Paying the price

(c) 2023, by P.D. Vile
Story tags: Mf, bdsm, cons

NOTE: This story is very different from my usual stories. Many of my regular readers might not like it at all, because of the extreme content.
Yes, there is (sweet, consensual, and very loving) sex between a 14-year-old girl and an adult male. Two, even. But not much. Instead, there is bdsm. Extreme bdsm, even, in my eyes – although hardcore bdsm fanatics might disagree on that.

NOTE: Before starting the story, I really must express my gratitude to “e”. Dear “e”, without you, this story would never have been born. Without your extensive and patient explanations, it would not have been credible. And without your proofreading, it would have been only half as good.

Present: Cuffed

Everything in me trembles as I do my best to lay still. You stand in the corner, looking at me, as I lay sprawled out on the bed, my arms and legs a cynical imitation of the holy cross, yet about to experience a very unholy act. You stand in the corner, still naked. I try to focus on your beauty, hoping it will take my thoughts away from … from what is about to happen.

You are so gorgeous. So wonderfully beautiful. Your long hair, dyed back with a purple glow at the end, falling naturally around your face, and flowing to your back. Your gorgeous brown eyes, your perky little nose. And your lips, that can form such a wonderful smile that I melted for the first time I saw it, but that are now contorted in a look of concern and pity.
But also your slender body, your creamy white skin, so delicate, so smooth, so flawless – well, except for your upper legs, where I see the markings of your last punishment, faded, almost but not completely gone. Your breasts, wonderful globes, so firm, so young, slightly bouncing when you move, as if gravity does not have its full effect on them. And between your legs, your smooth shaven mons, and your delicate outer lips, now closed, hiding your wonderful forbidden treasures.

You see me look and try to flash me a reassuring smile. But I can see that you are faking it. Not that you don’t mean it. I know you mean it. But you can’t. You know, know all too well, what I am about to go through. You hate the thought of what will happen to me. But you cannot stop it. So you try to smile at me, try to tell me it will all be all right.
It won’t be all right. I know it won’t. But I will endure. I have to, for you. You can do it, surely I can do it too.
And once it’s done, I know you will be there for me, comfort me, make me feel better.

Click!
Jim closes the fourth cuff, the one that attaches my right wrist to the top right bed post. He checks the rope, to make sure there is no space to move at all. I could have told him. My arms and legs are fully stretched out, I cannot move even an inch.

“Good,” he says, and I once more notice how friendly and warm he sounds, that utter contrast to what he intends to do, “that should keep you in place. I know that being stretched out like that feels awkward, but are you okay otherwise? The cuffs don’t hurt your wrists and ankles?”

I shake my head, no. And realize, just as I had before, when he had shown me the stuffed handcuffs, how weird this is. The protective layer of cloth on the inside, designed to ensure that they would not hurt, not even when I pulled hard – why go to such lengths to keep me safe from pain there?
And now the concern for my well-being. The genuine regret that my awkward stretched position cannot be avoided. This is so … so totally different from what I had expected!

I look at him, as he casually walks to the wall-mounted rack, carefully inspecting all his various tools, a finger gliding slowly past each of them. Each one looks more menacing than the other, but none of them seems to be what he wants. His finger slides from left to right, then back.

I look up as I hear you whimper. I see in your face that you were about to say something, but swallow it down just in time. Jim looks up at you as well.
“Good, Christine. I see you understand now. Mister Vile can be grateful.”

He turns back to his collection of pain inflicting instruments, but now it seems he has made his choice. Without hesitation, he picks a rope, less than a meter long, looking leathery, and with a nice colored pattern.
“We call this a single tail whip, Mister Vile. Prepare to get to know it very closely for … how many was it, Christine?”
You swallow, and I hear the lump in your throat.
“Twelve, Master Jim.”
“Thanks. Good girl. So, Mister Vile, prepare to get to know this whip very closely, twelve times.”

Ten weeks before: Meet

April 6, 10:33:32. Chat log started. Private chat between The Vile One and Chris Cross

The Vile One	Hey sweetheart!
Chris Cross	Oh, hey! You’re online early today!
The Vile One	Yeah, nothing else to do so I figured, why not give myself some extra me time.
Chris Cross	Ha! I bet your “me time” is mainly surfing to your favorite picture sharing sites and browsing them with one hand only?
The Vile One	Hey, no fair! I have our private chat app open as well, so that’s not all I’m doing.
Chris Cross	No reason to feel attacked. What do you think I am doing right now.
The Vile One	My guess would be that one of your hands gently massages your sore ass, while the other plays with your juicy clit. Not sure how you are typing tho. Nose? LOL
Chris Cross	My ass is not that sore anymore. It wasn’t the worst spanking, not even close. And Master only used the paddle this time.
The Vile One	I know that Jim is so much better for you than your parents ever were and ever will be, so I would never suggest going back.
The Vile One	But yet, I have trouble with those punishments. I admire him for adopting you and giving you safety and protection, but I wish you would have found someone safe who doesn’t hurt you.
Chris Cross	Damnit P.D., we’ve been over this before. I *want* this. It hurts, but I need that pain, it gets me off.
The Vile One	Yes, I know. You told me. But you know that’s not normal, right? You have been made that way because of how your parents hurt you. That makes your brain confuse hurting with love. Perhaps you can “unlearn” that?
Chris Cross	What if I don’t want to change?
Chris Cross	Can you drop this please? I don’t want to argue with you. <3
The Vile One	Yes, sorry. ~hugs Chrissy So, change of subject. Remember that thing we have so often talked about?
Chris Cross	Which one? We have chatted about so many things. Do you mean the roleplay that starts with me sitting in your lap and you reading some of your stories to me?
The Vile One	No, not that. I mean the idea … or perhaps fantasy? … of me coming to visit you in Louisiana, so we can actually meet face to face.
Chris Cross	~smiles
The Vile One	Well, I just heard that I need to be in the Alabama office for two weeks in June. I cannot fly back to Europe for the weekend. But I could fly to Louisiana.
Chris Cross	You want to actually meet face to face? You trust me that much?
Chris Cross	~giggles. Or perhaps you want me that much? ~blushes
The Vile One	Listen, you don’t have to. I totally understand if it never was more than just a nice fantasy for you. And I know it’s dangerous. So please don’t feel bad if your answer is no. I still love you, no matter what.
Chris Cross	Oh, no. No, it was real for me too. Is real. I mean, it was of course a fantasy because I didn’t think it would ever actually be possible. But if it is, then
Chris Cross	Oops I wanted to delete that but hit enter by accident.
Chris Cross	I do want it but I have to ask Master first.
The Vile One	If Jim says you can’t have sex with me, that’s okay. That’s not why I want to visit you. Of course, I do want it. If you want it. But I would rather just meet you without sex than not meet you at all. If you know what I mean.
The Vile One	Heck, I would even rather meet you and not have sex than fuck you and not talk.
Chris Cross	I know. <3
Chris Cross	You are a very special man, and I really love you. And this is one of the reasons why. Most men are only interested in me because they know I’m easy.
The Vile One	Don’t say that of yourself, sweetheart. I don’t think it is true. You may appear easy to some because you enjoy sex, but you would never fuck an asshole. You still make your own choices.
Chris Cross	And I would definitely pick you!
Chris Cross	And Master can tell me not to, but he never would, I told him about you and he understands why I like you.
Chris Cross	But I cannot invite anyone into our home without his permission. And I also cannot just go off and go to a hotel.
The Vile One	~nods. I understand. For your safety.
Chris Cross	And his. What we are doing is not exactly legal. He protects me and keeps me safe. But I am still a minor. If anyone finds out that he is my dom, that we fuck, that he allows me to have sex with his friends …
The Vile One	Then he’d be in jail and you’d be back at your parents. Yes, I understand.
The Vile One	And that would be terrible for both of you. Most of all for you.
Chris Cross	I will ask him when he’s back home.
Chris Cross	~snuggles into your lap
Chris Cross	Will you now read me a story? Do you have a new one?
The Vile One	~rearranges something in his pants
Chris Cross	Oooh, do you want me to take care of that? I can play with it while you are reading!
The Vile One	~unzips
The Vile One	Let me find the story that I am currently working on.

April 6, 10:48:02. Switched to voice chat. Chat log ended

Present: Hard

I shudder as Jim lovingly strokes the whip in his hands, that innocent looking leather strip. The instrument that is about to inflict intense pain upon me. He caresses the leather, turns it a few times, adoring the bright colors of the abstract patterns imprinted on it, as if he sees it for the first time.
I hear a wet noise coming from the corner where you are. I see that, despite how bad you feel for me, you cannot help getting aroused by it. Your hand is between your legs, rubbing your young pussy.

