Starts with me instead

I still felt a little confused, and my head was still a little woozy as my senses adjusted, but to no surprise, Zach didn't care. He directed his aim at my slightly bruised thigh. Every hit of the whip felt amazing, even though my senses haven't fully recovered yet. It took him eight strikes before I was able to get my head around it.

"I said, spread your legs, you stupid slut!" It took a moment for Zach's words to sink in once my senses returned. I realized he meant to hit my pussy but the legs weren't positioned wide enough.

I watched Zach's mom's position closely and copied her. Now that I'm in the right position, Zach instructed me to count every hit he makes, and I have to speak it out loud. If I missed even a single one, we would have to start all over again.

Zach's aim has definitely improved. His first five strikes all hit the same spot at my vulva, but the next three were slightly off target. Nevertheless, it was a noticeable improvement.

The goal was 100 hits. It wasn't that hard; all I had to do was spread my legs and count. This would be a walk in the park. That was what I thought, and I was wrong, very wrong. I was just finishing counting his 72nd strike when my orgasm began to build up. This impacted my concentration; it became duller, and I accidentally mispronounced seventy two with "sehenty hoo". Thankfully, Zach somehow considered that. But on his 73rd count, I completely lost it. The whip directly hit my clit causing me to let out a loud moan and miss the count.

“Again. From the start." Zach growled at me.

“One...” I exclaimed as the whip continued to lash my vulva for the 74th time. As the strikes continued, wave after wave of intense sensation overwhelmed me, making it harder and harder to count, but I tried my best. I was about to count to the 64th strike when I heard Zach's mother burst into laughter. This unexpected interruption completely hampered my focus, causing me to miss count again. I can't blame her; we looked silly and kind of comical from our point of view. Two grown up women can't barely count to a hundred while cumming all over the floor.

"Start again!" Zach barked.

No matter how I tried to stay focused, my brain just wouldn't cooperate; the intensity was too much. On my third batch, during the 51st strike, I passed out.

I woke up hearing Zach's mom yelling, "48.. 49.. Fuck, I'm cumming again!"

"Again!" Zach barked, obviously frustrated.

I couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Zach's mom squirting like a fountain. A mixture of blood and fluid flooded the floor. I wasn't sure about the total number of whip strikes we received in total, but I don't care, and I'm pretty sure Zach's mother felt the same way.

"This is going nowhere." Zach's complaint was accompanied by a deep yawn.

Zach's mom and I exchanged glances, and I felt our thoughts aligned. We both agreed with Zach that this so called "punishment" was indeed going nowhere; no matter how much we tried, we couldn't help but cum before finishing our counting.

We both exchanged smiles, but within seconds, it turned into uncontrollable laughter for a few seconds. Reading the situation, I felt I had to suggest something—a better "punishment" that was suitable for the three of us. Zach already has a bullwhip, so I must think of something that makes use of that.

But I got nothing. My body was exhausted; I couldn't think of anything. Maybe I'll just suggest increasing the number of hits, maybe to 500. I'm sure Zach would like that.

"Can I suggest..." I was about to suggest it, but I was stopped when Zach approached my back. And to my surprise, he started untying my hogtie.

"Fun over, son?" Zach's mom asked his son. I could sense the disappointment in her voice, which resonated with mine. We were having so much fun, and Zach decided to end it. I feel like a little girl getting told that play time is over and it is time to go to bed. I felt the same sense of disappointment and frustration.

"Yes, slut. I'm already tired. I'm going to sleep." Zach said as he untied her mom, too.

"But we never get the punishments we deserve. Do you really let these two sluts go unpunished?" Zach's mom encouraged her son to "discipline" us.

But Zach didn't reply; he just threw his bullwhip away and left the room. I was confused. Did he just abandon us? Where is he going? Should we follow him? These questions started to fill my head. But Zach's mom seemed relaxed; it looked like she knew all the answers to my questions.

She noticed my mild panic, gave me a comforting pat at the back, and said, "Relax."