BDSM Library - Where do I begin?

Chapter Two: Youthful Beginnings

Life for me started when I was twelve years old. That’s when I started to feel my tits growing and other funny things happening deep in the pit of my stomach – and deep inside me between my legs. Suddenly I was desperate to grow up. I knew there was something I wanted, but I didn’t know what. I wanted to explore and to understand the nice, strange and funny feelings developing in my body and in my mind. Boys suddenly changed from being irrelevant, funny creatures, becoming really stupid, funny creatures instead, but I wanted them to look at me even although I didn’t want them to touch me. Actually, I was very naïve and, believe it or not, I really didn’t know that them touching me was even part of the agenda. I knew nothing about what was happening to me, to my body, and I simply knew nothing about sex.

I didn’t have a mother to tell me all about these things, you see. I didn’t know it at the time, but she had disappeared not long after I was born, leaving my Daddy to pick up the pieces. He did.

He is a great Daddy. I love him.

He taught me how to look after myself, he taught me confidence, he taught me to make decisions and stick by them. He taught me to be patient with myself and with other people, but also how to identify and avoid people who are trouble, or a pain in the neck.

In short he taught me everything I need to know to cope, to get on, and to be a success in the world.

But in those early days he couldn’t teach me about what was happening in my body. Obviously he could tell me the technical stuff, but didn’t know how to explain my changing feelings, physical and emotional, from a girl’s or a woman’s point of view. How could he?

But he did teach me the big important thing about sex.

Anything you like is good. Anything you don’t like is bad. Some things are good sometimes and bad at other times. Take care, be true to yourself, and try any damn thing you fancy.

He also taught me to be careful, obviously against crazy, dangerous and diseased people, and also the importance of keeping some things to myself. The world is full of dangerous, jealous people; nosey, prying neighbours; fellow students, interfering work colleagues, you know the kind, who will make all kinds of trouble for you if they can. So his lesson was; do whatever the hell you want to, but be cool. Keep your private sex life just that; keep it private from these small-minded, prying bastards.

So he didn’t mind when, at the age of twelve, I used to squat over puddles without knickers on to see if there was any sign of the dark pubic hair I so desperately wanted to have. He reckoned that my interest in my body was my prerogative, and fixed a big mirror on the floor of my bedroom for me to kneel or stand over, to make it easier for me to check on my developing maturity, and so I could do it in private. That way people wouldn’t see, and talk, harassing both of us unnecessarily.

When I was fourteen, he didn’t mind when he found me showing off my body to the boy next door, letting him watch me from his bedroom as I played on my swing, wearing a nothing but the lightest of clothing; a ridiculously loose top which kept “accidentally” falling from my shoulders, displaying my small but developing tits, and a semi-transparent flaring underskirt which billowed up to my waist as I leant back to swing to and fro. After I’d explained that I had an great secrecy deal going with the boy, who I was effectively blackmailing, he complimented me on the set up, and suggested that it would actually be more of a tease to sometimes wear panties on the swing. He also occasionally moved the swing around the garden for me so I could show off different bits of myself from different angles. I especially enjoyed it when I knew my neighbour could see straight down my top even when I was sitting still, and when I was facing the other way; well, doesn’t every girl like to show off her legs and have men looking up her skirt?

As I got older, he freely admitted that he liked it when I occasionally helped him in the garden wearing only a pair of shoes, a pair of gloves, and a silly hat, and he even didn’t mind when, as a crazy nude and nubile sixteen year old, I tried to make a snowman lover in the garden. He just ran a hot shower for me and fixed a steaming cup of chocolate when I finally admitted defeat and came in from the freezing cold. And gave me a knowing smile and a pair of boots next time!

But telling you about showing off for my Daddy or the boy next door is pretty tame stuff. You’re really only interested in how my Daddy and I started performing the filthy, unspeakable and downright dirty, incestuous sex acts we’ve discovered we both enjoy. Morality? Who cares? Who are we hurting? No one! Legality? We’re very careful, and live by his code, and keep it quiet. We very carefully keep things to ourselves.

It all started one sunny afternoon just after he’d bought the summer cottage in the French countryside. It is quite remote and the garden is completely walled. No one can see in.

We were spending the summer there, away from the city. I was seventeen and horny as hell. He was sitting in the shade of a tree, wearing shorts and a loose white shirt and I was sunbathing naked. I was prattling on about school, exams, and the work that needed doing in the new garden. We had talked about maybe moving permanently to this idyllic spot, and I made a joke about whether there would be enough snow in this part of France for me to make a snowman again, but he seemed restless, not really listening and joining in the conversation. He kept glancing at me and then looking away.

Then he suddenly stood up and turned away from me, walking quickly towards the house.

“I’ll be back in a moment”, he said, over his shoulder.

“Get me a cold drink, too, Dad”, I called after him, and I lay back down in the hot sun, and then rolled over onto my front to allow my back and bum to tan a little too. After a few minutes I spread my legs open too, to even up the soft tan colour inside my thighs.

Then the heat became just too much for me and I got up and walked into the kitchen to find my Dad hurriedly trying to pull his shorts and boxers back up over what was obviously a huge and painful erection. I was naked, and in bare feet, so he hadn’t heard me coming into the house.

“Daddy!” I said, quietly.

He blushed very deeply and tried to turn away from me but I stopped him. For the first time ever he couldn’t look me in the eye, and this frightened me a little. My Dad had always been straight with me about everything.

“Daddy,” I said again, “What’s wrong?”

After a pause, he took a deep breath and turned to face me. He was still very red in the face and very embarrassed, but he managed to look straight at me, and say,

“I was masturbating, Baby.”

“But why, Daddy?”

I was a horny little bitch, and I knew that I enjoyed showing off in front of him, wearing very little, or sunbathing naked, but it really had simply never occurred to me that he might find me exciting. I was his little girl, his sweet, and innocent, well maybe not so innocent, daughter; he was my smart, dependable, safe, old Daddy. He was over forty, for God’s sake, and therefore immune from sex for life. But in a flash I realised that I was the reason.

He said,

“You, Baby Girl, are no longer a little Baby Girl, in fact you are now a beautiful young woman, and you’re going to have to start being decently dressed when I’m around. I’m sorry, I know it’s wrong, but looking at you today, I just can’t control it any longer. Looking at you excites me. I can’t have you, you’re my sweet, sweet Baby Girl, and I shouldn’t want you that way. But just today, it’s so hot, and you’re just so naked, so slim, so perfect, so sexy….”

He couldn’t finish.

Heart suddenly pounding, I thought for a moment, then replied,

“Daddy, you’ve always taught me that I should do things I like, and not do things I don’t like. I like being naked, and I love being naked around you. I like it when you look at me. Sure, we’re father and daughter, and lots of folks, and the cops, would say it’s wrong, but what the hell, if we keep it to ourselves, who’s going to know? It’s my fault. Please let me finish what I’ve started. It’s only fair to you.”

It was a really difficult moment right then as I watched my Dad struggle between what he so obviously wanted – me - and doing what the remains of the crumby, puritan morality he still had from his upbringing was telling him was “the right thing”. It was so awful! He’d worked so hard to try to make sure I wasn’t contaminated by the malicious, Puritanical conventions that religion, society, and the law conspire together to foist on us, and he’s succeeded, but he was still mired in its tenacious, evil grip himself.

So, as I said earlier, I’m not so innocent. I took a chance.

“Don’t move,” I instructed him, and shot out of the kitchen to return in seconds wearing my new sandals, my first pair of leather, high-heeled sandals. Years later I still wear them when we’re together, and they’re actually still too high for me to walk in comfortably. There’s only a tiny loop for my big toe, and a thin strap that buckles round my ankle, so it’s like I’m walking on stilts but with bare feet. They make my legs look fabulous, and throw my weight forward, which flattens my already smooth stomach, which in turn accentuates my bum and tits. I look, and feel, as sexy as hell and about ten feet tall in them.

Then I did the sluttiest thing my young mind could think of. Cradling each of my tits in my cupped hands I stroked my stiff nipples with my thumbs as I stood as straight as I could in front of him, spread my legs a little, and asked him,

“How do I look, Daddy? Now I’ve got these shoes do you think I should shave my entire vagina, or just trim it a bit?

And that did it. Freedom, and commonsense, triumphed over the small-minded Puritanism of his upbringing, and he unfastened his waistband and kicked his shorts clear. I lifted his shirt clean over his head as he bent down to pull his boxer shorts down so they too dropped to his ankles before he kicked them clear too. And so, standing side by side, both of us naked except for my new sexy sandals, I grasped my father’s cock in both hands and moved my hands slowly up and down. He shut his eyes and started to breathe heavily.

I turned to face him and moved closer so that my tits pressed against his chest. He could feel them move against his body as I slid my hands up and down his cock. Then I slowed down and continued to wank him with one hand; with the other I caught his hands and moved one of them round to my arse, the other I pushed down between us to the lips of my cunt. I whispered in his ear.

“Abuse me,” and slipped my hand back down to gently cup and squeeze his balls.

My heart was already beating pretty hard, but it started to really pound hard in my chest when I felt him follow my instruction, as one, then two, then three of his fingers gently fingered the lips of my cunt with one hand, and with the other he let one finger slide deep into the crack between my soft, smooth bum cheeks to find my most intimate entrance, my arsehole. He softly circled my rosebud, pausing to tease my sphincter muscles and stroking the very lips of this, my most intimate of private parts, and we stood there, his fingers gently violating my cunt and arse, as I relaxed my grip on his cock, and wanked him between just the fingers and thumb of one hand, and cradled his balls with the other.

He looked me straight in the eyes.

“Let me do it against your belly, Baby Girl. It’ll free your hands.”

So I let go his cock and balls and he simply pressed them against the gentle swell of my soft, smooth stomach, and with my legs a little wider apart, I rhythmically bent and straightened my knees to rub my body up and down against him. Feeling his hardness pressing in to my soft flesh was the most exciting thing I’d ever experienced. We still sometimes do it that way, and it’s still wonderful for both of us.

I stretched round behind him and with fingers of both hands, gently squeezed his arse cheeks, easing them apart. Then, using a finger from each hand, I gently stroked and teased his anus, copying the circling and soft probing movements I could so intoxicatingly feel happening to my own bum hole. Much later we were reminiscing about this first time, and, laughing, Daddy said that he felt that at last, all my expensive piano lessons were paying off!

We stood there for some minutes, fingering each other’s arses, and it felt wonderfully dirty and exciting to stand there in the kitchen, both of us naked, playing with each other’s most forbidden places. At the same time I was moving my whole body up and down against my Daddy’s, masturbating him against my smooth belly as he pushed his fingers round and round the lips of my now dripping cunt. The smell of my sex and the sounds of our quiet groans filled the room. Even in my youthful ignorance I could see that things were coming to a head!

I saw him shut his eyes and he gave a kind of a shudder and pushed his cock even harder, thrusting it against my belly, as though he was trying to push it into me. I looked down, and suddenly there it was; a spray of his sticky, pale fluid squirted from the tip of his cock, all over our stomachs, and as I gazed down in delight at this depraved sight, more and more of it kept appearing. I kept moving myself up and down against him, but he was also really moving now, squeezing forward against me with his whole body, almost lifting me off my feet and causing me to fall over. I kept my legs moving, rubbing myself up and down against him until he took his hand away from my cunt and quickly grabbed both my bum cheeks in his hands and pulled my pelvis hard against his cock and he lifted me up bodily and with a deep grunt spent himself on me, squeezing himself into me as he flooded more and more of his sweet, hot spunk to glisten on to my soft, tanned stomach.

Presently his cock stopped erupting over me, and we both stood still, breathing heavily as our sweat and his spunk mixed and trickled down our bodies. We just stood there, holding each other tight, for ages, not talking, and just breathing. I felt his cock gradually go soft and slip from between our slippery, slimy bodies. We stepped apart and his gaze was fixed on my body where his hot sexual fluid trickled slowly down my abdomen. Without thinking, I put my hands on my hips and posed for him with my legs wide open. His cum slipped freely through my thin pubic hair; remember, I had only just turned seventeen and didn’t really have a properly mature bush at the top of my legs yet, and a few drops dripped down from my cunt lips to the floor.

We both started talking at once, both trying to apologise. I won.

“Daddy, I should apologise. I thought that by being naked I was doing what you wanted, being “true to myself”, and all that, but I realise that I was really just being dirty, I was just enjoying leading you on. I suppose I thought you were kind of immune. I simply never thought that you would find me exciting that way, so what we’ve just done was really my fault, not yours. Sorry. It won’t let it happen again.”

His answer took my breath away.

“Baby Girl, that’s the first sex I’ve had in over sixteen years, since long before your mother ran off. It was wonderful. Thank you.”

He took a deep breath and smiled, and to my surprise and delight, he continued:

“Please, let’s do it again. If you like, anytime we’re together, just the two of us, please lead me on as much as you like.”

And so, dear reader, that was how it all started.

Chapter Three: Leading Him On

So I proceeded to lead my Dad on. I fact I attempted to drive him crazy with lust for me, and I have to admit that on the whole, I succeeded.

Except for when we went into town, and the occasions when I did a striptease for him, I spent the whole summer wearing nothing but my high-heeled sandals. I would ask him to soap me down when I was in the shower, and then I got him to dry me afterwards. Of course I sunbathed naked every afternoon, and lay on the grass in the most extraordinary, exposed positions, all in the interests of acquiring and “even, all over” tan, of course. I would “accidentally” spill drinks in myself, once, a whole ice cream, and get him to help me clean myself up, often with his tongue. I spent every evening after dinner still naked, sitting on his lap, as we watched some TV, listened to some music, or just sat in the garden looking at the sunset and then the evening stars.

It was a magical time for both of us. I had the chance to develop my taste and talent for exhibitionism, learned a whole lot about sex, and had the absolutely undivided attention of a handsome, older man, whom I loved, trusted, and in fact had always worshipped. He had the undivided attention of a very sexy, slim young girl with a vivid imagination and a taste for experiment and adventure. I was just learning about sex, and he learned a lot too! Also, apart from immediately after each of his many orgasms that summer, he basically had an erection for two months.

We had one unspoken rule; one of the advantages of having a perverted and incestuous relationship with my Dad is that we often don’t have to explain things to each other in words, we’re completely on the same wavelength and always know exactly what to do, and what not to do. We’re much closer mentally and physically than any “conventional” couple, or man and wife, for that matter, so an “unspoken” rule really was just that, we didn’t have to talk about it, but the rule was there, inviolate.

The unspoken rule was that as I had started the summer a complete virgin, I would finish the summer as a complete virgin, and although that may sound disappointing to those of you hoping for tales of steamy sex, can I tell you that this was in fact extremely liberating and made for much sexier, much dirtier situations than if we’d just screwed and gone to sleep. (No wonder married couples get bored after a few years if that’s all they do!) We knew that, to quote Cole Porter, “Anything Goes,” apart from any penetration, and this in fact made things better for both of us as we satisfied our lusts by experimenting with more and more extreme and perverted acts. We used our imaginations and both learned a lot about our bodies and our minds. The brain is certainly by far the biggest sexual organ!

I’m glad to say that during all of that summer my Dad never got used to seeing me naked. In fact he still hasn’t, even now I merely have to let him see up my skirt or down my blouse and he immediately has a raging hard on for me. However, that summer I did discover that I could make him even stiffer by “casually” making him focus his gaze on particular parts of my body for more than just a few minutes at a time.

Before that magical afternoon I’ve just told you about, when it all started for us when I masturbated him by rubbing my soft, smooth belly up and down against his erect cock, I’d seen him sneaking peeks at me as I wandered about the cottage or sunbathed in either very little or no clothing. After that wonderful, liberating event I became, at his request, even more brazen; and it was wonderfully liberating that he no longer had to pretend not to see me, to pretend not to look, or that I had to pretend to be naïve and shy. He would quite openly sit and stare at me with his erect cock very clearly tenting his shorts, his eyes hungrily following my every movement, and I would deliberately stretch out in the sun, or run my hands over my body, or dance or exercise, nude except for my sandals. We both loved me wearing them, and I loved the whole thing, every sexy, dirty, exciting, immoral moment of feeling my Daddy’s eyes roam over my body, me, his darling baby daughter’s.

I quickly decided that “leading him on”, as he had asked me to, gave me carte blanche to act as brazenly as I wanted to, so after we’d cleaned ourselves up after our first kitchen adventure, we returned to the garden. I slowly and carefully make sure that every little corner of my body, bronzed, shiny and sultry, was covered in sun tan cream, and then, after letting him look at all of me for quite a while, I walked sexily, one foot right in front of the other to emphasis my rolling hips, over to where he was sitting, by the pool, and knelt at his feet.

Cupping my soft, full breasts in my hands I wordlessly looked into his eyes and rubbed my nipples with my thumbs, making them even bigger and stiffer than they were. Still staring straight at him I played with my breasts for minutes, squeezing them, stroking them, pinching my nipples, nipping each of my areolas between my thumbnails and fingers, before clasping my hands behind my head to allow my breasts to fall from my grasp and gently rocking my smooth shoulders to make them sway on my chest as I breathed deeply, proudly displaying myself to my Daddy.

Then I stood up and moved round beside him to lie on my back across his lap, still with my hands behind my head. I had to keep my feet on the floor and it was an acutely uncomfortable position for me to lie in, but it gave him uninterrupted access to my upper body. He slid his hands up over my shiny, flat stomach to grasp my tits, rubbing and squeezing them with his strong hands. After a few minutes the position I was in became even more uncomfortable as the muscles in my back and legs started to vibrate in protest, but as this made my tits tremble I held the position and proffered my tits even more openly to my Daddy.

This made him even more excited, and he started to squeeze and pinch my nipples and areolas between his thumbnails and fingers too. He did it a lot harder than I had, and it began to hurt quite a lot. I moaned quietly and he stopped immediately.

Much to my surprise, I realised that I had been enjoying the pain, and without thinking, I said:

“Oh, don’t stop, Daddy. Do it harder.”

He looked at me in surprise and then simply grabbed my tits and squeezed my nipples as hard as he could. I screamed in surprise and pain, but pushed my tits up towards him, forcing them into his hands, the strain in my back and legs completely forgotten as he really quite seriously assaulted my soft flesh, pinching my nipples as hard as he could for minutes at a time as I writhed silently in his grasp. When they had turned pure white through lack of blood, he suddenly let them go, and I screamed quietly as the blood flowed back into them, but he was already squeezing and twisting one of my tits with both hands, pressing it hard into my chest and then pulling it hard away from my body. With a final, vicious squeeze he let it go and slapped it as hard as he could.

I was now openly crying with the pain from my abused flesh, moaning as I held my painful position, even though my whole body was vibrating with the muscular tension. I still held my hands behind my head and still offered my tits up to his abuse. His cock was now like a rod of steel, digging deep into the small of my back where it tested on his lap. This was obviously exciting him as much as it was exciting me, and neither of us wanted it to stop.

This was suddenly a whole new world for me. I had expected to be excited by the obvious; the sexual stimulation and manipulation of my private parts, my cunt and my arsehole. And while I’d thought he might briefly nibble at my tits and lick my nipples before moving on to bigger things, I was completely surprised by the amount of attention he was lavishing on them, and was totally confused by my reaction to the extreme pain he was subjecting me to. Put simply, my cunt was soaking; the sexual juices were simply dripping from me. Lying on my back across his lap I could feel them trickle from my virgin cuntlips, down over my perineum to gather at the rosebud of my arsehole.

He gave my nipples an even more vicious squeeze, and settled down to slap both my tits as hard as he could. I felt myself about to really scream in pain, but I didn’t want to make too much noise, and I didn’t want him to stop hurting me. Remember, my Daddy had always taught me to keep private things quiet and private, so screaming my head off was simply not an option. I also really didn’t want him to stop, I wanted to encourage him, the pain was delicious, and so I needed to be gagged, but how?

Simple; I reached up with both hands and pulled his face down to mine, pulling his lips hard down on to mine, and we kissed deeply, our tongues immediately intertwining as we kissed so hard we tried to swallow each other. Our lips pressed harder and harder together, we stopped breathing. It was heaven, except that Daddy had stopped abusing my tits whilst he kissed me.

