I set the fire blazing so I could better watch the show she was
putting on as she writhed and shimmied and gyrated within the
narrow range her bonds allowed. It was quite a show, the
firelight on her hair and gleaming body very lovely, her face
a primeval mixture of lust and rage that looked wonderfully
savage in this light.  This went on for a long time before
most of her energy was spent and she stood there twitching,
eyes downcast.  I’m sure she wanted very badly to cry but refused
to give me the satisfaction.  “What a performance, Patricia !”, I
said, “if I’d realized how incredible you would be I’d have
arranged better lighting so I could tape it.  But I doubt I’ll
ever forget it.  How about you ?”.  She raised her eyes and
glared at me, and growled, “I am going to remember what you’ve
done to me for the rest of my life, and I will NEVER stop hating
you”.  “How wonderful !  I promised you a memorable weekend.
But, slave”, I reminded her, “the night is young, and I’m not
through with you yet”.

I put a bag over her head ( and over her protests, which
continued pouring out from under the hood ) while I made
an addition to the apparatus.  When I was done, I removed
it so she could see the thick wood pole below her. “So what’s
that, some kind of totem that you to pray to for the ability to
satisfy a woman ?”, she spat at me.  “You know what it’s for,
Patricia.  You wanted something in that hot pussy of yours; you
still do, badly.  You’re wet and ready, if you want satisfaction,
go for it”, I told her.  “YOU GO TO HELL”, she said.  “If my
Salesian teachers were correct in theology class, then I most
certainly shall”, I answered her, “but it’s not my going to Hell
that’s at issue here, it’s whether your anger and pride will stop
you from seeking heaven.  It’s right there, just inches away, why
should your anger at me stop you ?  Yes, I’ve used you cruelly
for my own pleasure today – by the way, I’ve enjoyed it immensely –
and I’m going to continue to use you, but why should that stop
you from taking the pleasure that’s available to you ?  Will you
really do that to yourself just to spite me ?  Yes, I see you
would.  I’m so glad, I was counting on this,”, I said as I saw
her start up and glare at me even more fiercely, “so you see even
this display of independence on your part fits perfectly into my
plans.  Everything you do serves my interests, regardless of what
you want.  What perfection to have a slave do everything you want
them to even while they think they are resisting.  I didn’t want you
to willingly impale yourself on that shaft, not when it would be so
much more fun to watch you rape yourself”, I advised, as I
withdrew the whip from it’s hook.  “You know what to do,” I
commanded.  “FUCK YOU!”, she screamed, and I couldn’t help
laughing, “Slave, even your dialogue is perfect !  No, no, my
lady, you’re not going to fuck me, you’re going to fuck YOU !
NOW, DO IT !”.  She didn’t move and I made the whip crack right
in front of her eyes.  She didn’t react; I hadn’t thought a tough
customer like her would, but knew from unpleasant experience how
terrifying that image of a leather tongue coming to rip out one’s
eye is, no matter how well she masked the fear.  Since I didn’t
want her passing out I concentrated on her largely unmarked back
and the soft skin in the back of her thighs and secondarily on
her buttocks, which had been caned but weren’t too badly
inflamed.  As the first strokes cracked across her back, her pride
and anger kept her from reacting, but much of her strength had
been depleted this day and she was soon jerking as the whip
struck, and then jerking in anticipation as she heard it.  The
terrible image of the whip coming towards her face kept her from
looking back and I could play with her anticipation by letting
the whip whiz past her or crack inches away from her, making her
jerk and twist without touching her.  She couldn’t move much, but
she could move her shoulders enough in her futile attempts to
avoid the whip to make her buttocks jiggle nicely and to make
those sore, aching breasts bounce in a way that was wonderful for
me to watch and excruciating for her to feel.  It didn’t take
nearly as much time for her screams to start as it had earlier,
but the uselessness of bargaining was obvious to her and she
included no pleas or offers in her cries, confining herself to
soaring screeches of inarticulate agony punctuated by screeds in
which she detailed my failings as a person and my dubious
prospects for the future.  “Even if that’s so, slave”, I replied
after one of her more dire predictions, “that fact is, today I
wield the whip and enjoy absolute power over you; you will do
everything I want you to and we will both remember it as long as
we live, and nothing that happens in the future will change this
moment”.  I awaited her reply, but as she had returned to screech
mode it wasn’t very elucidating.

At last, as was inevitable, Patricia’s will broke.  “ALL RIGHT,
I’LL DO WHAT YOU WANT, STOP WHIPPING ME”, she cried through her
abundant tears.  “This isn’t about words, slave”, I said,
cracking the tip of the whip against the soft skin of her right
thigh.  She moved her legs a little further apart and began to
bend her knees to meet the shaft.  I redirected the whip away
>from her legs to keep from knocking them out from under her,
which had happened a few times during the unexpectedly prolonged
flogging ( though I wouldn’t admit it to Patricia, I’d never
imagined that she could resist as long as she did, or remain
conscious through such protracted agony ).  She had the shaft’s tip
on her lips and was grinding her hips to work it into her.  While
Patricia was quite moist, the thick wood shaft was unlubricated,
though the smooth finish ( we couldn’t risk any splinters in
her vagina, could we ?  After all, I might want to use it later )
would slide nicely.  Her efforts to get the shaft inside her were
impeded by her reflex to rise up when the whip hit her buttocks,
so I hit her buttocks repeatedly.  Eventually she stopped
screaming her protests and repressed the reflex, and got it
inside her.  She lowered her legs to take in more of the shaft,
but it was too thick for her to slide onto easily and she had to
keep jerking her hips back and forth to, keeping the thrusting
leg higher than the passive leg, in order to force it further
within herself.  When the leash began to tighten about her throat
she stopped lowering herself, but I knew there was a little more
room and slashed at her shoulders, telling her “All the way,
slave, you’re not low enough yet, lower yourself all the way
down”.