Jim hears it too. He turns his head towards you. I see his face changes to a disapproving frown.
You see it, startle, and instantly withdraw your hand.
Jim’s voice suddenly sounds cold again, cold as ice.
“That will be thirteen then. You are not making this any easier for your friend, my lovely little pain slut.”
“I am sorry, Master,” you say meekly.
I hate hearing your voice go weak like that. I am so much more in love with the very brave and strong young woman inside. The girl that knows what she wants and is not afraid to make herself heard – but that can quickly disappear, morph into a scared little rabbit, when Jim shows his stern side. But I know you need his strict hand, at least now, perhaps forever.

Jim returns his attention to me. His voice instantly regains the warmth and friendliness it had before.
“P.D., I know that this is all new to you. Most subs grow into it and have seen whips before. You haven’t. So my first stroke will not be on you. That, of course, means it doesn’t count.”
He chuckles, and his face shows a hint of the coldness that Jim has so far only used towards Christine. But it instantly disappears again, to make place for his usual warm smile.
“This is so you can get used to the sound. Watch that light switch over there.”

Despite, or perhaps because of, my ever increasing fear, I try to make a joke.
“Why punish that poor light switch, it did noth…”
CRACK!!!!!!!

The sound is incredibly loud and totally unexpected. It is as if I hear it even before I see the little flick of Jim’s wrist that put the whip in motion. But that is of course impossible.
“You flinched. Your whole body shook.”
He states it fully matter-of-factly. I have no idea if it is a reprimand or a compliment, so I don’t know how to respond.
“Christine, dear, would you please fetch the restraints?”
Restraints? Are those cuffs not enough yet?

“You see, P.D.,” Jim resumes, as Christine walks out the basement door, “there is a reason I often practice with the whip.”
He points at a wall-mounted lamp. It is on. I was sure it was off before.
CRACK!!!
And it is off again. His whip apparently touched the light switch just enough to flick it, without damaging it.
“Countless hours of practice, to control exactly where the tail goes. But all that goes to waste when you make unexpected movements. Christine knows to lay still, at least until after the impact. With you, I must make sure.”

You return, holding two wide textile bands, and hands them to Jim.
“Thanks, sweetheart. Oh, while I tie him up, can you do something about that limp dick?”
My dick? Limp? I have not even thought about my dick in the last minutes, I am way too distracted by everything going on. Even with your gorgeous naked body in front of me, there is nothing sexual in this situation.

Jim pulls one band over my knees, pulls it down hard, then attaches it somewhere below the bed.
“A master inflicts pain on his sub for their sexual enjoyment,” he meanwhile explains, in a tone of voice that sounds as if he is reading a Wikipedia page out loud, “and I am used to my subs getting excited even before the punishment starts. I don’t blame you, in this rather unique situation. But I do hope that my adoptee can fix that.”

You certainly do what you can. You make sure to stand where I can see all of you. This is the closest you have been since I undressed you. Your beautiful body, that I thus far only knew from pictures and clips you shared. You are fourteen, admittedly a bit older than my absolute favorite age. But that doesn’t matter, because you are so very special to me. That makes you more gorgeous than anyone else can ever be.
And then your hand touches my dick. My life long dream to be touched by a child, finally comes true. And even with a child, or rather young woman, that I am totally in love with. Were it not for Jim pulling the band even tighter on my knees, my arms and legs splayed out and fixed in place by handcuffs, and all the menacing instruments of torture in my field of vision, I probably would start to cum at your first touch already. Now, my dick barely responds.

But you don’t seem to mind. You don’t give up. You hold it firmly, pull back my foreskin, then lower your head, open your mouth, and just take me in.
Electric shocks jolt through my body, as my dick is enclosed in your warmth, your cozy, wet, and soft mouth. I feel your tongue playing with my pisshole, feel your lips rubbing my now hardening shaft as you bob your head up and down, get a sense of incredible tightness as you suck your mouth vacuum.

I open my eyes as I feel the second textile band being wrapped over my abdomen. I see Jim look down at where my inflating dick disappears in your mouth, then look up at me and smile.
“She gives good head, right?”
I can only nod, as a groan escapes my mouth. For one brief second, I forget why I am here, on this bed. Then Jim pulls the band tighter, and I remember. Part of my mind shivers in fear of what is about to come. The other part is in pure bliss of the feelings you give me. My brain is almost melting. How can I feel so much pleasure when I’m about to go through a hell of pain? How can I be anxious and afraid when experiencing this wonderful feeling?

It feels like my brain is about to explode. But then you lift your head off of my now throbbing hard dick. Only a string of saliva now connects your mouth to my purple dickhead. You smile at me, then open up again, lower your face, until the tip of my now fully extended rod touches the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. You push with more force, and I feel how your esophagus hugs the tip of my dick, like an adult’s hand squeezed into a child’s glove. You take it all the way, and even manage to briefly lick my balls, then come back up and inhale deeply.
“That will be quite enough. I want him hard, not spent.”
Jim nods in the direction of the corner where you were before, and you meekly step back and lean against the wall. Reading in your eyes, I can see that you want to continue as much as I want you to.

Eight weeks ago: Price

Zoom … ding-dong … bzzzt
Zoom … ding-dong … bzzzt
Zoom … ding-

“Hello, P.D. Vile here. Who’s this?”
“Good afternoon, Mister Vile. That was very brave of you, to share your phone number.”
“Brave? Share? Oh, shit! You must be Jim, Christine’s master.”
“Brave. Or perhaps stupid?”
“I don’t know. I trust Christine. Yes, I trust her so much that I gave her my number, when she told me you want to speak to me. Was that a mistake? Was it stupid, and not just brave?”
“Mistake? Perhaps, I don’t know yet. But no, not stupid. She can indeed be trusted. I am indeed Jim, or, as she calls me: Master. But you already know that. She must really like you. This is the first time ever she wants to meet a chat contact.”
“… Really? Wow, I am honored. But I don’t think you call me to tell me this.”
“No. She asked my permission to meet you. Either at our home, or in a hotel. I need to ask you a question first.”
“Okay?”
“Mister Vile, what price are you willing to pay to fuck Christine?”

(A long silence)
“I am very sorry Jim. There clearly is a misunderstanding. After all that Christine has told me about you, I had not taken you for one to whore her out for a quick cash grab! You disappoint me!”
(A chuckle)
“I did not say anything about money, Mister Vile.”
“And I also thought she knew that I don’t want to meet because I want to fuck her. … Wait, what? Not money? But you said …”
“But you do, right? You do want to fuck her.”
“Well…”
“Be honest, P.D. No answer can upset me. But a lie will certainly tell me that I cannot trust you with Christine.”
“I will be honest. I was searching for the right words. Yes, I do want that. I do want to have sex with her. But only when she wants it. Not because I ask her. Not because you tell her to. She must want it.”
“Hmmm. That was what I expected to hear, based on what she told me about you. But you also know, as well as I do, that she does want to have sex with you. And that’s why you want to come.”
“No. It is not.”
“I am listening.”
“I will not deny it is on my mind. It … makes the deal even sweeter, so to say. But it is not why I asked if I could meet her. It is … She and I chat a lot. About a lot. Sometimes very personal. I know all about her youth, her abusive parents, and about how you risked everything to save her and take her in. And I told her all about my life. I like her more with every chat, grew more and more fond of her, and one day discovered I am simply in love. An impossible love, but it still grew the more we chatted. She is such a remarkable girl, such inner strength, such resilience after …”
(A sob)
(Silence)

“Sorry. But that is my reason. I love her. I want to meet her, face to face, get to know her. And I would still want that if she said no sex.”
“Which she won’t”.
“I know she obeys you. If you tell her no, she would not do it.”
“In your case, I am not sure she would obey that command. But no worries. I would never forbid her to have sex with a man she loves. I am her dom, not her owner. I love her. I want her to enjoy life, and her body is hers to give to whomever she wants. I only watch over her safety.”
“Yes, I know. There is a lot about her relationship with you that I don’t understand, even after hours of chatting, But I am aware that you love her at least as much as I do.”

“I believe you. You sound sincere, P.D. I think I can trust you.”
“So that means a yes?”
“Well, you still have not answered my question. What price are you willing to pay so you can fuck her? Or rather, meet her and then also fuck her?”
“Pay? How much? I mean, I don’t know. How much do you want?”
“As I already said, P.D., not all payment involves money. I had something else in mind.”
“What?”
“I need to go now. I’ll call back tomorrow, to explain. But in the mean time, you can already start to think about what price you are willing to pay. Good bye, Mister Vile”

Present: Pain

I still feel your saliva on my dick, feeling cool now that the air has access again.
But my attention is drawn to Jim, who now turns towards me. From my lying position, he looks menacing, as he towers over my defenseless body. He has the whip in his right hand. His other hand loosely grabs the cord, and then he pulls the whip, sliding it through the fingers of his left. Then repeats the motion, as an expression of pure lust starts to form on his face.

