Hurting Her 
By H. Jekyll

January 4, 2000
revised -- March 31, 2000

They have a storage area in the middle of the old 
classroom building, where they sex.  It had been a 
restroom in its past life.  Tiled, concrete walls separate 
it from the classroom and other storage closet that 
bracket it.  In its old-fashioned way it has two doors 
that stand between their chamber and the hall, and which 
they keep locked.  All this conspires to keep their noises 
away from the heavy traffic of students and faculty.  It 
excites them to know that hundreds of people move about 
not twenty feet from where they fuck.  He had moved a 
mattress in one weekend;  when they aren’t using it he 
leans it against a wall, draped with a tarp to protect it 
from any overzealous cleaning lady.

She is not a quiet lover, prone to whimpering and crying 
out, so he recently used this as an excuse to muffle her 
when he had her close to climax, by stuffing her panties 
into her mouth, inside out.  As usual she hated the idea, 
but she was not capable of resisting him, and the first 
time she felt and tasted her panties she got that shivery 
feeling of anxiety and excitement again.  Her eyes teared 
up and she retched once.  Oh, it was good.  She got used 
to the gag, though, and he needs to take the next step to 
avoid having sex become routine.  This one she won’t enjoy.

"God I would love to whip you," he murmurs as he strokes 
her vagina lightly, her lips so slippery and sensitive.

"Would you like that, darling?  I would love you to whip 
me.  It would make me so hot."

"You’re just saying that because you know I can’t.  I 
can’t leave any marks at all on your sweet body, for your 
husband to see.  After I whipped you, you probably 
wouldn’t see me anymore anyway."

"Why not?"

"Hell, it wouldn’t make you hot at all.  You just think 
it would, because you’ve never done it.  You’d hate it.  
You’d scream and try to get away.  It makes me horny to 
think about that.  You’d neigh just like a horse.  Your face 
would be covered with tears and slobber and snot. You’d 
sweat like a horse, too.  I’d make you keep taking it.  
God I’d like that."

He is lost in his fantasy, electric currents moving through 
penis, and so soon after coming. She too. She moves 
down to his penis, takes it into her mouth, and sucks 
off the last of the mixture of his cum and her juices.  She, 
who only a month ago would never have believed that she 
would be able to stomach semen.  

She imagines herself hanging from a bar, imagines a 
whip making snapping sounds, imagines herself crying 
and struggling.  Could it be that bad?  Would he let 
it get than bad?  Oh my.  She gets sudden goose bumps 
from her belly, to her breasts, to her upper arms.

"Well, I’ve liked everything else you’ve done to me." She 
is being a little pouty.  She sucks again, to show him 
something she came to like a lot.  He doesn’t answer, but 
moves his half-erect penis in her mouth.

"Where would you whip me?"  She is a little breathless now.

"Why, in here of course!  I’d have to gag you better, 
though, if you couldn’t control your screaming."  After a 
moment:  "Then I’d punish you for the screaming.  To 
teach you discipline."

"No darling, I meant what part of me."

"Oh, each part in its time," he chuckles.  He is quiet a 
moment.  "A lot of porn focuses on the ass, but you’re 
so lovely I’d like to whip you everywhere.  But mostly 
where you’re the most sensitive. And on everything sexual."

"Between my legs?" She hasn’t thought of that, and her 
fantasy fragment shifts to an image of lying on the floor 
with her legs tied apart.  She never can seem to 
completely imagine what he has in mind before he does 
things to her, or makes her do them, and she sometimes 
wonders how he thinks them up.  

"Your inner thighs would be nice. They’re really tender 
and soft, and they’d bruise up nicely so I could see what 
I’d done every time I ate your pussy for days afterward.  
And no one else would ever see them in this season.  Then 
I’d whip your pussy, too."  

"My husband would see them."  She likes it that he 
actually called it a pussy.  It always excites her.  No 
one she knows has ever used that word except when telling 
a joke.

"Don’t let him."

"He likes to have sex with me almost as much as you do, 
darling, and he likes a light on."

"And you like him to do it, too, don’t you?"  

