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My Visit To Cruxton Abbey

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Barbaria1 said:
It has begun. As expected but also as not. The tension, anticipation, dread that sweeps through my body and my mind with each lash!!!

Sudden shock on impact, the burn of rough leather wrapping and pulling at my skin, the sharp bite of the tip as it slaps and digs at my tender flesh. First at my belly, then across me ribs, then the soft undersides of my breasts. The progression slow and deliberate, ever upward, toward the pair of prize targets.

I screamed at the third, drowning out all noise, from the orgy below, from the dungeon in the cellar. The entire house must have heard my cry.

I detect a pattern, besides the slow inexorable climb to my budding tumescent unprotected nipples. He alternates between soft and hard .. the effect is incredible. The soft is a relief, a release. But oddly it generates anticipation for the harsh.

What is this? What is happening? I am in pain. I am humiliated. I am naked and helpless before this man, yet somehow? It can't be described. Am I normal?

Why didn't I resist? Why so compliant. It's not like my normal rebellious, disrespectful self. Where the fuck is Wragg? Why do I care?

Oh my God, here comes the sixth. I arch my back as though distance from the source of the lash will help. If only I could protect myself from the inevitable. But I cannot; I am totally helpless.

I brace and pull at my bonds. Suck in my breath. Here it comes!
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For a moment he is close to her again. Hands at her long hair, a band, tied, and that last sense she had of something protecting her shoulders is gone though his hand lingers there.

Barbara risks a question. How many? But his voice, softer, gives her nothing but more confusion. That depends, Ms Moore. On what? On how you respond. Then his voice is harder again, that edge to it. This is punishment Ms Moore, not foreplay, no game of arousal. But what if? Will Wragg? No questions Ms Moore. Punishment decreed. You chose the first whip. What follows is for me.

Then that touch is gone. Barbara feels deserted, alone. So alone. Her eyes close. She craves his touch, any touch and it comes, a whistle in her ear and, simultaneously, a fire across her back. She barely opens her lungs, her scream just beginning before the fire again. Again. Again. At each cut her muscles tighten, wrenching her shoulders sideways, upwards, hauling her body around against the chains that hold her. A brief pause, a moment of rest but, as she begins to sag, she senses his whip coming again. And pain she has never known ignites her shoulders.

Silence. Respite. Her shoulders relax, her arms too and she feels the soft, thick carpet again beneath her toes then her feet. Mind lucid, she realises that she had stopped breathing, and she drags breath deep into her lungs, gulping the cool air down. In her moment of clarity Barbara feels something soft, caressing. Gentle fingers tracing the lines of fire across her back. And she moves backwards as her bonds allow, following the touch.

But as quickly as his hands found her they are gone. Her head turns, left, right, looking for him. With her neck craned as far as she can, Barbara finds him now, almost directly behind her, whip poised high, and wide to his right. She begs for its contact now. If she cannot have the man's touch then let it be his whip.

As his arm sends the leather towards her, Barbara turns her head away and tenses her shoulders, arms, wrists against the metal cuffs. Now he spares her shoulders and sends the snake around Barbara's right hip, the fall slices across her belly. Instinctively she turns that hip way, opening her left side to him, a wide gap between bedpost and naked body and he targets her there.

He seems remorseless. As she twists and turns her body away from the snake's last bite for protection the whip rips each alternative opening she creates for him. Her hips and belly are marked badly, red welts, here and there her skin has parted and there are small droplets of blood. She is sweating too, despite the cool air, and the salty rivulets sting where they follow the welts.

Her screams are lower, less shrill, more gutteral. Moans mostly. Barbara tries to count, to know what he is doing, to gain some measure of what she endures but she cannot. She is lost in the mist that descends over her.

Finally he pauses again but he does not come near. Leave Barbara alone. Wait for her to want, to plead for contact, something, anything. She searches for him again and he can see it there, in her eyes. Touch me. Please.

And the vicious tip begins to bite. Inside her left knee, inside her right, tracking upwards, like a glowing cigarette tip, burning at her inner thighs. She fights desperately to close her wide-spread legs, tearing against the metal cuffs at her ankles as she feels the whip biting higher, higher towards her womanhood.

In desperation Barbara forces herself forwards, her belly hard against the foot of that ornate four-poster. Her efforts are to no avail and the strike she dreads comes. His whip rips upwards, snaking between Barbara's chained legs. Hard, cutting. Deep into her clet sex.

Her whole body writhes, shoulders and arms, hips and legs tearing against her restraints, and, from deep within herself, a long, drawn out scream of pure anguish.
 
Primus pilus said:
Gentle fingers tracing the lines of fire across her back. And she moves backwards as her bonds allow, following the touch.
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Pleasure amid the pain. Her senses hightened, her flesh alive! His touch lights fires inside her, as much as his whip lights fires on the outside.
She struggles in the bonds, she screams, but she knows deep inside that she not only deserves this but she needs and wants it. She NEEDS it and welcomes it with every ounce of energy she has. Her whole body joins in the dance, her soul screams with the overwhelming sensation of it.
How many? As many as are required. Don't count. LIVE it!
 
An odd feeling seeing this old story again and remembering Wragg's visitor still chained to that four-poster with her whipping unfinished.

How long did it go on? What more did Barbara endure?

Pp is the only one who knows.
 
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