A Whipping – Finale

(Continued from A Whipping – Part II)

She howled like a wolf at the rising moon as the first stroke cut cruelly across the top of her buttocks. The pain-THIS PAIN-she didn’t remember. The second followed immediately just below the first. “OWWWW!” she cried again lurching against the thick leather across the small of her back. She tried to gasp his name, to beg some kind of quarter, but another wicked stroke, then another, stole her words replacing them with yelps and cries.

“These walls are thick Missus”, he said in a way to calm her. “No one will hear-yell as you must.”

And she did, ignoring the memories of cries she had heard wafting from the high archer’s windows in the tower. Anyone passing by now would hear her but she cared not.

“But don’t forget to breathe”, he said pausing to inspect the deep pink and purpling weals slashing across her alabaster bottom. The eight stripes were perfectly spaced from the top of her deep crease to almost the center. He tenderly patted her right buttock which twitched at the touch. “Shhh… he said, gently palping the softness at the bottom of her cheek. When he last caned Eleanor Swick she was a girl whose slight curves flattened and disappeared when she bent. This was a woman bending now, her thickened body retaining its lush roundness as she reclined forward. She lifted her head and made to glance backward, curious about the delay.

“Sixteen more Ellie.”

“Yes…I don’t know how I’ll stand them.”

“You just will. Prepare”

She gripped the edge of the bench as the cane burned into the center of her bottom. She needn’t wonder any longer how a hot poker might feel touched to her skin. Her crying was now complete and non-stop; howls punctuating the kisses of the cane. He slowed his pace watching the new stripes bloom lightly. They were pink, no longer red. Ellie’s cries had likewise softened. Pulled by duty, he tightened his grip then hit a strong one low that bit into the top of her right thigh.  “Owww…” she cried anew.

“I’m sorry Ellie.” She felt him close again-his breath on her hot bottom then his finger at the top of her thigh. “Afraid I broke the skin on that one.” He rubbed it gently. “I’ll dress that for you…”She clung to the board wishing she had taken her top off as well, desiring as she did the feel of the leather against her nipples that-regardless of the pain-were hard and scratching as live beetles.

“How many more…?” she asked breathlessly, fearing the number.

He paused again before answering “None” definitively and laying the cane aside. “You are finished.”

“But that was only twelve or…”

“Shall I continue?”

“No! No! Thank you, Roger. God…I…” She blathered in relief and in another kind of heat.  “Come around”, she rasped. “Come to me.”

Roger stepped to the front of the bench where Eleanor’s grasping hands reached for him. He allowed himself to be taken by the hips and pulled forward. Her fingers worked feverishly untying the leather cord that cinched his trousers.

“Ellie…Eleanor…I don’t know…”

“Shush!” she said as the knot came loose and she pulled his thickening shaft free. “You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn!”

He pulled back. “It was no fun for me Ellie! I didn’t…”

“Shush! Of course I know that…It’s a joke, that’s all…I’m sorry. Here, now…” Her hand wrapped around his cock and pulled him toward her tear streaked face. “You must come closer…”

Her grip tightened and pulled him to her mouth opening wide as a baby bird at dinner. The Punisher allowed himself to be guided forward and watched as her lips circled his manhood. He stood still, allowing her no more than the head, which she gobbled hungrily, stretching her neck for more. He stroked her hair allowing his staff to expand to its fullness under her feverishly flicking and rolling tongue.

“You must take me Roger. You must take me…back there.”

“Ellie, this would be a breach of office that I’ve never even contemplated.”

“Never?” She looked up at him with red eyes. “Never Roger?”

He gulped. “The one time. Yes.” He admitted.

“You will find that my wicked thoughts and your cutting cane have left me wet enough to accommodate even this-once I ready you.” She put him firmly back in her mouth and reached, taking his hips to draw him closer turning her head to better take him. Her arms wrapped around him clutching his backside-hugging him to her face his wild hair scratching her cheeks, his cock deep in her throat. She bobbed once, then again then pushed him away her saliva glistening on his engorged cock.

“Now Roger-take me. If you don’t it will be your cruelest punishment.”