While absentmindedly continuing the same motion, lovingly pulling the whip’s cord through his fingers, his eyes glide over my body, inspecting every inch. Looking, I assume, for the most painful spot.

WHACK!!!
The cracking sound of the whip registers at the same time as I see the sudden flick of his right hand. The sound is different now. Just as loud, but with a sickening wet undertone.
And just as I realize that I should feel pain, a gruesome, burning sensation from my right upper leg arrives in my brain. My mind disconnects, my whole being is only that spot on my thigh. But then I hear someone scream, yell. And realize it’s me.
I feel my hand and ankles pull the chains tying me to the bed. Feel the muscles in my body fight against the textile bands, trying to wrest myself free from their tight embrace. And hear how my screams of anguish weaken, turn into sobbing, as I realize this is just the first of thirteen.

“Tell him, Christine,” I hear Jim say, from somewhere far away.
And then I hear your voice, so sweet, music to my ears, but not enough to make me forget that sting, that incredible sting in my leg.
“You have to thank him, P.D. And count. You must count the strokes out loud, or he will start from one again.”
I nod, try to control my whimpering. Inhale, exhale. Whimper. Inhale.
“Take your time. We have all day.”
I am not sure if Jim is serious or sarcastic. I won’t take the risk.
“Thanks, Jim,” I groan, “that was one.”

A moment of silence. Then a deep, disappointed sigh.
“Not good!” he comments, “So that makes fourteen.”
“Not fair!” you shout, as you barely manage to refrain yourself from jumping up, “he didn’t know, you didn’t tell him.”
“No, sweetheart, you didn’t tell him, Better do so now. And also tell him that your impertinence to talk back at me adds even two more.”

You hastily scurry over to me.
“I am so sorry P.D. This is all my fault. I deserve to be there, not you.”
I wrest my face in what I hope looks like a smile.
“No honey. You never deserve that.”
“When Master punishes you, you must always call him Master. I failed to tell you that. I am so stupid.”
“You are not my dear. You made a mistake, that is human. And so did I. He told me already, but I had forgotten. This is on me.”

I turn towards Jim.
“Thanks, Master Jim. That was number one. Please continue with the remaining fifteen, Master Jim.”
WHACK!!!
My mind goes numb again, as all the world contracts into my left leg, where now that same insane stinging pain supersedes everything. Nothing exists except my left…
WHACK!!!
My right leg again. My mind dazzles. Two legs, each hurting more than I held possible.

I scream and scream and scream. It is all I can do, there is too much pain.
Then I feel a soft hand on my face, muffling the sound. My eyes open, and I see your face above me, and I instantly feel better. A bit.
You wipe a cloth over my face, and I only now notice how streams of sweat run everywhere. You gently dry my eyes, my forehead. I whimper all the time from the sting that is still stronger than all other feelings, until you muffle those sounds my putting your mouth on mine.
After a few seconds, you dislodge and whisper: “Say it”.
“Two, Master Jim,” I groan, “and three. Thank you, Master Jim.”

“Try not to yell anymore,” you whisper, as Jim nods appreciatively, “Master doesn’t like that.”
“I already allow more than I would ever accept from Christine,” Jim adds, all warmth now completely gone from his voice, sending a shiver down my spine, “I know this is new to you. But I don’t want the neighbors to hear you.”
“Thanks, Master Jim,” I obediently reply, as I recall the double cushioned walls around this cellar, and know that no sound any human can produce would ever be heard outside.

Even while feeling chills just from Jim’s voice, even while knowing that the neighbors hearing is just a stupid excuse, I still feel gratitude. I am at his mercy. Totally and completely. If Jim had decided to insist on my being quiet, or if he had added more lashes to punish me for my noise, then that would have been his right. And yet, he showed lenience. He might be a sadist, but a sympathetic one.

Five hours ago: Arrival

“Sir? Sir, are you okay?”
I smiled at the flight attendant.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Everyone has already left the plane, sir.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” I mumbled, as I got up from my chair and made my way towards the plane’s front door.

She probably thought I had remained seated to avoid the hustle of all passengers scrambling to be first at the baggage belt. She had no idea that I was just scared. And excited, but mostly scared.
This was it. This was the moment of truth. Now I would find out what would happen: that what I had hoped for so hard, or that what I had feared so enormously.
Would you be there? To pick me up, as you had promised? Would I see you? Would you look as good as in the pictures, would you flash me that smile I had seen in that clip of you dancing?
Or would I be greeted by the evil grin of a law enforcement officer, as he cuffs me and grins:
“Such a great catch! P.D. Vile, writer of child porn smut, arrested when he thought he would meet an underage girl that he has groomed online.”

I sighed. Remaining seated was not an option. My last possible out had been before I boarded. Not anymore.
And I didn’t want an out. I would kick myself for the rest of my life if I would now turn around, fly back, and then get a very disappointed Christine in the chat. Telling me how sad you are that I had not come.
And so I mumbled: “yes, yes, of course”, got up from the chair, and made my way towards the plane’s front door.

“WELCOME TO BATON ROUGE METROPOLITAN AIRPORT”
I walked past the banner, and followed the signs to the luggage claim. With just a single carry on bag, I did not need to wait, and went to the door marked “Exit”.
I felt my heart pounding in my chest, so hard that I was convinced that people around me must have heard it. But nobody said anything, Nobody seemed to notice the sweat running down the collar of my shirt. Nobody had any idea of the anguish in my head.

The electric door opened. A small crowd was there. Friends or family members, excited to be reunited with their loved ones. Cab drivers, holding up name cards for their assigned passengers. And you? Or not you but a grinning officer?
I looked around, trying to see if I could recognize your face, hoping I would not overlook you. Afraid you’d look different from your pictures, and I would embarrass myself, perhaps even offend you, by not recognizing you.
But then I saw a face that had to be yours. You were looking around, checking out the passengers, and seemed to notice me and recognize my face at exactly the same time I saw yours.

You broke into a smile.
“P.D.!” You yelled, as you hurled yourself towards me.
I had to drop my bag, to catch you as you smashed your lithe body into mine. Your arms around my neck, your lips on my cheek, your body pressed against mine. All my fears gone, I forgot the world around me, forgot what people might think seeing a man in his fifties holding a fourteen-year-old girl this tight. I just enjoyed your warmth, your radiance, the soft feeling of your breasts against my chest.

“So good to see you, Christine,” I finally said, as I put you back on the ground.
“Me too, gramps,” you said, with a wink, as you picked up my bag, then extended a hand.
I delayed it for a while, taking the time to inspect you. Your long hairs were still black, with a purple hue at the end, just as you showed me two weeks before, after you had dyed them this color. Your face carried no makeup, and needed none. You were dressed in a simple black shirt, hanging loosely around your upper body, and below that was a blue skirt that left most of your gorgeous legs exposed to my eager eyes.
On your legs, I could see the marks that your last punishment had left. They were vague, almost gone now that two weeks had passed. But I knew they were there, you had told me, you had shown me photos. Others might not have noticed. I did.
I finally grabbed your hand, and let you lead the way, through the exit doors of the airport, into the damp warmth of the outside air. Luckily, we only had to go a little way until we reached a parking garage, where it was cooler. You called the elevator, we got in, and you pushed the top floor button.

As soon as he doors were shut, you embraced me again, but this time your mouth landed on top of mine, and you eagerly pushed your tongue in. Your hands wandered across my body, stroked my back, brushed my hair, as you moaned into my mouth.
You released me, just as abrupt as you started, when the elevator slowed down and the doors slid open. The elderly couple that entered could not have suspected anything. Well, unless they noticed that my lips were wetter than they should have been. Or unless they saw the bulge in my pants.

“I wanted to do that as soon as I saw you,” you whispered, once we had exited the elevator and you directed me towards where you were parked, “but Master made me promise not to do anything that might raise suspicion.”
“He is right,” I answered, as I looked around. Satisfied that there was nobody who could see us, I playfully grabbed your left breast and squeezed it.
“Ooohhhh,” you moaned, as your hand found my crotch and traced the outline of my hardness through the suddenly uncomfortably tight fabric, “I believe you want something of me, Mister Vile?”
I grabbed your waist, pushed you against the nearest car, and pushed my body hard against yours, as my mouth went near your ear.
“Yes, I want you,” I whispered hoarsely, followed by a quick lick of your earlobe.
But then I released you and went back to holding hands again, trying once more to impersonate a perfectly innocent grandfather and granddaughter.
“But we will have to wait. Here is not safe. And I believe Jim has told you not to.”
I saw the disappointment in your face, and didn’t need a mirror to know that mine looked just the same.
“Hey, there’s still plenty of time. I’m here all weekend, remember.”

