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Whipping Stories (Sympazero)

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An Agreement:

...Yes, I understand and accept the transaction.
My husband owes you a large sum of money and
has offered me to you for one night as debt settlement.

And…?
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…I love my husband and will obey his wishes.
And…
And during that night it is accepted you
are at liberty to do with me as you wish.

…with you…and to you.
...And to me. Though I fail to understand the distinction.
Really? Have you no imagination, madame?
As in what do you think is in my imagination?

Probably you are imagining me without clothing,
and having your way…

Ah… Only the half of it. Your husband
and I have an additional separate agreement.

I do not understand.
True, I am visualizing you without clothing,
but in addition I envision you hanging naked
from my chandelier, blood dripping from
a hundred horse-whip cuts covering your
entire body from neck to knees!
The difference between us, madame, is that
my imaginings will come to fruition by dawn.

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The Long and the Short of It...

The door opened quietly and he entered.
His sigh was matched by her soft, almost
inaudible whimper as he shut the door and threw the bolt.

No going back…
The creak of the woven leather handle told her he carried the
short bullwhip, which frightened her more than the long.
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She heard him remove his coat and lay it on the bed; then he raised
the whip above his head. Would it be a gentle tap to get his aim, or a
full-blooded smashing blow across her shoulder-blades – the first of fifty
to open tonight’s session? She would know in a moment.
 

O's First Night at Roissy.

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"...Please be good enough to turn around," he said,
and since she, who was completely distracted,
failed to obey, he took her by the hips without
letting go of his riding crop, the handle of
which brushed against her waist.

When she was facing him, he moved back
slightly and lowered his crop on to the
front of her thighs as hard as he could.
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The whole thing had lasted five minutes.

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P Reage
 
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"Did Pierre mark you last night?" he asked O.
She nodded that he had.
" I can barely see any marks. They’ve almost faded!
I’m going to have to have a word
with Pierre to be harsher, much harsher!
Bend over that table.
This is going to hurt, you know that, don’t you?”

She nodded again and leaned over the table.
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“I’ll stop when I draw blood. You can blame Pierre.”

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O Brought to the Restaurant...
...But then, how did she expect to be referred to, if not as a whore,
a girl who, in the presence of men would open her bodice to bare
her breasts, the tips of which had been reddened with lipstick,
as they could see, as they could also see from the purple
furrows across her milk-white skin that she had been flogged?

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