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A Virgin over a Barrel: Day One
So there it was, at last. The mysterious Frenchman had promised to deliver our huge barrel today, late in the afternoon and, true to his word, here it was.
I had been lying sunbathing by the pool, comparatively decorously dressed in a not too skimpy bikini, and when I’d heard the van had crunching its way up the drive I’d leapt to my feet and very demurely wrapped a big towel round my waist and slipped my arms into a towelling robe as well. I put on a pair of boring little pink flip-flops and there I was, a caricature of the perfectly behaved “Daddy’s little girl”, a demure little all-American teenager.
Once they’d delivered the barrel, and we’d shared some pastis; well the men shared some pastis and I had a coke, and it had become obvious to them that I wasn’t taking anything off again until they’d all gone, (presumably the mysterious Frenchman had told his two workman about my unfortunate escapade in the toilet in his office,) the three of them wished us bon chance, and left. I waited until the sound of van had completely faded, then I stood up, and nonchalantly said,
“I’m just going up to change, Daddy.”
At least I tried to be nonchalant, but even I heard my voice shake as I said it. My mouth was dry and I was swallowing hard with excitement. However I slowly strolled into the house until I was out of sight, and then frantically threw the towels and flip-flops away, and literally tore my bikini off as I ran up to my room, almost tripping over the panties as I tried to take them off and run at the same time.
The first thing I did was to step into my sexy high heeled sandals and fasten them on my feet with their buckles, then just above them went the two ankle straps with the shiny steel clips I’d ordered online on the day I’d first thought of this whole barrel idea. Lastly, I snapped on the two wrist straps, also ordered online, first left, then right, and with their spring clips swinging and jangling like spurs I walked over to the mirror corner of my room; you’ll remember that as well as having full length mirrors on each side of me, some years previously my Daddy had fixed a mirror to the floor for me see up between my legs more clearly when I was a lot younger and was just beginning to find out about my body.
I stood as tall and straight as I could, with my arms by my side and my legs on either of side of the mirror on the floor. I have to say that I thought I looked magnificent, tanned and naked except for my heels and my wrist and ankle straps; tall, slim, and sexy. My dark areola and nipples were heavy on my soft, full breasts, and showed almost no sign of the brutal whipping they had received just a few days previously. The dark bruise the belt buckle had made when it had punched onto my stomach had faded to almost nothing too. Deep in my stomach I felt my excitement start and when I looked down at the mirror on the floor and could already see my moisture gathering on my pouting cunt lips.
I took a moment to put my hair up, not an elegant evening dress hairstyle, just a few hairclips to lift it clear of my shoulders and my neck. I wanted to be as bare as possible so my Daddy could see all of me and have easy access to all of me.
I gazed at myself in the mirrors and looked deep into the reflection of my eyes. I cupped my breasts for a moment and played with my nipples. They were dark and hard. I was ready…. for anything.
I strode from my room and down the stairs, the bright steel clips jingling at my ankles and wrists. Daddy looked up from his book as I walked out into the sun. His jaw dropped as I walked over to him. With a smile, he stood up, and reaching for my hands, he said,
“Sweetie, you are no longer my Baby Girl. From now on you are my Princess. You look gorgeous.”
And he wrapped his arms round me and kissed me, like a lover, not a father, and then hand in hand we walked over to the scene of my next whipping.
I knew I looked good, and I felt elegant and stylish. I felt brave. I felt very sexy, and striding naked across the lawn in my heels and jingling straps, my full breasts swinging free above my smooth, flat stomach, I felt like a princess.
I stood facing the barrel, then moved forward to press against it with the front of my thighs, my pubic mound, and my stomach. Lying on its side as it was, at its highest point, the huge barrel came up almost to my ribs and it felt very comfortable as I leant towards it, folding myself forward to press my breasts on the top of the smoothly rounded wood. It felt warm against my skin in the late afternoon sun. I could see the grass on the other side of the barrel and I stretched my arms forward as if trying to reach it. My father took hold of my wrists and gently pulled me further onto the curve of the wood. He then stretched my right arm out to the side and neatly clipped my wrist to the restraining wire at that end of the barrel. Then he crossed in front of me and repeated the process with my left wrist.
I was immediately trapped, my feet together and with my toes just touching the ground, my arms held wide apart so that I could do nothing to prevent the weight of my upper body pressing my breasts into the warm, smooth wood. I felt helpless and excited, a virgin sacrifice, exactly as I’d hoped I would.
