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I think it was the blood that kept my attention, really. Not that there was so very much of it, but it was quality blood. I mean the image. I’m not explaining this right. I mean amidst the almost three dozen rising welts on her back there were only three slashes that were bleeding. I think they were on purpose. But they were bleeding so well. Not a lot, mind you, but attractively.

You see, the blood was trickling in rivulets from these three lashes and running down her back. The scarlet tracks split and joined and resplit as they made their way to her shapely ass. Just in the small of her back they spread thinly into the fine lines and contours of her skin like a red river delta. And surrounding each gash, was a slight red spattering, where the blood mist flew from the lash had settled.

Where not rising or running red, her skin was pale. It was beyond pale, it was white, like snow or alabaster. Like the little cotton puff clouds on a fair day, her skin was. The contrast was shocking.

She hung there, her knees bent, legs unsupportive. Still conscious, but no longer holding herself up, she hung there by her arms. Almost without will. Her head was bent to her chest, and I could see that the strain on her shoulders was tremendous. Yet she hung as she had been told to before the whipping. The fact that she could relieve the pressure on her shoulders but chose not to was unfathomable. Admirable.

He was standing behind her, and a little to her right. She wouldn’t have been able to see him even if she craned her neck. But she never tried that either. We were a little further back and more on the left, safely out of lash range. Not that we ever believed Paul would lose control of the whip; we all agreed that he was the best of us with it, but safety was cheap insurance.

“Watch her carefully,” he whispered to me. “Let me know if she moves. I’ll be right back.”

I nodded ascent, and Paul dashed out of the playroom.

In less than a minute he walked calmly back into the room with an armload of supplies. He was also one of the more inventive members of our Club. He set them carefully down behind her, and then picked up a dark blue cylinder with a little white picture on it. He opened a spout on the top, poured the white contents into his hand and set the container down. He walked up right behind her.

“I’m back my love,” he said into her ear. “You may stand now. Are you ready for more?”

She carefully placed her feet, and slowly straightened her legs, taking the pressure off of her shoulders a bit at a time. She flexed her shoulders what little her restraints allowed. She shifted her weight back and forth on her feet until she seemed comfortable, rolling her head a bit as she did. In a minute she was standing straight and firm. Admirable, indeed.

“If it please you, my love,” she said, “I would indeed like more.”

As soon as she finished speaking he spread the substance across her back. “Ungh,” she gasped loudly, as if barely stifling a scream. She almost lost her balance and her knees bent as she reflexively strained forward.

“Salt,” I whispered to Tim, next to me.

“Not even Paul would do that,” Tim replied.

“Paul would do anything, and Trish almost so. Trust me, it’s salt,” I said.

Paul’s glance darted to us only briefly, but it spoke volumes. I made a mental note to stay off the business end of his whip until he’d had time to forget that I’d spoken almost aloud during his scene.

He wetted a cloth from a bottle of water and wiped down her back. She sighed at the cleansing and the cool feeling on her hot welts.

“Shhhh, darling,” he said. “Rest a moment.”

Paul took that moment to carefully remove his clothes, fold them, and place them neatly on one of the tables in the playroom. This too was behind Trish, and she couldn’t tell what he was doing. Paul doesn’t have the most magnificent body I’ve ever seen, but it is quite firm and flexible and serviceable. And he could use it well, when he so chose. When he turned back to the scene, his erection made it clear that tonight would be one of those times.

He walked back to her, picking up the tube of lube along the way and opening it. He knelt behind her and spread her ass cheeks. He lubed her hole well while licking the extra salty blood now drying in the small of her back. He rose, lubed himself equally well and dropped the tube nearby, just in case. He walked back to his pile of items and picked up a small paddle like thing I couldn’t quite see. He slipped the wrist strap over his hand.

He went back to her and spread her cheeks again. He positioned his penis at her ass and entered just slightly. Paul then put his hands on her hips and pulled her firmly to him.

“Ungh,” she grunted again. She relaxed and slid steadily onto him until he was all the way in. Then he slowly pulled back until his head was just inside of her sphincter, and he proceeded with one more slow relaxing stroke.

As he was about to begin his stroke again, he grabbed the paddle that was hanging around his wrist, and I saw that it wasn’t a paddle at all. I was stunned to see that it was a currycomb. I wondered where he got it; I hadn’t known that the Club had one.

This time, as he began his slow stroke in, he dragged the currycomb firmly down her back, until it and his pelvis met at the blood delta in the small of her back. She screamed. There were many red parallel tracks crisscrossing the welts and cuts his lash had already induced. On the out stroke, he didn’t touch her back, but rather bent his head and blew cool air across the fresh marks. She sighed.

This then became his rhythm. In-stroke-drag-currycomb. Out-stroke-bend-blow. In-stroke-drag-currycomb. Out-stroke- bend-blow. In-stroke-drag-currycomb. Out-stroke-bend-blow. In-stroke-drag-currycomb. Out-stroke-bend-blow. And her rhythm was scream-pause-sigh-pause. Scream-pause-sigh-pause. Scream- pause-sigh-pause. Scream-pause-sigh-pause.

The pauses became shorter as Paul sped up. Her sighs became grunts, and her screams became scream-moans as they slid into the grunts that had been sighs. He was relentless and tireless. In minutes there were bright red streaks across her entire back running from shoulder to ass. She had begun to bleed again from her cuts, and she had fine red welts rising on top of her wide, wild lash welts.

When he came, he was buried deep inside her, and she shuddered once, straining against her chains as he pressed her forward. She shuddered again when he withdrew, still semi-erect. He walked to her front for the first time since the scene began and kissed her gently.

“I love you,” he said.

She mumbled something I couldn’t hear in reply and let her head sag onto her chest. He held her up, unchained her arms and carried her carefully over to another of the tables. He wrapped her in the blanket he’d had ready there and carried her up to her room. He would come back later to get his things, right now she was his first concern.

We filed out of the playroom and into the library, where we each got a glass of our favorite vice. I looked at Tim. He was already looking at me.

“Maybe he will ask to do me next,” I said.

“Or maybe I will,” said Tim.

“Or maybe I’ll ask to do you,” I said looking at him with my best lascivious glance.

“Maybe I’d let you,” he said.

–end–

copyright 1991 by theClone.
released into the public domain.