He slipped between her legs and opened her bruised cheeks. She gasped as he placed his purpling dome against her moist folds to hear her beg once more, then slowly and inexorably pushed forward surprised and pleased that she could accommodate him. She moaned when his body touched her bottom-then again as he pulled back and thrust forward. Again, then again, he ground deeply into her. With his hands gripping her hips he quickened his pace, banging and slapping into her sweating body.

“Roger! I’m coming Roger-I’m going to come….!” She grabbed the sides of the bench and gritted her teeth as he worked faster feeling his own finish building deeply in his loins. He rammed her firmly as she squealed in release-pushing backward as much as she could against the leather. His pace now a gallop he kept her full of him pulling more cries with his rod than he had with the cane.

With a final shudder she ceased her fevered bucking. He withdrew his throbbing cock and gripping firmly, allowed himself to spurt fully across her backside. She moaned at the feel of the wet heat against her skin. Deflated against the bench she closed her eyes and just breathed, luxuriating in the twitches and jolts that emanated from her warm and well-served pussy.

There was movement behind and she felt the cool wet of a soft cloth cleaning and cleansing. Her senses were clear for the first time in weeks; she smelled the unguent as he gently touched where she needed it. She allowed him to minister as she wondered at her emptiness-the serpent of her needs had been cast out. For the time being.

Epilogue

Having cleared the room, the Queen Regent regarded The Punisher from her seat behind the ornate, elevated desk. She was high enough on her platform that even Roger Peterman had to look up to her. Not one to dabble in emotion, she regarded him silently as he wondered how she could look so much the same as when he first laid eyes on her as a boy.

True, her thick golden locks were thinner and laced through with platinum but her face didn’t betray her years. Her life on horseback-her preferred mode of travel around the realm-kept her body, which she did little to conceal beyond the conventions of the day, vital and strong. No longer a warrior, her mien nonetheless betrayed a readiness-maybe even an eagerness-for physical effort; for combat. Her iron-gray eyes penetrated still.

“So. I hear there was no whipping in the square while I was gone.”

“No Mam”, he said.

The silence was deep enough that dust motes could be heard crashing into each other falling through the sunlight.

“Did I not clearly express my wishes?” she asked simply and evenly.

“Oh, yes Mam. Verily so.”

Those who knew the Queen Regent best (and they were precious few) would have noticed a smile just then. If not at the corners of her mouth then in her eyes. The Punisher saw nothing.

“You’re not quite old enough to be considered eccentric. Or charmingly cantankerous…”

“No Mam.”

“Or odd. But. You want to be careful of appearing willful. Or disloyal.”

“No, Mam. Never that.”

“No, not you. But there is such a thing as misplaced loyalty. Misguided perhaps.” She paused and regarded him coolly.  “If I were to bring Mrs. Plumm-and it is Missus, Roger, with a husband and child-if I were to bring her in and strip her down, what would I see?”

“Thirty purple stripes Mam, cut right across the bottom. Evidences of abrasions. At least six open wounds.”

“Some caning. Thirty strokes at your hand.”

“Yes, Mam. Shall I send for her?”

“She would come for you, wouldn’t she?”

“At your behest Mam. At your behest.”

The Queen Regent allowed another invisible smile to bloom unseen across her face. “No, that’s fine. Let her be. You though, come to my chambers at sundown. We will discuss this further.”

“Yes, mam.”

“Use the back stairs from the library, so you won’t be observed.”

“Yes, mam. Thank you, mam.”

“You might want to save the ‘thank you’.”

“Yes mam.” He bowed his leave.  “Until sundown, then.”

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Katheryn Winnick as as Lagertha in Vikings. Not necessarily the model for the Queen Regent…

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“A little anisette, please…” Part ll

(Continued from “A little anisette, please…”)

The glowing wafer of moon slipped thinly into the chalice of the hills.

“I am not worthy to receive you…” the long forgotten words clattered across his memory like a broken strand of pearls. “…but only say the words….” He was startled to hear himself speaking aloud and bit his lips too late. The sweeping sound of her breathing was gone-leaving a silent void. He inhaled deeply as if to smell whether he had awakened her.