Then it got better.
My father walked round behind me, brusquely smacked me once across the arse and ordered me to relax. I tried to, and he knelt down to pick up my left foot, carefully lifting my leg straight out to the side and neatly clipping my ankle to the end wire. It felt awkward, as though the toes of my right foot were supporting my whole weight. He growled,
“Relax Princess, let me have your other foot.”
I forced myself to go limp and to let myself slump completely against the warm curved wood, and I felt him lift my right foot and ease it out to the end of the barrel, where he clipped it into position. I was now lying across the barrel, my feet completely off the ground, my back bent forward and most of my body weight being supported by my breasts where the pressed hard against the warm, smooth curve of the wood. With my arms and legs spread so completely - I swear that my legs were almost horizontal - I’ve never felt so open, so exposed, and so vulnerable, with my private parts so accessible.
I loved it.
I was lying across the barrel, and with the weight of my body pressing down on my breasts where they pressed deliciously into the wood there was no strain anywhere else, the clips on my wrists and ankles were merely to hold me in place, not take any of my weight. I gulped and trembled with excitement. This was even better than I’d hoped; I was quite comfortable, but completely unable to move, completely unable to protect myself, and completely vulnerable to anything and everything my father was going to do to me.
He stood in front of me and I lifted my head, craning my neck to watch as he unfastened his belt and slipped it out from his shorts. He let his shorts and boxers slip to his feet and kicked them away. Now we were both naked. I smiled up at him, nodded my head, and then let my head droop forward once more and closed my eyes. I felt myself relax completely. There was no tension in my body whatsoever. It felt good that I didn’t have to “maintain my poise”; I didn’t have to put effort into making sure I was standing tall and slim, and looking good. I even relaxed my control of my bladder and the sphincter of my anus; no longer in any way worried about what might happen. Fortunately nothing did.
Why should I worry about anything? I was completely at my Daddy’s mercy, completely under his power. Anything and everything that happened now would be of his doing and would therefore be his responsibility. I was his plaything, his toy. He was my Daddy; I was his dutiful, loving daughter, waiting to be whipped.
Then I felt the first stroke diagonally across my back, the thick body of the belt hitting my left shoulder blade and the square tip whipping down viciously on the soft skin just above my right hipbone. It cracked brutally down on my flesh and pressed me down against the wood. I felt myself shudder and tremble in fear, pain and anticipation. My heart started to race and I felt my eyes begin to fill with tears and the fire start in my flesh and between my legs; this was only the beginning!
The full length of the stiff leather belt smacked its burning pain down on me again, and once again it thrust my naked body down against the hard, unyielding wood, forcing my pebble-hard nipples deep into the soft flesh of my breasts, knocking the breath from my lungs. I was suddenly bathed in my sweat and my tears ran from my eyes. Then he hit me across the same part of my back again, and then again, leaving a glowing red band of pain across my young body.
A pause, and then another stroke of the belt cracked across my back, as hard as ever, but this time on the other diagonal, from my right shoulder to my left hip. I moaned and started to cry in earnest as the heavy strokes settled into a rhythm of mounting pain and delight. I tried to swallow back some of my drool as the blows of the wickedly swinging belt continued to punch me into the wood and I heard myself grunt with each one. My breasts were flattened against the curve of the wood, my back was on fire, I was in pain, an offering to my father!
The strokes of the belt ceased to fall on my back and through the pink mist that had crept over my vision I was dimly aware that my father had moved round to stand behind me, and was leaning over me with his hands supporting his weight on the wood on either side of me. There was no sign of the belt. I felt his rigid cock touch the backs of my thighs and for a moment I thought he was going to break our unspoken agreement and deprive me of my virginity by violating me from behind. Whipping me excited him a lot, and I thought that maybe having me so completely helpless, so completely at his mercy, had taken him beyond the edge of his self-control,
I was even surer of it when I felt his body press down on mine, and felt his cock dig into the top of my leg, but I realised my mistake when I felt his gentle tongue in the groove of my spine. He was licking up my sweat, lapping it up like a cat with a bowl of cream! I felt his tongue and lips move slowly up to between my shoulder blades, licking and kissing me as they went, then move slowly back down until they reached the place on my back where the ridged weals of the X of my whippings, intersected and crossed just above my kidneys. He flattened his tongue against me and kissed me there for what seemed ages, running the tip of his tongue over the marks he had put there with the belt.
