Friday, September 27, 2013

Crawling Along the Whip, BDSM erotica

A continuation of my Labyrinth post from last week...this time the action is focused on Evie, whose inexperience is part of her charm. But can she handle what her new master demands of her? BDSM erotica. If you haven't read the first installment, (which you'll see below this one) you'll want to check that out, too.

By the time I got to the fun and games, I was really itching to be there. But that’s Billy for you; he knew that I’d just suffer all the more being made to wait. And isn’t that what these weekends are all about—making poor little Jewel suffer?

    There’s lots of action going on. No main room that I know of; just a long string of rooms with agonized women in the throes of passion, beaten, raped, fisted. What an indecent lot we are. The men, a bunch of brutes.

    I forgot to mention, by the way, Billy looked like a real bad-ass stud that night; dressed for riding his Harley, slick leather pants, dark shirt, vest, buzz-cut on top, full dark beard and a real killer expression. Looks like he was born with a whip in his hand—yeah, he had that too: the long black bullwhip I expected to be coiled around my throat before the night was out.

    We kept on through that long dark hall, peering into rooms at scenes that would shock most eyes. I could have stayed to watch, but Billy wasn’t interested. He took me up a flight of stairs to another hallway, and finally into a room much bigger than those I’d seen so far. I figured it to be the asylum’s mess hall, although the place was far from welcoming. The peeling linoleum floor was once a real sharp black and white checkerboard, I’ll bet. Bars over the windows, grimy yellow paint. Doesn’t sound erotic now, does it? But a long rash of goosebumps tickled my flesh as I walked into that seedy space. I could see the madness all around me, the restraints and straight-jackets, electric shocks and evil, experimenting doctors gazing into the faces of terrified inmates. Yeah, that’s just my imaginings, but what if I did go back in time… huh?

    Not so many tuxes that night…even West was looking a little more casual with the tie gone and his collar open. In fact, by the time we finally got upstairs, he was in jeans, not the usual slick tuxedo pants. I’ll be damned if he wasn’t starting to look blue-collar.

    But maybe that was no surprise. The air seemed to breed a different kind of lust; the crazy kind. Whether that’s true or not, I can’t say for sure. Billy tells me that I have a very suggestible mind: I take on something like this and run with it. But why the heck not?

    My skin was prickly, heated, so I was startin’ to sweat and all sticky between my thighs, my ass aching for a good smack. We watched a few players we’d seen before, some getting nasty with chains and whips: a girl going upside down in the air, another girl bound with ropes and hung, and a third being face-slapped, some big interrogation scene I couldn’t follow, although her suffering only made me want to suffer too. Billy had grabbed my ass and was leading me around with those clutching fingers. He kept sayin’ things, whispering to me. I don’t remember what, but I remember feeling threatened, like any minute something’s gonna happen and I’m going to hate it.

    Then suddenly, I hear the name ‘Billy’ called out. West, clear as a bell. Billy stops and turns. I turn too, feeling all that macho authority strike me in the gut. Might as well have been punched—‘cept that’s the one thing I told Billy he could never do to me. Frank did it to me enough for one lifetime. I’m into a different kind of pain now.

    “The whip, Billy,” West says.

    I have no clue what he means, but I learn real fast. Billy whips out his bullwhip quick as lightning, sliding the long length of it across the floor in the man’s direction. Behind West’s legs, there’s the shivering Evie, wide-eyed and worried. She’s still dressed, the only woman with clothes on in the room, wearing the same black, belted shift she had on in the waiting room.

    “Take off your dress,” West orders as he tugs her hair and pulls her forward. It takes some seconds for the girl to act, so long that I want to shout at the bitch, cause I know what’s going happen, and so it does. West gives her a rough kick and finally she’s scrambling out of that dress like it’s on fire.

    I’m glad to see her naked. When she is, she’s no more special than any other slavey female in the room. We’re all the same, at least that’s what we’re supposed to be. Toys. Trinkets. Slaves. Bitches. Properties. They all have their pet name for us. But we’re all the same. Flesh—cunts, asses, tits and mouths. You throw us into a good fantasy and they can do just about anything they want. We just lap it up and come back for more. After it’s over, we’re used goods. Sore cunts, beaten asses, bruised tits.

    Evie, little princess that she is, ain’t no different. She’s hunched over and trembling, staring at Billy’s whip like it’s going to bite. You bet it bites, girl.

    “Grab the end, Evie,” West finally barks the order. What’s going to happen is enough to make any girl in the room shrink back in horror.

    Clueless, Evie looks up confused.