She tries to deny it but becomes tongue-tied, not finding the 
words, sputtering.  It is so embarrassing to have him know 
she still likes sex with her husband.  He laughs and 
kisses her.  "Don’t be such a dope.  I don’t mind if you 
like him.  You might as well enjoy your wifely duties.  
Anyway, you could just have a three-week headache." They 
suck on each others lips, lightly.  He runs his finger-
tips very, very lightly across her stomach, giving her more
goose bumps, while she tickles the shaft of his penis and his 
balls.  She doesn’t think he ever would whip her, but this talk 
is exciting. It is going somewhere, too, and most of her 
wants to find out where.

"Your belly would be fun to whip.  So white and soft.  
Right here where it pooches out just a little, saying 
(in a falsetto voice) 'please mark me up’."

She rolls away.  "My tummy does not pooch out!"  But she 
knows it does and he likes it like that.  No anorexic 
washboard stomach but a woman’s soft underbelly.  Her 
husband is a fitness freak and insults her about being out 
of shape, though she works out for him regularly.

She is completely surprised by what happens next.  He 
grabs her, pulls her back hard, and slams her to the 
mattress.  He holds her down by her shoulders, staring in 
her face, her heart instantly in her throat.  His face 
isn’t two inches above hers.  "I didn’t tell you you 
could leave!"  He uses *that* voice.  She lies absolutely 
still, her eyes round and white, feeling so very small.

She reaches a hand, shyly, up to his face.  
"Darling, I'm so sorry.  Please, I'll be a good girl."  
There is the tiniest catch in her voice.  

"That’s better.  You’re so much better when you’re 
submissive.  If you try to assert yourself again I’ll have 
to punish you."  

Now she can tell he isn’t angry at all.  He is enjoying 
this.  He is so impetuous, always catching her off guard. 
But that brief shock hasn’t completely evaporated.  He 
has never hurt her, just some stinging slaps in sex play, 
but he seems so powerful that she doesn’t know if he 
ever might.  

"Would you whip me for being bad?" 

"No, I’d whip you for the enjoyment of it."  He massages 
his penis, squeezes a drop of pre-cum onto his fingers, 
then rubs it onto her lips.  He holds her head still, 
makes her open her mouth, then slowly spits frothy saliva 
into her mouth. One of the things he came up with to dominate 
her and make her excited. She works to not miss his spit, 
to catch and swallow it all. "What I’d like to whip most of 
all is your breasts.  They’re so good, and they’d bounce all over 
the place when I hit them.  Not like those flour bags most 
big breasted women have."  This is true.  She herself 
loves her breasts, their firmness and the fact that her 
nipples point upward.  She’d heard about upward-pointing 
nipples in an old movie once, as a teenager, and had 
almost rushed to the bathroom to inspect herself.  Even 
her husband doesn’t berate her about them.  One of the few 
things, she thinks. 

"I might not even use a whip on them.  Maybe a long piece 
of inch-thick doweling.  I’d hit you slowly, one hit every 
minute or so, on the minute, so you’d know just when it 
was coming and would have plenty of time to experience 
each one.  Anticipation is everything, little sweet one."

She gets that shivery feeling in her belly again and now 
is really hot.  A couple of times he got her high like 
this then said it was time to get back to their offices, 
leaving her horny and distracted all afternoon.  Is this 
one of those times?  It is working, the bastard! The image 
of herself, her breasts marked and swaying while she tried 
vainly to avoid the blows, is exquisite.  She thinks she 
would say yes if he actually put the question to her.

"You’d really like to beat my breasts, darling?"

"My sweet, simple bitch, they’re whip magnets!  Anyone 
would want to.  Don’t get me started.  They should be 
battered until they're bruised and lumpy and a little bloody.  
Then I’d pump them while I fucked you."

"Oh, please, would you? I’ll be brave and not even need a 
gag.  You’ll be so proud of me."  She thinks she might 
orgasm right now.