The sweat of my excitement, the product of the combination of my helplessness, my pain, my lust, and his love, was once more gathering in the valley of my spine, and fluids of another sort were trickling from my gaping, wide open exposed cunt. I could feel my moisture gather on my cunt lips, and in my mind’s eye I could see it drip to the grass from between my spread legs.
I felt my father’s fingers play with my cunt; he pressed them flat against those pouting, dripping lips, before sliding his hand forward to force his soaking fingers between my pubic mound and the curving wood of the barrel I was pressed tightly against. I tried to press myself even harder against his hand but, clipped to the barrel as I was, I could barely move. He had to make the entire running; I could only wait to accept whatever he gave me. He had complete control over me, over my pleasure and my pain. His palm was cupped against my cunt, and his fingers squeezed me through my pubic hair, milking me of my thick sexual mucus. As best as I could, I thrust my pelvis forward, trying to trap his fingers between my pubic bone and the curved surface I was tied to.
His hand slid away and he stepped round in front of me, offering his cupped hand to my mouth. There was a small pool of my sexual fluids in his palm, which I greedily licked, smiling with delight as I deeply inhaled the smell of my own juices and then tasted them. I became more excited and quietly grunted as I tried to force my groin and hips against the barrel. He offered me his fingers, one at a time, and I carefully licked them clean and dry too, breathing my smell in deeply, and smacking my lips in my pleasure at the sweet taste of my own cunt.
He went to stand behind me again, and with no warning the belt arced into my naked back once again, this time the hard tip punching into me where he had so lovingly kissed me, the place where the previous ridges of the strokes intersected just above my kidneys. The weight of the impact pressed my stomach hard into the wood I was tied to, and or the first time during this whipping I screamed. Then I was panting for breath, my whole body rising and falling in its confining fetters in time with my fast, shallow breathing as I wept and tried to accommodate the pain in my back.
He hit me in the same place, eight more times! Eight more times he drove the breath from me with the tip of his belt. Eight more times the belt thrust my body against the curve of the wood. Eight more times I screamed and panted for my survival. The pain in my back was a massive force that obliterated all other thoughts and feelings except the mounting need between my legs.
And my sweat shone on my body, the light of the early evening sun glancing off my shoulders, my sweat gathering in pools to trickle down the groove of my spine and over the tight line of the crack between my buttocks to join those other fluids also welling inside me. I could do nothing to prevent my sweet, aromatic juices dripping, wasted, to the ground from my cunt lips. In my futile struggle against my immobility, my arms and legs spread and tied as wide as possible, I rocked my pelvis hard against the barrel, desperately attempting in my pain and lust to grind my cunt against its unyielding curved surface. It was impossible, and I was left with every fibre of my mind and body desperately fucking the air.
I tried desperately to calm myself enough to speak, and struggling for breath, and with my naked, whipped body struggling hopelessly against its ties, I coughed and swallowed. Through my tears, I whispered,
“I need to cum Daddy, please. I need to cum.”
He knelt down behind me, and with the fingers of both hands gently eased my arse cheeks apart, exposing my most secret place. The sweat shining on my back immediately trickled down this widened groove, deep between my cheeks. I felt my Daddy ease my arse cheeks further apart and his tongue push against the sphincter of my anus, flicking carefully over it again and again, repeatedly licking it dry of all my salty fluids. He did this for some minutes, but this merely increased my excitement; barely visibly within my tight bonds, my overstretched, spread-eagled young body was a mass of frantic, repetitive sexual activity as I tried to fuck the barrel with my breasts and stomach and pelvis, tried to fuck the air with my cunt, and tried to fuck my Daddy’s tongue with my anus.
But he is a good Daddy, a loving, kind and generous Daddy.
He took pity on me and stood up behind me, his cock once again brushing the backs of my thighs.
His self-control was amazing, because if ever there was a virgin girl ripe and ready for deflowering, right there and then, I was that girl! In the wet ‘n wild state I was in I would have welcomed his stiff cock deep in my cunt; in fact, right there and then I yearned for him to break every taboo, to lose all of his sense of control and his respect for me, his daughter, and for him to take me, to violate me, to brutally fuck my virgin cunt with his big stiff cock, to force it deep into me, tearing and breaking my hymen and with it my childish, independent spirit, so that I would forever happily and willingly bend my will to his will and my body to his body as he fucked my dripping cunt from behind and I struggled against the tight wires and clips which made me part of the machine, our love machine, the machine we had created and which was my whipping post and my bondage frame, a symbol of my love and desire for my father and of our depraved love and lust for each other.
