Woke This Morning To The Stinging Lash
By Jeremy Spencer
Copyright 2004

All rights reserved.  This story may be downloaded for personal use, but any posting to a website, free or otherwise, is strictly forbidden. If you have found this story somewhere other than my page (http://www.asstr.org/~Jeremy_Spencer/) or at Storiesonline, please let me know by filling in a feedback form at either place.

Author's Note: The following is a fictional story. In it, fictional characters have hot, sweaty, unprotected, fictional sex. They live in a fictional world without fictional diseases. You do not. Be careful. All characters in this story are old enough to know what they're doing. Now, on to the show!

*****


With a snap, the whip bit into the soft flesh of his inner thigh, and Roger fought to stifle a second cry of pain.

"Good boy," the soft voice said, in sharp contrast to the sting of her lash.

"Thank you Mistress," Roger panted, his voice breathy and strained.  He tried to calm himself, to slow the pounding in his head, but the burning sensations in his legs made concentration impossible.

"Roger... darling... you've been a bad boy, haven't you?"  The voice was calm, hypnotic, and Roger nodded, ashamed of his weakness.  "Answer me!" she commanded, again harsh and demanding.

"Yes Mistress." He screamed as another stroke bit at his flesh.  Red stripes on white skin, a fresh track for each lash of the whip.

"What did you do to deserve this, Roger?

"I... I fucked another woman... and my wife found out."  He cringed, anticipating another blow, gasping as instead a cool hand grasped his erect cock.  Roger flinched, but lasted only a few swift strokes before spurting his seed into the cool air of the dark basement.

"Good boy, Roger.  Temptation is evil, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"If you feel tempted, you shall come to me, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good boy.  You may take off your mask now.  We're done.  You've learned your lesson."  Exhausted, Roger collapsed to the ground and quickly removed the heavy leather wrap.

He turned, seeing the deceptively placid-looking woman, and behind her his wife, demurely watching the spectacle.  Roger eyed the older woman warily, still fearing the bite of her leather, until she smiled and helped him to his feet, kissing him lightly on the forehead.

"Such a good boy," she cooed, wiping his sweaty cheek.  "Sometimes you just need reminding."  Roger blushed, looking at the ground.

"Thank you, Mother."

The End