He gives her a very sweet kiss.  "That gets us back to 
the issue of markings, doesn’t it?"  He makes her get up 
on her knees and sit back on her ankles, then lock her fingers 
behind her neck.  He kneels in front of her and pulls 
her head down to his penis.  She notices that it is larger 
than usual and darker hued, and realizes how much he must 
like the fantasy.  Now she hopes he will be able to find 
a way to do it.  

She licks the head of the penis, sucks it into her mouth.  
He winds his hands through her hair, holding her head 
still while he moves his dick in very short strokes.  Then 
he moves his hands to her breasts, squeezes them and 
twists her nipples some more.

"There is a way I can hurt you and not leave too many obvious 
marks.  I’m going to do it."  

She stops sucking just for a moment, but she knows not 
to take her mouth off of him until he tells her to.  
She runs her tongue up the underside of the head, then 
around it.  "I’m going to use nipple torture on you."

It seems suddenly quieter in the chamber.  There is the 
susurrus of her breathing through her nose, the sound of 
a small movement he makes on the mattress.  She hears 
students moving distantly in the hall, and everything in the 
chamber assumes a more solid character to her, as though 
she is seeing it for the first time or is suddenly 
wide awake.  Her head is bowed but her eyes look up at him with 
questions. He pulls hard on her hair, then holds her head 
still while he finally explains.

"I can torture your nipples.  They’re dark and only a 
small part of you, so they won’t show much.  Though yours 
are a little pinkish.  I want you to know exactly what’s 
going to happen, so you can agree in advance."  He moves 
his penis in and out a little, until he is close, then 
stops and holds her head still again.

"You’ll be tied upright so you can’t move and I have easy 
access to you.  You’ll be heavily gagged.  I’ll use 
pliers, and pins, and alligator clips, and I’ll fuck you 
during it.  You know about safe words, but we can’t have 
one because I’ll hurt you too much and you wouldn’t be 
able to stop yourself from using it.  That would stop 
things early and spoil it. It has to be more than you can 
take.  So you have to be gagged. You have to trust me.  You 
have to agree in advance to let me do it. I promise only 
two things. There won’t be any permanent damage and the 
time will be limited.  I’ll stop after, say, thirty 
minutes."

She kneels at his lap, his dick pulsating in her mouth, 
her mind running in circles. Can she do it?  It is so much 
further and more intense than anything they have ever 
done, but she is still hot, and she does want to do it for 
him.  

"Do you trust me?"
---------------------------------------

On the day, he meets her as she enters the chamber.  She 
has run hot and cold since the previous evening, afraid of
what is coming, wanting to please him, being briefly
aroused, wondering what it all means.  This morning, when
no one was around, she stroked and squeezed her nipples 
through her sweater, got sexy, then was nearly caught when
the work study student walked in unexpectedly.

He tells her to strip quickly.  They have only her hour lunch 
break, so she can’t waste time.  She lets him pull up her 
arms, watching as from a distance, and notices that he uses long, 
beautifully patterned, silk scarves to tie her hands apart to 
a pipe that runs overhead.  She has never been tied before.
Having it happen simultaneously frightens her and makes her 
desire herself.  A phrase from last Sunday's sermon runs
around in her head:  "Flesh of my flesh, flesh of my flesh." 

He has fixed screw rings into the floor--she wonders how and 
when he did that--and ties her legs apart with more scarves.  
Another long scarf, this one with a floral design, goes around 
her belly then to another ring set into the wall behind, so she 
is pulled back.  He tightens everything.  She can hardly move.  
By now she is almost hyperventilating.

He licks her nipples then kneels and sucks her pussy lips.  They 
kiss deeply, lips and tongue, for several minutes while he plays 
with her body and gets her high.  He strips and enters her for a 
moment, then withdraws.  She is completely slippery.

The gag is next. Not her panties this time, but something 
she can’t choke on.  A ball gag, with a tie around her 
head, followed by duct tape around her lips.  "I won’t 
blindfold you, because I want you to see what’s happening 
to you."  Because she can't say anything she murmurs against
the gag.  This is so exciting.  Why hasn't he done
this before?  Do more.