We had to stop for breath.

“Daddy,” I whispered: “Please hurt me again.”

I let my arms drop to the ground behind me. My body was bent backwards in a perfect arch with my tits as the highest point, and as I lay across my Daddy’s lap he once again set about slapping and squeezing them. With tears of pain streaming from my eyes, I gazed up at him, smiling, enjoying how his face became darker and fiercer as he became more and more excited, losing himself in this new sexual adventure we had discovered, slapping and abusing my soft, full tits. I quietly sobbed in pain, loving every minute of it!

The excitement began to build up in my body as the punishment continued. I could feel my heart beating harder and harder, and realised I was writhing uncontrollably as I lay naked across my Daddy’s lap. My sweet sexual fluids gushed freely from my spread cunt lips. Deep between my legs the ecstasy was building up, until suddenly my back arched even more. I was completely rigid as my poor straining legs pushed my body, still arched backwards, until it was completely clear of my Daddy’s lap, with my pubic mound was the highest part. I spread my legs wide and rocked my pelvis, thrusting forward in my sudden sexual frenzy as the first deep orgasm of my life shuddered through my virgin body. Even though I was still a virgin I was having the first deep orgasm of my life, arching my back and lifting my whole body off my father’s lap, offering him my poor abused tits for all the abuse and torture he could give me.

Watching my body writhe and convulse in my painful ecstasy excited him even more, so now he was really hurting me as I thrust my aching tits higher and higher, shouting at him, begging him not to stop, my slim, young body arched backwards across him for his pleasure and my pain. Wonderfully, it seemed to go on for hours.

Sweat was dripping from us both as I came back down to earth, literally, as I collapsed back onto my Daddy’s lap and then, totally spent and limp, I slid off his knees to the ground. I lay there with my eyes shut, soaking in sweat, flushed with a wonderfully dirty feeling of sexual excess. My Daddy loved me and had showed it by hurting my tits until I orgasmed on his lap. He had given me my first orgasm. I lay completely stretched out on the grass at my Daddy’s feet, flat on my back, arms flung wide, legs apart, naked and completely vulnerable, and pissed myself.

My Daddy spread his legs and sat forward, right on the edge of his chair, so that his balls and stiff cock were stood freely between his thighs, gazed down at me, and said:

“Don’t move, Baby Girl.”

He then grasped his stiff cock in his right hand, and very quickly and violently wanked over me, as I lay naked at his feet. With his left hand he pressed his fingertips into the bass of his cock, supporting it, and cupped and protected his balls with the palm. His right fist was pistoning up and down, the shiny tip of his cock appearing and disappearing until he suddenly shouted my name and his spunk fountained from the tip of his cock and sprayed from his erection to splash down on my tits and stomach, just as the last drops of my piss dribbled on to the grass from my cunt.

Breathing heavily, we smiled at each other.

I have to admit that writing all this brings back all the memories and makes me feel very sexy. In fact it makes me want to slide my hands down over my smooth stomach, slip them deep between my legs, and to masturbate. Dear reader, will you masturbate with me now too?

Chapter Four: My Pleasure

As that wonderful summer in France continued, I realised that there was one big problem with our arrangement. You’ve probably spotted it too, long before I did, but you have to remember that I was only just turned seventeen, and although I was burning with a very dirty and quickly developing sex drive, I really didn’t know that much, and I certainly hadn’t the experience to think things through to their logical conclusion. The only way I knew to go forward was to just suck it and see!

Daddy also was in the dark. He was having his first sex in sixteen years, since my mother walked out on him leaving him literally holding the baby – me! I think he was still having some slight “Puritan” problems with our dirty little games, but we were both having a great time, really, the best of times. There was however, one problem.

I was a virgin, and as I said earlier, we hadn’t had to discuss it; there was just no alternative to the unspoken knowledge that I was to stay a virgin. It was possible that at some unspoken time in the future we might screw our brains out together, but whatever happened in the future, neither of us wanted Daddy to be my first. That really just wouldn’t be right. Besides, we were having such a wonderfully dirty, inventive time, getting round the unspoken problem of “doing it”, thinking up and enacting our weird little scenes together, and finding out a huge amount about each other, our minds, our bodies and ourselves.

However, the problem was, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, that while I could tease and tantalise my father in to ejaculating all over me to his complete satisfaction, by all kind of means which didn’t involve him penetrating me in any way, it was much more difficult the other way round. It’s not so easy as you might think to make a girl cum without penetrating her quite deeply, and that of course was out of the question if I was to remain a virgin!

So in the end I asked my Daddy straight out, what he thought we should do. I explained that I really did enjoy making him cum; it was just wonderful to see him in a frenzy of lust for me, and that whilst I wasn’t really complaining, but well, I suppose really I was complaining. Help!

He shifted in his seat and looked at me sideways, and said: “Well, Baby Girl. Think about it. You’ve had one orgasm, you liked it, and you want more. How did the first one happen? Why don’t you go that route for just now, then see what happens.”

So I sat in the sun, and remembered how he’d really punished my tits, and then I’d cum, sliding off his knees to lie on the grass at his feet as he’d wanked on me. Not being an idiot, I could see that there was potential for this to lead to all sorts of trouble, not to mention pain, for me. But if this was what it was going to take…. Besides, I’d definitely got the impression that my Daddy wanted to do this. Even now, years later, I will still do anything for him, the dirtier the better, but at that time it seemed to me that he had been a bit too studiedly casual when talking to me about this, trying just a little too hard to be uncaring in his attitude, especially as he’d been having to try to hide a hard-on just talking about it. The fact of his wanting to hide it suggested that this was a really important, personal thing for him, something that admitting to would increase his feeling of vulnerability.

In other words, my Daddy wanted to enjoy sadistic sex, with me on the masochistic, receiving end of things, and he wanted it so much he was ashamed of it! He even had a hard-on talking about it; and hell, I was wet just listening to him and thinking about what he was saying!

Being a logical and hitherto very well brought up seventeen-year-old girl, I came to two obvious conclusions. The first one was that my lovely, sweet Daddy was a secret sadist who wanted to hurt me, and that equally I was not ashamed to be a not so secret masochist. He wanted power over me; I really wanted to be completely in his power. He wanted me to be his toy; I wanted to be his toy, his plaything. He would show his love for me by hurting me; I would prove my love by letting him.

The second conclusion was that it was up to me to do something about it. He was still too embarrassed and ashamed to let me see into the dark heart of his depraved, cock-dripping lust for me, but this didn’t bother me at all. I was in thrall to the whole, lovely, sweet dirtiness of the idea of being whipped by him.

Decision made, it was straight ahead. I went online to some sado sites, and quickly found what I wanted to break us both in “gently”, got busy with the credit card and a couple of days later a package arrived for me.

We were once again sitting in the garden of the French summer cottage in the hot afternoon sun, enjoying the nice buzz of finishing a light lunch with a little Ricard and water. I know you’re supposed to start your meal with pastis, but we like it at the end, instead of port, which is too heavy, or brandy, which is too fierce, especially on a hot, sunny afternoon. As usual, Daddy was wearing shorts and I was wearing just my heels. In a lull in the conversation about my exams, university courses, etc., I gulped, and with a suddenly beating heart said:

“Daddy, I’ve bought you a present. Shall I get it?”

He puffed once on his Cohiba.

“Sure, Baby Girl. My birthday isn’t for months, but that’s really very sweet of you. Thanks. I would love to have your present.”

I giggled:

“Well it’s kinda for me too. I’ll show you,” and I went in to the house.

I returned a few minutes later. I was still wearing my heels, of course, and I was careful to walk back across the garden rather slowly and very sexily, one foot in front of the other, like models on a cat-walk. I’d done my eyes up and put on a little lip-gloss, so that I looked sexy and a bit tarty for well a brought up seventeen year old. Buckled very tightly round my waist I was also wearing the thick leather belt that I had ordered, and having checked myself in the mirror before stepping out into the afternoon sun, I must say that I liked how it made me look. It gave me an even smaller waist, and emphasised the smooth swell of my hips. Somehow it also made my legs seem longer. They seemed to go on forever, stretching up from the ankle straps of my heels to the neat, dark triangle of my pubic hair. (I’m a “real” brunette!) Admiring myself in the mirror before I’d left the house, I’d turned myself on; I was sure that I would have the same effect on my Daddy.

I walked over to him, rolling my hips and smiling, and then stopped in front of where he sat with my legs apart. I flipped my fingers once through my hair, and then, feeling a bit like Boadicea, undid the circular buckle. I had deliberately buckled the belt on way too tight; I felt my stomach relax as the leather slipped from my body. Even although I’d only worn it for a few moments, it had left deep red marks on me, two parallel lines round my waist where the edges of the hard new leather had pressed me hard, and, right on my navel, above the soft swell of my abdomen and lower stomach, a big red circle where I’d tightened the large buckle. Still slightly in Boadicea mode I formally knelt on one knee, bowed my head, and with both hands placed the beautiful, shiny new leather belt in his hands.

“Here’s your present, Daddy,” I giggled nervously:

“Or rather, half of your present. Here’s the other half,”

And suddenly very nervous, I stood up again, turned round, and bent forward at the waist, keeping my legs very straight, and once again spread them wide. I arched my back and supported myself with my hands on my knees. I’d practised this pose in the mirror and knew that he was looking at the lovely, smooth globes of my bum cheeks, with my slightly parted cunt pouching between them. By now I was as nervous as hell. What was I getting myself into? However, in for a penny…, I turned my toes inwards, which looks (and is) and awkward angle for them to be at for any length of time, but in this pose it separates my bum cheeks just enough to give a view of the rosebud of my arsehole.

There we were, my Daddy sitting holding a brand new leather belt, me displaying myself, naked except for my heels, bent over with my legs apart and thrusting my bare bum, excited cunt and arsehole almost in his face. Heart pounding, I repeated myself:

“I’m the other half, Daddy! Belt me! Oh please, Daddy. Quick. I’m scared. Belt me across the arse a dozen times, quick, before I change my mind!”

He sat there for a moment. The tension was unbearable. I just shut my eyes and waited. Whatever was going to happen, I was determined to get through this without flinching.

I heard my Daddy scrape his chair back as he stood up, the soft pad of his bare feet as he moved in to position, and the whistle through the air and the sudden crack as three feet of brand new, hard, shiny leather smacked across my bare arse with a force that made me stagger slightly. I was just hearing the whistle of the second stroke as the pain of the first one kicked in. It’s true; the first stroke takes a moment after it has landed to take effect, but the second blow to the same place on my bare, unprotected arse hurt immediately and I started to cry. My tears filled my eyes and I sobbed deeply.

The third stroke hit me, hurting me even more than the others had, and I cried out loud. The pain in my bum cheeks filled my mind and my senses, and commonsense was telling me to beg my Daddy to stop, but the warm, sexy glow in my cunt was telling me to push my arse towards him. My body took over, and I found that I was writhing in pain but at the same time arching my back and spreading my legs even more. I wanted to become an even more wanton target for my Daddy and his hard leather belt.

And he hit me across the arse again, and again, and again. My bum was a glowing mass of pain; my arse cheeks were two severely punished globes of soft, abused flesh. I was weeping and sobbing, choking and coughing, gasping for breath and as red in the face as my poor, abused, belted arse. My tears blocked my nose and streamed down my face. I was simultaneously struggling to breath and howling with pain. My shoulders heaved and my tits swayed on my chest as I screamed with the pain of each stroke as the remorseless onslaught against my sweet body continued.

And I was in heaven! My cunt was soaking. Even in the world of my pain I could feel my hot cunt fluids trickle down the inside of my wide-open thighs. I spread my legs even more, proudly showing off my dripping, virgin cunt to my Daddy, as he continued to hit me with the belt I’d given him for just this purpose. I thrust my arse backwards, actually bending my knees to push it even more obviously towards him, making myself even more of a wanton target for my sadistic attacker.

As the terrible punishment continued, I felt the longed for pressure begin to build, low in my stomach at first, then quickly spreading across my abdomen, down to my cunt and up to my nipples. I wanted the pain everywhere. I was a masochist. I wanted my whole body to be a mass of belt strokes and pain. Individual strokes of the belt became indistinguishable; with my eyes shut I was starting to see nothing but a red haze. The pleasure and the pressure grew. The sweet, dirty pressure to orgasm, to cum right there and then as my Daddy beat my bare arse with the leather belt was overwhelming. I was about to cum!

And then it stopped. I screamed: “Don’t stop!”

“That’s twelve, Baby Girl.”

I sobbed: “But I’m almost there Daddy. Keep doing it, please. I beg you, hit me a few more times.”

“But Baby, I can’t hit you any more. Your bum’s red raw and it’s going to bleed if I keep hitting you. We’ll have to stop.”

Gradually regaining my senses, I was starting to think again. Although I obviously couldn’t see my own arse, the shocking pain in it told me that he was probably right. But I needed to cum. Oh fuck, how I needed to cum, and I was determined that my Daddy and his belt was going to get me there.

So I stood up, turned round and sat down on the edge of the table. My God, it hurt when I put my weight on my poor abused bum cheeks, but it excited me even more. I felt a little extra gush of the fluids trickling steadily from my cunt as I lay down, flat on my back, my feet and legs dangling to the ground. In this position my stomach was stretched, smooth, flat and tight. It was the perfect target. I spread my legs once again; I can’t help it, it comes automatically to me. I propped myself up on my elbows and said:

“Hit me across the stomach. Hit me low down, below the mark left by the buckle. Where you press on me to make me piss.”

“How many, Baby Girl?”

“You’ll know when I’ve had enough,” and I lay down with my arms stretched out on either side of me, closed my eyes once again, tensed my stomach muscles, and waited, heart pounding.

The first stroke of the belt smacked down hard on to my abdomen, hurting me right across my stomach, just above my pubic hair. The tip of the belt cracked viciously into the soft skin in my hip. I gasped as the blow winded me. It was right on the mark, leaving a red stripe across my body. Without waiting, my Daddy hit me with the belt again, right in the same place, the pain sinking deeper into my tensed stomach muscles. The pressure to cum was building in me again; I was right back to where I had been moments ago, but this time the growing pleasure was so strong, so intense, that I was completely silent except for my gasping breath.

Once again, my tears of pain trickled from the corners of my eyes, and I could feel and smell my animal sex fluids as they gushed from my cunt, but I was no longer screaming with each stroke of the belt. My Daddy kept hitting me; my smooth, strong stomach was taking the same punishment as my arse had, but I was in a state of sexual torment and ecstasy that transcended mere pain. The strokes of the hard leather belt landing across my pelvis and on the soft skin of my abdomen were taking me to where I wanted to be.

I announced my mounting ecstasy with a scream and my Daddy kept hitting me. My legs went rigid, lifting my hips, pushing them up towards the tormenting belt that smacked pain down on to my young, slim, completely vulnerable body. My Daddy kept hitting me and my whole body shook, trembling with tension, pain, and delirious pleasure as my cum, my wonderful, deep, shuddering cum, orgasmed through me, parting my legs and causing my cunt lips to spasm open in a welcoming gape. I thrust my hips upwards and forwards, spreading my legs, seeking the hard, intruding object which my animal instinct told me should be there, deep inside me, deep inside my cunt, bruising my cunt lips, bruising my cunt walls, roughly bruising and tearing my virginity to shreds of love, pain, and our dirty lust; but there was no hard object in side of me, just the wonder of our love and my pain as my Daddy kept hitting me.

He knew when to stop. It was when I collapsed back on to the table, my legs hanging limp in the air, then, with my whole body wracked with deep sobs and with tears streaming from my eyes I rolled on to my side, clutching my stomach and weeping in pain. I was spent.

My Daddy knelt beside me, cradling me in his arms. He was crying too.

“Did I hurt you, Baby Girl?”

I just looked at him. Then I said:

“Yes, you did, Daddy. Thank you. That was what I needed.”

I thought for a moment, then I asked: “Did you enjoy it?”

He closed his eyes for a moment then nodded.

“I loved it Baby.”

“So did I, Daddy. Thank you.”

I rolled, carefully, on to my back and stretched my arms out to him. He leant over me and we kissed, deeply, holding each other tight like young lovers discovering each other’s bodies for the first time, which I suppose we were, in a particularly kinky way.

We stopped for breath and I flopped back on to the table, and spread my arms and legs wide, so he could see the deep, red marks he’d made on me, my stripes. Then I propped myself up in my elbows and admired them for a moment, and I said:

“Help me down.”

I wobbled slightly on my heels, but otherwise I was okay, and as I turned slowly in front of him to let him see my stomach and my bum, I have to admit that from what I could see of my bum it was one hell of a mess. But I admired myself, still weirdly excited. Then I knew what was still required. I leant over and slipped my hand in to my Daddy’s shorts.

“You’re still stiff Daddy. Here I am, still alive. I’m okay. Now wank on me.

And I lay down on my back on the grass and he did, his fist like a piston until he sprayed his thick seed over the deep red marks on my stomach and abdomen. Thank you, Daddy.

And you, dear reader, will you wank for me too?

Chapter Five: We Make a Discovery

I was a kid with a new toy! Every day I was still naked except for my heels, and was mercilessly leading my Daddy on to sexual excess. One day, what seemed to me to be a very dirty idea indeed popped unbidden into my already dirty young mind. The more I thought about it, the dirtier the idea seemed, and the more I liked it. Dear reader, I bet you’ll really enjoy wanking to this story!

We’d just had lunch, the two of us at the table by the pool, and were just finishing off. I was sipping a cold Belgian wheat beer and Daddy was happily puffing a Cohiba and finishing off the light white wine we’d shared. He was still in the shade but the sun had moved round and I was beginning to feel its heat directly on the front of my body. Although my face and shoulders were still protected by the awning, my tits and stomach were not. I looked down at myself; even my thighs were glistening with sweat and roasting gently in the full, hot glare of the sexy, French afternoon siesta time.

I waited until he’d poured himself the very last drop from the bottle then took it from him, and rubbed its cold, dripping wet surface over my overheated tits, breathing deeply to lift my nipples, pressing them hard against the cool glass. They immediately hardened; they’re very sensitive. I sat up straight, legs together, and stretched over to pick up the silver bucket of iced water from its stand. Even with my knees pressed hard against one another, when I looked down between my tits I could that there was a wide gap between my thighs at my pubic mound, so, as my Daddy watched, I tightly crossed my legs one over the other leant back in my chair, and emptied the freezing iced water down the front of my body.

I gasped as the sudden cold hit my tits and nipples and then poured down across my stomach to create a pool of freezing water and ice cubes in my lap. My wide, dark patch of curly pubic hair was completely inundated by the cold, sexy deluge. I then relaxed my crossed legs a little and felt the freezing water trickle slowly down over my cunt lips. Wow! Can I tell you, on a hot afternoon there’s nothing so cool and sexy as a little ice water trickling slowly down between my legs.

My slim, young body glistened in the sun, my tits and hard nipples dripping. Looking at my wet and sexy young body, Daddy suddenly had a huge erection tenting his shorts; to make room for it he had to sit forward and spread his legs.

He said: “Baby Girl. You never cease to surprise and excite me.”

Dear reader, I hope I’m surprising and exciting you.

All to soon the hot sun dried the water as it lay on my body.

“Daddy,” I said; “Do we have any more cold water?”

“I’ll get you some,” he said, stepped across to the pool house fridge, and came back with two big bottles of Evian. They were straight from the fridge, dripping with cold condensation. I clasped my hands behind my head, smiled up at him, and once again leant back in my chair. He slowly emptied the first bottle over me, letting it trickle over my stomach; it was heavenly. Then he poured the water over my tits and nipples, exciting me even more with its wonderful, freezing flow. He then opened the second bottle and simply up ended it just above my tits. The freezing water splashed everywhere, even over my shoulders to run down my back; that gave me a shudder, which of course made my tits sway seductively. He emptied the bottle over me so it streamed over my stomach to once again soak my pubic mound, and eventually excite my cunt with its freezing intimacy.

My body may have been cooled, but my desire for dirty sex was suddenly superheated! I looked my Daddy in the eye:

“Take off your shorts, Daddy. Lets see if it works for you too.”

