TWO FOR TORMENT
1
"The agony of a beautiful woman," John Collins murmured hoarsely, "is
the most exquisite sight in the world."
Whip in hand, he stepped back a few paces and let his gloating eyes take
in the details he found so stimulating. Long blonde hair, somewhat darkened and
matted now with sweat, but still glorious, cascading down over the creamy back
and shoulders, now partially obscuring, now revealing the tormented face; hands
tied cruelly together at the wrists high above the head, the fingers clutching
helplessly at the air; arms stretched to the limits by the unendurable weight of
the hanging body; lovely, defenseless breasts pulled upward and outward, their
bruised red nipples pointing towards him; taut-skinned stomach, once a flawless
expanse of luscious flesh, now rendered even more attractive by a series of red
welts; similarly welted thighs, breathtaking in shape, and sensuously molded
calves, dangling, writhing, jerking reflexively; small, beautiful feet, six
inches from the floor, reaching, straining futilely in a desperate effort to
find a support that wasn't there; the pain-contorted but still pretty face; the
open, gasping mouth, from which had recently issued those terrible piercing
screams which made his heart beat with fierce joy and his cock stiffen and throb
achingly, and from which now came hoarse, inarticulate whimpering noises,
piteous and lovely to hear; the eyes, normally a vivid and sparkling blue, now
dull and glazed with suffering, wild and unfocused in their torment, until, as
he watched her, they came slowly and gradually to focus on his face, begging in
a mute and hopeless despair, pleading silently and desperately with him to
desist at last, to stop her relentless and unbearable torture.
He smiled, and raised the whip again.