She was on her side so when he looked down he saw only her right eye glowing back at him. Her lips, always full, seemed swollen. He bent to them and kissed her. Gently. Dryly. She returned his kiss over her shoulder then, like a cat, pushed her haunches still wrapped in sheets back into him.

“You are definitely not worthy”, she said huskily-her voice full of sleep.

“Of anything.”

“Release my legs”, she told him.

“I don’t want to hurt you now…” he said quietly. Last night was last night. This was a new day.

“Release my legs”.

The knots melted in his fingers. A lifetime on the lake, sailing, boating and fishing made ropes and knots his superpower. Before she could imagine how she was bound, she was free. Still on her side she pulled her right knee up then, when he uncovered her, lifted her top leg toward the ceiling, opening and still pushing backward. From another woman this would have been an invitation. From her, it was a summons.

Hard since he’d walked into the room he held back and grasped her ankle, then slid his hand down the muscles of her leg-pausing to outline the panther on her thigh. It rippled across her quad and roared up the inside of her thigh directing with white teeth and a blood-red tongue where he should go next.

“Do you want your hands?” he asked.

“No”. She kept them, still bound, clutched at her throat like a child curling her loose hair around her long slim fingers.

He settled on his side poking like a blind dog against her still bruised bottom cheeks. She rolled slightly and pushed backward further. Even in the dim, dawn light she glistened as he slid inside-never surprised by how wet she was. She gasped, taking him all at once as he grunted-forcing himself all the way inside with a loud slap of flesh.

She answered his grunt and caught the wave of his thrusts, digging backward as he pushed forward. They quickened the pace and he held her leg high gripping the firm muscles and feeling the quiver coming from up top. She probably would have preferred to hold her leg up herself just with the core strength she never tired of yakking about but he just wanted a fucking handle. He grabbed her ass and kneaded.

Whatever didn’t work between them, this surely did. This always did. He listened for the breathing again; this time the quick gasping that signaled….here it came. As the bed creaked and rolled, he pushed-pushed-pushed thrust-thrust-quickening his pace-slapslapslap skin on skin until her gasping became a moan then a bark then a cry as she slammed her leg down like a guillotine holding him in place as he, with a last firm jam spewed his shuddering heat deep into her.

As they deflated, dissipated, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close as if wanting to contact as much of her skin as possible. He slid out of her and rested until he heard the telltale whispering of her wheezing. He allowed himself to be lulled to the edge of darkness before he roused and pulled gently away.

Without touching her he leaned over and untied the ropes on her wrists but she reacted not at all, lying as if in prayer. He retrieved the knife and put it on the bed stand then, reluctant to leave, kissed her shoulder, her back and ran is tongue along the salt of her hip. When he felt himself begin to swell, he rose and pulled the sheet up to her neck leaving her exactly as he’d found her. He left the door ajar.

Later with the morning sun high over the ridge she, still damp from the shower and clear-eyed as a child, joined him at the kitchen table. The silk robe parted as she gingerly sat affording him an easy view of her small, firm breasts. “Good Morning Glory”, he said mocking. She gifted him a half smile.

“I trust you welcomed the sun”, she said seeing that the sweat from his sunrise workout was already dried on his shirt.

“Someone had to do it” he said pushing away from the table. “Coffee?”

“Christ, yes.”

“Cream?”

“A little anisette, please.” He took the clear liquor from the sideboard and poured thickly closing his eyes to the sweet licorice scent filling the room. He placed the cup before her and kissed her on the top of her head and slid his hand inside her robe. “Always nice to have the girls for coffee”.

“Will you join me for sword later?” she asked ignoring his hand.

“Technical or Kumite?”

“I want to fight.”

He stepped back and regarded her carefully. She was talking into her coffee giving him nothing.

“Wood”, he said firmly. Their steel tournament swords weren’t razor sharp but carried enough of an edge to do damage. He would only fight her using the wooden swords. They had a way to make that interesting.

“Fine”, she said looking up. Her eyes had a sparkle rather than a gleam. Which was good. “Eleven?”

“Eleven it is”, he said. “Now drink your coffee.”

She blew on it and sipped.

(Continued…)