(Boys, don’t try this at home. Read on and you’ll see why!)

He quickly kicked off his shorts and quickly returned from the fridge with a couple more bottles. Naked, and with a very stiff cock, he sat on the table right in front of me and spread his legs. In my excitement I opened both bottles and threw the tops away, and then simple poured the contents both of them down his chest. The freezing liquid splashed over his stomach and all over his cock, soaking his balls and pubic hair. He gasped with the sudden shock, and I was sorry to see his stiffness soften a little. I suppose I hadn’t really believed the tales about the effects of cold water on a man’s erect cock, but there it was, still large and quite hard, with full balls between his thighs, but definitely not so beautifully stiff as it had been. Oops! You have to remember that I’d only just turned seventeen and still had lots to learn.

I took his cock gently in my hands and said:

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I just didn’t think.”

Then I said:

“I have a very dirty idea which may help. Shall we try it?”

(Boys, definitely get your girlfriend to do this for you. You’ll love it!)

I didn’t wait for an answer, but stood up in my heels and helped him to get down from the table and to sit in what had been my chair. I then climbed up where he had been, and sat down, wide legged, in front of him. I put my feet on the arms of his chair, on either side of him, and lay down, flat on my back. He was now in my chair, and I was flat on my back with my wide-open legs on either side of him. Got the picture?

Now I know I’d made a mistake about the effect of cold water on him, but I’d been dead right about the on-going effects of cold water on my body, particularly my stomach and bladder. After all the wine and the couple of beers I’d had at lunch, I was desperate for a piss. The freezing cold water and ice on my stomach, bladder and cunt had finished the process. I was going to have to piss very soon, whether I liked it or not!

I’d already been kind of experimenting a little with the effect of pissing on our sex games. I had found that I liked the full, sexy feeling deep inside me when I deliberately held on to my piss, sometimes holding on to the point of being almost unable to walk! Then I would press both my hands on my bladder!

I’d started making loud remarks about being desperate, and then leaving the bathroom door open when I was sitting on the toilet, letting myself piss a little, then making myself stop half way through, then starting again. Making it last longer and developing my control of my bladder. I’d seen where this was going to go and I wanted all of my body to be our plaything. I’d practised spinning out my pissing for ages, stopping and starting with the thought that my Daddy might come to see what I was up to, but he’d been too much of a gentleman to come and see his daughter take a piss. Now it was time to change that.

Lifting my head so I could see his face, I said:

“Daddy, I’m sorry the cold water made you soft. It makes me very feel sexy. Now I’m going to see if hot water makes me feel good too. Watch this.”

I lay back in front of him with my wonderfully tight, full bladder, and relaxed my control just a little, allowing a tiny trickle of my hot, sweet piss to appear on my cunt lips. I stopped and lifted my head to see his reaction. My Daddy was sitting between my legs, staring at my now shiny cunt. I relaxed again let a little more go. I could feel it trickle down from my cunt, over the tiny bit of sensitive pelvic skin, to my arsehole. I’d never pissed lying on my back before and had certainly never felt my hot piss gather on the rosebud of my arse. It was a simply wonderful feeling, and I thought:

“What the hell, here we go,” and I spread my legs as wide as I could, relaxed my bladder completely, and pissed all over my Daddy’s chest, stomach and cock for some moments before I stopped; still feeling quite full, and nervously lifted my head again. He was staring at me in amazement and we were absolutely still for a moment, me fearing the worst! The he closed his eyes and bent forward to kiss my sopping wet cunt, licking the piss from my cunt lips and swallowing it before coming back for more.

Delighted, I lifted myself up on to my elbows so I could see more of him. His cock was a shining pillar of flesh growing vertically from between his thighs, shining with my piss. He smiled at me so, still propped up on my elbows and staring at him, I relaxed my bladder once again, rocking my pelvis forward to direct my spray a little lower, all over my his beautiful, stiff cock.

My piss was in fact splashing everywhere; his stomach, his cock and balls of course, and between his legs. He was sitting naked on his chair in a pool of my piss, fresh, hot, sweet, and straight from my body on to his. The feeling was wonderful!

Then it got better. I was still pissing, absolutely in full flow, and he leant further forward and placed his lips firmly on my cunt lips, and started swallowing deeply, drinking my piss straight from my body in to his. I’ve never felt so as one with my Daddy! The force was such that it splashed everywhere, soaking his face, his hair, his whole body; it trickled from the corners of his mouth and went up his nose, but still he swallowed my hot, yellow fluid, his eyes closed in delight, enjoying every dirty, depraved minute of our dirty, perverted fun together.

Eventually of course, I was empty, like the bottles of Evian. However, he wanted more, and I wanted to give him more. Also I missed the lovely, sexy, full feeling in my lower stomach and bladder.

“Press on my Daddy. There might be more. Empty me.”

So he stood up, leaned over me, and pressed gently on my stomach; I moved his hand lower down on to my bladder, and lifted his other hand so both were pressing down on me at the same time. I had to tell him to press harder. We were rewarded with a tiny last trickle, which my Daddy quickly caught in his hand and held to my lips. I licked and sucked it greedily, wiping his piss soaked hand all over my face before reaching up and pulling his face down on mine. We wrapped our arms round each other and kissed deeply, each licking our tongue round inside the other’s mouth, both intoxicated with the taste of my piss and the wonderful, dirty depravity of what we had just done.

“I’m empty, Daddy,” but I was still feeling sexy, and my Daddy still had a hard cock pressing into my stomach as he lay on top of me, so I kissed him once more, and let my arms drop from round his back. He immediately got off me and helped me to get up off the table. We stood facing each other, both naked except for my heels, the tip of his erect cock pressing in to my stomach. He sat down on the edge of the table where I’d just been lying on my back, and I sat down on the chair he’d just vacated right in front of him and I pushed his legs wide apart. I then as my sweet, aromatic piss dried on both our bodies, I gently squeezed the tip of his cock between the thumb and fingers of my right hand, cupped his hairy balls in my left hand, and gave my Daddy a wank. I moved my right hand slowly up and down, getting faster as his breathing increased, and rolled his balls around in their sac with my other hand. He started to push forward, thrusting his cock against my fingers so I was forced to change my grip so that my full fist was wrapped round it.

I carefully aimed it upwards at my face, and I wasn’t disappointed. With a shout he pushed himself almost off the table and his cock erupted, spraying his grey, slimy spunk in to my waiting, open mouth. My hand kept pumping him and he kept thrusting forward, ejaculating all over my face. I ran my tongue round my lips and swallowed some of his spunk, and opened my mouth for more as the slippery, salty taste coated the back of my mouth and slid down my throat.

I sat there, still wanking him as the last few drops of his cum shuddered from his body, direct from his body on to mine. I bent forward and licked the last trickle to ooze from his cock, and he was done.

“Thank you, Baby Girl,” he croaked.

I smiled up at him, his sticky cum trickling down my cheeks and dripping from my face and fingers:

“I’m a bit of a mess, Daddy,” so he helped me to my feet and pulled me towards him and kissed my mouth and cheeks, eventually kissing and licking all of my face clean of his spunk. I held myself still as he did it, teasing him by letting some of the spunk that I had kept on my tongue leak out around my lips so he had to do them again, and again. I felt his cock as it softened in my grasp, so I gently stroked him up an down his soft cock once or twice, softly wanking him to draw the very last of his cum from him, before bending down to wipe his cock clean on my cheeks and nose and offering them to his soft tongue for cleaning.

Then it was done. We had discovered that we were each just as dirty minded as the other. My face was clean, licked by his tongue; his cock was, for the moment, spent, wanked by my hand. He’d asked me to “lead him on.” Didn’t I just!

Just remembering all that has made me very wet; my fingers are sticky with it. Dear reader, I hope your cock is stiff in your hand.

So, here I am, lying on my back on the lawn of my Dad’s summer cottage in France

Chapter Six: Back to the Grass

So, this is where we came in.

Here I am, lying on my back on the lawn in the walled garden that surrounds my Dad’s summer cottage in France. The sun is hot and both he and I are naked. He is kneeling over my face and I’m sucking the last of his piss from his now soft, full cock. I’m soaked. My Dad has just wanked himself off using my tits, spraying his spunk between them and all over my stomach, and my face, hair, and body are wet and shiny where I then directed his piss over them as he knelt over me, to “clean me up.”

All this wonderful depravity has made me feel very sexy, and so I’m also wet between my legs from my own excitement. My cunt juices suddenly surge from me as, with his cock still in my mouth, he leans down and begins to lick my stomach clean of his piss. Even though he has just come, I feel him begin to stiffen once again as I tickle the underside of the tip of his cock with my tongue.

I am rewarded with one last, tiny drop of his piss, which trickles down my throat. I’m feeling deliciously sexy and decide to reward him for that last drop, so I let him slip out of my mouth, kiss his piss soaked balls for a moment, then say,

“Get me a couple of beers and you can have some of my piss to clean up too, if you like.”

I then raise my head a little and kiss him lovingly on his arsehole, licking his anus for a moment before slipping his suddenly much stiffer cock back into my mouth. I know that licking up my piss from my body is one of his favourite things and he immediately moves to stand up to get me the beers. I playfully keep him in place right where he is by very carefully and gently gripping his cock with my teeth, not tightly enough to hurt him at all, so long as he stays still, but to make him stay still long enough to thank me properly for my offer. It’s a game we often play.

His reply is to lean back down to kiss my cunt, which is dripping with a mixture of his piss and my sexual fluids. I give his cock and encouraging lick and a suck, and in return he slowly licks and sucks every bit of out combined nectars from between my spread open legs.

Then I open my mouth and allow him to get up off me, and he politely offers me his arm, helping me to get up quite elegantly from my naked resting place, lying on his sun-drenched lawn. With mock formality he helps me to a chair by the pool and I sit there comfortably, naked in the hot sun, savouring the heady aroma as his spunk and his piss dry on my body. As he stands, watching, I run my hands up through my soaking shoulder length hair, piling it on top of my head so that his piss runs from it, down over my face to drip from my chin onto my tits.

I smile up at him.

“Beers?”

I love beer. Not so much that I’m a fat old slag, but on a hot afternoon in the French countryside, a couple of small bottles of chilled, cloudy Belgian white beer are the perfect refreshing drink. I have absolutely no inhibitions whatsoever with my Dad, so they make no difference from that point of view, but they make me feel good, and I find the gassy pressure they create in my bladder very sexy. The beer also passes through me very quickly, so I can continue the fun. I love all the things I do with and for my Dad, but in some ways peeing for him is the best. He loves to watch, it doesn’t exhaust me the way real sex does, and it doesn’t hurt and spoil my body the way all the whipping does. Don’t get me wrong, I really and absolutely love everything my Dad and I do together, I masturbate constantly when I’m on my own, just remembering some of the things we have done together, but make no mistake, some of it really hurts, a lot!

We’ve become a lot more sophisticated since I was seventeen, and I’ve worked out this routine, a show for my Dad. It takes a bit of preparation, but I enjoy that part of it too. On the plane on the way over I drink a lot of fluids, some alcohol but mostly tea, coffee, and bottled water. As I said, I enjoy the pressure in my bladder, but I let myself pee in the toilet in the plane as often as I have to, I just keep drinking more and more.

Once I get off the plane I have one more pee in the airport and then buy a couple of big bottles of water and drink them in the cab. By the time I get to his house I’m very full and whilst my sloshing, full bladder feels very sexy, it takes a lot of control to not run to the toilet straight away. I wait until Daddy and I have exchanged kisses, hellos, how was the flight, etc., until he asks me,

“So how are you today, Baby?” and I reply,

“I need to empty myself, Daddy.”

He then tells me how he wants me to pee for him, sometimes naked, sometimes fully clothed, sometimes in the garden or in the shower. Whatever he has been dreaming about seeing since the last time I arrived from home.

One of his favourites is to have me stand facing him with my tits bare and with the bright sun behind me, wearing only a pair of tiny white panties which are far too small, at least three sizes smaller than I normally wear, and which are pulled tight into my skin, and a short, very thin white underskirt which sits very low on my hips, and comes half-way down my thighs. Oh, and my almost strapless high-heeled sandals, of course.

Once I am in position he always insists that I tug the underskirt even lower on my hips, so that it is almost falling off me. He likes to have a clear view of the top of my pubic hair where it peeps above the top of the tiny, schoolgirl panties. They are so small they constrict my movement, and the elastic at the waist and the tops of my thighs cuts deep into my skin, almost constricting the blood flow to my legs.

He then hands me two full glasses of my favourite beer, which I have to drink as I am pissing. I have to stand with my feet together and down the first glass in one go, which is not easy when I’m already desperate to pee, and only then I may part my legs to shoulder width, allowing him a perfect view of the silhouette of my legs against the sun, and try to piss through my tight little panties as I gulp down the second glass. The very low slung, short underskirt and the tiny, tight panties accentuate the flexing of my stomach as I simultaneously gulp the beer and let my bladder relax.

At first the tight little panties usually have me so tightly wrapped up between my legs that when I relax my bladder nothing at all happens at first. Then the pressure becomes too great and with a sudden gush the first deluge of my hot, sweet piss bursts from me, the flood silhouetted against the sun in the gap at the top of my legs as it drenches my thighs and flows down my legs. I stand like that for some moments as he enjoys the view of me pissing through my panties and down my thighs.

Without interrupting the flow of my piss, I then move my legs together so they’re almost touching, which allows the short underskirt, which is heavily soaked by this time, to slowly slip down my thighs to drop to my ankles. I then spread my legs again, as far as is comfortable with the underskirt at my feet hampering my movements, and continue to empty my bladder through the tight panties, down my thighs, soaking my legs all the way down to where the thin underskirt lies in a heap at my feet and ankles.

I’ve watched the video my Dad once made of me doing this, and I find it very dirty and sexy. You can momentarily quite clearly see the silhouette of the first deluge through the thin material of the underskirt before it hits the cloth and turns it completely transparent. And my Dad is right. Watching my stomach flex as I gulp the beer and pee at the same time really is very sexy. It’s one of the main images in my memory I masturbate to when I’m alone.

I usually finish the beer and stop pissing at about the same time, and without moving my feet I squat down and place the two empty beer glasses beside me on the grass. The soaking underskirt is still gathered round my ankles, and as I straighten up I pull it back up my legs so that once again it sits low on my hips. Of course, it’s now soaking wet, so it’s almost completely transparent and clings to my thighs like a second skin. My piss trickles from it back down my thighs, and every time I move another mini-deluge soaks my legs completely.

Now, obviously, I haven’t just pissed out the beer I’ve just drunk, it’s still inside me, gradually filling my bladder back up to its nice, sexy fullness again, so I just sit down in my soaking panties and underskirt and chat with my Dad until such time as I’m ready to go again. It usually takes about half an hour before I stand up and tell him,

“I need to empty myself again, Daddy.”

Sometimes he asks me to do an exact repeat of the first show, but often he asks me to turn around so my back is towards him, spread my legs wide, and keeping my legs absolutely straight, bend right down to grab my ankles, kind of folding myself double so that `I’m pressing my body hard against my thighs. By this time, of course, the tiny, tight little panties which were soaked are starting to dry, and are shrinking on my body. Because of this it is very painful to bend so far forward from the waist, and the elastic at my waist and thighs digs even deeper into my skin. Also, my skin by this time has become a bit red and irritated by having so much of my piss dry on it for half an hour, so the whole thing is acutely uncomfortable.

In this position my cunt and piss hole are in fact pointing upwards inside the tiny tight panties. To complete my discomfort he then pulls the underskirt down so that it is stretched tight across between my knees, and then I start to piss. As before, my tight little panties initially traps the liquid until this time, the deluge, when it eventually comes, soaks all of my upper thighs before trickling down the inside of both legs to once again soak my feet and ankles. Sometimes, if I get angle of my position just right, quite a lot of my piss escapes down between the cheeks of my bum to emerge from under my tightly stretched panties to trickle the length of my back and soak the back of my hair. That’s very sexy for me, to feel my own hot, sweet piss trickle down my back to my shoulders.

After all that I sometimes have to actually cut the panties off, they’re soaking wet and so, so tight, they sometimes simply will not budge, and once they are off and I go for a shower, the livid red marks left by the elastic can take hours to fade, unless, of course, Daddy has other plans for me, in which case I still go and have a shower, but I dry myself very thoroughly and put on another pair of identical tight little panties.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let’s get back to where I’m naked apart from my heels, sitting on a chair by the pool, still dripping wet from having my Daddy wank and then piss all over me. He’s gone to get me a couple of beers from the fridge, and I’m about to give him a really dirty little treat.

I suppose I have to accept that the relationship between my Daddy and me is pretty unusual, but I think that’s sad, because I know that there are plenty of young “Daddy’s Girls”, and probably even more Daddies, who would love to behave like us, but they’re too scared, either because the Puritan in them thinks it’s evil, it’s wrong, or it’s just because they think they might be caught.

Can I tell you, for my money, Puritanism is the biggest, cruellest, sickest, joke that mankind has ever played on itself; disgusting fat old priests and hairy faced church ministers telling me what I may or may not do? Fuck off, evil bastards!

So guys’ don’t get your daughter pregnant, but if she’s up for it too, for Christ’s sake have some dirty, loving, fun together. If you’re careful you won’t be caught, but you really must be careful, and you really must keep it a secret. This big, beautiful world of ours is full of vindictive, jealous bastards who will make it their life’s work to get in your way, to stop you having fun, and get you in to big trouble too, so be discrete, have your lovely, loving, dirty fun together, and trust no one; just make sure you won’t be seen, heard, or interrupted, and only get drunk with each other, and no one else!

All the secret subterfuge can make it more fun, anyway.

Or, dear reader, you can just read my sweet, dirty little stories and have a wank after each one, I wank when I’m writing them. That’s why I write them, that’s what they’re for, I just wish I could watch you, and maybe help you along. I would certainly like to lick you clean afterwards. Yum! Would you like to have me watch you, I could just sit there, naked except for my heels, and watch you. Would you be naked too?

I am very discrete, if you have it set up right, no one except us will know, but of course, I more than understand that you might well be happier taking your pleasure from me privately. Whatever floats your boat, my friend, I just want you to have lots of dirty, sexy fun too.

However, if you’re going to have a decent wank over this story, I’d better get on with telling you what happens when my Daddy comes back with my beers. Like me, he’s still naked and is swinging the two open bottles of Belgian white beer, my favourite, by the neck between the fingers of one hand. His cock is soft but full, swaying a little from side to side as he walks towards me. It’s my job to get it stiff for him.

I’m firmly convinced that the brain is the biggest sexual organ, so I take the idea that’s taken root in my brain and transplant it to his.

“Daddy, you’re going to have to punish me; spank me, or even worse.”

On the word “punish” I see his cock begin to stiffen. It grows more on the word “spank”, and the idea of an even “worse” punishment brings it to the “half mast”, more horizontal position we both prefer. He looks at me expectantly.

“I don’t really need to empty myself after all, but those beers will fill me up even more quite quickly.”

He smiles and hands me the first beer. I stand up and face him with my legs apart. With both hands I lift the bottle to my lips, an action that will also lift and separate my spunk and piss covered tits, and, pulling my already flat stomach in tight, so I look as sexy as I can, I gulp down the first bottle, glugging it so my tits shake and tremble as pour the gulps of beer down my throat. My Daddy’s cock is definitely a little stiffer when I finish.

I hand him back the empty and pat my stomach, sliding my hand lower on my abdomen to press on my bladder.

“Not much there, yet, I’m afraid,” I say, “I definitely need another one before I can perform for you.”

Handing me the second bottle, my Daddy says:

“You’re making me wait, Baby Girl. Am I going to have to punish you now? Drink up.”

Once again I pose in front of him and greedily gulp the beer down. As well as being quite a sexy spectacle, the cold beer is in fact very refreshing. Once again I press hard low on my abdomen, right on my bladder. It’s beginning to feel full. It feels good, sexy in a nice, dirty way.

“I’m sorry I mislead you, Daddy. I want to make it up to you. I think I have a little treat in mind for you that you will find very nice and dirty. If you’ll trust me, just do what I say.”