    “Do what I said,” he nods, giving her one of them sly smiles that take you down another peg.

    I can see her revolt before she finally reaches out. When she does her hands tremble until she finally has the end of Billy’s whip clutched inside her small fist.

    “Now crawl, all the way up that whip on your belly, girl. On your belly.”

    Ooo, damn. I’m so excited, I’m startin’ to wish it was me.

    ‘Course, what she’ll be doing ain’t easy. The whip lies there before her on the floor, snake-like, looking as if West’s demand might not be too tough. Oh, but not on a sticky floor like that old linoleum. She can barely budge as she grabs the end – which is what makes it so fun and so hard to watch. The whole room is an eye-witness and she knows this as she stares around, so embarrassed that her face is as red as her hair is blond. At least she isn’t running from the scene, gotta give her credit for that.

    Part of me is rooting for her failure because I’d love to see her strung up and whipped.  But I’m guessing that’s not going to happen. Soon enough, I suppose, but not yet.

    She clutches the whip and wiggles her ass, trying to scoot forward and climb the whip like she’d climb a rope, (though this was is lying on the floor, not a vertical climb). Plus, doing something because West is giving the command is a whole lot different than takin’ orders from some dyke gym teacher. You can’t do it with a heart full of pride when that all gets wiped away in a place like this. Makes a girl humble, just a slavish little nothing. And in this case—the mean old West’s personal plaything.

    One hand over the next along the floor, her struggle keeps on while tears form in those pretty eyes. She tries to use her knees to thrust her body forward, but West stops her barking, “I said on your belly, girl! And I don’t have all day. You should already know that you’re skating on thin ice with me.” You’d think he’d really hates her, but if I know West, his prick is as hard as all the others in the room.

    And what’s this about ‘thin ice’? I want to know what happened before she arrived here. Where did he meet her? What did they say? What did he say to get her to consent to this? What did she do to earn this crawl along my Billy’s whip? I’m never gonna know, but that’s not going to stop me from wondering.

                She’s sure not earning any brownie points with her hellishly slow crawl. She looks up into Billy’s face, almost as if she’s pleading for mercy. Fat chance, girl. I can see him smirk plenty behind his hard look. Seen it a hundred times. He loves this kind of drama, and damn, she’s quite a sight.
                One hand over the other, over the other, sometimes slipping back, she has to start over when she falls back. Her torso keeps bumping along to keep it from looking like she’s using her legs. When she has half the whip behind her, I can see the hope in her eyes. But she’s struggling harder now, gasping for breath, wondering when this is going to end. I coulda told her myself; it ends when those elegant little fingers of hers take hold of Billy’s hand. But she should have figured that out herself.

    When she’s not fast enough to suit the man, West is there with a small knotted whip to flail against her firm, tight ass. She jerks each time he strikes, and loses her grip once, which only earns her another smack across that pretty pink fanny. By the time she’s finally hanging in the air on Billy’s whip having finally reached his hand, her back and ass are streaked with red stripes—real beauties too. If only I could kiss away that pain, I think to myself. Or maybe I’d rather lay it on—I’m almost giggling at the thought, but just as easily dismiss the silly idea; I’d be all thumbs for sure if someone told me to beat one of these sluts. And wouldn’t that be betraying them?

    No, I couldn’t do it. You just can’t be switching sides.

    When she finally reaches out for Billy’s hand, West has her by the hair again and jerks her back.

    “Too slow, Evie,” he says. “Better luck next time.” He tosses her toward the wall, saying: “Go sit in the corner until I’m done.” Like she was used merchandize.

    Her stricken face looks back like she can’t believe what he’s just said. And to think there’s hurt in her eyes, and a whole lot of longing. Like she’s in love with the man. It’ll bring tears to the eye, I tell you. What I could tell the girl is that it’s not love she’s feeling when a man like West has you by the cunt. It’s all about sex and domination and her surrender. West is the kind of man that can twist minds into knots, until you don’t know what’s up and what’s down. Spawn of the devil, I’ve told Billy more than once. Though he scoffs at the notion, I know I’m not far off.

    This is what West does. This is who he is—a fucking genius.

    Now that he has this poor girl salivating for attention, he shoves her in a corner. Couldn’t get much colder than that. Girls like me quiver with lust when stuff like that happens; we keep coming back for more. Evie? It’s finally dawning on me that she loves it as much as the rest of us. As much as Kathryn and Brit and Kylie, Ashleigh, Lana and me.

Copyright © 2008, Lizbeth Dusseau, All rights reserved