You pulled me along in the direction we were already walking, and stopped near a blue convertible with blackened windows. You walked up to the drivers’ door and tapped your knuckles on the window.
Tock tick-a-tick tock.
Tock tock! Came the response from inside.
“Really?” I asked, “That is your secret signal? Shave and a haircut … two bits?”
“It’s good enough,” you chuckled, as I heard a click as the doors unlocked, “because who else goes around in a parking garage knocking on random cars? Plus, he can see me, the glass is transparent from the inside. This is the signal for ‘it’s okay, let’s go’. We had another signal for ‘get the hell out’, and a third one for ‘grab your baseball bat’.”
“Well, glad you didn’t use those.”

Present: Pleasure

I see that Jim lifts the whip again, and I clench my jaws as I brace myself.
WHACK!!!
I briefly yelp, then manage to get it down to a loud whimpering. My world narrows again, everything ceases to exist, except that intense burning pain in my left thigh. Then the world expands again to also include the still almost as intense burning in my right leg.

I look at Jim, towering over me, whip in hand. Smiling, but it is not a pleasant smile. What makes this man tick? How can he, how can anyone, take pleasure in doing this to me?
Is he … have I misjudged him?
But then his smile regains warmth, and he nods encouragingly. I know what he wants, and I am glad for the subtle reminder. It takes all my mental strength to force my throat to make the sound, when all I want to do is break down and cry. But I succeed.
“Thanks … Master Jim. That was four.”

WHACK!!!
I see the hit coming, but it still takes me by surprise. Jim strikes the left leg again, almost exactly where he has struck me just before, and the pain is even more intense now. For a brief moment, I feel my mind shut off. That short blissful second, the pain seems gone, but then it returns, worse than before.
“Aaaawwww,” I howl in pain, trying but not really succeeding to keep the volume low, mentally cursing Jim for surprising my this way.

Jim nods in the direction of the corner where I know you to be. You quickly step close and pad my intensely sweating forehead with a damp cloth. Did you have that before? Did you just find it? I don’t know, don’t care, I just enjoy the short distraction of the intense burning sensation in my legs.
Your free hand gently strokes the hairs on my chest, you don’t seem to care about the gallons of sweat that are there. And then you kiss me again, on my lips, briefly. All of a sudden, I realize that Jim really is a good and caring master, to allow me this moment of peace.

I try hard to smile, to pretend I am okay, even when I am far from okay.
“Thanks, love,” I whisper.
And then, louder, “Five. Thanks, Master Jim.”

I brace myself for the next strike, but Jim seems to have different ideas. He lays the whip on a table, steps close to you, and kisses you deeply. Then, fully ignoring me, he strokes your breasts with one hand, and your ass with the other. I feel a pang of jealousy that hurts even more than his whip, even though I know that you will always love him more than anyone else.
“Does it arouse you to see Mister Vile being whipped, my love?” he asks, “do you get wet from seeing his pain, hearing his screams?”
“I should not,” you whisper hoarsely, “but …”
“But you are.” Jim states, as he moves a finger across your cunt, making a sloppy sound that removes any possible doubt.
“I am,” you whisper, as you grab Jim’s crotch and stroke his hard dick, “I am so wet and so horny right now!”

But then, just as I believe you are about to give Jim a full hand job, or even climb on top of him and fuck him, forcing me to lie here and watch, my legs still trembling from pain, he turns away from you.
“Keep watching, my little pain slut,” Jim says, as he reaches for the whip, “and enjoy it. You now have my permission to touch yourself.”
And then he flicks his wrist again.
WHACK!!!

Once more, my world contracts until there is just my left thigh, and the excruciating sensation of burning pain on there. Slowly the still lingering pain in my right leg returns in my mind, not exactly an improvement. And then, the world still dark, my eyes refusing to transmit a signal, or perhaps they are closed, I don’t know, I hear a sound. A wet, fleshy sound, mixed with load, high-pitched moaning. Your voice. Mixed with, my mind slowly concludes, the sound of your fingers moving in and out of your tight cunt.

My vision returns, blurry at first, but eventually my eyes manage to focus on what they see. My brain is still mostly occupied with the intense pain in my legs, but I now also see what I had already concluded. You are standing there, your eyes fixated on my bruised body, your left hand kneading your tits, your right hand in your crotch, playing frantically with your clit.

“Are you … enjoying … my ordeal?” I ask. I try to make it sound light-hearted. I don’t want you to know what dark thoughts I suddenly feel. Jim, hitting me … that was expected. But this? You actually enjoying this?
“I aaammmmhh,” you moan, unaware of my thoughts, “vhhery much! But … but so are you!”
She points a finger at my crotch. I look down, feeling guilty and accused as I see my cock, still hard, twitching a bit, leaking precum. I realize that I had totally lost my awareness of this favorite part of my body, focusing only on my legs, on that never ending terrible pain.
But now that you bring it to my attention, I do realize, even without looking, that it is hard. Painfully hard.
“From seeing you masturbate, I guess?” I ask.
But Jim shakes his head.
“No, P.D. Christine made it hard before my first hit, but it never went down since.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
To then hastily add: “And thanks, Master Jim. That was seven.”

Four hours ago: Food

The man behind the steering wheel introduced himself as Jim. Not a surprise, who else could it have been? I also instantly recognized his voice when he started to speak. That same warm, friendly voice that I had heard during our two telephone calls.

He had driven us to a nice restaurant. We had already finished our starter dishes, and were now waiting for the main course to be served. We paused our conversation as the waiter approached to refill our glasses, giving me the time to recall the car ride. Jim had insisted that you and I should both use the back seats, and all through the ride, you were constantly all over me. One of your hands resting firmly on my crotch, the other hand guiding mine towards your thighs, encouraging me to slip a finger, or more, underneath the fabric of your skirt. And you must, at some time when I didn’t look, have unbuttoned two buttons on your shirt, because every time you leaned forward, I was treated to an excellent view of one of the best looking tits I have seen in a long time. And you leaned forward a lot, way more than was really needed.

Not that I minded. I enjoyed all the free peeks at your gorgeous breast. I delighted in feeling your soft hand resting on my crotch, making sure my dick never got to rest. And I savored the feeling of the soft skin of your thigh, as my hand stroked you there.

Once in the restaurant, Jim had told you to take the seat next to mine, and then sat himself opposite of me. I noticed that the top buttons of your shirt were still undone. And then I saw that it was not just me who had noticed this. The waiter, a guy looking to be in his late twenties, kept returning to our table, checking whether he could refill our glasses and asking if everything was okay, far more often than was needed. And every time he was at our table, I saw him try to look inside your shirt. And I also noticed that you seemed to be more than happy to lean forward at just the right time, to accommodate him.

We continued our conversation as the waiter left. Chatting about Jim’s work, my work, and your school. But also about my stories. Jim was very interested in how I came up with my ideas, and wanted to know how much of my stories was based on truth. He was disappointed when I told him that it was, sadly, all just fantasy.

And then the subject shifted to your past, to how your abusive parents had treated you, and how that had formed you into the girl you are now, with all your rather unusual desires, but also into the strong fighter that I had seen in you right from the first time we chatted.
It was a difficult topic, but not one any of us felt we had to avoid. None of us apologized for the occasional silences, breaking voices, and wet eyes. But after a few minutes, I saw in your eyes that it was getting too much, that you needed a break, so I started to look for a way to shift the topic to something lighter.

Before I knew what to do, Jim abruptly changed the subject.
“So, back to your stories. Christine told me that A Surprising Vacation is her favorite by far, and she let me read it as well. The characters felt so real to me. Especially now that I know that it was all pure fantasy, I wonder how you make them come alive like that?”
As I started to explain that, in fact, some elements of Jade were modeled after a girl I had chatted with, but then also talked about how characters sometimes can just take over and lead me when I am writing, I felt a hand on my crotch again. Your hand. I briefly looked aside, and it was impossible to overlook the sensuous look you threw me.

“Is our conversation boring you?” Jim asked you sharply.
You startled.
“No. No, oh no, Master! Not at all. It is very exciting. It actually makes me very hot!”
You brazenly opened yet another button of your shirt. From where I was sitting, I could easily make out the nice pear-shaped form of your firm globe, and could almost see your nipple.
Jim cleared his throat and shot you a warning look, but didn’t say anything. You looked back in a defiant way.
I was glad to see the waiter arrive, bringing the main dishes.

The brief moment of unbearable tension was gone. We returned to conversation, while enjoying our food.

Present: Mistake

Jim freezes in place. A short smirk on his face, then it’s neutral again, except a single eyebrow shooting up.
“Uh-oh,” I hear you say.
“Yes.”
Jim draws out the word, making every letter last.
“Yes, uh-oh indeed.”