“Okay, Baby. Of course I trust you. What do I do?”

“Great. First of all, hang me on the ladder, upside down. Oh, and I’ll need a bite.”

The summer cottage garden is completely walled so no one can see what we get up to in it, day or night. We walk to a corner where we’ve fixed a wide ladder so that it is almost completely vertical and is well clear of the wall. Kicking off my heels, I climb to the height of my head, and, with my Daddy supporting my weight from below, bring my feet up and slip them one at a time between the rungs, at what had been my shoulder height. I spread my legs as far as the ladder would allow, and support my full weight with the back of my knees as he carefully lowers my body until I am hanging upside down, completely naked and with my legs wide apart.

My open cunt is level with his throat, so he can look down on it easily, and my tits are level with his cock. The female body is a wonderful thing, and even although I am upside down, I can feel my bladder filling as the beer works its way through me. I am beginning to feel sexily full of piss but want to be much more full before I empty myself for my Daddy’s pleasure. (Remember that I’m upside down; I told you this was to be dirty!)

Now, you may remember from the very beginning of this series of stories that before wanking using my tits, my Daddy had been admiring and gently stroking the stripes on the cheeks of my arse. These were the deep, rough marks left after he’d given me a dozen good hard strokes with the heavy cane on each one as I had stood, bent double in front of him. Do I need to tell you that I was naked except for my heels? I thought not. Apart from situations like this one, when I’m completely naked, I always wear just heels when we’re playing. (Actually that’s not true; sometimes I have to wear securing straps at my wrists and ankles too, but more about them later.)

With my arms were hanging down from my body my hands are just touching the grass. Lifting them up, I interlock my fingers behind my head and say:

“Get the heavy cane, Daddy. I want you use it to put marks, weals, stripes and bruised ridges all over my tits. Cane my tits. Keep hitting them until I piss myself all down my body for you.”

I smiled: “It may take a while.”

Looking up at him from where I hang upside down, I can see that he is as stiff as a pole. His cock is as hard as I’ve ever seen it. This is going to be a real treat for him, and for me too, of course. I’ve just asked my Daddy to hurt me, and it really will hurt, but I think I love it even more than he does. I love to be a defenceless toy for him, to be degraded, to be abused, and to suffer pain. We both get off on my pain!

He doesn’t argue. He just walks over to where the cane lies where he’d dropped it, picks it up, and strides back towards me, his erect cocking bobbing and swaying in front of his body. The heavy cane is usually reserved for my bum, it’s really too hard and inflexible for my soft, defenceless tits, but I want him to really hit me, to leave some deep, dark marks and ridges on my soft skin. I want him almost out of control when he canes me, so I say:

“Let me kiss you between each stroke, please, Daddy.”

He knows what I mean, and he squats in front of me, bringing his cock to my lips. I kiss it, he stands up, and I flex my shoulders to prepare myself for the wanton, painful, wonderful ordeal I am about to endure.

He knows I’ll complain if he doesn’t do it right, so with no warning he brings the stiff cane down hard on the soft skin of my tits. I’m upside down remember, so this first stroke hits their pale underside, which, when I’m the right way, up normally escape punishment. It hurts like hell and I cry out, tears already starting to flow. He squats in front of me and I kiss his rigid cock once again.

Then, through my tears I whisper:

“We forgot the bite, Daddy. I’m going to need it,” and I kiss his cock again.

He walks back to across the grass and picks up a smoothly polished piece of branch, which is about two inches in diameter and about four inches long, and brings it back over to me. This is my bite. It already has my teeth marks in the middle, and has been my friend on a number of occasions when I’ve been in great pain, so it fits comfortably when Daddy slips cross wise in to my mouth. I nod to him and he straightens, brings his arm up high, and brings the cane down brutally on the same place on my tits. I grunt and cough, and feel the drool start to trickle from my mouth to join my tears. The pain deep in the underside of my tits is wonderful.

He squats once again, slips the bite from my mouth, and sobbing, I kiss his cock deeply and lovingly. I suck hard and try to force my tongue into the slit in the tip of his cock. He puts the bite back in my mouth, stands up, and once again lashes out with the cane, this time changing his angle of attack so as to cross the underside of one tit with a deep blow which brings the tip of the cane to smack right down on the nipple of my other tit.

The pain is quite fantastic, and I bite down hard on the wood between my teeth, drool trickling quite freely from my upside down mouth. I am now weeping continuously as my Daddy squats in front of me, removes the bite, and offers me his stiff cock to kiss. I take it deep in my mouth, moving my head the full length of his shaft a couple of times before releasing it go and whispering:

“Do the same to my other nipple, then hit me on the sides of my tits, in the valley between them.”

Daddy knows that when I give him instructions I mean it, that in this case I really want him to cane me across my tits the other way, so as to hit my other nipple. He replaces the bite, changes sides, and as I’ve ordered him, brings the cane down very hard on my once lovely, smooth skin. I can feel the skin on the underside of my poor tits hardening and changing colour as the hard, deep blows of the cane start to leave their more permanent marks and ridges.

He removes the bite once again, and in his excitement pushes his cock hard into my throat. I choke slightly, recover, and kiss and lick his balls, enjoying their fullness and their tight weight as they fill my mouth. I look up at him again.

“I’m very full, Daddy. I’m ready to empty myself. Give me four more on the inside of each tit. No kisses, but then get the bite out, quick.”

For the last time, he slips the piece of wood between my teeth, and with no warning gives me four vicious strokes with the cane on the inside of one tit, then without pausing gives my other one the same treatment. The pain is simply excruciating, I can hardly breathe, but he quickly removes my wooden gag and I simply let my overstretched bladder go. I release the hold that has been becoming ever more difficult to maintain, and just let my sweet, hot, fragrant piss fountain up from my overstretched bladder to splash down on my cunt lips and the whole area between my legs, my private parts and pubic mound. I am instantly soaking wet and between my legs, in my pubic hair, and all down my flat stomach.

I scream when the hot, acid fluid reaches the ridges and weals of my abused tits. There are no open cuts, but the skin is so sensitive. I’m still weeping as the burning pain of my fresh, hot piss continues to pour down over my body. My face and hair are once again soaked in fresh piss, this time my own, and I thirstily lick my lips, savouring the wonderful, dirty mixture of my nudity, the deep pain in my caned tits, the hot, burning pain of my abused flesh as my piss splashes over the ridges and weals my Daddy has just given me, and the sexy taste and aroma as my sweet, fragrant, stinging salt piss flows from my overstretched bladder, runs down the length of my upside-down body, and fills my mouth and nose.

When it stops, my Daddy says:

“Thank you, Baby Girl, that was a wonderful show.”

“Daddy, it’s not over yet. Now I want you to wank against these wonderful marks and ridged weals you’ve just given me. I’ll squeeze my tits together for you. Wank against my stripes.”

The pain in my tits is wonderful as he thrusts his stiff, hard cock deep into the soft valley between my tits, then pushes his whole body forward, being as rough as hell on my poor, abused flesh, as his lust takes over his whole mind and both our bodies! He thrusts himself vertically against my chest as I tightly grip my tits, squeezing them like a huge soft pair of cunt lips round his cock and balls, so that the fiery, piss drenched hard ridges he has lovingly created with the pain of the cane on the soft flesh of my tits excites him to a complete frenzy. He is rutting against my abused body like an animal, for no reason other than his own dirty pleasure.

I am again crying continuously, groaning and quietly screaming with every thrust of his over-excited body against mine. It only takes him about four or five thrusts before the hard skin of my stripes work their magic, taking him completely by surprise, and for the second time that hot, sunny afternoon my sweet, loving Daddy holds me tight in his arms as his spunk erupts from his cock, spraying up between my tits and all over my stomach. He continues to thrust and our bodies are coated with his sweet, sticky fluid, sliding smoothly against each other as he satisfies his lust, his most basic of desires, mindlessly wanking against my tortured and punished body.

I love him, and this is my special treat for him; to get him to hurt me, to punish me, to make me cry, then to degrade me and use me, solely for his pleasure and to satisfy his dirtiest and most primitive needs.

Eventually it stops, and we are completely still, frozen in time and space, apart from my deep, wracking sobs. But eventually they diminish, and our hearts gradually slow as one, until his cock softens and slips from the artificial, ridged cunt he and I have created with his cane and my soft tits.

Then another treat for us both; I lick his softening cock clean, carefully pulling his foreskin back and sucking it hard to get every drop of his goodness from it, swallowing it and greedily sucking his soft fullness again. I am delighted that I have obviously pleased him so completely; no matter how hard I try with my wicked lips and tongue, I can’t feel him stiffening at all. He is completely spent.

I feel proud; I did that for my Daddy.

He leans forward and licks and sucks my cunt, licking between every fold of my lips, kissing them, then licking my juices from them again. He then slowly licks and kisses the whole the front of my body from my cunt to my face, cleaning it of my piss, his spunk, savouring every fragrant drop of our combined fluids. Then he helps me down from the ladder and helps me to stand. I stretch one hand and support myself on his shoulder as he kneels down to fasten my high-heeled sandals to my feet. He stands and wraps his arms tightly round me and we kiss each other’s lips, smiling and swallowing every tiny drop of each other’s dirty fluids that we find there.

I told you it was going to be dirty.

My dear, darling reader, I am fingering my cunt as I sit here naked, writing this; I so wish I that I could watch you as you wank too, but be sure that what I have to tell you will get dirtier, because now there’s three of us who like it really deep down and dirty, I do, my Daddy does, and so do you!

Over a Barrel

Tie me up and whip me

Looking back on that wonderful summer in France, when my Daddy and I discovered so much about ourselves and each other, and cemented the bond of our love and our lust with our dirty experiments and wonderfully depraved perversions, three things are very clear in my mind.

The first one is of course just the lovely memory of the good times we had together. Even now, quite a few years later, we still have a lot of fun together, playing the same dirty games, and lots of new ones, which I promise I will describe for you, so do make yourself “comfortable” and keep reading! But doing all these great things for the first time was really very special. It was very exciting and very, very dirty. My mouth is dry just remembering. You know, you only get one chance to do something for the very first time, and these were some very special “first times”.

The second memory is that truthfully, my Daddy didn’t in any way trick or trap me in to doing any of the things we did. I know I had only just turned seventeen, and arguable I was still very young. However. Even then I knew my own mind, and I was, and still am, up for absolutely anything and everything with him. As these written memories prove, in a way it was really me that lead him astray rather than him perverting and debauching his innocent daughter. The only thing he asked me to do was to “lead him on.” I did, and I enjoyed doing it!

However, the third thing that impresses me more than anything else is my logical, schoolgirl maturity. I wanted my Daddy to cum, so I wore nothing but my sexy heels and masturbated him against my stomach. I didn’t know if he would be up for piss games, so to find out, I sat naked on the edge of a table, spread my legs, and pissed all over his cock. We then discovered that I like pain, so I bought him a belt and got him to wank over me after he’d belted my bare bum and stomach.

It was after this last experience that we gave up all the pseudo-moral, Puritan, father/daughter crap, and stopped even trying to pretend that although this was perhaps all the result of an innocent discovery; we had moved on. We were enjoying ourselves and each other too much to just stop. We wanted to do this! We loved each even more as father and daughter, and still do, very much, but we also enjoyed every second of our heavy, dirty, depraved and perverted sex together. And so we go on; he loves my dirty mind, and the look and feel of my smooth skin and slim body and my heavy tits and oh, so spankable arse, and I love it when he gets me to do dirty, depraved things for him. My reward is seeing his hard cock erupt all over me.

So, a couple of days after our previous escapade, when he’d whipped me with the belt I’d bought him specially for the purpose, we sat down to lunch; well, he sat down, I perched gingerly on a pile of cushions. My arse was still throbbing; red raw where he’d whipped the belt down on to it time after time. In fact, if you remember, to avoid having too much damage done to my bum I’d had to stop him and lie over on my back and have him belt me across the stomach until I had what was in fact my first ever orgasm.

Now, that had been my first orgasm, but it wasn’t going to be my last! We still had this unspoken agreement about me keeping my virginity, and it turned out that I liked pain and apparently I could take quite a lot of it, so being spanked, whipped, belted, whatever, was the only way I was going to cum that summer. But my Daddy really had hurt me and it was taking days for me to recover, and I certainly wanted to cum more than once a week. The schoolgirl me could see quite clearly that it just wasn’t fair. (How often have you heard kids say that?) But it really wasn’t fair; I would make him cum all over me two or three times a day, and in return I only get one orgasm a week? It wasn’t enough, it simply wasn’t fair!

We sat and talked about it over lunch, and I agreed that whilst all the exhibitionist games I was playing did get me started, and pouring freezing cold water on my tits and then pissing for him was exciting, it was really the pain that did it for me. Having my tits abused or my body whipped was the only thing that had worked so far. It really was my pleasure to make myself stay still, offering myself to him while he hurt me. It was the only thing we could do that would make me cum, and I wanted to keep going (and cumming!), but there was a real danger of Daddy having to do too much damage to me in the process.

Then my Daddy had an inspiration.

“Baby Girl, your self control is amazing. I love the way you just lay across my lap and let me hurt and abuse your tits and then simply bent over the table while I almost drew blood from your arse with the belt. And it was even better when you climbed up on to the table and just lay down on your back so I could finish your whipping. It was simply wonderful, just amazing. But it might be better for you if you didn’t have to use so much self control and could just relax in to it.”

He gulped and started to talk very fast and very quietly, obviously excited by what he was going to suggest. I listened very closely.

“You might cum more quickly, with less pain, if you were tied up. Maybe you should be more at my mercy, more in my power. Maybe I should tie you up. Why don’t I tie you up?”

My mind went in to overdrive. Yes! To be tied up, completely at my Daddy’s mercy, unable to move, so he could do anything he wanted to me! My young cunt was wet, just thinking about it! And my Daddy had gone quiet as he was suggesting it so I knew that just talking about this had turned him on. What kind of state of excitement would he be like if we actually did it? He was my Daddy and this was something he really wanted to do to me, and knew straight away that I wanted it to happen too!

“Daddy. Let’s try it! Right now! Tie my arms to something.”

Lunch was abandoned as my Daddy went in to the house, reappearing almost immediately with a couple of his old neckties, and I found a fallen branch, which was more or less as tall as myself. As always, I was naked except for my heels, and I sat down holding my arms straight out from my sides. He took complete control:

“No. Not on a chair, kneel on the ground!”

So, naked except for my heels, I knelt on the grass, and he held the branch across the back of my shoulders and tied first one then the other of my wrists to each end. The branch was too heavy for me to support like this, so he went back in for another couple of neckties and with them tied my elbows to the branch too. This was much more comfortable. I kind of shrugged my shoulders so that the branch was resting across them just at the back of my neck, and with my head bowed; there I was, crucified, with my arms tied horizontally out from my body.

Kneeling with my back straight and arms tied like this had the wonderful effect of lifting and separating my soft, full breasts even more than they are usually, and I gazed down at them proudly. I know I’m boasting, but they are lovely.

Let me tell you about my breasts, my dear reader. It’ll make me feel sexy and I hope it’ll make you hot too.

I suppose I’ll have to start by admitting that now, a few years after this story I’m telling you took place, my breasts are quite heavy, almost fat, so much so that even when I am standing, sitting, or as in this case, kneeling up with my back straight, they are too wide for my slim chest; they tend to separate and are in fact wider than my body, with most of their heavy soft fullness swelling below my so kissable nipples, which tend to point upwards from the smooth upper slopes. But they are still smooth and lovely and I’m still very proud of them.

Back then, gazing down on them, they were not quite so large as they are now, but they were a little smoother and firmer. They still start to sweep forwards and out from my body, the very beginnings of the upper slopes sweeping down from just below my shoulders. Their smooth curve takes the eye down to the dark circles of my areolas, in the centre of which my nipples always seem to stand stiff and erect, pointing upwards, offering themselves to me, to my lips. I usually can’t resist them; and let me tell you that writing this I’ve just taken a moment to slip my hands under them, cradling them for a moment before bending my head down to kiss my nipples.

Closing my eyes I seem to be back there again. I remember wanting to feel them, to feel their weight in my hands and to caress and squeeze my nipples, but with my arms tied obviously I can’t. But I did just manage to bend my head down just enough to reach the very top edge of my areolas with my lips and tongue and teeth. With my wide open as I kissed myself on this sensitive part of my body, rubbing my lips and teeth from side to side and licking myself, drooling on myself in my growing excitement. I still do this to myself sometimes and love the feel of the hot fluids from my mouth trickling down over the swell of my breasts, across my areolas to drip from my nipples down onto my thighs.

I must stop doing this to myself and get on with writing down this story just as it happened.

As I’ve said, even when just standing still they are crowned with my erect nipples and they look full, soft, and perfect. I love them. Kneeling down naked except for my heels and with my arms tied straight out to a branch resting on my shoulders, they were big, soft targets; ready for whatever was going to happen next, to be whipped by my Daddy with his belt. I craned my neck back and looked up at him for orders. There was wonderful tension and excitement deep in the pit of my stomach and between my legs. I was, and still am, very excited by the memory of this, the first time my Daddy tied me up in order to whip me. I remember thinking that this was really what my tits were for, to be whipped. The rigid tent-pole of his cock inside his shorts made it obvious that in his excitement he thought they should be whipped too. Two minds with but a single thought!

I try to bring myself back to the present, to get on with writing this, remembering my Daddy’s gentle reverence as he knelt in front of me and, reaching out, gently fondled my breasts. He gently cupped them, lifting them, one in each hand, lifting them and stroking them, doing the soft, gentle things to them I had wanted to do. He softly squeezed them together then rolled my nipples between his thumbs and fingers and then placed his palms flat on their smooth upper slopes and then leant forward, suddenly pushing them hard in to my chest as though trying to make me look flat, like a boy. No chance, they’re much too big; but the weight of the pressure as he pushed them against me excited me more.

He took his hands away from my body and said:

“Shake your shoulders, Baby Girl. Shake them a little.”

With my arms tied as they were, the only way I could comply with this instruction was in fact to carefully move my whole upper body from the waist, but I did the best I could, twisting slowly from side to side. The weight of the branch to which I was crucified, tightly tied at both wrists and elbows, meant that I couldn’t really shake my breasts so much as just get them to swing slowly in front of me, swaying from side to side on my chest. At the age of seventeen I felt very sexy and sophisticated, kneeling naked in front of my Daddy and slowly showing myself off to him at his command; doing his bidding. I feel even sexier when I do it for him now!

He stood up, and said: “That looks great, Baby Girl, very sexy and very lovely.”

He removed the heavy belt that had been my present to him, from his shorts and then unfastened the waistband and took them off, letting them slip them down his legs and kicking them and his boxers out of the way. Now he was naked too. His cock was stiff, bobbing in front of his body and right in front of my face. On an impulse I leant forward and kissed the tip, taking just a little of it into my mouth and trying to gently force my tongue down the slit. Keeping his cock in my mouth I leant further forward and let it slide deeper into my mouth, back over my tongue and trapping him against the roof of my mouth until I choked slightly as its tip just grazed the back of my throat. I gagged and almost choked, and with more of my drool trickling from my mouth and running down my chin I just had to pull my head back. I remember thinking that there’s more to this deep-throat business than meets the eye!

He was immediately concerned, but there was no damage, other than to my dignity, such as I had, considering the situation, and I just shook my head and smiled up at him.

“I’m OK daddy.”

Kneeling in front of him, naked except for my heels and the branch tied to my arms, my defenceless tits gently swaying, ready, waiting, I realised that for both of us the anticipation is almost as exciting as the doing, and that we are both turned on by my willingness to offer myself, freely and happily, to whatever pain, humiliation, or degradation my Daddy wants of me.

Certainly the realisation that afternoon that for both of us this was about offering, about giving, and receiving, and that it was about the trusting exchange between two loving humans who just happened to be a father and his seventeen year old daughter. It was a turning point for both of us. He still has the power to physically hurt me; I still have the strength and the desire to accept the gift of pain he gives me. But more than that I have the power to excite him and myself, and you, I hope, dear reader, by enjoying the actuality of the pain and the memory of the pain that our love and, lets face it, depraved sexual desires created, and still create.

