The second coming

Exactly two weeks later I arranged to go back - to play again with A and his female friend. By now we had started to question our "relationship", trying to work out together over the phone if we had a future. I was reticent and excited in equal measure - flattered that he liked me, concerned that instinct was telling me it wasn't quite right. But the only way I wanted to tell was to go back to his house, to his sitting room and play again.

This time, we talked about the scene before hand. I was to be tied - hog-tied while he and her fucked. In essence I was to be cuckolded to get me over my jealousy from before and to act as the slave in the scene.

Having the ropes put around me was magic. Pure bliss. He stood me in front of the mirror as he wrapped them around me, between my legs, around my breasts. His touch was electric and as the ropes went on I could feel myself slipping into submission. My natural cheekiness and cockiness subsided, I relaxed into his touch.

Then he lay me down on my front and tied me in a hog-tie - feet to wrists and gave me a pillow for my face. then he slipped a little vibrator in my pussy and a little butt plug in my arse and turned them both on. I was lying there immobile, feeling the sensation of the rope holding me close, the vibrations rippling through me when she arrived. This time it was good to see her.

They fucked - they fucked inches from my face, their grunts and groans adding to how turned on I was as I wriggled on the floor like a little captive slave girl. Occasionally they would break off and I would have to suck his cock or lick his pussy but basically they ignored me. My head was straight though - it was good and I was enjoying not being the centre of attention, not having to make decisions, not even having to take direction. I was an object there for their pleasure.

They sat on the sofa on the other side of the room and I was ordered to wriggle over to be there too. I felt so stupid, my red face showing my humiliation as I moved like a caterpillar or a slug slowly towards them. And when I finally got there, I had to lick and suck them both as they fucked each other. When he came, I had to clean her up. It was another first for me - sucking cum off another woman. So horny, so dirty, so right.

Then I lay on the floor, tired, a bit bratty. My hand had gone to sleep and I could feel one of my restraints on my legs working loose so I took advantage, wriggling and moving myself so that my legs were free. And then I was triumphant - goading A. saying that he hadn't done me up tight enough as my legs were now flat on the floor. And he came behind me, stood over me and said "do you want the crop?"

Up until this point I had thought I didn't want really to be hit. Two weekends ago I had seen the other girl being whipped and it had frightened me. But suddenly every fibre in my being was crying out for some punishment, some pain. He raised his hand, took the riding crop high and thwacked it on my bottom. There was a momentary sting and then pain radiating from the spot and then pure and utter bliss and warmth and security and serenity. He stopped - I wiggled and whimpered on the floor in front of him - I wanted more. Again and again he raised his hand, bringing the crop down on my arse, on the same side as before. As each time it hit me, it made the previous impact point a little more sore and I gasped and wriggled a bit more. He said "say stop when you want". I said stop - not because I wanted to but I felt I should. How wrong was this to be enjoying this? Why? What was wrong with me to want to be beaten like this? Every time I said stop, he would say "are you sure?" and I'd wriggle and say, "one more".

I didn't count how many strokes there were but then he changed tack and picked up the leather cat o'nine tails. Stroking it across my warm and glowing bottom it felt amazing but as the 20 leather tails picked out the tender flesh from the crop it hurt in a different way, spreading across my bottom. He flicked it under me - towards my pussy which was aching to be touched (I hadn't had an orgasm yet although the scene was about 2 hours in), hating the sting, loving the pain. And then I said stop for real. He untied me and I felt high. I just wanted to be held so I hugged him and said thank you, before grabbing my security blanket and hiding my red and ashamed face and hiding away from these people who could make me do some humiliating and such lovely things.