In fact what he did was a lot easier than that. He was standing behind me and, reaching down with his left hand, he merely pressed the flat of his palm between my spread legs, and squeezed me. I did all the rest.
I could barely move, but I managed to squirm and fight against my bonds enough to rock my pelvis, grinding my cunt down against his hand as I hung there, bent forwards on my breasts, held tightly in place by my wrists and ankles as I clasped myself to the side of the barrel, our barrel. He helped by once more slipping his hand forward to cup my whole pubic mound and in his turn grinding the heel of his hand against my swollen cunt lips. Almost immediately my breathing became fast and shallow, like `I was in labour, even faster than when he was whipping the belt down so very hard on my unprotected back. I felt rather than heard my gasps get faster and louder, and turn into deep grunts, then from the back of my throat I was repeating the word “Daddy” over and over, rising in pitch and getting louder each time until I was wordlessly shouting, and everything turned into a sweet, musical scream of love and of pain and of lust, and I screamed, shrieking in the agony of my delight as my juices sprayed from my cunt like a bitch spraying her mate, soaking my Daddy’s left hand and arm and filling the air with the smell of my sex.
I heard my father gasp and grunt deep in his throat, and felt spots of hot liquid fall in me, momentarily burning hot on the place on my back where the ridged weals of my whipping crossed, just above my kidneys. At the same time as I had been masturbating against his hand, he had masturbated over me. I love the picture in my mind, me writhing almost invisibly against the wires and clips holding me so rigidly in place, me, a young, slim virgin tied naked and screaming over a barrel, masturbating against my father’s left hand, whilst he, lean and tanned, stands behind me, wanking himself until I spray my juices over him and he cums on the part of my back he has tormented and whipped as he tortured me in my helplessness.
We both came so hard that I was sure that I could hear our hearts beating
We eventually calmed down.
“Thank you Daddy.”
“No, thank you Princess.”
We both laughed and my Daddy unclipped my ankles, carefully helping me to place my feet on the grass. He then leant over me, his body heavy on mine, and unclipped my wrists. I stood up, stretched, and turned to face him. A little of his spunk had transferred itself from my back to his stomach. I collected it on my finger and held it up to my nose for a moment, savouring its heady smell before licking my finger clean of its lemony, salty taste.
“I could use a drink, Daddy.” I laughed, “and not a coke this time.”
“Okay.” He replied. “But first, put this on.” and he put the belt round my naked body, buckling it quite loosely so it sat low on my hips, and hand in hand we strolled over to the table, he completely naked, me wearing my heels, my jingling straps, and now proudly displaying my Daddy’s belt. As always when I walked tall and naked across our lawn in my heels, my full breasts swung freely above my slim, tanned stomach.
We sat down and he poured a couple of small glasses of pastis, topping them up with the remains of the iced water. We sat and cuddled as though we were both young lovers, enjoying the feel of each other’s body against our own. It was a sweet, loving, moment; no stress, no strain, just my Daddy and me.
Toasting me with the cool, cloudy drink, Daddy said, “some dinner?”
I drained my glass.
“Hell, no!” I laughed. “I want to play some more with our new toy. Tie me on top this time.”
Daddy smiled and shook his head in mock disbelief.
“You sure, Princess?” but I was already jingling my way across the lawn like a young, eager schoolgirl going out on her first date, except that I was naked and about to be tied to a barrel and whipped.
He caught up with me, and I turned and spread my legs and stood in front of him in my heels with my arms raised and he unfastened the belt he had buckled round my hips about half-an-hour previously. The evening shadows were beginning to lengthen as he helped me climb up onto one end of our machine, but it was France in August; it was still warm. He steadied me as I sat down with spread legs with my full weight resting on my cunt. I scooted up the broadening slope to the top.
Sitting on top with my back straight, I looked down to my Daddy, who was on my right. He steadied me again and I leant forward to stretch myself full length along the humped wooden back, and reached out with my arms. Daddy quickly clipped my wrists to the wire at that end and then I let my legs relax and spread open as my feet slid down the smooth wooden sides. One at a time he caught my ankles and neatly clipped them to the wires too.