Hell – I’m wet just writing about this!

I realised then, and it’s still the case, that I am his, he is mine, and the world is ours.

Anyway, fuck the philosophy; you want to hear about him whipping my tits.

When we came to it, it was really quite simple. With his right hand he grasped the belt just at the buckle and wrapped it once round his fist. Then he stepped back from me and told me to sit up straight and to spread my legs wide so that my cunt just touched the grass, and to lean back, away from him, tipping my head back so that my face pointed straight up to the blue afternoon sky. It suddenly seemed to be an unusually hot day. My heart started to beat faster. Then he said’

“Lift your arms a bit more, Baby Girl, as high as you can.”

I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that I was in fact crucified by having my arms tied at the wrists and elbows to a fallen branch, so I couldn’t really lift them very high, just enough to lift my breasts just a little more. They felt absolutely free and unfettered, defenceless and unprotected. He had two distinct and perfectly shaped pale, vulnerable targets.

He stood in front of me and very gently placed the square tip of the belt on to my left breast, taking a half step further back to position himself so that its square point rested lightly right in the centre of its smooth, tanned upper slope. The rest of the belt lay across my areola. The knot in my stomach suddenly tightened and my heart was pounding and I held my breath in anticipation of what was about to occur. I was suddenly sweating very heavily. I shut my eyes.

“Don’t move, Baby Girl,” he said, “First, just the tip,” and he flicked the belt at me, in much the same way as football players sometimes flick each other for fun in the showers with wet towels, but this was the hard tip of a stiff leather belt flicking viciously down onto the smooth soft skin of my naked breast, and it wasn’t really just for fun. I grunted with the shock of the blow and cowered forward protectively, instinct telling my to shield my body.

I gasped and forced myself to breathe before straightening my back and once again offering myself to my Daddy. He once again flicked the just tip of the belt at me, once again hitting me on the left breast. This time the pain was greater and I cowered forward once again, but I still only grunted and clamped my mouth shut so as not to scream. I started to breathe noisily through my nose, quick, shallow breaths with my chest and breasts rising and falling in the rhythm. I was dizzy, hyperventilating slightly as my racing pulse started to pound in my head.

One more flick of the belt on the same left breast, once again I cowered on my knees in front of my tormentor and I squeaked as I grunted open mouthed, drool dripping from my lips into the pale valley between my breasts. I began to see the world through a pink fog as the pain started to spread its excitement from my breast to my stomach and to my cunt. There was great pain, but something else too; I began to smell my own cunt fluids as they gathered on those lower lips. My Daddy’s plan was working – I was becoming very excited by the strokes of the belt on my softest and most vulnerable flesh.

I straightened up once again and opened my eyes to smile at him, just in time to see him lift his strong right arm high above his head and bring the belt down really hard onto my left breast, the hard leather tip landing precisely where it had three times already. But this time it was no playful flick of the wrist. It smacked down on me with all the strength of his arm, punching into my defenceless skin with a sharp crack, which echoed off the surrounding walls of the garden and the house. I felt an immediate bite of shuddering pain that burned my flesh like a hot poker and sent a sudden shock of lust to arrow down through my body, straight to my cunt.

I shrieked once with pain and started to cry, cowering forward so that my forehead almost touched the grass. I knelt like that for some moments; head down, gasping to breathe through my silently gaping mouth. My nose was streaming as my tears flowed; I was aware of my drooling mouth and my dripping cunt.

I straightened my back and looked up again, fearful of what I would see.

I whispered’ “Daddy,” and gazed up to the sky, offering my now bruised and abuse left breast for further punishment. I didn’t have to wait. He lifted his arm and brought the stiff leather tip down again, smacking hard into the same soft mound of my flesh, my once beautiful, pale, bruised pain-wracked left breast. Again the crack of leather on skin echoed round the garden, and again I shrieked with pain, but this time, instead of cowering, I managed to keep my back straight and to merely bow my head. With all my heart I wanted to reach with my tied hands and arms to stroke and soothe and comfort my poor, sore flesh, to cradle my breast and smooth the pain away.

“Don’t move,” he growled, “And be quiet!”

I straightened and managed to whisper that I was sorry and tried to wipe the tears from my eyes, but of course with my crucified arms I couldn’t. I could only sob and let the tears run down my cheeks and let my nose stream over my upper lip and into my open mouth as I gasped for short, shallow breaths, kneeling naked and tied on the grass in front of my father, my master, my loving Daddy, and wait for whatever he was going to do to me next.

I closed my eyes as I heard the belt whistle through the air and tried to ready myself for further pain in my left breast. But this time his target was my right one. No messing around with warm up flicks this time! The hard tip of the belt landed in the exactly corresponding place on the soft, smooth upper slope of my right breast, and this time the pain was even greater, not because of any subtle increase in my sensitivity or sexual awareness, not even because of the sweat glistening on my body as I knelt there defenceless in the hot afternoon sun, but because he had relaxed into his task and was quite simply hitting me harder. This time I was beyond cowering. I barely moved but just knelt there in front of him, so he gave me no time to recover; he immediately hit me again, the tip of the belt punching deep into the same place, the upper slope of my right breast. I was now howling with pain; sniffing deeply and swallowing to try to clear my nose as my tears streamed down my face. Through the deepening pink haze that seemed to envelope me I could once again smell my own cunt fluids.

I glanced down at my body, which now dripped with my sweat, shining in the French afternoon sun, and after a moment managed to make my eyes focus on the deep red marks the vicious tip of the belt had left in the pale, soft upper skin of my aching breasts. I remember thinking that the sharp, angular bruises looked like three sides of a square and that they were curiously at odds with the smooth curves of my body, which was otherwise completely unmarked in any way, still a perfect seventeen year old girl’s.

“Lean further back and keep looking up, and for God’s sake keep still. I don’t want to hit your face by mistake!”

At first I thought he sounded really angry with me, but I realised later that he was just trying to protect me. He was obviously very excited, but his head was still clear enough for him to try to keep me safe from an accident, should his lust overtake him completely and he just start flailing away at me. I was still kneeling, so leaning further back meant that in order to continue to support myself I had to spread my legs even further as I followed his orders, my stomach muscles as tight and hard as rock as they struggled with the weight of my head, my upper body, and the heavy branch to which my arms were tied. With my body leaning further back my heavy breasts spread wider on my chest, gravity separating them almost as much as my thighs. My stomach muscles were hard as steel, trembling with the effort of holding myself up as I waited for the next crack of the belt on my body. I let my head flop backwards and stared at the sky again for a moment before closing my eyes. There was a rushing sound in my ears and I felt my sweat trickle down my back as I waited, gasping for breath and with my heart pounding, the lovely, dreadful anticipation of what was to come filling my mind.

I waited for my Daddy to strike my body again.

Not for long: I once again heard the belt whistle through the air and once again felt the sharp crack of pain as the evil leather tip bit into the exposed inside of my right breast. It was as though it had punched deep into me – I felt the weight of the blow bite through my soft flesh; I swear I felt it in the bones of my body. Involuntarily I screamed and tried to cower protectively forward, but with my back arched as it was I couldn’t. So just knelt on the grass and sweated and wept even more, staring up at my loving tormentor through a mask of pain as I offered myself to his belt.

He hit me again in the same place, and I shrieked as the tip of the belt punched deep into my bare breast twice more, then three times more, each time the hard leather flattening it against my body, causing further bruising to my previously unmarked and perfectly tanned skin. Through my fog of pain and excitement I found that with each stroke my back was arching, pushing my sweating, glistening, pain wracked flesh up towards my persecutor as I knelt naked on the grass with my legs wide apart, eager for the agony and submission of the next crack of the leather on my soft body. I was weeping continuously now, crying real tears of real pain, struggling to breathe fast through my open mouth and trying to control my shouts and screams.

Dear reader; I do hope that you find reading about this torture, which I had after all invited to be inflicted on myself, is as exciting for you as the memory is for me. I would love to see your cock as hard and rigidly erect as my loving Daddy’s was, perhaps sticky with some of your fluids; I would sooth it for you with my slim hand, maybe kiss it gently on the tip and lick it softly for you, as I had done immediately before this, my first breast whipping. But make no mistake, as well as being very exciting, very sexually stimulating, the pain was appalling, the devastating cracks as the belt smacked down hard, hard, HARD, on my soft, full breasts, inflaming my bruised flesh, was driving me towards the edge of a kind of agonised sexual insanity.

Because, as well as the mind-numbing pain which was centred on my breasts and which was beginning to overwhelm my whole body, my pleasure, my deep sexual desire, my frankly cunt-dripping lust for more and more gorgeous and intimate sensation, for more and more depraved excitement, for more and more pain, was also coursing through my body, taking with it the remains of my consciousness. With what was left of my mind I had felt it start, and then to grow, and to develop, like a huge throbbing monster deep inside me, deep in my womb, deep between my legs. I felt my whole body glow as though on fire, as though scalded by steam, as the huge wave of my depraved lust swept through me and my sweet wetness gushed from the lips of my virgin cunt. I have never felt so naked and exposed as I was then, with my sweet fluids dripping between my wide open thighs for the pleasure of my naked, cruel father, my loving Daddy, who was whipping my young breasts with the belt I’d given him.

I was now too hoarse to scream, I merely squealed again and again as he changed targets, reverting to abusing my other breast, the left one that he had initially started to whip, all those minutes ago, until it too was covered in deep red weals, their pale, square ridges created by the cruel tip of my Daddy’s belt.

By now my tits, my lovely sweet, soft, full tits, of which I was and still am so proud, had ceased to exist as things of beauty for me. They were just two bruised and abused masses of glowing red agony, sending their urgent messages of pain and depraved desire arrowing down through my body to my gaping virgin cunt. (I have to tell you, dear reader, that writing all this down, it’s as though I’m back there again. Once again as I sit here writing this, my memories make the sweat run down my back and shine between my breasts as I spread my legs to let my sex drip from my body, the sticky fluid trickling down from my cunt lips. I feel as sexy and as hot as hell. I need you here with me, now!))

My straining stomach muscles had given up the struggle to support my pain-wracked body and my long legs had folded completely under me. I had collapsed backwards and was lying on my back on the lawn, my raised arse, which was still tender from the belting it had received only a couple of days previously, rested on my crossed ankles and my back and shoulders were flat on the grass. My broad hips were the highest part of my body and so I lay there in my pain, basking in my Daddy’s gaze, my body shining with my sweat in the hot afternoon sun and the lips of my dripping virgin cunt completely exposed to his merciless glare. As my shoulders were now lower than my raised hips my bruised and abused tits had changed again so that their soft, pale undersides were now fully exposed; ready to take their share of the torment.

There was a brief pause, and I opened my eyes to watch, to try to see what my torturer was going to do to me next.

He was standing by my right knee where it was folded back on itself, savouring the delicious display of my punished and abused body as I lay there sobbing on the grass, my arms tied flat out beside me, and my legs folded back under my hips, spread wide to offer him a perfect view of every part of my young body. His cock stood out stiff in front of his body, its tip shiny, dripping with his sexual needs. I watched as a rope of his sticky, viscous fluid slowly swung down from him like a spider swinging down from a branch to land on the broadest part of my thigh. I could see in his eyes that there was no question but that he wanted hurt me more, to hit me again. I lifted my hips upwards, thrusting my spread open body towards him as a mute offering of my complete love and devotion, of my complete trust in him and of my deep desire to be punished by his love, to be made to hurt again and again as he brought me towards our loving goal; my orgasm.

I sniffed and swallowed to clear my nose again, and managed to stop snivelling and watch in tearful silence as leant over me and stretched his left hand down between my legs to run his fingertips gently over the lips of my aching cunt, soaking them with my fluids. Lifting them slowly so that a second rope of our mutual lust stretched between us, from my cunt to his lips, he carefully licked his fingers clean then stood straight, naked, tall, and terrible, standing over me once again as my father, and my master.

My Daddy.

“Let your head fall back again, Baby Girl, there’s more to do.”

With a weak smile I nodded through my tears and as my eyes closed I saw him once again raise his right arm high above his head. My head flopped back to the ground and I took up the exposed and defenceless position he had demanded.

The belt whistled through the air and landed on my body.

Now, up to this time my Daddy had been using just the tip to carefully hit me on the soft mound of the upper slopes of my tits, but this time the length of the belt landed diagonally across my stomach; I felt it thud deep into the tightly stretched flesh of my smooth, slim abdomen, just above the swell of my right hip bone, before carving a track of pain right across my body, almost collapsing my prominent ribcage so that the wickedly whipping belt-end landed with an evil crack on the soft skin of the pale underside of my left breast, the tip cracking down on my areola, just below my nipple.

I shrieked with pain and tried to wrench myself into an upright sitting position, desperately trying to cup my injured breast in my hands, but crucified as I was, of course I couldn’t. I just lay there, howling in my pain, unable to believe that my Daddy, my loving, dependable Daddy, could do such a thing to me. I was rocking back and forwards but also thrusting my pelvis up and down, trying to press my desperate cunt hard down on my crossed anklebones as a wave of lust and desire and desperate sexual need washed over me and through me. A mini orgasm.

Then I was lying on my back again, once again pushing my spread thighs up towards my Daddy, offering myself to him. Again he raised his arm and the belt thudded down into my young body, knocking the very breath from my lungs as it once again arced its line of pain across me. The hard, squared leather tip again whipped wickedly into my bruised and aching areola.

At this point the pain was just so bad that I simply couldn’t shout or scream. I just gasped and lay there motionless, my mouth wide open but unable to breath, my eyes staring straight up at the blue summer sky and then focussing on my Daddy as he stood over me, naked, with his belt coiled round his fist, ready to hit me with it again. His cock was rigid, a hard pole of flesh which swayed and bobbed in front of him as he raised his arm yet again and brought the belt down to track across my body once again, once again its line of fire burning across my stomach from my hip bone to my areola. He hit me again, and again, and again, all in the same place, and still I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I just lay there as the fire burned into me, the fire started by my Daddy’s belt as it tore its diagonal strip of fiery agony across my body, speechlessly staring up at my torturer through a pink haze, a fog of pain as I felt the fire suddenly burn deep into my cunt.

I just lay there as the fire burned inside me too. Waves of lust, of urgent sexual need suddenly enveloped me, filling my cunt to overflowing with the sweet, thick fluids that gushed from between my spread thighs to trickle over my feet and ankles where they were bent back under me.

With a scream I coughed and started to breathe again, my chest heaving as I sucked in the oxygen I had been denied, my pale, soft tits glistening with my sweat in the hot sun as they rose and fell with my breathing. Drool trickled from the corners of my mouth and my tears flowed from the corners of my eyes. I closed my mouth and once again sniffed hard and swallowed deeply, trying to clear my nose so I could breathe through it, but it was hopeless. My tear-filled, snot-filled nose was streaming over my upper lip and into my mouth.

Through my pain, my fear, my lust, my driving need, I managed to smile weakly up at my Daddy, as he stood with his stiff cock dripping a thick rope of his fluids. He crossed to stand beside my other knee. I coughed, and whispered,

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m not very pretty for you just now.”

He stopped and turned to look at me.

“Oh, Baby Girl, you are beautiful. You are always beautiful. You’re beautiful in your pain and your excitement. You’re beautiful in your nakedness. You’re beautiful in the way you let me do these things to you and let me fulfil my heart’s desire with you. You’re beautiful in the way you excite me and in the way you love me.”

I cried again, this time not because of the pain, but because of the enveloping love I felt flow over me from my father, my sweet, , fierce, loving Daddy.

“I love you, Baby Girl.”

“I love you Daddy,” and for a moment neither of us moved, we just gazed into each other’s eyes, my Daddy naked and standing over me with his stiff cock dripping on me as I lay flat on my back, naked, at his feet.

Then I slowly closed my eyes and whispered,

“I think I’m almost there Daddy. Can you do the same to other side?”

Once again the belt came crashing down on me, and once again the breath was driven from my body as the weight of the blow thudded into me and the wickedly whipping belt tip cracked into the lower part of the areola of my right breast. Daddy had once again hit me diagonally across my body, but this time from the other side, from my left hipbone, across my abdomen and rib cage to my right breast.

I moaned, but otherwise didn’t move as I felt my excitement grow, spreading out from my cunt in waves which grew in intensity until I was almost drowning in the pink mist. I spread my legs even more and rocked my pelvis at my Daddy.

“Again, please.”

He hit me again with the belt, and my whole body shuddered as I fought for breath and I lay on my back, savouring my pain and my excitement and my wetness; my sweat, my tears, and my dripping cunt. I wished it would last forever.

The belt swung down on my body again, once again punishing me with its fiery stripe of fierce pain, a stripe of red flesh glowing from my hip to my areola. I lay there for him. Daddy whipped me again, and again, and I just lay there at his feet in pain and in ecstasy. He whipped me once more, and then I must have passed out for a moment, because with no warning I felt his hands lifting me under my shoulders. From a far distance his voice said,

“Can you stand up? I’ll help you.”

I opened my eyes and found that I was standing, unsteady on my heels as the circulation flooded back into my legs after they had been folded under me for so long. Daddy was behind me, whispering in my ears and supporting me, steadying me with his arms around me. My arms were still tied to the branch so I couldn’t protect myself and he couldn’t stop himself; his hands gently soothed my tortured breasts as they swung free on my chest. His naked body was pressed against mine and I could feel his stiff cock pressing hard into my back. I sighed and pressed back against him and enjoyed his loving caresses.

Once my legs had recovered he squeezed my nipples once, hard, and reluctantly let my breasts go free and stretched out to take me by the hand.

“Can you climb up on to the table now? Take my hand.”

He guided me to a chair to use as a stepping-stone up on to the table, which he had cleared of the remains of our lunch.

My eyes were red and my face was puffy with my dried tears. The pain in my breasts was subsiding a little, but they were glowing red where the belt had punched into them on their smooth upper sides and their full lower globes. I had a St. Andrew’s cross of pain burned into my stomach.

“Jesus!” I thought, what a mess. I sniffed and tried to swallow to clear my nose, but I was too dry.

“I need a drink, Daddy”, I croaked through cracked lips.

“Okay, Baby Girl. Kneel down on the table like you were before, and I’ll bring you one of your favourite beers.”

So, crucified and naked except for my heels and with nothing I could do to prevent my breasts swinging free I accepted his assistance to climb onto the table and to settle down in the same kneeling position as before, only this time I was perched on the table with my back to one end of it. Daddy very quickly appeared with an icy cold glass of my favourite cloudy Belgian wheat beer, and held it to my parched lips. I drank greedily, tipping my head back as the level in the glass went down. He tried to keep pace with my drinking but got slightly ahead of me so that some of the beer spilled down my chin and down onto my breasts. The freezing cold beer was wonderful as it trickled over them.

“Daddy, could you get me another, and spill a bit more of it this time?”

He reappeared with two glasses this time. The first one he helped me to drink just as greedily as before, “accidentally” spilling quite a lot of it down me, and then he simply emptied the second glass all over my breasts and stomach. The freezing cold beer poured over me, soothing the overheated flesh of my breasts and stomach, and soaking my pubic hair. Daddy bent down and kissed and licked me low on my stomach and then carefully sucked my pubic hair dry. He kissed me there and stood up, just as the beer made me burp once gently, making my breasts bounce.

He bent forward and kissed my nipples and said,

“I’m going to whip these now. You haven’t really come yet so I’ll have to whip your nipples until you do.”

Once again the tight knot of anticipation and fear was back in my stomach, just where he’d kissed me.

“This will really hurt you, Baby.”

I started to cry but without being told pulled myself as upright as I could, settling the branch on my shoulders and lifting myself as high as I could, so as to display my breasts and my stiff nipples to my Daddy. And I waited.

He was standing behind me so there was absolutely no warning when the belt suddenly smashed into the right hand side of my ribcage with its thin covering of skin just below my armpits, wrapped itself round the side of my right breast, flattened my right nipple hard into my breast and with its wickedly whipping tip cracked down hard, hard, hard on my left nipple, flattening both breasts into my body with the impact. I didn’t have time to react, or even to draw breath to scream when it happened again. The belt, my gift to my father, given to him for this very purpose, was doing its job, curling wickedly round my naked body to flatten my breasts and whip my nipples so that I reached the heavenly state of sexual excitement and complete release we call an orgasm.