Then he puts his dick back in her and holds a pair of 
needle nosed pliers in front of her face.  She just 
stares as he puts the pliers on her right nipple.  They 
are cold and so hard and sharp-edged, and in feeling them all 
her desire drains away.  It's too soon, she thinks, and trys 
to tell him to wait, but she can't talk.  She steels herself, 
bites on the ball.  She can’t look away.  She thinks it's just 
my nipples, only my nipples, I can stand it.  She is grasping 
at straws.  He squeezes hard and twists.  

She hadn’t known her body would jerk so. She forgets her 
grip on the ball-gag, squeals, and tries to tear away.  He 
squeezes again and twists the other direction, and now she 
is jerking back and forth, begging him through the gag to 
please stop, please.  He stops, waits a moment for her to 
subside, to think maybe he will end it, and goes to the 
left nipple.  Then back.

She is moving so fast, bucking, arching, shaking, using every 
contortion the scarves allow. Many directions but not 
much distance.  She is aware of few things beyond her 
nipples, and then only as fragments of a picture.  
There is no continuity.  She hears herself yelling, and 
then gasping because she can’t get enough air through her 
nose, then screaming shallowly before her lungs can fill.  
But no noise of consequence escapes.  He can hear it very nicely, 
but no one can in the hall or the classroom.  And she is 
completely winded in seconds. 

This brings him to orgasm quickly, one that explodes from his 
cock and sends vibrations up and down his body.  He holds on to
her to keep from staggering.  So good, but too damned soon. He 
shoots up into her for a long time; but he doesn’t get soft 
and he wants more.  After he collects himself he stops for a 
moment to pick up the alligator clips.

She couldn’t keep this dance up for more than a few 
minutes.  No one could. When he suddenly stops 
she mainly just hangs by her arms from the beautiful
scarves, though she can’t stop her body from twitching 
this way and that.  After a moment she is merely moaning 
and wheezing, but this changes to a whine when he holds 
the two-inch clips to her eyes.  Oh no, please don’t do 
it, please no.  But he does.  One on each nipple.  They 
cut  A different pain.  He squuezes them, then yanks them 
off roughly and gets her moving again.  He puts them on 
again, and adds some kind of weights that pull her nipples 
down, stretching them out.  He is close again, already.

There is hot water all down their legs.  He realizes she 
has pissed on herself.  On him, too, which for just a 
moment gets him to think how this is a reason to punish 
her later.  

She doesn’t know how long it has been, has no sense of the 
time.  The initial panic passes to fatigue and a great 
sadness, and always the hurting.  Her arms and her legs 
spasm. It takes her some time to realize she lost her water.  
Great shudders run through her abdomen.  Not her breasts, 
though.  They just stand there pertly on her chest wall, 
waiting for what will happen next.  Between hurts she hangs, 
writhing back and forth, gasping and whining, but when he 
hurts her again she bucks and cries again. 

He takes up a long pin with a red plastic bead on the end.  
She does notice the bead, then the silvery gleam.  
He starts putting it through the extended nipple, very 
slowly.  Her body is moving again.  Though the pin is sharp 
he has to push on it hard, and twist it a bit, to get it 
to go through all the way. This slows things down more. 

She tries to pull back away from the needles, her cries 
now lacking any power.  More a pathetic mewing.  She sees 
little black spots in front of her eyes.  He pulls the pin 
out, slowly, then pushes it through at another spot.  
Slowly, slowly.  He pulls it out again, puts it through the 
areola into the meat of her breast, drives it in a way, removes 
it slowly, finds another spot on the areola and drives it again.  
She is now just pushing back against the wall with the scant 
strength she can borrow from the pain, pushing against the ring 
in the wall.  He moves to her other breast and uses the pin 
again.  And again.

Then he removes the pin and the clips.  She just hangs 
there, moaning.  He pulls up the breast and gets a nipple 
into his mouth.  He sucks.  Then the other side.  Then 
back.  She hardly feels it. 

Then the clips again.  He puts them on and squeezes them 
very hard, drawing more blood and making her twist and 
moan and mew.  Then he stops, while she hangs like a sack, 
gasping and whimpering, and he sucks her blood again.  Then 
the pliers again.  He fucks up into her and comes again.
It is so good.

