my neglect. But trust that it is not willful neglect but simply circumstance and the distraction of real life that has temporarily caused my diminished output. I do indeed still have many stories to tell and hope to do so soon, after the chaos in my life settles down.

In the meantime I have been enjoying the incredibly variety and quantity of the Summer Story Contest (SSC). To the many of you who have contributed please accept my praise and admiration for all your time and talents--you are helping making a better place!

Finally, in a token gesture of thanks to the anniversary of my first year of posting to a.s.s. I submit one of my favorite Five Star stories, never before posted! I hope everyone enjoys it.

I dedicate it to Assville, to all who come seeking understanding and acceptance and receive it and share it in open abundance. May all your dreams be sweet.

The Flogmaster
Sun, Aug 25, 1996

The Wedding Day

(*****, M/F, Severe, cons whipping)

A young man comes of age the night before his wedding -- by learning that family traditions are best honored. (Approximately 2,752 words. Originally published 1996-08.)

I awoke with an incredible sense of wakefullness, as though I hadn't slept a wink. I felt wonderfully vivid and alive, filled with excitement and anticipation.

My joy was so great that for a period I was not even conscious of why I was so elated, what state of events had so enlivened me. It wasn't that I had forgotten Maria, or her father's sweet words from the week before, but I was so overwhelmed with good feeling that it not even occur to me to question the source of my joy.

Like a flood it came back to me, filling me with unbearable happiness, but with a touch of nervousness that I might have only imagined the events leading to this glorious day. That I, a humble tailor, should wed the most beautiful and charming girl of the entire county, a woman of grace and dignity beyond her own class--it was inconceivable. Yet my brain still echoed with the words of her father, Lord Mablery, saying, "Yes, my son, I give you my daughter with my blessings."

I stood and wandered to the chamber window and opened the shutters. It was barely morning yet, the sky still filled with stars and only a pale light in the east. The mansion was quiet and still though when I strained my ears I could hear faint sounds of chickens clucking and housemaids scurrying. A washerwoman passed through the stone courtyard far below me, buckets heavy with fresh water from the well. Soon the entire castle would be alive with activity, and the day promised much change in my routine life. But I was almost frantic in my anticipation of that change, my eagerness spilling out in restless energy.

I paced in my room for a few minutes but I was too great of stride for more than a few steps in any direction. Suddenly my room seemed cramped and stuffy. With a quick resolve I hastened out the doorway and into the corridor.

Now understand that I am a working class man. I spent my childhood in a one-room cottage on the outskirts of town. Though I now own a large stone house near the center of town, I am unaccustomed to mansions such as that of my future father-in-law's. It was thus, and perhaps my careless excitement, that I managed to become dazedly lost in but a matter of moments. I wandered about the silent castle in hesitant confusion, afraid of disturbing someone at this ungodly hour.

I passed many closed doorways and traveled up and down several staircases completely bewildered. I paused, finally, to rest and try to get my bearings. "This place must have two hundreds rooms!" I thought in awed despair. "It will take me a month to find my way out."

But suddenly I heard a sound, an eerie moaning that almost sounded like a woman crying. I hurried down the passageway in the direction of the sound, my ears eager for any news of other humans.

I heard more sounds, strange sounds, like the crack of a whip. I hurried faster, for now I was certain I had heard the voice of a woman earlier.

I came so suddenly upon the doorway that I felt the wind knocked out of me, as though I'd received a heavy blow to the gut. I staggered back and fell, too stunned to speak or deny what my eyes reported to me.

Like a wave that burst over me my body suddenly lost control of all biological process. In an instant I was a mass of organic flesh, pounding, throbbing, beating, my heart caught in my throat, my head aching miserably, and I felt a deep flush flood my body, filling my skin with feverish warmth. My chest felt hot and I could not breathe, and it seemed my body was no longer subservient to my will.

I was filled with fear and excitement and fury, yet I could feel the hot blood of passion pulsing through my veins. Most astonishing, my organ had almost instantly swollen and arisen like a sleepy soldier snapping to attention at the passing of a sergeant. All this happened in a fraction of a second, in scarcely a heartbeat, as I knelt in that doorway too stunned to move.