I threw my head back and howled in my pain and my pleasure, my deep fast breathing raising my chest and breasts as my loving father unerringly found his target; our target I should say. I was in deep, unremitting pain; individual belt strokes were almost meaningless; it was the totality that mattered. I was in agony really, as he whipped me round my body time after time, my nipples flattening into my soft breasts, my breasts in turn flattening against my chest, my very chest feeling as though it would collapse under the weight of the blows from the leather belt my sweet loving Daddy was using to whip me to orgasm.

It was exciting, it was wonderful, and it was coming to an end. All too soon he stopped and I felt myself come down. We were both exhausted, I couldn’t take much more, but I still felt slightly unsatisfied. I had just had a great orgasm and even though my breasts certainly couldn’t take any more punishment at that time, but I still felt that I had more in me. I still needed an orgasm. There had to be a way.

I opened my eyes and saw my father. He’d come round to stand beside me and was looking at me.

“Are you all right, Baby Girl?”

“Sure Daddy. Thanks. That was wonderful,” which sounds a bit casual, I know, but I did really mean it.

And I knelt there on the table, looking down at my bruised and battered body. I really had taken some punishment, but was it all worthwhile if I still felt I had more to give? I was looking thoughtfully down between my breasts at the St. Andrew’s cross that had been whipped onto my stomach. I suddenly knew what had to happen. I knew what I had to ask my Daddy to do to me. I was excited again, not just sexually excited, but also the way I had been when I had been given a treat as a little girl!

“Daddy. Will you trust me and do exactly what I ask? Please. I need this now or all this will have been wasted!”

He looked surprised.

“You want more? You really want more?”

“Yes Daddy, but this will be a little different. Is there a stool on the ground behind me?”

I was still tied to the branch so turning to look for myself was really impossible.

“Yes Baby Girl. Do you want me to put it on the table?”

“No Daddy. Leave it where it is. I want you to bend me over backwards until my head is resting on that stool.”

He went to help me off the table.

“No, no, Daddy. I want to stay kneeling up here. Just bend me over backwards so that I’m kind of upside down, still kneeling on the table but with my head below me, as it were, on the stool.”

“Okay, but it will be difficult to hit your breasts when you’re upside down like that.”

“ That’s okay. I don’t want that. What I want you to do is this. This position will spread my legs and stretch my stomach as tight as tight. I want you to use the belt to hit me on the place between my belly button and my pubic hair where the two arms of the St. Andrew’s cross intersect on my body. And…”

I paused, gulped, and went on, my voice shaking with fear and excitement at what I was about to say.

“This time hold the belt by the other end and hit me with the buckle.”

I tried to reassure him, and to an extent, myself.

“My stomach muscles will be as hard as anything. They’ll be like steel. The buckle will probably just bounce off.”

He was still doubtful.

“Please Daddy. We’ve come this far. My body is marked ‘n bruised to hell ‘n back anyway. Please. PLEASE. I’m really begging you.”

“Okay, Baby Girl. You don’t have to beg for anything from me. We’ll do it.”

And he once again placed his hands under my shoulders and gently lowered me backwards, lowering my head way down off the end of the table until my it was resting on the stool. My heart was racing, my blood thumping in my ears. Could I go through with this? My legs were crossed under me trapped by my own weight, and I had to ask my father to help spread my thighs. I wanted my cunt to be completely open and exposed with nothing even remotely touching it. I wanted to know if I could cum, really cum purely from the delicious mixture of my exhibitionism, my pain, and my love for my Daddy.

He stood behind me.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Not quite, Daddy. Come forward for a moment.”

So he moved forward until he was standing with his legs parted on either side of my head, and I lay there for a moment, gazing up at his rigid cock as it towered above me. I strained upwards and stretched out with my tongue and just managed to flick it over his balls where the hung tightly at the base of his hard-on just above my face.

Then I shouted,

“Hit me!”

And he did.

I watched as he took one step back and swung his arm high above his head and brought the belt buckle down fast and hard, right on its target, my abdomen, the smooth area of my body halfway between my belly button and my pubic hair. My stomach muscles were stretched like steel, but just as the buckle punched into me I tried my best to relax them and was rewarded by feeling the hard brass buckle sink deep into my body, knocking the breath from me in a way that all the breast whipping had failed to do, and sending an agonising arrow of lust deep between my legs, to my gaping cunt.

Upside down and in an impossible position as I was, I was rocking my hips and pelvis, spreading my legs so that I was fucking the air as my orgasm swept through me. My body shuddered and it seemed to contract to nothing for a moment. Then it suddenly exploded and I screamed my heart out, screamed my lungs out, screamed my self hoarse in a moment, as I forced my legs wide apart and felt my cunt contract, squeezing itself down to nothing before it too exploded to send a spray of my sexual fluids from between my legs to shower the length of the table, soaking my thighs in my sweet aromatic fluids. I pumped my fluids out time after time, still fucking the air with my gaping, dripping, squirting cunt. I was gone. My mind was gone. I was in another world of my pain, of real severe pain where my breasts had been battered and abused, and I’d been punched in the stomach, and of my pleasure, of dry mouthed, urgent, demanding lust, where nothing mattered except my urgent, demanding, virgin cunt, squeezing and squeezing the last of my lust from me.

And then it was over.

I relaxed my body completely and felt all the beer I’d drunk during and after lunch well up inside my bladder, just below where the buckle had punched into me, and I pissed myself. I pissed all over my thighs and knees, some of the hot fluid running the length of the table to pour off the far end, the rest leaking backwards under my arse to drip from the table, and to trickle down my back and soak the back of my head where it rested on the stool.

That summer, as you’ll remember from my earlier memories, I’d quickly lost any embarrassment I may have felt about bodily functions in front of my father, so I just lay there and pissed, and pissed, and then stayed lying in my own piss.

There was still one thing had to happen, and I wouldn’t move until it had.

“Thank you Daddy. Would you like to wank on me now?”

And he did.

He stood with my head between his legs, and I looked up at his cock and balls as he wanked on my stomach, spraying his cum on me just where the belt buckle had sunk deep into me and done its wonderful thing.

I hope you will wank for me too. Please do it now, for me.

Kiss.

Over a Barrel

Love Machine

After lunch I was lying naked by the pool; gently recovering from the monster whipping and orgasm my Daddy had given me a few days previously. My body was mostly recovering and the marks of the belt were fading fast. The bruise where the belt buckle had sunk deep into my lower stomach was taking a bit longer to go, and it was still a bit tender to the touch, but I was definitely on the mend.

Except for one thing.

Probably because of all the sexy games my Daddy and I were playing together, I had been feeling a quite aroused for most of the summer. But now it was much worse, or better, depending how you look at it. Since the last whipping and the immense orgasm to which it had lead, when my breasts had been really seriously abused and I’d ended up pissing myself, lying on the garden dining table, something fundamental had happened to my lustful young body. I wasn’t just aroused; I was quite simply as horny as hell, constantly.

My cunt was wet all the time, its lips shiny with my thick fluids, which leaked out of me so that the tops of my inside thighs were always shiny too.

If I simply walked across the lawn, the movement made me horny, if I sat down on a chair I found myself spreading my legs so that my weight pressed down on my cunt, and I would rock my pelvis back and forth, squirming myself against the wood. I would spread my legs and perch on the old-fashioned round door handle on the barn. (That was my Daddy’s suggestion – if you’re a virgin and you want to stay that way for the foreseeable future you’ll take all the help and advice you can get!)

And if I lay down I simply couldn’t keep my hands from myself; I played with my breasts, my shiny wet thighs, my anus, and gently masturbated for hours. Sometimes it got so bad that my fingers, even though they were slim and strong after years of playing the piano, would begin to hurt and I had to stop. (That was when Daddy suggested I try fucking the barn door.)

I could smell my own sex, all the time.

And my Daddy didn’t help! He could see what was happening to me and was highly amused. He told me not to worry, it was just a reaction to my huge orgasm of the other day and gradually my body and my lust would come back under control.

“Pity, really,” he sniffed.

He kept making jokey little comments about revenge being sweet. But that far from being a dish best eaten cold, it was a definitely a dish best eaten from the body of a hot, naked, oversexed seventeen-year-old girl.

But I suppose that in a way it was fair enough. For weeks now, following his request, (he conveniently forgot that bit) I’d been deliberately leading him on, always naked except for my heels, posing sexily, and asking him to rub sun cream into the bits of my body I “couldn’t reach”, and of course offering myself to him and his belt as an sexually subservient object of his lust.

So he was enjoying watching me struggle with my own rampant desires, and had “lost” his shorts and was always naked, (obviously he is quite a lot older than me but his body is still pretty good) and constantly offering to help me stand up from my lounger, with a helping hand which would brush across my stomach, helping me to lie down again, with a helping hand which would brush the side of my breasts, helping to prepare our meals, which always seemed to result in our bodies pressing close together as we fetched things from the kitchen cupboard, etc. Essentially what he was doing was copping what would in any other circumstance be called “cheap feels”.

I loved it.

During this time his cock was always quite firm, and two or three times a day I would reward a particularly “subtle” cheap feel by immediately interrupting whatever we were doing, cutting up the lettuce, tidying the papers, or opening the wine, by reaching down to his turgid cock and slowly wanking him until it stiffened completely and he ejaculated on me. Sometimes on my breasts, sometimes my face or stomach, a couple of times I turned round at the very last minute and his thick fluids landed just at the top of the crack between my arse cheeks, and I bent forward, spreading my cheeks with my hands, to allow it to slide slowly down over my anus.

That was heavenly for me too, and incidentally those were the only times we tried to clean me up after Daddy’s orgasm. He knelt down behind me and licked my arse clean of his spunk. Because of the summer heat I was having a shower every morning and evening and before each of my frequent cooling dips in the pool, so rest of the time I simply let his spunk dry wherever it landed on my body. He loved it when I walked around with his spunk drying on my face, or in my hair, and I loved squeezing it out of my pubic hair and licking my fingers clean.

Sex was literally “in the air”, because I reeked of it, all the time, his and mine!

It was a wonderful time for us both.

As I began to recover, and calm down, I started thinking about my immediate future. My summer vacation had only a couple of weeks still to go and then I would have to leave my Daddy and fly back home and go to college. (I was in fact looking forward to starting my technical design course; I’m pretty good at it and now have a strong, and still developing career as a design consultant.) Now we had already decided that I would fly back over to France at every opportunity, but it was sad to think that it would be next summer before we could really repeat our languid, lazy and painful sexual antics. As well as the sex, Daddy and I love to be together and we were going to miss each other’s company.

Also, as my wild “conventional” sexual desires gradually abated I started to think about being whipped again. In fact, I wanted to be whipped again. The problem however was that the two wonderful whippings I’d had from Daddy had done their job and given me shattering orgasms without impairing my virginity, but they had wreaked major havoc on my body, from which it was taking too long for me to recover. The bratty schoolgirl in me still screamed that it wasn’t fair, here I was wanking Daddy to orgasm two or three times a day, and I’d only had two proper orgasms all summer. For all my apparent sophistication, inside I was still a spoilt little brat with a petted lip, stamping my foot and demanding my fair share of…of what exactly? Being whipped half to death until I was a snivelling, shrieking, weeping, puffy-faced little creature lying in my own piss as my Daddy wanked on me?

Well, yes, actually.

That was exactly what I wanted, but I wanted to be a bit more elegant about it, which meant that I would have to somehow engineer things so that less whipping produced more orgasm. I had already studied some engineering design at school and thinking about my problem, in my head I had slipped into a kind of geek-speak.

I wanted more orgasms for less whipping and, vain as I am, I wanted to look good while it was all happening.

I had enjoyed being tied up while Daddy took his belt to my breasts but it had been acutely uncomfortable. It may seem ridiculous to complain about discomfort when having my breasts and stomach lashed to shreds, but my arms still hurt where they had been roughly tied too tightly to the branch, all that kneeling had stopped the circulation in my legs, and the ending, hanging backwards off the table with my stomach stretched tight had been very effective, but my spine just wasn’t supposed to bend that way. It had only been possible because I was a fit, seventeen-year-old schoolgirl. Unless I became an athlete I’d have trouble trying to do that in my twenties!

And, seriously, my Daddy liked whipping me, and I wanted him to be able to do it more often.

So think, girl!

Tying me up was a great success, I loved it, but I needed to be tied more comfortably, and I didn’t want to end up kneeling all the time. My legs are pretty good and I wanted to show them off, not fold them away under me. Maybe some kind of frame, a bit like a kiddies’ climbing frame but a lot more solid, with lots of straps, clips, and handholds all over it so I could be held comfortably in various positions…..

I started to see it in my mind, so I asked Daddy to help me up; not laziness, I still hurt quite a bit and you know he likes touching me. Remember, we were both naked, and so it was a pleasure to watch him walk towards me. I lifted my arms and put them round his neck, and asked him to carry me over to the table, where we sat while I explained my thoughts and sketched out some rough ideas. At first he was very enthusiastic, but as my sketches became more detailed, it became obvious to both of us that what I was drawing was just too complicated, and would take ages to have it made. It would never be finished before I flew off to college.

I scrunched up my drawings and pushed them aside, very disappointed. Then I remembered what our German design teacher had said, time after time.

“Never give up, never give in.” (He truly said that to us, he was a complete science-fiction geek.) “If your idea’s not working it’s not the idea’s fault, it’s yours. You’re being too clever.”

Which of course means you’re not being clever at all; you’re merely being complicated.

So, talking out loud to Daddy, I went back to first principles.

“Daddy, I am the most important part of the machine. The machine exists solely for the purpose of comfortably supporting my body in various positions and attitudes so that you have easy access to any part of me. Agreed? Going on, it must be possible for me to be held vertically upright, or upside-down, to be able to have my arms and/or legs spread wide, and for me to be able to be bent forwards or backwards at a convenient height for you. I have to be able to be comfortable and safely secured in any and all of these positions.”

And then, just as I finished talking, it came to me. It was quite simply a flash of inspiration, the kind of “divine” inspiration that is now helping to make my business a success.

“Daddy, I’m so stupid. It’s easy. It’s really easy. We are living in one of the main wine producing areas of France. A barrel! Get a big barrel and wedge it on its side and bend me over it and tie me down!”

As with all good, simple ideas the possibilities were immediately obvious, to me anyway. Daddy seemed to need a little more persuasion.

“Think about it Daddy. I can lie across it, or along it if we get one big enough. I can sit astride it. With some help I can lean my body upside–down against it.”

He was nodding in agreement, and then stopped.

“But how do we tie you to it? There’s nothing much on a smooth barrel to tie you to. We’ll have to fix handles to it or the rope will tend to slip off.”

My ideas were really cooking now; I had another flash.

“Got it, Daddy; I am the most important part of the machine, remember? Staple a circle of wire rope round each end of the barrel, leaving loops between each staple. I wear wrist and ankle straps each of which has a spring clip. Just clip me to the wire in whatever position you fancy and I can’t move. It’ll work. It’s easy and it’ll work.”

But it wasn’t so easy.

Daddy started phoning around for a cooper with barrels to sell, but they were all busy, most of them already behind with orders for the wine harvest, which was almost on us. No one would sell him a barrel of any kind, let alone a really big one. By late afternoon we were both tired and disappointed, so I sat on my Daddy’s lap and with my arm round his shoulders snuggled against him. We were both naked, of course, so I immediately felt his cock start to stiffen under me as I giggled and wriggled against him suggestively.

He stopped me.

“You’re right, Baby Girl. What you’ve been saying is dead right. It is unfair to you that you get to cum so seldom whilst you’re making things good for me so often.”

“Daddy, I would like to cum more often but I don’t mind really. What we’re doing’s still fun for me too.” I giggled. “Anyway, you’ve seen what it does to me. There’s a limit to how much of the belt I can stand.

“No Baby, it’s only fair. I’m not going to let you make me cum until we’ve found a solution to this. And, tell you what, just for once, let’s get dressed for and go out for dinner.”

And so, about an hour later, I stepped shyly back out into the garden, where Daddy had been waiting for me for about forty minutes. He looked up from his book and whistled. I flushed and clumsily curtsied. I’d taken some time to put my hair up, and in my heels and a light strappy dress which came halfway down my thighs and left my shoulders bare, I have to say I looked young and sweet and sexy.

I kissed my Daddy on the top of his head and spun round in front of him. My dress flared slightly, giving him glimpse of my white panties.

I giggled; “Will I do?”

“Baby Girl, you look delicious. Perfect. I’m proud to be seen with you,” and he took me by the hand and helped me into the car.

By local standards we were incredibly early for dinner but it was a great success. We went to an old hotel in the centre of town, about a ten-minute drive, quite close to the school I had attended a year previously when I’d come over very early and Daddy had insisted that I couldn’t be on holiday for five months. Once I’d got over my childish resentment I’d quite enjoyed it, and I’d made some good friends. It had certainly done my ability to speak French a lot of good, so I ended up ordering for us.

We had an excellent meal; French chefs really are the best, but for me dinner was spoiled, only a little, by the fact that I couldn’t have any wine. I like wine, and beer; Daddy has always let me have carefully regulated amounts of alcohol since I was quite young because he reckons it’s the best way to make sure I learn to drink sensibly, and it worked, because I do. However, I was still only seventeen and too young for the licensing laws in France, but I’m enough of an all-American-gal to like drinking coke, and despite their claims to the contrary, French people really do seem to like all things American, from Harleys to Jack Daniels, so there was plenty of ice-cold coke for me to drink.

We finished eating at about eight-o-clock, which is about the time most French people are thinking about packing up work and starting to eat; we really were very unfashionably early, but there it is, that’s the way we are. As it turned out, eating early at that hotel on that evening was the very best thing we could have done.

What happened was this.

Daddy settled up and we walked out onto the street. He told me to wait and he would get the car; I suppose he thought I wanted to look in some of the shop windows.

Right next to the hotel there was an entrance with tall wooden gates, which were always shut. I’d passed it every day I was at school the previous year and it had always been shut. The other kids used to crack slightly edgy jokes about the strange old guy who’s yard it was, but I’d never got to the bottom of who he was and what it was all about, it was just grim looking, slightly spooky looking wooden gate which were always shut when I’d passed either in the morning or afternoon.

This was the evening and they were open, and with the bright evening sun flooding the courtyard behind them with light, the place looked anything but spooky, just a slightly scruffy courtyard in town. And there, standing on end and throwing a long shadow against the far wall, was a barrel, a huge, slightly stained barrel. It had obviously been used, and would need cleaning up but it looked good.

I had to go in and check it out. I clip-clopped across the cobbles in my heels and walked right up to it. I stood, pressed against it, and my chin was just level with its upper rim. I ran my hands over it and whilst it was a bit dirty it was quite smooth, with no splits or splinters. It would be my lover. It was perfect for our depraved plans and desires. I could just see myself tied to it, being tormented by my Daddy’s belt, and worse. I had to have it.

I heard a door open behind me and spun round, the skirt of my short dress flaring out as it had earlier to expose my thighs and to offer a glimpse of my white panties. But last time it had been to my Daddy. This time a tall, rather mysterious looking man of about my father’s age was looking at me from an open door. Embarrassed, I walked towards him to apologise for trespassing. Over his shoulder I could see into his office, and in the mirror I could see myself as I approached. With the strong evening sun behind me I might as well not have been wearing my dress. My body was perfectly silhouetted, the sun shining through the thin cotton as though it wasn’t there.

In the silence the sound of my heels echoing off the cobbles seemed deafening as I approached him, holding my hand out to shake his. I could hear my knees brush each other as I walked, and I could see that he was coolly looking me up and down, his dark eyes studying the outline of my bare shoulders, the sway of my breasts under my dress, my tight waist; slowly running his gaze down the smooth swell of my hips to my legs and then back up to where my slim inner thighs caught flashes of sunlight as I strode towards him. Other than my father, I’d never had a man look at me like that before, so confident, so relaxed, so obviously simply enjoying what he saw.