---------------------------------------

He pulls out of her and backs a step away, puts down the 
tools, steps back up to her.  She follows the usual 
pattern.  Her mewing subsides again, but she still 
writhes softly.  Her wheezing almost covers the moaning that 
seeps through the gag.  He puts his finger to 
his lips until he is sure she sees and recognizes it.  
He removes the gag.

There are streaks of froth around her mouth where saliva 
was forced past the ball and tape.  She can’t get enough 
air and can’t hold herself up.  She tries to talk to him.  
"Oh darling I’m so--I’m so sorry." Another gasp.  Her 
face crumples.  She winces, screws her eyes shut. Then:  
"I tried, but I just couldn’t.  I couldn’t.  It hurt so 
much.  Oh darling please,  I’m sorry."  She is crying more. 
Her face is covered with tears and sweat and snot, just as 
he had said.  She is redder in the face than he has ever seen;  
the color extends down her neck to the tops of her breasts.  
Her nipples are swollen hugely, very dark, and more droplets 
of blood have oozed out.  She will need to hide them from 
her husband for awhile.

He caresses her face.  "Later. You were so lovely up there.  
Now I’m going to fix you up a little so your nips won’t hurt 
so much and you’ll be presentable in the office."

He sprays her nipples with a freezing spray to numb them, them 
washes them with a wash cloth and soap and water from the 
sink.  He takes some ice from a cooler and for ten minutes 
numbs her entire breasts deeply.  Then he applies some 
antibiotic ointment and two large, circular plastic 
bandages.  

She becomes much calmer during this, though shivering 
from both the torture and the ice. He unties her ankles, 
her wrists, the scarf around her belly, and lowers 
her to the mattress.  He has to hold her tightly to keep 
her from falling.  He washes her face very gently, with 
a warm washcloth.  Even with the scarves, her wrists are 
pretty raw, though her ankles seem okay.  He wonders how 
she will explain them to her husband.  He’ll have to help 
her think up something;  she’d never be able to handle it 
on her own.

She huddles up against him, shaking.  He holds her, 
decides to fuck her again.  She is wet from before but has 
no desire, just keeps holding him. 

In a few minutes:  "Time to get up.  You have to clean up 
your mess before you go back to your office.  Tomorrow I’ll 
tell you how I decide to punish you for not being disciplined 
and pissing on yourself."  Her eyes get red again and she 
begins to cry.  A sweet, sad, doleful cry.  She bites her 
lip to help herself stop.  Then he says:  "It only lasted 
twenty minutes. When we do this again we’ll work it up to 
the full half hour."  She starts crying again, can’t 
stop the crying, holding her head against his chest while 
he caresses her back, kisses her hair.

---------------------------------------

Epilogue

Her nipples throb on and on, no end to the hurting.  

Her husband is fully asleep, finally.  She gets up softly 
and walks to the kitchen, gets something, then walks to 
the hall bathroom.  She had been a zombie in the office, 
trying not to be weepy, unable to concentrate.  The work 
study student had thought she’d had a fight with her husband.  
At home her husband noticed something wrong, and she said she 
had a sick headache.  He cooked a light meal, but she couldn’t get 
herself to eat much.  Of course he didn’t try for sex.  He was 
really very attentive.

She undresses and peels the bandages off her nipples.  
There is just a little blood on them.  The nipples are 
almost grotesque, very swollen, clearly bruised, and 
a little scabbed.  She thinks: oh my God, they’re 
mutilated.  She puts together two ice packs and 
holds them to her breasts until the throbbing finally 
diminishes, until the nipples are completely numb.

She washes them again, very gingerly, and puts on more 
ointment.  She reads the label on a medicine bottle and 
takes four tablets.  After a bit she leans back against the 
wall and looks at herself in the mirror that fills the wall 
over the sinks.  She looks only for a minute; then another, 
and another, and finally is staring at her breasts.  The drawn 
look on her face is replaced by a kind of dreaminess.  
She starts slowly masturbating.		