I fight back the pain, the desire to just close my eyes, shut off, and hope this will pass. I collect my strength to ask:
“Uh-oh? What?”
“You said seven,” you whisper, and I can almost hear how you fight to hold back your tears, “but it was only number six. You miscounted.”

I close my eyes and groan. Then open them again, look at Master Jim, as apologetic as I can manage through the burning sensation from my legs.
“I am sorry, Master Jim. That was six. Thank you, Master Jim.”
His voice now ice cold, he looks down on me in the most dismissive way I can possibly imagine.
“No, you nobody. No, it was not six. You miscounted, and so it does not count. You have only had five hits so far. Still eleven to go.”

A wave of anger flows through me. Does this man really expect me to be able to keep track of numbers? While he is trying to kill me with his whip?
“That is not fair!” I protest.
And instantly regret it as I see Master’s face go even colder than it already was.
“You know,” he says, sounding dangerously calm, “when Christine miscounts, I always start from one again. So, are you sure you want to question my fairness?”
“No, Master Jim,” I stammer hastily, as I realize how misplaced my outburst was, “thank you for your kindness, Master Jim!”
“Better, you worm. You’re starting to learn your place.”
WHACK!!!

Pain shoots through my body again. I see a little red droplet fly through the air, and know the whip must have drawn blood this time. But it feels the same. A short shot of pain, so sharp that nothing else exists for a brief moment. Then the other leg comes back in my consciousness, or rather the still burning pain I feel there. And then the rest of the world is back, and I gather all my strength.
“Six … Master … thanks.”
I hear a moan from my side. You are masturbating again. I turn my face to look away. As gorgeous as you are, as much as your looks help make the pain bearable, I can not, will not see this. I can not bear to see you enjoy my pain.

WHACK!!!
“Y’aaawwwww!!!!” I yelp, then quickly fight down the urge to keep screaming, longer, louder. Your warning was clear. Master does not want loud screams.
“Seven … thanks … Master.”
More moaning. Panting. The sloppy wet sounds of you, fingering your cunt. Or perhaps fucking yourself with your fingers, I don’t know. I want to know. Or not. I want to look, but don’t want to see. My mind reels.
WHACK!!!
WHACK!!!
WHACK!!!

Three hits in quick succession. The first is yet another wave of intense pain. The second is worse, simply unbearable. And at the third, my mind leaves my body. For a short, very short moment, I float above myself, then feel the pain from my legs yank me back into my mishandled and aching body.
But then also, to my utter surprise, a feeling of … ecstasy? Energy flowing through my veins. Weird forms dancing in the air above me. Music? Smell? Am I … hallucinating?
The feeling passes before I can put my finger on it. But the pain remains. Worse than before, worse then anything I have ever experienced.

I whimper. I sob. I try to calm down, but I can’t. I just can’t. I cannot stop crying, not even when I hear Jim mumble something.
“You may cum, my dear.”
Instantly I hear your joyous voice, as you shout your orgasm to the world, fingering yourself to a great finish, as you eagerly look upon my legs, bloodied by the hands of your master.

Another wave of anger. Not at Master Jim this time. But at you. At you, who always say that you love me. But do you? Do you really? How can you claim to love me when you enjoy seeing me suffer. Why am I even here? For you?
A voice in the back of my head tells me I’m unjust. Tells me I should hate Jim instead. He is the one actually doing this. And yet, despite that, I feel … connected to Jim. Grateful, in the knowledge that he had every reason to make my punishment harder, but decided to spare me.

And in spite of the pain, in spite of those silly thoughts chasing through my brain, I still feel my cock twitch. I notice that, somehow, the idea that you come off to this makes me horny. Makes me leak precum.
And as I realize that, I start to understand you better. A bit.
I turn my face towards you. See you trembling and shaking, as you look at my bruised legs, that Jim now gentle caresses with the tail of the whip. See you stuff your fingers in your gorgeous cunt. And realize I don’t mind anymore. I feel a warmth in my heart as I realize how much I love you, even now.

Finally, your moaning stops. You still pant a bit, as I feel a cool wet cloth on my forehead. Grateful for the short distraction of my burning legs, I smile at you, at your face floating above me, your hairs sweaty, stuck to your forehead, but your mouth smiling.
“I am so sorry, P.D. For cumming to your pain.”
“Still … better …,” I groan, “then when you … have that pain.”
You smile and then lean down to peck my lips. Even through all the pain, I can still enjoy how nice your soft lips taste.
“Don’t forget to say it,” you whisper in my ear, barely audible.
I try to nod, but only my eyes flicker up and down briefly.
“Eight. Nine. Ten. Master. Thanks.”

“Good. Well done, little spit of the earth. Perhaps it is time for a break?”
I feel a wave of gratitude flow through me, but then Master continues:
“After all, my wrist is getting tired from this hard work. Christine, you may now help Mister Vile to ease the pain in any way you want. But do not make him cum.”

Two hours ago: Punish

We finished desert, and then had a short debate over who would pick up the bill. But when Jim said that I was his guest and that he really insisted, I did not press the issue.
“Thanks for the excellent meal, and for the great company. Best time I had since ages.”
“I think I know how to top that,” you giggled, as you took my hand while we walked back to the parking lot, “and I’m so looking forward to it!”
I smiled, and hoped you would not notice the concern underneath that smile. You did not yet know what was about to happen. I did.

The doors of the car closed, and instantly Jim’s face and tone of voice changed, as he turned towards you.
“Now, Christine. Do you remember what I said when we left to pick up Mister Vile?”
I saw the color drain from your face.
“Oh shit,” you whispered.
“I really don’t think that is what I said,” Jim growled.
Even after all you had told me about him, and even knowing that this would happen, I still startled at how mad he sounded.
“I am sorry, Master. You did not. You said that I should behave myself.”
I looked at you, surprised. Gone was the joyous girl from before. Gone was your self-confidence. Here was a little scared rabbit, shoulders drawn in, completely submitted to Jim’s sternness.
“And did you behave yourself?”
“No, Master.”

Jim stuck up his right hand, in a fist.
“Making out with Mister Vile in the parking garage. Where you could be seen. That is two.”
Jim raised his right thumb, then his index finger.
“Unbuttoning your shirt to show Mister Vile your tits.”
The middle finger followed.
“Fondling Mister Vile in the car. And making him fondle you.”
Two more fingers, All fingers of his right hand now pointed up.

“I did not exactly object, Jim,” I objected, “I actually quite enjoyed it.”
Jim turned to me and instantly his voice was warm and friendly again.
“Mister Vile, this is between me and my adopted daughter. Please do not interfere. She broke the rules. That has consequences.”
“Yes, sir,” I obediently replied.

I looked on, as Jim raised his left hand and continued to list your misbehaviors.
“You flirted with the waiter in the restaurant. Exposed your tits to him too. And if you really think I did not see you touching Vile’s crotch while we were eating, then you clearly don’t know me yet. So that is … how many?”
“Eight, Master,” you whispered hoarsely.
“Exactly. So that will be eight hard lashes with the whip.”
“Yes, Master.”
Jim turned his head and started the car engine. Christine sat back, still very demure.

Desperate to bring forward that cheerful, happy, self-assured Christine again, I leaned in and whispered in her ear, barely audible:
“Good thing he doesn’t know about the elevator.”
Immediately Jim turned his head again.
“What is that, Mister Vile? What elevator?”
His words addressed me, but his eyes were on you. And it was you who answered.
“I am sorry, Master. I have also been naughty in the elevator, when it was just P.D. and me.”
“But we … she stopped as soon as the elevator slowed, before the doors opened,” I quickly added, pretending to feel guilty over my mistake.
“Immaterial. Thanks, Mister Vile, for bringing this to my attention. Sweetheart, this adds another one for what you did, plus one for trying to hide this from me. That makes ten.”

Jim started the engine again, and started driving. You were sitting next to me, still a mere shade of your former self. Slowly, very slowly, I noticed a subtle change. Your shoulders straightening. That sparkle returning to your eyes. You leaned into me, relaxed your body against mine. And though the touching was not sexual this time, it still felt nice.
“Don’t worry, P.D. I’ve had worse. I can handle this. We’ll be home soon. I don’t want you to think about this, that would ruin our fun.”
I kissed your forehead.
“That sounds like a good idea, you wonderful young woman!”

But then our dreams were quashed as Jim’s harsh voice interrupted us:
“Oh no, little lady. You are not going to get away with this that easily. Did you really expect me to wait the whole weekend? You will get punished as soon as we are home.”
I watched your response. Had Jim judged you right? Would you respond as he expected?
You froze in place. For two seconds, nothing changed. Then I saw a look of defiance and determination on your face that I had not suspected you could muster.
“NO!!!” you shouted, “NO! That is SO UNFAIR! P.D. has traveled all the way here, you cannot do this to him! He does not understand this. If he has to see me whipped, he would … he would …”
“Nobody will force him to watch.”
“But he would sit upstairs and know. He cannot handle this. That’s not what he came here for!”
I felt so sorry for you, hearing your voice this way, almost crying.
“You should have thought of that before defying my command!”