My mind was telling me to run, to hide before I was seen, but my heart was urging me to attack the giant man before me. And still another part of me, perhaps the untamed animal inside me, wanted to stay and watch, like a despicable voyeur.

So I remained, caught by indecision, motionless, and watched in a helpless confusion of lust and anger and fear as the huge man, not ten feet from me, lifted his heavy leather strap for another blow.

Beneath him, stretched across the crude surface of a wooden barrel, lay the delicate figure of my intended, my bride. She was completely naked, her skin pale and smooth in the dim light of the lanterns. Her arms were fastened by the wrists to a wooden post in front of her, and her magnificent breasts--far plumper and more womanly that I had ever imagined--dangled over the side of the barrel, large red nipples exposed to the chilly night air, simultaneously looking vulgar and alluring.

Maria's long dark hair hung down her back and draped off her other side, leaving her beautiful face open to me. Her eyes were red with tears and she moaned quietly, grunting as the man brought down the wide strap in a heavy blow across the bare flesh of her buttocks.

I winced as I watched her bottom briefly turn white under the blow, and then the skin was again a virulent scarlet, painful to see yet terribly arousing. My member was impossibly hard, constricted and twisted in my pants, but I could not move to rearrange it. All I could do was stare at those graceful buttocks, twin orbs of round flesh that maddened me, the quivering of the delicate flesh with each blow sending _frissons_ down my back. I felt like my cock was going to burst from the agony, but I could not move.

How long I knelt in that doorway I'll never know. A moment, a lifetime, it was all the same to me. How many times did I see that giant man, himself stripped to the waist and dripping sweat, whip the beloved flesh of my fiance? I do not have an inkling.

I was lost in the scene, transfixed, mesmerized by the whipping. The noise of the strap was deafening, terrifying, and yet nothing compared to the heart-wrenching sounds uttered by Maria. Low gutteral sounds, desperate and frantic yet with a touch of elegant dignity. She was taking the whipping well, I thought in admiration, her face poignant in its suffering. I was so distant from the event it was as though I was looking at a living painting instead of reality that I could change. My mind did not even question why she should need to suffer, but only observed the situation.

But like the shattering of glass the vision was destroyed. With an agonized twist Maria threw back her head and in doing so, turned her eyes toward the doorway. For a heartbeat it seemed that the world had stopped, that the strap was frozen in midswing, that Maria and I didn't breathe air but only drank one another. It seemed that there were no sounds in the universe and only our locked eyes could somehow speak through that oppressive void. Then it was over. The strap landed with a cruel cut across the lower portion of her buttocks, so near her tender thighs, and Maria let out of cry of anguish that broke my heart and lifted me to my feet.

In seconds I had regained my senses and I leapt at the large man. He uttered a cry of surprise but grasped my arm with one meaty hand and lifted me clean off the floor. I was furious, desperate, but it did no good. I am tall, but not so strong, and he was at least a head taller than me. I cursed and hissed at him.

But a cry stopped me. It was Maria. "Please, leave him alone, Alex! Leave him alone! It's all right."

I froze and stared at her in astonishment. "It's all right," she repeated as the giant set me down. "He's just doing his job, Alex, my love. Do not attack him."

"But why? What is this?" I managed, tears of frustration and love pouring down my face.

"It is justice, my love. It is punishment I deserve. It is not so bad--I will not be truly hurt, only sore. Do not concern yourself. It is only a whipping."

"Do not concern myself! What do you mean?" I shouted. "You are to be my wife! Now I find you naked and being flogged like a common servant! You expect me to walk away and let it continue?" I dropped to my knees near her face and stared into her eyes.

"Yes, my future husband, my love, I do." She looked into my eyes with a strength I never realized she possessed and I suddenly felt ashamed. My blood surged hot and lustful for her at that moment, and I wanted to crush her to me, to squeeze those breasts between my fingers and suckle those nipples. I wanted to ravish her just as she was, helplessly bound across the barrel, the skin of her buttocks blazing hot and sore. In fact, I realized with a flush of horrible guilt, I wanted her flesh hot and tender. I wanted to whip her buttocks even more, to use that strap across those naked thighs and calves. I wanted to slap her breasts and pinch them cruelly. I wanted to hear her groaning in pain and pleasure under me, her desire overwhelming her pain. In a flash I realized all this and I was both horrified and ashamed. What kind of monster was I? How could I wish to cause her such pain?

