Straight to the point

You have not been with Michael for long but you know the look on his face. He is not enjoying this exactly; he will enjoy the feeling of a chore well done, however, when he has dished out the punishment. Not the attitude you would have expected, but a fairly understandable one, in a world as you designed it especially. Diana gives you an encouraging smile which you cannot **** yourself to return as Michael lines up the now uncoiled whip across the top of your bare breasts.

You brace yourself for the first lash and manage to take the impact only with the slightest of grunts. The real pain, however, only comes over you a moment later and you moan out loud, just as the second lash draws a long mark below that left by the first one. The pain doubles and so does your moan, as you are still fighting hard not to scream. The whip strikes again and again, drawing fresh lines of fire. This Michael is clearly much more experienced with a whip than the one you knew would ever be; unimpressive as your breasts are, he fit several perfect strokes between the first one and your nipples.

A direct hit is coming, however, and when it does there is no way of stopping yourself from howling desperately. You know the light whip will not do any serious damage, at least not so easily, but the knowledge does not help when you feel as if your nipples are being torn. Somehow you are still mostly standing as opposed to letting the bindings around your wrists take your weight. A small victory, but one that lets you feel as if you might keep your self-control through this.

Michael largely disregards your reaction and continues whipping you with the perfectly lined strokes moving from your nipples to the lower part of your breasts and further down still. You start screaming again although not as shrilly when your flat abdomen absorbs the first harsh lash. Evolutionary instincts of protecting your tummy make you feel very **** as it gets mercilessly attacked. You lost count of the lashes long ago and you are just hoping through pain, tears and screaming that your ex will only whip each side of your top to bottom once. You can still feel each new stroke but the worst of the pain is above, in the already-whipped areas of your exposed naked body.

The whip slowly but inevitably approaches your pussy but unlike your breasts it is hardly a protruding target. The whip stings it horribly but your thighs take most of the impact. Still it is enough to make any vaginal penetration a pure **** for the foreseeable future. The small comfort, of course, is that at the moments your thoughts are hardly future-orientated. In fact, you barely have any, apart from wishing for the whipping to stop. As your thighs are whipped your legs give way once and then again, your restraints biting into your wrists without you feeling it.

Michael stops when he already has to bend far down to keep the lines parallel, the last strokes is just above your knees. He lowers the whip and takes a step back; you are only vaguely aware of the reprieve as you half-stand half-hang on the whipping post, your front covered almost entirely by neat but angry red lines. Diana’s expression as far as you can see it contains a mixture of sympathy and awe. As your body slowly starts to get the pain under a degree of control, you want to know just one thing. Will Michael turn you around or start on your front again?