The light switched to green. The car started to drive again. I saw your face working. And then …
“NO! I will NOT accept this!”
SCREECH!!!!!!
Jim totally slammed the brakes. I felt my body lunge forward, and only the safety belt kept me from being smashed into the front seat.
“THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH LITTLE LADY! I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOUR TALKING BACK. WHEN I SAY YOUR PUNISHMENT IS NOW, IT IS NOW!!!!”
You instantly shrunk back down, and the scared little rabbit was there again. You opened your mouth to say something, but Jim cut you off.
“That will be two more. Twelve total. And now apologize to Mister Vile for ruining his weekend.”

The car started to drive again. I saw your body tremble, saw tears pour over your face. I laid my arm over your shoulder, drew you close. Your head over my shoulder, my hand stroking your hair as you wept.
“I am sorry, P.D. I was so stupid. This is all my fault. You came here to meet me, to have fun together. And now this happened. All because I was a brat.”
“It’s okay you wonderful young lady. It’s not your fault. I am to blame as well.”

And then I straightened my shoulders. Swallowed a few times to clear the lump from my throat. And then croaked:
“Sir? Jim? I have a proposal. May I speak?”

Present: Break

Jim lays the whip aside, then turns and leaves the room. I feel my body relax, notice only now how tense I have been all this time. But then, all of a sudden, another wave of pain floods through me, as if relaxing my muscles reactivates the nerves in my legs.
I clench my teeth, inhale sharply. I don’t want to show weakness, but I know I can’t fool you. You know I’m in pain, you see how much I suffer.
And you get off to it.
So, are you not the pure masochist you think you are? Is there a hint of a sadist in you as well?

I hear a shushing sound, and see you standing by my side. Your chest is moving up and down, a sure sign that you are panting. Still aroused. But your focus is on me. A hand stroking my cheek. Another hand playing with the small curly hairs on my chest.
“You did so well, P.D. I am so proud of you.”
I feel a warmth flood through me upon hearing those words. Especially coming from you. I feel pride, and a renewed stubborn determination to see this through.
“Here. Let me reward you.”

You kiss my forehead. The hand on my chest moves down. You stroke my abdomen, where my non-existent abs are hidden below my chubby belly.
“That feels like a nice pillow. I think I will sleep very well tonight.”
Another sudden surge of pain reminds me of my battered legs, but I still manage to wrest a grin.
“Sleep? Are your expectations of me that low?”
You chuckle, and then your hand moves again. Down, towards my crotch, searching and finding my raging hardness.

You stroke my length, slowly, gently. Peel back the foreskin. Using your index finger, you smear the precum over my dickhead, make it slippery all around. Then you close your fist around my shaft, and move your hand down. Up again, down, up, down. My foreskin and your soft hands make for an exquisite massage of my dick. I groan again, this time from pleasure. I feel my body tremble a bit.
And that movement triggers my legs to send another wave of pain through my body. I groan again, a mixture of pain and pleasure this time, a sensation that is totally new to me. How can it hurt this bad and yet feel so good at the same time?

“That’s right,” you whisper, “accept it. Succumb to the pain. Let the pleasure soothe it, accept that pain and pleasure are the same.”
Not the same, I think. But close. Close enough to confuse my brain, now that they combine.
Your hand movement speeds up, and I moan a bit, shiver again. Your other hand cups my balls, massages them gently, softly.
“Just enjoy,” you say, “enjoy your first ever handjob by a fourteen-year-old girl.”
“And not just any fourteen-year-old girl,” I add, “but you, Christine. You make me so happy!”

The pleasure increases and increases. And even though the pain is always there, it no longer bothers me. In fact, it even seems to intensify the pleasure. To intensify everything. The color of the cold light in the cellar. The smell of your hair. The joy of seeing the dimples in your cheeks as you smile. It is all more now. But the pure bliss of having my dick stroked by your wonderfully soft little hands still supersedes everything.
“Better stop,” I groan, “or I will cum.”
You nod, as you withdraw your hands.
“Yes, I know. I noticed.”

Now that the pleasure stops, I become more aware of the pain again. But somehow, even though the pain is hardly any less than it was before, it is a different sensation now. It’s still pain, but it no longer is a horror. Is it … a friend?
No, it’s not a friend. It is not a pleasurable feeling at all. I want the pain to go away. But with the pain come other feelings. A sense as if I’m floating. Increased awareness. Is pain the key to these feelings? Is it worth it?
The more I think about it, the more confused I am.

You are silent as I process these conflicting emotions and sensations. As if you sense what is going through my head. But then you smile at me.
“I am sorry that I enjoyed it so much to … to see you in such pain.”
“That’s okay,” I smile back, “I rather see you cum than the sobbing mess you were before.”
You chuckle.
“Such a shame my hands are tied up, because I can think of some places where I would love them to be.”

You instantly scoot up to me. Position your crotch right over the place where my right hand is tied to the table, then lower yourself, until my fingers touch your slit.
“Like here?” you coo innocently, “Would you want to have your hands in such a dirty place, sir? And what would you then do with them?”
I say nothing, but touch a finger on your clit, and feel your body shudder for joy.
“Master Jim said you cannot make me cum. But he said nothing about the reverse.”
“He did not,” you agree, as you grind your crotch on my finger.

Although my hand is tied down, I still can move my fingers. And I use that freedom as much as I can to pleasure your clit. Or to stick a finger deep inside your tight hole.
And I look at you. Look at your perfectly smooth mons, at your wet slit, at my own finger between your lips, or even inside you. This lifelong dream. This thing I expected never to happen. An actual child, slowly being driven to orgasm by my fingers. No, not a child. You. Christine. That so special and so remarkable girl, that I have come to love so very intensely.

Your breathing gets heavier. You start to moan, softly.
“Ohhh, yes. Yes, P.D. Yes, daddy P.D. Finger your little girl. Make me cum for daddy.”
“That’s right little one. Cum for me. Cum for daddy. Feel my finger in your cunt. Feel how I fuck you with my hand.”
“Ooohhh, daaaadddyy!!!! Chhuuuminghh!!!”
I keep massaging your cunt, and I feel my cock twitch and spam, just from the joy of making you cum. I quickly close my eyes and try to think of something else, and only barely manage to keep myself from cumming.

“Oooohhh, that was so good. Thank you, P.D. I love you, I really love you.”
“Me too, my dear.”

But then the door opens, and Jim enters again.
“Ready for the last six, Mister Vile?”
Immediately a new wave of pain ripples through me, as his entrance reminds me of the pain I had almost forgotten. The awesome moment I just had with you is instantly gone. I manage to keep my mouth shut, but in my head I curse him for his timing.

“Or do you want me to stop? My deal is still on the table. And if you accept it now, you will still have saved Christine a few strokes.”
I hate this man. This choice … how can it even be a choice? Six more lashes? Six times more this intense pain? But then … how could I ever choose to have this done twelve times to you? Heck, even one time is too many.
I close my eyes, try to accept my fate.
“Hit me, Master,” I say through clenched teeth, “Christine will not suffer pain as long as I am here.”

One hour ago: Proposal

“Yes, Mister Vile?”
Jim had stopped the car and turned around in his seat to face me.
“Jim … Master. I feel at least partially responsible for Christine’s misbehaving.”
He nodded, appeared to ponder my words.
“Yes, P.D. I guess you are indeed to blame as well. But I am not your master, nor your parent or adoptive parent. I won’t punish you.”
“But what …”
I swallowed heavily. Even though I had already agreed to this, actually saying the words, here in front of Jim and you, made it suddenly very real. And very threatening.
“… what if I volunteer to take her place?”

A loud gasp for air to the left of me, as you heard me say those words. Jim managed to feign a very convincing look of surprise.
“So, you want to be whipped?”
All of a sudden, Jim’s voice had changed. No longer the warm, welcoming man. He now sounded cold and harsh, just as before when he chastised you.
“No? Please say no!” you sobbed next to me. I quickly kissed you, whispered “it’s okay”, then answered Jim:
“I would not say that I want it. But if that is the price I have to pay for making you spare Christine, then I will pay that price.”
Jim turned back around. Looking forward as he pulled back into traffic, he said:
“I’ll think about it.”

“Why did you say that?” you said, in an accusing, almost angry tone.
“I don’t want you to be hurt, my dear.”
“But I am used to it. I like it. You know that, we chatted about it. I can take twelve lashes. I don’t know if you can.”
“I’ll manage,” I said, while trying to make it sound as if I actually believed it, “I’ll pull through. For you.”
“That is such a sweet thing to …”
You could not finish your sentence. A heard the lump in your throat, saw tears flowing freely over your cheeks. I pulled you close again, hugged you, told you it’s all right.