"I can't," I whispered. "I can't let you do this. Can't you tell me why? What sin did you commit? Why are you doing this?"

Maria looked at me and I thought she had never been more beautiful than at that moment, her face flushed and wet from crying, her eyes wide and red with pain and fear.

"I am doing this for you," she said simply, and her eyes told me she was speaking the truth.

"It is the custom in my family to whip the bride the night before her wedding. It tempers her, erases all traces of vanity, and enhances her sexual appeal. It must be done willingly, and without coersion. It must be the bride's choice to undertake this challenge, to suffer through this pain. My mother suffered it and her mother before her. And so on for generations. I understand its function and its benefits. I do this willing, Alex. It is my choice. It is difficult, true, but I think of you and I am able to bear the pain. If I imagine it is you whipping me, Alex, I can almost enjoy it."

I stared at her in stunned silence. "You accepted this punishment willing?" I asked. She nodded and I continued. "But why?"

She laughed, a delightful sound in that dreary chamber of pain. "Oh Alex, you make it so complicated! It is simple, so simple. You do not want a wife that is willful and disobedient, proud and haughty, do you?" I shook my head. "Of course you don't! Alex, by my acceptance of this punishment I prove my love to you and show you that I am none of those things. I love you, darling, and I will do anything that you ask, including accepting such punishment from you."

"But I never asked that you be punished like this," I protested, wondering if my unconscious desires were obvious to all but myself.

"You did not," said Maria firmly. "I offer it to you as a gift, proof of my devotion for our wedding night."

"Well it must stop now," I said in a tone that offered no room for argument. "I love you for the gesture but you have suffered enough. It is over."

"Alex, it is not over. The punishment must be extreme. Its severeness is a testimony of my dedication, my devotion. If I am not brought to the very limits of what I can endure then the punishment is worth nothing."

"How much more do you want?" I asked, astonished.

"It is not what I want that counts," she said. "What counts is that someone is willing to punish me to the extreme. The whipping will be over when John says it is." She nodded toward the huge man. "I must be whipped until I cannot take any more."

I looked at the girl I was about to marry. She was so lovely, and even bound, her naked secrets exposed, reddened flesh looking almost obscene yet strangely beautiful. She had endured so much already, yet she was not afraid of more pain.

She said she's doing it for me, I thought, ashamed. I had never asked her to do anything like that. But she was willing, and I found that willingness arousing in the extreme.

Besides, I wanted to see her punished, to really watch her suffer. In a wave of insight I realized that her suffering would only enhance our sexual pleasure. I realized this so clearly and with such determination that I knew it was the truth as though I had know it my entire life. Indeed, I felt like I had.

So I stepped back and motioned for the guard to continue the punishment. "Continue the whipping," I said. "She is but a little sore. She must be made ready for her wedding night."

And I saw Maria wince at those words and tears came to her eyes but she was smiling and I knew that we both understood. "I will watch," I told the man with the whip, and I enjoyed tremendously the look of discomfort that passed over Maria's countenance. Her punishment would be both sweeter and more humiliating by my presence.

I sat down on a small stool I found and watched as the whipping continued. The leather strap was wide and thick, the servant strong, the blows fast and ruthless. Maria was helpless and her flesh was delectable. I savored every moment of that whipping, every stroke, every quiver of her buttocks, each tear that silently fell from the smooth curve of her cheeks. I was moved by her throaty groans and her almost motionless struggle, her body obediently receiving the punishment.

When her buttocks were an even shade of brilliant scarlet and the flesh was covered with gentle welts, I blew softly against her skin. She broke into fresh tears and I knew she was ready.

"Start on her thighs," I whispered quietly, gently caressing her long dark hair and kissing her cheek. My heart thrilled at her look of terror at my command. "I want her to have as much as she can take."

The End

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