This was heavenly. I was laying face down along the ridge of the barrel with my parted legs hanging down its smooth sides. My breasts, stomach and pubic mound all pressed against the hard wood, which was warm against my skin, and although my ribs dug into me a little, it wasn’t enough to be uncomfortable, just enough to remind me that I was the most important part of our torture machine. In fact, lying in this position along the length of the barrel, my body was much more relaxed and comfortable than it had been when I was tied across it, and with my broad hips resting on the highest part of the wooden curve, I was lying in a head-down position in which my spread legs ensured that my buttocks were the highest and most prominent part of my body.
I was pretty sure that I knew which part of my Daddy was going to attack next, and so I smiled at him and then turned my head away from him and let my right cheek press gently against the warm wood. With a contented sigh I made myself comfortable, and waited.
The first stroke of the belt on my body jerked me back into wakefulness. I’d been so relaxed and happy, still post-orgasmic, that I’d briefly dozed off, but that didn’t last long.
My Daddy is no fool. He is well aware that the female derriere, full, slightly fat, (slightly fat in my case, anyway,) and soft to the touch with its enticing curves and deep, dark, secret places, has long been the traditional object of “affection” for the belts, straps, palms, canes, sticks, whips and rulers of middle-class sadists and masochists alike.
The female derriere tends to be large; tall and slim as I am, even mine is the widest part of my body. The skin is smooth and marks comparatively easily, it’s wonderfully soft to the touch and heats up nicely when spanked or whipped. Just as important, the idea of displaying it, and of the removal of clothing involved in displaying it, especially for the purpose of having it chastised, is embarrassing, demeaning and humiliating for the girl; the man, however, likes it!
My Daddy and I both know that my bare arse is a perfect target for any physical punishment.
Without our having had to talk about it, my Daddy and I were very aware of the different levels of power exchange involved in our wonderfully painful and kinky little games, and the fact that I have to expose myself so completely to him, and abase myself naked in front of him in such a variety of submissive and exposed positions which offer him complete access to every part of me, plays an important part in arousing both of us and fuelling our excitement. He obviously enjoys being in charge of me, and I love the feeling I get deep in the pit of my stomach and between my legs when I am in his power.
And make no mistake, at those times I am completely in his power. There really is nothing I wouldn’t do for him and nothing I wouldn’t let him do to me. It’s called love, and it’s called trust. But we are unarguably a pair of dirty perverts, father and daughter, one older, one still young, and we love it, almost as much as we love each other.
Also, above all, under its lovely kissable and lickable and squeezable and smackable exterior, the female derriere is packed with muscle, the largest muscles in the human body in fact, and it can therefore take a lot of punishment without real or permanent damage.
So Daddy really hit me. From the moment that first wake-up stroke punched into me, flattening the skin and muscle of my arse hard against my underlying bones, the belt came whistling through the air to smack across my soft, sweet, tender arse with all the force he could muster. Or so I thought, but after a few more he got into his rhythm and was definitely hitting me even harder, and I was starting to really hurt.
Let me tell you that being lashed across the arse cheeks is quite different to being strapped or hit almost anywhere else on the female body. First of all it will take much more and much more aggressive punishment; i.e. more strokes and harder! But it also hurts in a different way.
A few days previously, when each stroke of my Daddy’s belt was punching deep into the soft mounds of my breasts, the pain was sharp and immediate. My pebble-hard nipples were crushed into my areola and with each crack of the leather on my unprotected body, the pain in my body was intense and exciting, but the overwhelming thought in my mind (remember, the brain is the biggest sexual organ,) was the feeling that I was offering myself as a sexual plaything to my father for him to abuse in any way that took his fancy. I was nothing more than a toy for him to play with, and even break if he felt like it.
Being spanked, or caned, or whipped on the arse is a different thing all together.
First of all the nature of the pain is different. Obviously, with each stroke, there is still the immediate sharp pain at the point of impact on the skin; same as the skin anywhere else on my body, it turns white momentarily as it flattens under the impact of the belt, then it returns to its normal colour as the blood returns, and it hurts. But then, as the whipping continues, and the pain I feel on my skin is still there, a deeper, more acute, throbbing pain that grows from inside me takes over, its intensity easily surpassing the mere pain of the strap on the surface of my skin. The underlying muscle starts to spasm of its own accord as it swells and starts to bruise in protest at the repeated blows of the leather weapon my father is wielding.
But there is a kind of spiritual difference too. As well as the exciting humiliation of stretching myself out and offering my naked derriere, my sweet, young arse to my father to for his pleasure, there is a feeling of the “correctness” of our actions. Throughout the ages, sweet young seventeen-year-old girls have had their bare arses chastised by their fathers as punishment for their wrongdoings. Whilst on one level I knew I’d done nothing wrong, at a more instinctive level I maybe felt that my repeated lewd behaviour deserves a more traditional punishment.