Eventually, we entered the driveway of a large house, just outside of the city. The garage door opened, and Jim drove inside.
“You can still change your mind, P.D.,” you whispered in my ear.
“I won’t,” I replied stubbornly.
“Why not? I’m used to it. Corporeal punishment is part of the deal I have with Master. Why would you do this?”
“Does a whipping feel nice to you?”
“It makes me excited. I cum so hard after …”
“Don’t avoid the question!”
You were taken aback at my sharp tone. I immediately regretted using it.
“No, sir. I am sorry Sir. A whipping does not feel nice. It hurts. A lot.”
I nodded.
“See? That is why I won’t change my mind. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
You sobbed.
“You are so sweet. Too good for me. But also stupid. Silly sweetheart.”

Jim led the way through his house. He opened a door to a stairway leading down. A basement. I could not help but smile at how cliche this was.
At the bottom of the stairway was another door. It was thick, at least four inches, and there were layers of soft soundproofing material attached to both sides. I swallowed heavily. This was getting real, and it was way more menacing than it had been during my mental preparation over the past two months.

I walked in as Jim switched on the lights. A large, square room. A bed in the middle, higher than a normal bed, handcuffs attached to the four corners. On the right hand wall I saw a large rack, containing dozens of menacing looking torture instruments. On the left was a small table and a single chair.
“Christine, sweetie, can you be a doll and fetch me a cocktail?”
You interrupted your sobbing.
“The usual, Master?”
“Yes, please. And you can get yourself a drink too.”
You once more wiped the tears from your face, then left the basement.

“Well, P.D., I must say: you impressed me.”
“Why? We discussed this in advance. I said yes. What did you expect?”
“ I don’t know, actually. But I would not have been surprised if you had backed down, especially seeing all this here.”
His gesture encompassed the table, the cold white light, the wall-mounted rack with his instruments of torture.
“I will admit,” I answered, as I swallowed heavily, “that it is really frightening me, now that it gets this real.”

Jim nodded, and then surprised me:
“Well, we don’t have to do this.”
“Huh? What …”
“When I asked you what price you are willing to pay … I wanted to know how far you would go. I had to know how much you would do for Christine. But I never intended you to actually pay this price. Now that we are here, and you have not backed down … I am satisfied. I know you really love her as much as she says. That’s all I need to know. We can stop here.”

I nodded. Started to open my mouth, ready to thank Jim. But then a thought struck me.
“But … if we stop here … What is the consequence? Does the punishment go back to Christine?”
Jim looked surprised.
“You are a smart man, P.D. You understand this better than most. Yes, it will go back to her. Once I promise a punishment, I never back down on it.”
“As I figured,” I said, then sighed, and continued: “Then I guess we’ll have to continue as agreed. I will take the whipping. Christine will not suffer pain as long as I am here.”
This time Jim’s surprise was real, not faked as it had been before.
“Really? Are you sure, P.D.? I must remind you, I am a sadist. I take pleasure in inflicting pain. I assume Christine told you this. So when I whip you, I will not hold back. It will hurt like hell. It will damage your skin. You’ll carry visible reminders for at least two weeks. I will make sure to make them in places you can cover up. But it will hurt, and not in a way that you are used to.”
All of a sudden, my throat felt very dry. But, though with a squeaky voice, I did manage to voice my answer:
“Yes, I am sure.”
“Well, okay then. You made your choice. From now on, until the punishment is finished, I’ll be your dom, and you are my slave. You will call me Master from now on.”
“Yes, Jim … Master Jim, I mean.”

The door opened, and you returned, carrying a cocktail and a glass of coke, with two ice cubes. You put both on the table.
Calmly, Jim started to unbutton his shirt.
“Sweety, would you be a doll and help Mister Vile undress. And you should get out of your clothes too. You know my rule: nobody wears clothes during punishment.”
“Yes, Master.”
You turned to me and unbuttoned my shirt.
“I was so looking forward to undressing you,” you whispered, “but not like this.”
“No worries,”, I smiled, as you slipped my shirt off of my chest, “we still have the entire rest of the weekend.”

You wanted to continue to my pants, but I stopped you.
“Can I undress you first? I so want to see you!”
You nodded and stood silent, hands besides your body. I kissed your lips, then grabbed the hem of your shirt. With three buttons already undone, you merely had to raise your arms, and I could lift your shirt over your head. My first unobstructed view of your breasts, so much better even than the many glimpses you had already granted me. Two nice, pear-shaped globes, standing proud, defying gravity with their youthful firmness. They were adorned with beautiful round, reddish areolas, each with a small, perky nipple in the middle.

“They are beautiful,” I whispered.
“Really? I thought you are into flat girls, or tiny breasts that are just starting?”
“It is true. I do have the strongest feelings for girls younger than you, looking younger than you. But you are not just any girl. You are you. You are Christine. I love you. And these breasts? …” I quickly touched each one with the tip of my index finger, “… are absolutely perfect on you, because they are yours.”

I found the button on your skirt, undid it, and then your skirt dropped to the floor. I was not even surprised to see no underwear. Your mons were smooth, as if you had no hair yet, or else you shaved yourself very well. Your lips were exposed, and I noticed that they glimmered from how moist you already were.
I wanted to say something, but only a content sigh escaped my lips.

You quickly knelt in front of me, undid the buttons of my jeans, then pushed it down. I was now in only my black boxers, that totally failed to hide my obscene bulge.
“All for me, P.D.?” you cooed, as your hand lightly brushed the outline of my dick over the fabric of my shorts.
“Yes. All for you. Do you want to see it?”
You nodded, and hastily pushed down my shorts, so that my throbbing erection sprang free.
‘It looks so good,” you whispered, as your hand lightly stroked my length.
“I am sure you have seen bigger ones,” I say, “harder ones. Better ones.”
“I have,” you nod, “but none of those were attached to you.”

Jim cleared his throat to interrupt us.
“I am sorry, you two lovebirds. There will be more than enough time for that later. Right now, I have a whipping to do.”
Your face fell instantly, and so did my dick. For a brief moment, it had been just you and me, the world forgotten. But Jim had reminded us of the brutality that lay ahead of us. Ahead of me.

I had to lie on the bed, where Jim enclosed my ankles in the two cuffs that were attached to the corners of the bed, then pulled a rope until I felt as if my legs were being stretched.
“Left arm,” he commanded, and I obediently raised it, offered my wrist, so he could cuff it and pull the rope to stretch my arm as well. With just one hand free, I was already fixated in place. Even if I wanted to, there was no way to escape anymore.

“Cauliflower,” Jim then said.
“Huh? What?”
“Cauliflower. That is your safeword.”
“Safeword, Master Jim?”
“Basic BDSM. I would never whip a sub without a safeword. If it gets too much for you, if you cannot take it anymore, just say cauliflower. I will stop, instantly. There will be no hard feelings. You will have no reason to be ashamed. Everybody has their own limit of what they can endure, and you only find your limit once you try to cross it. So don’t forget: cauliflower.”
I nodded.

“But in this very unusual situation, I will add a very unusual rule. Your safe word is not free. If you stop me before I have finished, then all remaining lashes go to Christine, …”
Jim paused, menacingly.
“… twice!”

I heard a sharp intake of air, but was unable to make out whether it was yours or mine. Probably both.
“So, you better hope that you can endure at least half, Mister Vile. Otherwise, you will have made it only worse for her.”

I felt a soft hand on my cheek. I looked aside. It was you. Who else.
“You can just say it now, P.D. I don’t mind. I can take 24 lashes. I’ve had it before. It’s rough, but I can endure it.”
“I know you can, sweetie. But not this time. You will not suffer pain as long as I am here.”

“Okay then, Mister Vile. You made your choice. Now you will pay the price. Right hand, please?”

Present: Last

“I admire your persistence. You may be a little snot, but you are a brave little snot. Or should I say stupid?”
“Probably both, Master Jim,” I try to joke.
He does not laugh, and neither do you.

“I will warn you, Vile. These last six will be extra painful. I will aim for the wounds I already made. And I never miss. So they will hurt even more.”
I close my eyes again. I sigh. Even more painful? Has he not hurt me enough yet? Who is this man, is he even a man, is he a monster?
And then I hear you. A whimper, escaping from your mouth. Fear? Shock? Or … lust?

Then his voice is warm again, speaking in a tone of a royal doing a citizen a favor.
“And because you endured so well already, all for your beloved Christine, I will allow her to help you.”
“Yes?” you ask, hopefully.
“This earthworm seemed to struggle to form words before I took my break. I’m afraid that won’t get better. I will accept if you choose to count and thank on his behalf.”
A wave of gratitude flowed through me. And then guilt, as I realized that just moments before, I had thought of this nice man as a monster. How could I have been so mistaken?