I liked having him look at me too; in fact I was enjoying it, and had decided to be bold. (Daddy would appear any second now to save me if anything went wrong.) I would simply ask him to sell me the barrel as a present for my father; he wanted to lay it on its side as a garden ornament, with wire ropes stapled as loose handles round both ends. (That last bit certainly taxed my French!)

“Sorry, madamoiselle, it is not for sale.”

I persisted.

“But please, it’s to be a present for him. I have to go soon and I want to leave it for him before I go away to college.”

He seemed to be thinking about it. I carried on,

“You don’t seem to be using it very much, it’s just in your way here. Please monsieur.”

There were in fact three reasons I was talking so politely. I was enjoying being looked at; the mysterious Frenchman was still quite openly ogling me. Secondly I really wanted the barrel. It was just exactly what Daddy and I had discussed, and thirdly…..

“Monsieur, I have need of your help. May I use your toilet please?”

The fact was that all the coke I’d been drinking had worked its way through me and I’d been kinda keen to pee before we left the hotel restaurant, but I’d decided to hold on until I got home; if you’ve got this far with these memories of mine you can imagine the kind of antics my Daddy and I could get up to with my bladder being full to bursting, but the current delay had proved too much for my self control. I simply had to pee, now!

“Please monsieur, I’m sorry but I really need your help.”

Suddenly he relaxed and was all formal good manners.

“Of course, madamoiselle, this way please,” and he showed me into his office and opened a door for me, clicking the light switch for me as he did so. I quickly stepped inside, pushed the door shut and saw, to my horror, an old fashioned French toilet.

I don’t know if you’ve encountered one of these monstrosities, they’ve all but disappeared except in the most backward rural areas.

Daddy’s French home is in a backward rural area.

Let me describe this thing. Imagine about a metre square of chipped white porcelain, flat on the floor. (Actually this one wasn’t chipped at all, it seemed quite new.) The square of porcelain has sides maybe six inches tall, and in the middle there are two raised footpads, also about six inches tall and about shoulder width apart. The whole thing is cast as one and there is a drain hole with a chromium rose at the back.

Yep, you’ve guessed it, you squat with your feet apart, one on each of the raised pads, do what you have to do, and then you literally pull the chain. Water cascades around the raised pads, cleaning the thing out, and you stand up to go your merry way. Apparently they’re much healthier than our more conventional toilet seats.

Maybe they are, but they are much more hassle to use, even for a fit young girl who’s only wearing a short dress and a pair of panties. It’s not enough to simply slip your panties down to your knees, you really do have to take them off all together, and hang them up. And you have to lift your dress so high to make sure it stays clear of both your own piss and the torrent of water you unleash when you pull the chain that just in case, it’s better to take your dress off completely and hang it up.

However, the thing works.

There I was, naked except for my heels, squatting facing the door with my legs wide apart, and my piss cascading from me, when the door swung open. In my haste I hadn’t shut it properly. I was looking straight into the eyes of the mysterious Frenchman who had in fact stepped forward to try to keep the door shut. He stared at me, his mouth open in surprise.

I was absolutely in full flow and couldn’t stop, and although I have to admit that I’d become a bit of an exhibitionist that summer, this really was just too much for me. I blushed. I panicked. I tried to cover myself, getting piss on my hands in the process. I tried to cover my breasts, getting piss on them from my hands. I tried to close my legs and wobbled on my heels and almost fell off. I ended up with one piss-dripping hand covering my breasts and pissing between the fingers of my other hand as I tried to preserve some maidenly modesty. But I still couldn’t stop. So I did the only thing left for a seventeen-year-old girl to do. I burst into tears, real tears of shame and embarrassment as this stranger stood at the door, watching me piss as I squatted there, virtually naked in front of him.

Without a word he pushed the door closed.

Eventually I re-appeared, blushing a bright pink, in his office, having cleaned myself up as well as I could.

Before I could say anything he raised his hand to stop me.

“Madamoiselle, I must apologise. I have meant to get that door fixed for months; it has a mind of its own. I’m so sorry. Would it to some extent make up for your discomfiture if I were to give you the barrel as a gift to your father, whom I hear outside in the street calling your name? If you like I will have it cleaned and delivered to you.”

I said thank you, and ran out to fetch my Daddy, and explained to him what had happened, although not, I hasten to add, in quite as much detail as I’ve given you, and although at first he was very suspicious of the mysterious Frenchman, I just kept repeating that truly it was all an unfortunate accident, and eventually all was well.

Two days later the barrel arrived at the house. Or it may have been a new barrel; it had been so completely washed, and scrubbed, and sanded, and varnished, and sanded and varnished again, until it gleamed in the sunlight. There were two cradles, also sanded and varnished, to lay it on, to keep it absolutely steady and well clear of the ground.

Under the supervision of the still mysterious but very generous Frenchman, his two workmen carefully unloaded it and rolled it across the grass to the centre of the lawn, where my Daddy and I had positioned the cradles. A quick heave and it rolled firmly into place, it’s own massive weight holding it firmly in place as they then quickly pinned it to the cradles with two bands of steel. The barrel could never roll free, no matter what was done to me as I was fastened to it.

It was my first machine and I was proud of it. Now it was time to test it.

I hope you found that interesting and stimulating. I would love to squat naked in front of you and entertain you by pissing on my hands before wiping them on my breasts.

Maybe someday?

Over a Barrel

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

A virgin over a barrel: day two

Ok, I know this chapter is called “A virgin over a barrel: day two”, but because of the state my body was in after my first whipping as part of the machine, I needed at least a day off to recover, so in fact it was day three when all this happened to me.

I really needed more time to recover, but my time at my Daddy’s house in France was slipping away; have you noticed how holidays start out as though they’ll last forever, gradually the days speed up, faster and faster, and then suddenly it’s all over? Even though I was genuinely excited about starting college, a big part of me wanted time to stop, to stand still, so that my wonderful summer in France would last forever. I would happily have stayed with my Daddy for always.

Therefore, although we both knew that I needed to rest before my next sexual ordeal, we also both knew that time was running out. We both wanted me to be used as part of our machine a few times more before I flew out the following week; for one thing I wanted to cum again, and Daddy, well my Daddy was quite enjoying all this too!

So, a couple of days after the barrel arrived, and my back and delectable derriere had begun to recover from their severe whipping, we were sitting by the pool in companionable silence. It was once again late afternoon and we were just finishing the last of the Sancerre we’d had with lunch. Apart from his eyeglasses perched on his nose, Daddy was naked in his chair, and, as always that summer, all I was wearing was our favourite high-heeled sandals. Sitting there with my arms by my side and my legs stretched out in front of me, I could see that he was only pretending to read; I like it when he sneaks little peeks at me.

I remembered his request from weeks before that I lead him on, so I “innocently” covered my mouth, yawned, and hunched my shoulders forward, causing my breasts to squeeze together. Then I sat up straight and slowly stretched, lifting my arms high above my head, shaking my head to make a big deal out of clearing my hair back from my shoulders with both hands.

He looked at me over his glasses; my swaying breasts had his full attention. He looked up at my face.

“How do you feel, Princess?” he asked.

I smiled. “Very relaxed, thanks, Daddy.”

I made a decision.

“I think I’ll go get dressed now.”

I slowly stood up, coquettishly pretending to attempt to do so modestly, and therefore showing even more than usual. Naked in my heels, I stood very straight and tall and stretched lazily before turning to go into the house. I stopped with my legs a little apart, and looked back at him over my shoulder.

“How does my back look now, Daddy?”

I smiled as he forced himself to look up at face, away from my naked arse.

“Still a few marks, Princess, but they’re fading,” he allowed himself to look back down my body, “and the bruising in your arse is much less obvious than it was. Does it still hurt?”

I replied, “No. It’s okay, thanks Daddy,” as I sauntered off into the house.

I reappeared a few minutes later with my hair up, so that my shoulders were bare, (bare shoulders are for me a very sexy sign of my submission) still wearing my heels, but with Daddy’s belt round my hips, and my straps jingling at my wrists and ankles. Looking a lot older than seventeen, I strutted over to where he sat, and keeping my back straight, knelt down in front of him. I unbuckled the belt and held it in front of me with both hands, offering it to him, real corny “slave-girl” stuff.

I’m older now, and whilst I’m afraid I’m really no wiser, I do know that the corny “slave-girl” thing still works for him every time. As you know, back then I had only just let school, and I was making this up as I went, in fact we both were. Anyway, it just seemed to be the right thing to do.

It was. His cock was immediately hard. He inched towards me on his chair and spread his legs on either side of me, squeezing them gently together against my thighs. He took the belt from my hands, and holding it at each end, lifted it over my head and encircled me with it, letting it slide down my back to rest on my hips. Then he used it to gently pull me towards him. I lifted my hands up to his face and he kissed my fingers as he pushed forward some more, thrusting his stiff cock into the soft flesh of my naked stomach.

I tensed my stomach muscles and pushed back hard against him, leaning forward to kiss him and trap his cock between our bodies. I love the feeling of his stiff cock against me, and I helped excite both of us by I rocking my pelvis and flexing my stomach muscles against his hardness. Then I relaxed and let my arms fall to my side. Drawing back a little, we looked at each other. I felt his eyes slowly scan down my body. I felt them bore deep into me, into my shoulders, into my breasts with their dark areolas and hard nipples, down over my flat stomach, pausing where his stiff cock had just smeared a thin, shiny trail of his excitement across me. His eyes came to finally came to rest, devouring the sight of my young, virgin cunt, pouting in its frame of my dark pubic hair. Still kneeling, I spread my legs a little further as I felt my cunt lips moisten with my own juices.

“Which bit of me would you like to whip today, Daddy?”

As I said the words I realised that this was much more than just a “slave-girl” routine, I really was my Daddy’s little plaything, his toy; in fact, all these years later, I still am. My nostrils were suddenly full of the heady smell of my own excitement as my cunt lips pouted even more and I felt a drip trickle down my leg. I really was his slave; in those simple, far-off days, the only thing I wanted in the whole world was for him to need me, to want me, and I was ready to do anything to make it happen, absolutely anything. If he wanted to love me with his belt; so be it! If that was to be the way of things then I wanted him to whip me with it right now and forever, especially right now!

He looked deep into my eyes. “We’ll see, Princess, we’ll see.”

He helped me to my feet and said, “Wait there,” and he crossed the hard, sun-baked lawn, trailing his belt from his right hand as he walked. He stopped beside the barrel and turned to look at me. He looked hard and dangerous, standing there naked with his belt trailing from one hand, looking at me through his cool grey eyes.

“Now you.”

With my Daddy’s eyes following every step, I walked towards him, carefully placing one foot exactly in front of the other. Naked except for my heels and my jingling restraining straps, I walked like a catwalk model, arms swinging, and my whole body loose but upright as I let my weight land on my heels, sashaying naked towards my Daddy, I strutted towards him across the hard, sun-baked lawn in the sultry late afternoon sun. His eyes followed me every step of the way; truly, I felt beautiful, sexy, and desirable. I knew my handsome, dirty father loved me and wanted me.

He and I, we’re quite a pair, aren’t we?

Talking about pairs, as I walked I felt the weight of my breasts swaying freely in the warm garden sunshine, filling me with a warm sexual glow deep between my legs. Smiling, I approached this man, who was my tormentor, my torturer, my brutal, chaste lover, my Daddy. Beyond the fact that he was going to whip me somewhere on my body, I had no idea of exactly what was in store for me, I had no idea of his plans, but I loved him, and trusted him, and so I simply walked towards him, ready to accept my beating at his hands.

I reached the barrel and stood beside him. I stretched out and touched the smooth, warm wood, softly stroking it with my fingers; I remembered the pain I’d suffered on it just two days previously. My favourite tension started deep in my stomach and between my legs. Suddenly nervous, I swallowed and tried to smile as I looked for instructions.

“Princess, climb on and lie down lengthwise on your back.”

My Daddy helped me climb up and swing one leg over as though I was mounting a very fat pony. Leaning forward to steady myself with my hands together on the barrel, just in front of my pubic mound, my breasts were squeezed together by my arms. I sat down rather heavily with my legs spread wide on either side. Lifting my hands and placing them on my hips, I sat up with my back straight and let my unsupported breasts sway freely. To keep my balance I had to push out forwards with my stomach, and push back with my arse, rocking my pelvis forward in a kind of sitting caricature of the sexy way French girls walk. I sat there for a moment with my back straight and let my breasts settle. My full weight pressed down hard on my open, unprotected cunt.

With the exciting tension deep in my stomach developing with every beat of my heart, my Daddy took me by the hand and helped me to lean backwards, supporting my shoulders as he lowered my head and back until I was lying on the barrel. He then helped me lift my legs up, and there I was, naked apart from my heels and straps, lying face up, stretched out full length on the curve of the wood with my body bent backwards. Because of the curvature of the barrel I was bent backwards like a bow; my hips were quite a lot higher than either my head and shoulders, or my feet and ankles, but I couldn’t keep my legs together on the smooth, rounded surface and my feet slipped apart, sliding far down the smooth wooden flanks of the barrel. I lay there with my legs bent at the knees and my thighs spread wide apart.

One at a time, he lifted my arms gently over my head, helped me to get comfortable with them hanging down behind me, and clipped my wrists to the restraining wire at that end of our machine. Then he walked round me, and, lifting my ankles, slowly pulled my legs out straight, stretching my body a little more to ease my hips a few inches up the wooden slope until they were resting on the broadest, highest point of the curved surface. My arms and upper body were stretched tight.

Then he let go my ankles and let gravity spread my legs once, until my feet were hanging as far down the sides of the barrel as they would reasonably go, then carefully forced them to go a little lower and clipped them in place.

Bent backwards, and with my arms and legs tied tightly apart, my sexy, smooth stomach looked even better than usual, I have to admit that it looked great with my stomach muscles stretched tight like a board. Gazing along the length of my body I had no hint of a cleavage, gravity making my big breasts sit wide and high on my chest. Looking between their soft mounds, I could just see the sweet dipping contour of my navel, and beyond that the smooth sweep of my lower abdomen where my skin sloped down on either side of my pubic mound and swept up to the hard points of my pelvic bones. A hot, summer breeze ruffled the broad, dark triangle of my pubic hair.

I lay there along the spine of the barrel, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky. With my legs hanging down, my feet and knees tended to splay outwards, displaying the pale, soft skin of my inner thighs, and causing my naked cunt to gape. I felt a little of my moisture leak from me.

So there I was, exactly as I had imagined I would be when this whole barrel idea had come to me the previous week. This was exactly the picture I’d seen with my mind’s eye. (So much had happened, it was hard to remember that it was less that a week since my Daddy had crucified me, and then mercilessly whipped me on top of the table; how time flies when you’re having fun!)

So there I was, naked, (just in case you’d forgotten) tied down, bent backwards, and with my legs forced wide apart, the angle forcing my dripping cunt to gape upwards, completely exposed, unprotected, and completely vulnerable to my father’s gaze. My Daddy could literally do anything he wanted to me and I would be unable to stop him. I was nervous, actually a little scared, but I also knew that I was where I most wanted to be, helpless, and at my Daddy’s mercy.

Judging by the size of his hard cock, he seemed to like looking at his little girl stretched out naked on her back, tied at a comfortable height for a whipping.

So, dear reader, I’ve described my situation; I was, for the moment, quite comfortable. Maybe you should make yourself comfortable before you read on.

Standing beside my, my Daddy bent down and kissed my stomach. I felt his lips on my taught skin and his tongue dip deep into my navel, licking the sweat that had gathered there. I was hot, sweating a little in fear and in anticipation. He kissed my flawless stomach once more, just above my pubic hair, and stood up. I closed my eyes.

Then it started.

With no warning he brought the belt down hard on my stomach, ten times, mercilessly. With each stroke I grunted deep in my throat, and suddenly there was sweat all over my body. The hard leather laid fiery lines across my skin; each time the last few inches of the flailing belt landed on my navel, the square tip whipping down hard, to punch deep into my taught, unprotected body, immediately bruising me and raising a series of low, red ridges, my welts.

My Daddy whipped me ten times, quick and hard, the belt smacking down on exactly the same place each time. I could feel my tortured skin tighten as the bruising and welts started to spread over one side of my stomach and abdomen. My grunts became louder; by the fourth one I was crying, my mouth wide open as I gasped for breath.

The belt punched into me ten times; by about the sixth or seventh stroke I’d stopped grunting, I was shouting, the breath being forced from my body with each blow. Each time the leather cracked down on my skin I struggled in my bonds, willing myself to stay absolutely still, but unable to prevent my body from trying to cower defensively in the face of this onslaught, to tightly curl into a foetal position. I was desperate to protect my unprotected stomach and abdomen from my father’s vicious attack, but I was completely helpless; I could do nothing, literally nothing, to protect myself from his belt. In my helplessness all I could do was weep; I just lay there on my back, choking on my tears, and struggled and shouted and cried.

The blows stopped. I opened my red, streaming eyes and watched as he crossed to stand by my other side and I was just able to turn my head enough to look at him as he stood there in the classic position, naked, with his legs a little apart, his hard cock proudly displayed to me, and with his belt coiled once round his fist, looking down at me as I lay there, sobbing in my pain and fear. I’ve never felt so completely helpless; I was scared.

His cock oozed. It stood up, stiff and almost vertical in front of him, streaks of his excitement glistening on the shaft, a rope of his fluid swinging from its tip. It swayed as he once more lifted his arm to strike me, and I shut my eyes.

He hit me in exactly the same place as before, right across my navel, but from the other side this time. The unyielding body of the belt cracked down hard on the very place where its flailing tip had punched welts into me only a few moments before; the pain was excruciating. The belt tip dug into me, creating more welts on the other side of my navel; I was screaming continuously.

This time my Daddy was in no hurry. He stood there looking down at me, smiling in his lust as I struggled and screamed; my chest heaving as I struggled to breathe, sweat pouring off me, howling in pain and crying my eyes out. Then he lifted his arm and brought it down again, hitting me once again across my navel. My heart was pounding, I could almost hear it; I was in a state of panic. I was being savagely attacked; I was in acute pain, but tied and exposed as I was, I was completely defenceless. What was so frightening was that I could do nothing to protect myself, absolutely nothing. I could only lie there, at his mercy, howling in my agony.

And he showed me no mercy, but smiled down at me and hit me with the belt again, taking time to aim so that he once again cracked it down hard across my stomach, across my navel so that the evil, square leather tip dug into my taught, unprotected young flesh to create a whole pattern of bright new ridges. My stripes.

The pain was simply beyond belief. My Daddy loved every second of it!

The sticky, swinging rope of his excitement now stretched back from the tip of his rigid cock to his stomach. His whole lower belly glinted in the evening sun, smeared by his liquids. His excitement was splashing on me as he stood beside me, his swaying cock bouncing against his body as he thrashed me. There were shiny drops of his fluids all over my stomach; his thighs, his cock and balls were covered in thick, mucous streaks of it. Even his pubic hair was matted and soaked.

I’d never known him be so aroused, so excited, so hard, but that was little consolation to me just then, especially when he moved slightly and changed his target.

Now, obviously it had hurt like hell when he was whipping me across my stomach, but I soon discovered that the muscles and the tiny layer of fat I had there had in fact been absorbing quite a lot of the impact of the belt strokes, and therefore quite a lot of the pain. I really thought I was going to die when he brought the belt tip down hard, hard, hard, on the pale, smooth slope of my abdomen between my pubic mound and the point of my pelvis. Of course there is a lot of muscle there, but in those days I had no fat there whatsoever. (Even now, quite a few years later, I’m still tall and slim, only more mature!)

I felt my skin stretch tightly over the smooth hard point of my pelvic bone as the leather punched deep into my taught body at one of its most exposed and vulnerable places, the tight little groove between my hip bone and my pubic hair. Even though it was quite close to my cunt, this wasn’t sexy, this just hurt! My Daddy really was just torturing me, hitting me hard in all my most sensitive, non-sexy areas. I screamed, I wept, I continually tried to curl up into a foetal ball in an attempt to protect my fragile flesh, but I couldn’t. I could barely move; I could only writhe helplessly in my world of pain.