Anyway, there I was, stretched out, sweating and naked on my stomach along the length of the smooth curve of the wooden barrel, with my own weight compressing my breasts and pubic mound under me, fastened by my wrists and ankles to wires which held me rigidly in place with my legs apart and my arse the highest part of my body.
My Daddy was whipping my bare arse; the full body of the belt landing right across the flesh of both cheeks and the nasty, hard leather tip whipping sharply into the soft outer flank of my left thigh, raising little square weals on my skin. He was panting with the effort as his merciless blows rained down on me in rapid succession; he was hitting me hard, and fast, and often.
At first a curious detachment protected me from the pain.
In previous whippings to other parts of my body I’d grunted or shouted or screamed with each stroke of the leather, and sometimes found myself either unable to breathe or hyperventilating, as I struggled to survive under the repeated blows of the belt. This time I could certainly feel the pain on my skin, it hurt a lot, but I seemed curiously unaffected at first. I was pouring with sweat, but my breathing was reasonably normal, I wasn’t shouting or screaming. I was quietly gasping each time the belt landed on me and I was crying, of course, but I always cry when I’m being whipped, so there was nothing unusual there.
There was a pause as he walked round to attack me from the other side. As he passed I looked up and saw that he was trailing a rope of his fluids that dripped from him, splashing onto the front of his thighs from the tip of his erect cock as it freely swayed in front of him in time with each step. I laid my head back down and watched through my pain filled tears as he took up his position and simply started to whip me again, right across the arse with no science or precision, just the body of the belt smacking off my bare flesh and the tip of the belt digging deep into the side of my right thigh.
Then I felt the beginnings of a deeper pain. I started to try to writhe with each blow, but stretched over the curving wood as I was, I could barely move, so all I could do was lay there, and cry, and try to move my now deeply throbbing arse out of the way of the belt which ceaselessly rained its arcs of punishment and pain down on me. I was definitely panting now as the deep throbbing in my arse rapidly turned to an inexpressible agony that seemed to grow from my bones, suddenly connecting with my cunt, which suddenly gushed a stream of my hot fluids out of my body and onto the warm wood and down the backs of my spread thighs.
I just had time to notice that my gushing fluids were in fact tickling the backs of my knees before the next stroke of the belt bit deep into me and the pain was suddenly for me to control, and I jerked convulsively in my bonds, struggling to close my legs and to pull myself up with my hands and escape. All I managed to do was to lift my head up and flex my shoulders enough to make my breasts hurt when I landed on them again when I collapsed back down. There was no escape.
I felt my father’s hand gentle on my shoulder.
“Relax, Princess. That’s the punishment over; now it’s time for the fun part.”
Fun part? What the hell was he talking about?
Well, I’ll tell you.
So far he had been simply thrashing me, unscientifically battering and bruising my backside as hard as he could. Both of my cheeks were red raw, deeply bruised, a mess of raised weals and puffy skin. He had only just stopped short of breaking my skin; I discovered later that my arse was on the verge of bleeding in several places. But I couldn’t see that, I only knew that I’d never felt anything like the pure, brutal pain I was experiencing right then!
And I was panicking. I was crying my eyes out and I was sure that I couldn’t take any more. I knew that my cunt was sopping wet but that seemed irrelevant. This didn’t feel sexy, this just hurt like hell!
“Daddy, no.” I whimpered. “Please don’t hurt me any more today. I can’t…..”
But he wasn’t listening. He’d taken half a step back, and as I watched in horror he once more swung his arm up to bring the tip of the wildly swinging belt down hard, to punch its wickedness deep into me, deep into the pale, soft flesh of the inside of my left arse cheek. It whipped evilly, and I could feel its impact pull my cheeks apart, momentarily exposing my tender, shrinking anal bud to the cool breeze created as the flying belt whistled past it in the evening air. This time I shrieked. This was too much for me to take.
I heard the rush of air as the belt whistled down onto me again, again its tip punching the inside of my left cheek, the whipping action pulling it open as the leather again swept past my anus, missing it by no distance at all, the tip of the leather just kissing the crinkled edge of my sphincter. I howled and tried to writhe. I couldn’t move. Was he really going to hit me there? I suddenly really panicked and tried to struggle against my self-willed, arguably self-imposed bondage.