“But you will help me as well, darling. I never before had the chance to dole out your punishment with you standing next to me, and able to pleasure me. Make it even better for me.”
“Yes, Master,” you whisper.
You shoot an apologizing look in my direction, and I try to cramp my face in an encouraging smile, as your hand finds Jim’s hard dick, and you stroke him. Your other hand is already busy in your own crotch, as your eyes fixate on the whip that Jim grabs off the table.
CRACK!!!

Instantly it’s there again. The feeling that is now familiar, but that I’ll never get used to. My leg, that burning pain in my leg, is all that I feel for now. Until the world slowly returns, and I vaguely hear your voice.
“Eleven. Thanks, Master.”
“Good girl!” Jim answers, panting heavily.

CRACK!!!
I zone out again. The world narrows, disappears. My vision goes black, it is as if I float away, but then I am yanked back again, back to that dreadful pain.
CRACK!!!
The hallucinations are back. My body feels warm. I see a red speck in the corner of my eye. But nothing more, because all the rest of the world is just pain.
CRACK!!!
And then the world goes black.

Pain. So much pain.
The world returns. My legs burn. My forehead feels cool. A cool cloth. A warm hand stroking my hair. A soft voice, whispering, sobbing.
I open my eyes.
“Don’t … ,” I produce, with utter strength.
“Shhh,” you say, your soft finger touching my lip.
But I want to say it. I struggle. But I get there.
“… cry.”
You swallow, and try to smile through your tears.

I look up to see Master looking at us. His cock no longer hard. I only now notice a cooling wetness on my leg. I can’t move my head enough to see, but I know it must be his sperm. He must have cummed while whipping me, while Christine was stroking his cock. But was it her hand that got him there? Or was it this bastard’s evil pleasure in hurting me?

He is still holding the whip. Lovingly stroking it again, caressing the bloodied tail, a look of bliss on his face as he inspects my legs, as if looking for the best spots to hit with his final strokes.
“Last two, Mister Vile. Are you ready?”

You lean over. You hug me, then whisper in my ear:
“Only two left, P.D. If you say the safeword now, it will be just four for me. That is nothing, not for me.”
I grimace, my attempt to smile failing.
“No … way.” I reply.

“He is a stubborn man,” I hear Master say. It is hard to focus, his voice moves far away, then comes close again. My eyes refuse to stay open. My mind wants to zone out.
“I have given him enough outs. Offered him to stop our agreement. But he …”
And then I hear you gasp, and interrupt Master.
“What? Agreement? Was this all a setup?”
“He didn’t … he never told you?”
“Told me what?”

I want to focus. Want to hear the conversation. But my mind is slipping, again, as I hear somewhere in a far distance how Master explains to you how he told me that receiving a whipping is the price I have to pay for meeting you. Tells you how we agreed that he would find reasons to punish you, and then I would volunteer to take your place.
Your voices in the background, it is as if I float. Your voice, Master’s voice, they are somewhere in the background. My legs still hurt, but that somehow does not matter anymore, as long as I can keep floating in my own little world.

But then … something is wrong! The signals get through to my mind slowly, but they do get there. Eventually. It is you. You are crying. And they are not happy tears this time.
My mind instantly returns to its normal state. I try to assess the situation. What did I miss?

“… thought he did it for me! I thought it was …”
“But he did do it for you, sweetheart.”
“No. You just told me. The whole volunteering was just a charade. He could’ve just told me that you insisted on whipping him. But no, he had to make it look as if it was my fault, and he could be the hero.”
Suddenly Jim chuckled.
“Sorry sweetie. I won’t let him take credit for that. That was all my idea.”
“Your id…”
Instantly your assertive self was gone again, instantly the obedient little rabbit was back.
“I see. I understand, Master.”

“But I … still …,” I sigh, tired from these words, but struggle for energy to continue. “… should not have … agreed. It was mean.”
“And you his credit,” Jim explained, “P.D. only needed twenty seconds to say yes when I told him he’d have to accept a whipping, but I had to talk for five minutes before I got him to understand that this method was not negotiable.”

“And then there is one more thing,” Jim added, “something else you don’t know. Just know when you were fetching my cocktail. I told P.D. that he could stop. That it was sufficient for me to know that he was willing to pay the price, to prove how much he loves you. I never intended to actually collect his payment.”
“But then … then why this?”
“He understood that then the lashes would go back to you. And he could not bear that thought. He rather had me lashing him to his near death then to let me hurt you.”

And then I feel your warm body as you throw yourself on top of me. Arms around my neck. Tears flowing, your voice sobbing, stammering incoherent words.
I wish I could pat you on the back, but my hands are tied up. I want to say consoling words, but my voice fails me. And so I just lie there, my chest wet from your tears, your hairs tickling my shoulders, my heart filled with love for you, … and my legs still burning like hell.

Eventually, after what feels like ages, I hear Master clear his throat.
“Move aside, darling. Let me finish this. Then you can take care of him and make him feel better. He’ll be yours, and you’ll be his, for the entire rest of his stay.”

You move away, and I feel a sudden chill as cool air comes in contact with my chest, still wet from your tears.
CRACK!!!
I float above my body again. And yet, still feel my leg burning. The right leg, where I see multiple stripes, fiery red with my own blood. Then my left leg, equally damaged, almost as painful.
“Thanks, Master, fifteen,” I hear from somewhere far away.
CRACK!!!
And I’m yanked back into my left leg, and then into the rest of my body, which is now a hell of pure pain.

“Thanks, Master. That was sixteen.”
“Well done. Good girl. And good boy. You may make him cum now.”
I open my eyes, and see you scoot over to my crotch, take my throbbing dick in your mouth, and start to suck. Before you even have it all the way in, I already start to spasm and to shoot.
My whole body shivers, the pain in my legs is unbearable, and yet, at the same time, my cock explodes in the best orgasm I have ever had. I keep pumping rope after rope of my cum inside your hungry mouth, and you swallow it all, not wasting a single drop.

“Wow, Holy shit. That was …”
I hear a chuckle. Jim’s voice. And then the world fades away.

Epilogue: Reward

Slowly I return to the world. I mentally inspect my body, but only my legs seem to be there, making themselves known, by sending intense waves of pain to my brain.
But the pain is mixed. It’s not just a burning sensation, there is also a cool feeling. Cold even. I feel a shiver run through my body, triggering another wave of pleasure.
It takes all the effort I can muster, but I finally manage to open my eyes and look around.

We are still in the cellar, and I am still on the bed. My wrists and ankles are now free. A soft blanket is on top of my torso, and yet I am cold. Another shiver, another wave of pain.
I don’t see Master Jim anywhere, but I do see you. You are doing something with my legs.
A groan escapes my mouth, and you look up. I see you break into a smile as you see me. You then show me your hands. One is holding a jar, the other is covered in a white salve.
“No idea what it is,” you explain, “but Master always treats my wounds with this. It reduces the pain and makes them heal faster.”
I smile at you. At least, I think I do. I know I try. And then I lay back, relax, and through the pangs of pain whenever you touch my scars, still enjoy the cool warmth of your hands.

You close the jar, then wipe your hands clean on the wet cloth you have used on my forehead before.
“Here, have a drink.”
You offer me a glass of coke. Two tiny remnants of ice cubes betray it as the coke you fetched for yourself, but apparently never touched. I try to smile again, then thankfully accept the straw you push between my lips, and suck.

“Do you think you can walk?” you ask.
I shrug, and instantly regret the movement.
“We can sleep here. But my room is nicer.”
“Help … me up,” I whisper, suddenly determined to leave the torture cellar as soon as I can.

You help me up into a sitting position. Then support me as I try to stand on wobbly legs. More intense waves of pain with every movement. But, with my arm over your shoulder and your arms firmly around my chest, we finally manage to make it up the stairs and into the living room.
Jim flashes us a warm smile as he sees us.
“Ah, he is up again. Good! Well, P.D., I have to say that you did very well. I had never expected you to last until the end.”
“Frankly,” I admit, still panting from the effort it had taken to climb the stairs, “it was almost unbearable. And I’ll never understand why Christine submits to this and enjoys this. But one thing was even more unbearable.”
“The thought that I would hurt Christine the way I hurt you,” Jim finishes.
I nod.
I hear a sob to the left of me, see Jim raise an eyebrow, and then you swallow your tears away.

“Well, well done. I have a hunch Christine is now more than willing to reward you. So, go with her and claim her.”
I chuckle, but instantly regretted it.
“I’m not sure if I’m still able to do any claiming, Jim.”
You smile, and kiss me.
“Why do you think Master chose the front of your thighs? You can lay down, and let me do all the work. All you have to do is get it up again.”
And then you gently stroke my dick.
“And I can help with that part too.”