“I’m a sadist and you’re a masochist, same thing.” “Thank God for that … now stop teasing me and get on with it,” Ethel cried out as she wriggled her enormous yet shapely bottom-cheeks wildly in the air, as if begging for the sting of the lash.
The lash’s sting wasn’t long in coming. Yolanda first shrugged off her filmy negligee, it falling on the floor as she walked to a row of paddies, quirts, whips and such that hung on the wall. She purposely ground the great ham-hocks of her rump together in magnificent unison for Ethel’s benefit, the long, pencil-thin garter straps alternately tightening and sinking into their softness, then loosening, with her steps.
Her gossamer black nylons cast off brilliant highlights down their entire length as they reflected the light from an overhead lamp while she returned with a menacing looking eight foot long builwhip.
Yolanda cracked the whip expertly in the air, Ethel cried out in feigned fear, “Oh Mama … you’re not going to hit your little girl with the awful whip.”
Yolanda snarles as she stood with black silken limbs widespread, gloved hands on hips, the perfect picture of evil domination. “She is going to hit her little girl’s gigantic tits.”
Her eyebrows knitted, her black eyes fierce, the lids garish with eyeshadow, her full, fruity lips carmine laden, Yolanda resembled a female satan as she raised a tautly gloved arm high overhead, the whip uncoiling gracefully behind her, then whistling through the air as she snapped her wrist forwards. There was a loud, exploding crack as the rawhide curled around a huge, out-thrusting teat and sliced through Ethel’s thin silk dress, the material reddening as blood began to flow instantly from a deep laceration.
On the next stroke she brought the lash down with even more ferocity, adding an extra sharp flick of the wrist at impact that made the metalic tip bite more deeply into her breasts, a scant inch below the previous weal.
A fiendish look on her face, Yolanda worked the lash feverishly down over her friend’s torso, bits of paisley print filtering to the dungeon floor as she tore the gown to shreds. Ethel writhed under the fiery pain, but there was a definite sensual undertone to her shrieks as the lash did its vicious work.
Finally, with a thin strip of material still clinging to Ethel’s left arm, leading down to a bit more bunched around her waist, Yolanda centered her attentions on the strongly constructed bra which as yet showed no effects from the lashing. Moving catlike around to Ethel’s rear, Yolanda sent the lash hurtling towards her back, and with incredible aim sliced through the reinforced body strap with her first attempt.
Like the first heavy droplets of rain that precedes a storm, blood was flowing down over the awesome hills and valleys of Ethel’s majestic body, splashing onto the platform. Now the lash was working relentlessly, crisscrossing over the milk white flesh, superimposing new cuts over previous weals and lacerations.
Ethel’s unearthly screams reverberated around the dank stone wails of the dungeon, only ceasing when Yolanda grew so arm weary she could go on no more. Then the diabolical mistress of Peterson Manor moved between her friend’s flailing booted limbs, drawing her lush hips towards her eager mouth with one hand, the other overhead cupping the underside of a horribly lacerated globe, the blood oozing between her gloved fingers and dripping down.
Now to put out that fire in your pussy,” Yolanda said calmly.
“M-m-m-m … delicious as always,” Yolanda enthused as she licked her ripe lips clean of the sweet honey she had drawn from Ethel’s honey pot, her gloved fingers busy loosening the manacles around her wrists.
“That was the greatest ever,” Ethel said with enthusiasm. “I’ve never known you so eager. Was it just me or is there something else on your mind?” “Oh it was you and those scrumptious boobs of yours of course, precious,” said Yolanda as she took a length of rope and wrapped it twice around her friend’s waist, and then looped it under her crotch, drawing it up hard in back, the rough hemp barging roughly between her pussy lips and entering her chasm of passion.
She wrapped the rope around Ethel’s wrists, then knotted it securely, saying excitedly, “But there is something else on my mind, something that excites me terribly.”
“It had better not be another woman, I’ll cut her…” “No silly, you’re all the woman anyone could possibly ask for,” Yolanda interrupted with a laugh that sent her heavy breasts rolling about on her ribcage. It’s my husband, Bob.”
“Don’t tell me that you’ve decided to go straight after all this time,” Ethel sneered, drawing her shoulders back and thrusting her ribcage forward to emphasize the enormity of her awesome melons.
“Of course not, silly, sit down and I’ll prove it to you …
if I didn’t manage to convince you while you were hanging in mid-air a few moments ago,” Yolanda giggled as she helped Ethel over to the wall and assisted her in sitting on the cold stone floor, her shredded back resting against the wall.
Yolanda kneeled beside her and cupped her massive melons in her gloved hands, pressing her feverish, richly painted lips against Ethel’s in a smoldering kiss.
“Tonight I’m going to tame my husband, make him my slave for life,” she enthused, bending down and cleansing Ethel’s torn breasts of its coating of blood with the enthusiasm of a half-starved kitten attacking a bowl of milk.
“Impossible,” Ethel moaned as Yolanda’s darting tongue lapped madly at first one nipple then the other.