I had changed my mind about this whole pain and pleasure thing with my Daddy. I couldn’t do this anymore. He had to stop. NOW!
Tied face down, I struggled, howling, jerking my sweating, weeping body on the curved wood of the barrel with most of my weight bruising down on my pubic mound and my breasts as I tried to escape, but I managed only to drag my nipples and areola back and forth across a couple of inches of the surface of the barrel and slide a tiny distance on my pubic hair. There really was no escape from the torture my loving Daddy was inflicting on me. Christ, I was only seventeen, just a little girl really; what the hell was he thinking about?
Then he swung the belt tip once more deep into the inside flesh of my left arse cheek and once again the breeze of its passage brushed my anus and my cunt suddenly gaped wide of its own accord and exploded, expelling my fluids; my legs were soaked and my lovely, sexy smell hit me at once. I breathed deeply and shouted, “Yes!” before my body started to convulse in a different way from just seconds before. My chest was heaving, lifting me bodily off the hard surface I was tied to as I sucked in the huge lungfuls of air I needed to fuel my excitement, to drive my pounding heart, to sustain my heaving, sweating body as I wept my way towards my orgasm; I was now grinding all of my soft flesh hard against the curved wood of my lovely, sweat-soaked barrel, trying to fuck it with my whole body!
Another swinging blow of the belt tip arced into me. This time I no longer cared whether he hit me in the anus or anywhere else for that matter. I was simply trying to lift my bruised and battered arse up towards him, offering him myself in complete and abject submission to his will and to his, and my, depraved desires.
I was still trying to thrust my groin against the barrel and then up into the air, into the barrel, up again, as he crossed back to my right side. I turned my head and followed his progress. His cock was no longer trailing a swaying rope of his excitement. It was rock-like, rigidly vertical in front of him, an immovable staff of his flesh, shiny from its tip to his balls with his fluids; even his pubic hair was wet and matted against the base of his fantastic hard cock. The tops of his thighs were shiny with his excitement.
My Daddy is quite a man!
I pressed the side of my face on the warm wood and closed my eyes; proud that I was able to give him this pleasure, and proud that I even though I had panicked we were still here. He was still loving me with his belt.
The belt whistled into me again, but by this time my arse really had had enough. Any more strokes and my skin would break. Neither of us wanted me bleeding, so this time he very carefully hit me at the top of my right thigh, the belt tip whipping hard into the soft flesh of my leg just beside my pouting, dripping cunt lips. The breeze of its passage ruffled my pubic hair. I screamed but lifted myself towards him again, offering myself for more. He hit me again, this time even closer to my cunt, and I still offered myself to him for more. This time he brought the broad tip of the belt down so close to my cunt that the leather tugged at some of the curls of my sopping pubic hair and trapped them against my thigh.
I later found a huge, deep red mark at the very top of my right leg, on the inside my thigh, which was caused by the next blow of the belt to my body. This time his aim was too close and the edge of his belt just caught the side of the swell of my right cunt lip. The slimy covering of my fluids that drenched my whole pubic area offered a tiny protection in that the leather slid to the side slightly rather than punching flat on into this intimate and delicate part of my body.
At the time I merely shrieked through my tears and continued to writhe in my pain filled sexual excitement.
From a distance I hear his voice say,
“Princess. Lift and spread as much as you can,” and I thought, “Oh, Jesus! He’s really going to do it. He’s going to whip my cunt,” but I obeyed and did as he had ordered.
I strained to lift my body up, thrusting my hips towards him and rocking my pelvis as much as I could, tied down and virtually immobile as I was, and waited, bathed in my sweat, my salt tears on my face, my spread legs soaked by my dripping sex.
The tip of the belt crashed into my perineum, the tiny bit of soft, delicate skin between a girl’s cunt and her anus. It’s a really tiny bit of soft flesh and I love it when my Daddy tickles it with the tip of his tongue, but this was something else again!
The belt tip punched deep into me; it felt like it was going to split me in half; it felt like it was going to split open my womb, my bladder, my bowels. His aim was perfect. The leather hit me hard on this tender bit of my body, but not on my cunt, not on my anus, even though they were less than millimetres away from the point of impact. His aim was perfect and the leather slammed into this tiny, sensitive part of my body.
