The crop gets what the crop wants

Even though I had been a virgin until a few days ago, I had had my share of erotic fantasies, when I was playing with myself late at night, before going to sleep. Some of these brainchildren were pretty wild and kinky. When my best friend had told me that her father had spanked her because she had been home late had inspired me for several months, imagining myself bending over his lap to be disciplined. But even in those fantasies I had never ever even considered the possibility that a clit spanking might possibly be arousing. But now I saw it happening right before my eyes.

Joe started tapping her with the crop, but that was just an appetizer. Soon he raised his arm higher and lashed out at her pussy from 10 inches high, raining strokes down on her like a summer shower. She squirmed and jolted in her bondage, but he was relentless.

“All you have to do is cum again, and he’ll stop! “, Mike told her. At first I figured it was just because he was being mean, making a remark like that. Surely it was completely impossible to cum on a barbaric whacking like this?

There are many similarities in the expression of the human body when it is subjected to either pain or lust. The facial muscles contract into a grimace, and the eyes squint. The breathing gets shorter and more intense, and small vocal squeaks cannot be controlled.

There are also subtle differences. Limbs are shaking or even jolting when in pain, while the hips are pushed forward or upward in lust. The vocal expression of pain tends to resemble an “Ah” or “Ee” sound, while arousal more often leads to “Oh” and “Oo” sounds. I was astonished to notice that the brunette now expressed both signs at the same time. The painful proceedings on her most tender place obviously led to jolting and convulsions all through her body; yet she clearly pushed up her hips towards the merciless strokes as well, as if she wanted to open herself up even more than she already was. Her **** lamenting didn’t just express agony; there were clear overtones of desire and a lascivious yearning in it as well. Was it really possible that this girl, who had been subjected to a triple orgasm mere minutes ago, was actually being pulled back into the realm of sexuality? Could the infernal torment inflicted on her pussy actually put her back on track to yet another orgasm? And if so, what kind of orgasm would it be, conceived from nothing but the bosom of pain?

All these questions were being answered right under my eyes. It was no easy path for her to travel, but the general direction was perfectly clear. Splashes of juice started jumping up from her crotch now as the torrent of lashes continued to fall on her. It took her a full ten minutes to drink the poison cup to the bottom, submerged deeper and deeper into the swirling maelstrom of lust and torment without any possibility of escaping the final result. In the end the orgasm hit her at full strength, and it shook her to the core. She literally howled, and her body quaked and juddered in her shackles.

Her orgasm wasn’t just big in size, but in duration as well. Waves of tremors kept ravaging her body up and down and front and back and left and right; when they reached the outer ends of her limbs they just turned around and returned for yet another marauding raid through her ransacked body, as the continued battering of her clit kept adding new fuel to the heat which consumed her. It must have lasted at least half a minute before even the slightest decrease of her ravishment became noticeable.

The tremors only died down gradually. Joe finally ceased whacking her and hung the crop back at his waist belt.

As the tremors slowly but steadily diminished into quivers, only a sobbing wreck of a girl remained. Her skin was completely soaked in glistening sweat. Her eyes and cheeks were covered in tears, and a string of creeping saliva emerged from the corner of her mouth. Her moaning was irregular, interspersed with sobs and uncontrollable aftershocks of her own muscles.

Mike didn’t look more than mildly pleased when he watched her, like a craftsman does when he looks down on yet another product of his experience and skill. Then he turned to the third executive, and said: “Well, Mandingo, I guess it is time for you to finish the job now. “

Mandingo was a black guy, massive like a tree, and the apparel he carried confirmed all the presuppositions about his race: it must actually have measured more than a foot, and it stood out thick and eager from his loins like a rocket about to be fired.

He stepped up between the spread-eagled legs of the girl and aimed the head of his dick with a hand; and when he had found the right angle his hips thrust forward, roasting her on his spit. Amidst a new wave of moans and yelps from the battered girl, his first punch was a slow one, penetrating her inch by inch; he took great care to adjust his fucking angle to insert as much of himself as possible. The girl gasped and wailed as his giant rod slowly but steadily stuffed her pussy with more of his flesh. He didn’t stop driving into her until he met the hilt of his sword.

He held himself still there for a full minute, while the inner muscles of her slit struggled to adjust themselves to accommodate him, and at least have some sort of peace with her brutal invader. It only meant giving up more ground; every bit of room created was immediately claimed and filled up by his solid, hard dick. She was losing the battle for her womb, she was losing it rapidly, and the invader was getting getting ready for a pillaging carnage. Still her breathing became slightly more relaxed, the vocal part of it disappeared, and the muscles in her limbs loosened slightly.

Mandingo looked at Mike. He waited all the way until her unhinged loins had come to rest around their new occupant.

Then he turned to one of the white men with an interrogatory expression. The man checked his tablet screen and said: “Seven.”

Mike repeated to Mandingo: “Seven.”

Mandingo nodded. He looked down on his workspace. With the slowness and deliberateness that can only be born in confidence, he withdrew his hips so his dick slid out of her interior; but even before two thirds of his shaft had come out, he reversed and drove himself back inside in a powerful new thrust, drilling her to the hilt again. Her temporary relaxation was immediately broken, she yelped and vainly squirmed in her bondage again. Mandingo didn’t pause now, he retracted again, immediately followed by the next **** into her womanhood. Seven times he pounded her like that, maybe it lasted a full seven seconds, but it felt like she was getting fucked for hours. When he finally vacated her completely, his emerging dick still looked like a weapon of violent mass destruction; the glistening of fresh pussy juice on its surface only made it look more majestic and powerful. He left it dangling over her pussy, awaiting new instructions.

Mike turned to the white man again, and said: “No buttfuck?”

The man shook his head.

Mike insisted: “Are you sure?”

The man checked his tablet again, then nodded. Mike just added: “Ah well, maybe next time. “

He looked down on his victim, who seemed to be completely lifeless now. Then he shrugged, and turned away from her. Both the eyes and the mouth of the girl in the next bed were spread wide open when he looked at her, in an expression of ultimate horror. The smile he gave her can only be described as diabolic and menacing.

Then he said: “Hello there sweetie. What is your name? “