The pain took my breath away. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I just lay there with my body tied in its position of total subservience while he hit me again in the same place. My pain and my lust were raging through me. Without realising it I pressed my breasts hard down, squashing my nipples even harder against the unyielding wood, and tried to force my arse even higher. Daddy saw the tiny movement and said,
“This is it, Princess,” and once more the belt tip punched into me, cracking down one of the softest bits of flesh on my body. He had hit me harder this time and the square tipped belt grazed the edge of my anal sphincter and there was a whisper of leather against a corner of my cunt lips.
My arsehole and cunt tightened reflexively and that was it. I was gone! I shrieked and writhed as my pleasure, my sweet, sick, whipped frenzy of pleasure finally rocked my pain-wracked and abused body. For the second time that day I was young and naked, tied to the machine, my lusts out of control as my body struggles in its bonds to fuck the air while my pelvis was trying to rock ‘n roll my cunt lips down onto the surface of the wooden barrel I was tied to. I lifted my hips, willing my father to do… to do anything really; hit me again, kiss me, or screw me. I didn’t care. I was in my favourite place, my personal heaven of sex and lust and pain and my submission to my father and to the feelings in my wet, sweating body.
He didn’t have to do anything further to me, because then my poor abused body took over and the cokes and the pastis from earlier in the afternoon suddenly welled up inside me. I was still deep in my orgasm, my eyes closed and lost, deep in the spasms of lust that rocked my body, and didn’t care. I simply lay there as my spasms rocked through me in the silence of my father’s French garden in the early evening sun, as my he stood, watching me simultaneously orgasm and piss myself down my tied, spread legs.
Presently I finished.
I had orgasmed, for my pleasure and my father’s. I had relieved myself, as only a properly obedient young girl should. I had relieved myself, pissing down my legs as a naked entertainment for the man who had brought me so much pleasure and delightful pain. I would never doubt him again. I trusted him to know me better than I knew myself. I owed him so much.
“Help me down, Daddy. Please.”
His cock was still the stiffest I have ever seen it and it actually got in the way as he leant over, unclipped me, and bodily lifted me off the barrel. The feel of his body, naked against mine, was intoxicating. He carefully set me down to stand on the grass beside him. I kissed him. I love this man.
He stood with his feet slightly apart and I knelt before him on the grass, still naked except for my heels and jingling straps, and lifting my shoulders, head and neck as much as I could, brought my face and lips vertically down over the tip of his cock. With both hands I gently grasped his buttocks and pulled him deep into me, deep between my lips. I felt the tip of his cock brush the roof of my mouth as I pulled him even closer to me, taking his tip right to the back of my mouth and pressing hard with my tongue to trap him inside me. I slowly moved my head up and down, sliding my Daddy’s cock in and out through the hard circle of my lips.
He started to pump his hips, thrusting himself forward as his excitement grew. I let his cock slip from my mouth, looked up into his eyes, and then with a smile plunged my head down on him again. I tried to force my tongue into the slit at the end of his cock, and that did it.
Suddenly he pulled my head hard into his groin, impaling my face on his cock, ramming himself deep into my throat as I felt him pump his spunk, more of the very seed from which I had grown, deep into my willing mouth. As he came he thrust himself hard against the back of my throat, and as he filled my mouth with his cum I coughed and a reflex made me try to jerk back but I couldn’t because he was holding my head too tightly in his ecstasy as he pumped deeper and deeper into my mouth and throat and I gagged a mixture of drool and God knows what else over my father’s cock and thighs, the noxious mixture erupting from my mouth, flowing down over my chin and over my breasts.
I felt I might choke, but I love my father and I tried not to panic. I simply held my breath and waited while he recovered. I coughed, a deep gurgling sound, and he looked down at me, immediately contrite when he saw what had happened. He knelt down beside me and pulled me into his arms, ignoring the mess on my body. Then he did the most loving thing he could ever possibly do. Without wiping my face or my lips or my chin, he kissed me; he kissed me long and lovingly, his tongue deep in my mouth where his cock had been only moments before, and I had just gagged and actually vomited slightly, the bitter taste still on my tongue.
My love for him simply overwhelmed me. I wept gentle tears of love and whispered, “Thank you, Daddy.”
He replied, “Thank you, Princess.”
Author’s note.
That last bit might have surprised you, but I promise you that it actually happened, just as I have described, and I wanted to include it because this is, to the best of my knowledge and ability, a fair and accurate diary of what was the best summer of my life. Beside, whilst I’m glad to say I’ve never been sick on my father again, it is strangely one of my fondest memories of him and our times together.
Canz
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