Staked out, naked and vulnerable, bent backwards over the barrel, which was a punishment machine of my own design, I was helpless, just a pain-wracked, dutiful, loving daughter, letting my own father, my sweet, loving, Daddy have his will with me. He was breathing very heavily through his open mouth, actually snorting with the effort of each stroke of the belt into my soft flesh. He dashed the sweat from his eyes, and in them I could see that he was whipping my sensitive young body for absolutely no reason other than his own perverted desires.

The belt tip cracked into my abdomen again. Sweat poured from my red, tormented flesh; my body glowed in the stifling evening sun, and in my semi-consciousness I had sunk to the level of something barely human, I was howling like a cornered animal, which in reality was precisely what I had become. I was trapped; there was no escape. He hit me, again, and again. With each smack of the belt into me he grunted with the effort, his sweat trickling down his chest, his huge cock waving like a fist in front of his glistening belly as he punished my abdomen, whipping the leather deep into me again and again.

The blows stopped. Through slit eyes I watched as he took a step towards me. His cock was so stiff he found it difficult to walk; he almost waddled. Stretching out, he gently ran his fingertips over the deep red marks on my shrinking stomach, the fiery dents and ridges he had carved into my abdomen with his evil black belt. Savagely he pushed his fingers deep into my welts. I groaned. He bent over me and kissed me where the ridges intersected and crossed, slowly running his tongue over them, savouring my sobs as his hot drool gently tormented my body.

With a huge effort I cleared my thoughts and managed to lift my head just enough to watch as he spread his legs to accommodate his massively swollen cock and balls. I’d never seen him so big and hard. We both knew that he’d always got off on whipping me, it excited him to see me in pain and to hear me cry and scream, and I’d always gone along with the excuse that he was helping me to cum. But having me helpless, in real pain, and nowhere near orgasm, merely an object for him to hurt and abuse was exciting him more than I’d thought possible. I was literally his… well not his whipping boy, I was his whipping girl.

At last I began to feel excited.

When I was climbing up on to our machine my cunt had been moist, and it had dripped a little, my thighs were still a little shiny close to my sex, but that was way back, it seemed like hours previously. And I’d been very aroused when my Daddy was stretching me out and clipping me comfortably into position, exposed on top of our machine. I had been excited then, but that had soon stopped when the real pain started.

The brain is the biggest sexual organ, so I know that you guys can get very hot and bothered just looking at pictures of girl like me with no clothes on; hell, I hope you’re good and stiff while you read these tales from my youth, and the only pictures here are the ones in my memory that I’m sharing with you.

But with girls it’s different. Sure, it’s nice for us to look at a picture of a good-looking guy in the nude, especially if he’s displaying a nice, hard cock, but guys, believe me, to get the best out of us; you really have to be there.

And my Daddy was certainly there, and getting the best out of me! I managed to run my gaze over him for a moment. His physique wasn’t bad for his age, he still looks after himself, so standing naked with his belt wrapped once round his fist he looked mean and powerful and sexy and dangerous.

He bent over me to kiss my stomach, his head rising and falling in time with my frantic, heavy breathing. He kissed me again in the same place and I started to calm down. I stopped crying and merely sniffed a few times, still sobbing as he delicately slipped the tip of his tongue into my navel and lapped up some of my sweat, which had pooled there. Then he ran his tongue over some of the welts he had just inflicted on me, kissing my raised, tortured flesh with his lips before turning his head from side to side, wiping his face into my sweat. He barely breathed and his eyes were tightly shut; he was lost in his own private place, savouring the feel of the ruin he had made of my stomach, and the memory of the pain, my pain, which had witnessed its creation.

I lay there, the knot of my excitement spreading through me from my stomach to my cunt. I lifted my head and watched my Daddy in his private reverie, pressing his face harder into my tortured stomach and I suddenly knew that all was well. My Daddy loved me and I could do this for him. I could hold on. I would survive. I let my head fall back to rest on the wood and through my sobs I actually started to hum the stupid Gloria Gaynor song, right up until the point when my Daddy straightened up and, with his still rampant cock, waddled round past my feet to stand beside my waist on the other side. I knew what was coming and shut my eyes again.

I didn’t have to wait for long.

A shattering crack of the belt on the other side of my abdomen, lengthwise down the deep groove between my pubic mound and the peak of my pelvis, brought me screaming back to earth. Jesus, it hurt. I certainly wasn’t singing now! I tensed myself against the next crack of the leather on my skin, but it never came.

My father was making little mewling noises in the back of his throat. I opened my eyes to see him freeze and look down in amazement at his cock. He stood there, his legs spread wide, and with his knees bent he started to thrust forward with his pelvis, literally fucking the air as his huge stiff cock erupted, spraying his pale spunk high into the air for it to arc over me and fall on to my stomach, spraying all over the once smooth, flawless skin he had kissed so lovingly and then beaten into a ruined mess of red pain and darkening bruises. His hot seed burned me as it splashed onto my tortured, sensitive flesh.

We were both caught, frozen in time. I even stopped crying! His hands were nowhere near his rigidly ejaculating weapon, my hands were of course tied; neither of us was touching him or his cock. He was simply cumming in mid air, his excitement exploding from him purely because of the wicked torture he was inflicting on me, his loving, lovely, young virgin daughter. He laughed out loud and grunted with each thrusting spasm as his cock continued to spray me, inundating me with his spunk. He howled with delight, and animal roar of power and of excitement and of his complete domination - of me!

His sperm spattered my body, little pools of it on my skin; some of it landed on my navel and seeped down into its sweet cavity, some of it landed on the ridges and welts he had created as my torturer out of the smooth, tanned skin of my stomach. Some landed on the fiery red flesh between them. My stomach was covered with shiny streaks in the evening sun. I was coated with his thick, pale sperm, his seed, my Daddy’s cum!

Watching him orgasm all over me had an extraordinary and immediate effect on me. My cunt suddenly gushed; I felt my fluids actually spray from me, wetting the insides of my thighs with my urgent sexual demands. I needed to cum. My body suddenly demanded sexual release. Watching my father spray his excited release all over my whipped and abused stomach suddenly took me straight to the edge of my own excitement.

Eventually he straightened up, his stiff cock streaked with his cum as it trickled down his still erect shaft, and smiled down at me as I lay there, victim of his depraved lusts

I whispered, “Daddy, please, you’ve cum, my turn…. my hair won’t protect me much, Daddy, please,” and I tried to lift my hips up from the curved wooden surface to which I was shackled. But I couldn’t move. I managed to tense my hips; squeezing my arse cheeks tight together I forced my pubic mound to rise up by a tiny amount, offering myself to him.

He understood; he’s my Daddy.

Without a word, and with his fluids still swinging from the tip of his cock, he went round to stand beside my head. As he passed I saw his cock tense once more and I watched as a last, final spasm of his orgasm squeezed out a final few drops of spunk, which dribbled down the side of his still massive cock. Breathing heavily, his whole body shiny with sweat, he adjusted his grip on the belt then softly placed it on my body, laying it down the length of my stomach so that its tip rested lightly on my pubic hair. I once again squeezed my arse cheeks together, and he lifted his belt, ready to accept my offering.

He brought it down on me, the body of the belt adding to the ravaged mess of my stomach and the last few inches whipping down hard on my raised, offered pubic mound. The very tip cracked hard on to my body, curling wickedly to crack into the top edge of my gaping cunt lips.

I screamed, “Daddy, oh Daddy,” and wept as I lifted my hips as best as I could, offering myself once again. The belt cracked down again, and again, each time burning my abused stomach, punching into the bone of my pubic mound, and its tip whipping into the top edge of my gaping slit. I howled in anguish and delight. I could feel my excitement; I could feel it growing, developing, my need burning into me, my lust suddenly filling my heart and my mind and my cunt with a dripping, insatiable insistence that I be hurt and loved and abused and cherished and especially hurt, by my wicked, evil, strong, loving Daddy.

I suddenly felt it all, a spinning mixture of feelings and memories and experiences and sensations. I was tied on naked my back, my arms and legs were stretched out as far as they would go; my vulnerable body was a sacrifice to my father and his belt. I felt the pain of my destroyed stomach, felt the memory of his tongue lapping up the sweat from my navel, the crazy sight of his helpless sexual abandon as he stood naked beside me, his involuntary spasms forcing his spunk from his cock, spraying his seed on my defenceless body. I felt proud; I did that!

I felt the scream in my throat start deep between my legs. Sweat dripped from me as I trembled and shook in my bonds, and suddenly there it was; my goal achieved.

In a mindless agony I came, my chest heaving as I fought for breath, shrieking with the delight of my ecstasy and my torture, helpless as my Daddy, my loving Daddy, continued to bring the belt down hard, its evil fire crackling along the length of my stomach, whipping my spasms of pleasure as I tried to lift my hips in their tethered immobility to meet and welcome the leather as it punched my pubic mound and whipped again and again into very the edge of my cunt.

I pushed and struggled and screamed; my legs were suddenly wet as my spasms forced my fluids to hurl themselves again and again from deep within my abused cunt and spray their acrid sweetness over the smooth curved wood to which I was tied. My cunt and my legs, and the barrel between them, were soaked; streaked and dripping with the fluids of my love, the bitter, salty juices of my private world of sweet pain. I lay on my back and howled to the sky in my ecstasy and my delight, as the flailing belt thudded into me, elevating me, lifting me to my private heaven and hell of love and sex and agony.

My vision misted over; the world turned pink. Then, for a moment, everything went black.

Eventually it all came to an end. A slow, sexy smile crept across my face and I felt my cunt relax as my vision gradually came back. I was completely limp as I lay still, my breathing slowing back to normal as I waited for the world to return. I had returned from the abyss of my pleasure a pale and exhausted shadow of a girl.

My father coughed; I knew he was about to speak.

I spoke first, to stop him, because even though we had each orgasmed for our own, and for each other’s pleasure, I had more to give. I really didn’t want it all to stop; I knew I could help my Daddy cum once more. I was his little girl; his Princess, and Princesses are in charge! I wanted to give him more and he had to take it, graciously accepting his Princess’s generous gift.

I smiled at my stupid thoughts, and whispered,

“Thank you, Daddy. You always know what I need, every time. Thank you for my whipping and letting me cum for you. But Daddy, I’m your virgin Princess, but I’m also your defenceless maiden. Please don’t whip me any more today, but use me any way you like so that you cum again, please. For me, Daddy.”

Deep in my heart I really wanted him to fuck me.

But he didn’t. Instead, he dropped the belt and climbed up on top of me. For a panicky moment I thought (hoped?) that he actually was going to ignore our unspoken decision about my virginity and fuck me for real, but instead he did something much dirtier, and although it was more dangerous, much more fun, well, for him, anyway.

He sat down on me with his legs on either side of my head and his full weight on my face. He shifted his position so as to place his anus right on my mouth and rocked forward on his pelvis so that his sticky balls were resting on my chin. The heat and the sweat and the smell between his legs were stifling. The salty taste of his sweat and his sexual fluids, and the acrid, bitter taste and smell of his arse filled my world.

I was completely blind and with my nose still blocked by my tears I could barely breathe, but I parted my lips enough to softly lick his dark bud. I pushed with my tongue and felt it enter him a little way, and then pursed my lips against him, my head moving just a little up and down as I lovingly kissed and licked his arsehole. With my mouth open, one of my teeth snagged one of the little hairs around his anus and it tugged loose, falling onto my tongue. I drew it into my mouth and swallowed it. I felt him change his position very slightly and was aware that he was moving rhythmically and starting to pant for breath. He was masturbating.

With my Daddy sitting naked on my face I was completely blind, but I realised that he was wanking as I slipped my tongue into his arsehole. His sphincter relaxed a little and I managed to force my tongue deeper into him, but I was really having trouble breathing. His full weight was pressing down on me, blocking my nose and mouth; I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding; I was drifting away. My heart was pounding as I struggled hopelessly against my bonds and fought for breath. I could feel myself passing out, but my Daddy was still sitting on my face, masturbating, oblivious to my difficulty.

Just as I drifted off into complete unconsciousness I felt his anus suddenly widen and my tongue pushed hard, deep into him, deep in to my Daddy’s arsehole. Then his anus clamped tight on my tongue again and I couldn’t even move my head anymore. I heard him shout… something, “Princess!” I think, and he was thrusting upwards with his hips, actually lifting my head up by my trapped tongue and banging it back down on the barrel as he came on my body again, his spasms again messing on my stomach with his hot, sticky spunk.

My Daddy was wanking on me, cumming on me, but then I was gone, sunk into the blackness, and the next thing I knew he was standing on the grass beside me, frantically unclipping me from the barrel, helping me to sit up, and my bladder had relaxed, and even as I felt him lift my body, I was pissing myself, a steady stream of my pale, sweet urine soaking my spread legs and the smooth curve of the wood between them.

Exhausted, I couldn’t stop pissing but let him help me to sit up anyway. By the time he had unclipped my feet and had me sitting up properly with my legs spread across the barrel, we were both soaked. I sat up straight and coughed a few times.

I looked up at the suddenly cloudy sky.

I whispered, “I’m okay, Daddy. Kiss me.”

Leaning against me as I sat, parched naked apart from my straps and my heels, my Daddy took me in his arms and kissed me softly on the lips, then held me tight as I slipped my tongue into his mouth.

Eventually we stopped for breath; I didn’t want to pass out again!

I looked up at the sky. It was cloudy, dark and grim for the first time in weeks.

I asked him, “Where did the sun go?” just as the first drops of cooling rain fell on to my exposed and abused body. A crack of lightning and the heavens opened, soaking us both with sheets freezing water direct from the stratosphere. The bitter water was painful and sexy and wonderfully cooling on my bruised young body, washing me clean, and washing us clean, not clean of our sin; neither of us see anything sinful in our love, but washing us clean for our pleasure.

“I think my heels will sink in to the grass, Daddy. You’ll have to carry me.”

And he did.

I love my Daddy. He whips me to hell and back, but protects me from getting my feet wet in the rain. He’s lovely.

Author’s note:

I hope you’ve found this chapter of my memoirs as exciting and stimulating as the others, and that you’ve been able to find it in your heart, and your balls, to be able to get stiff for me again. I love the thought that you might actually masturbate while you’re thinking about me and the events in these stories, all of which happened, just as I’m remembering them for you now, even if it was a few years ago.

But I really wish I could help you in person. Of course I’m older now than I am in these stories, but, like my Daddy, I look after myself, and I’m still tall, slim, & sexy; still a pretty good-looking brunette. Would you like to feel my slim hand round the shaft of your cock? I could tickle your balls with my tongue.

I’m afraid I might not let you whip me though. Normally only my sweet old Daddy, and my French girl friend, who is also my business partner, get to do that. Maybe you could watch.

Kiss.

The last whip of summer:

The end of summer: part one

After a couple of days I was becoming worried. I was very much looking forward to starting at design college in Seattle, but I also very much wanted to be whipped once more by my Daddy before I went.

As usual I’d needed at least a day for my body to recover from my last ordeal as the willing victim of my sweet Daddy’s violent sadism, so initially I didn’t really mind too much about the weather, but on the second day the weather was even worse! The wind rattled the windows and blew the garden furniture around, and the rain became even heavier and colder. As if that wasn’t enough, then the lightening started, huge dazzling flashes from cloud to cloud with enormous bass rumbles all around and deafening cracks of thunder exploding right overhead.

But the third day dawned and even though the sky was grey, the wind had dropped and the rain had stopped, at least for the moment, and by the time we’d finished our after lunch drinks and Daddy was stubbing out his Cohiba, the clouds were breaking up enough to allow some long periods of warm sunshine. The conditions were as good as they were going to get.

He went out and wiped down our barrel with the little leather cloth he normally used exclusively on his Merc, and I went up to the room that had been mine since I was a little girl. I dropped my dressing gown on my bed and, naked, picked up my wrist straps and carried them over to the window. In the silence the jingling sound they made as I put them on brought back all the delicious memories of my pain and of my sweating, weeping orgasms. They jingled again as I picked up a couple of hair clips and walked over to the mirror corner Daddy had created for me when I was just a little girl with a developing fascination in my own body, and with a wry smile I stood with my feet about shoulder width apart and looked at my reflection. Whatever else, I certainly wasn’t a little girl any more.

I put my hair up. Daddy and I both like it when he can see absolutely all of me, and I studied myself closely, nodding as I decided that I liked what I saw; at least I have nice teeth and with my broad lips I have a pretty smile.

Dear Reader, I think that most of you guys, and maybe some of you girls, would enjoy kissing me on the lips.

I finished fiddling with my hair and realised I was standing there grinning at myself like an idiot. My eyes wandered down my body and decided that my Daddy was right; my neck and shoulders are slim and quite sexy when they’re completely bare. Very kissable!

Then I cupped my breasts, one in each hand, loving their weight, the clips on my wrist straps cold across my stomach as I gave into temptation and played with my nipples for a moment, rolling them between my fingers and thumb and deliberately pinching them hard enough to make my eyes water. I’ll freely admit that I’m very proud of my breasts, although I suppose that they’re really too big for the rest of me, but they’re firm on my narrow chest even if they do sit quite wide apart, making them appear almost as broad as my hips from in front. They look good, no; they look lovely. They’re soft and very kissable. But what I like best about them, apart from their size, is that they’re smooth, and quite heavy in my cupped palms, and they yield easily to the touch of a finger, or a hand, or a tongue, or a belt.

I crossed the room again and put on the high-heeled sandals I always wore for my Daddy, and then strolled back to my dresser and picked up my ankle straps. They’re a little awkward to put on, so I squatted down over the floor mirror so that I could reach my ankles and have a look at the rest of me; the important bits, that is. So still squatting, I spread my legs a little further and looked down into the mirror on the floor, and teasing my labia apart with my fingertips, looking directly into my tight, young cunt; you do realise that without a mirror it’s impossible, and I watched as a rope of my wetness slowly swung down from the shining, wet lips of my cunt and slowly made its way down to land on its own reflection. Moving very carefully so as not to break this fragile symptom of my lust, I turned my toes inwards, straightened my back and reached behind me to ease the cheeks of my bottom apart.

Now, maybe I’m a strange girl, but I think my anus is very beautiful, and whilst it’s obvious that it’s there all the time, what is perhaps unusual is that I’m aware of it, all the time. Even now, as I go about my day-to-day, I constantly feel that deep between my arse cheeks I have a second pair of tiny, tight dark lips, and I would kiss if I could. My Daddy loves my anus too, and loves to kiss it.

Dear Reader, maybe you would like to kiss it for me too. I would love it if you could kiss and lick my sweet little arsehole as I sit here writing down my dirty little memories for your enjoyment. It would be my pleasure to hold my bottom cheeks apart for your gentle kisses and your soft tongue; maybe you would force your tongue into me like my Daddy does.

Mmm.

Sorry! Let’s get back to that summer in France.

I had to break the thick, viscous string of my arousal stretching down from my cunt to its reflection when I stood up and looked myself over once more, a tall, slim, tanned young brunette with big breasts, naked except for my high-heeled sandals and the jingling straps at my wrists and ankles. I took a deep breath as I felt those wonderful and exciting tensions begin in the pit of my stomach. Young and confident and ready for anything, with my hair piled on top of my head and the very tops of my thighs wet and shiny from the mucus ropes beginning to drip and swing from my excited cunt, my breasts swung free as, excited by my nakedness, I swung round to find my Daddy standing also naked, watching me from the door. In his bare feet I hadn’t heard him come upstairs; in his hands he carried his belt.

“Will I do, Daddy?”

He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“You’ll do, Princess, oh yes, I think you’ll do. Look at what you’re doing to me,” and he indicated his stiff cock standing free in front of his body; as I watched a bead of his fluid oozed from the slit at the very tip and trickled slowly down the shaft.

He came in to my room and wrapped his arms round me, his cock hard between our bare stomachs, and lovingly kissed me. He placed the belt round my body and buckled it in place so that it sat comfortably on my hips. My uniform was now complete, and strangely, I no longer felt naked. Daddy took my hand and held my arm above my head as I turned slowly in front of him on my heels, showing myself off to him; my Daddy, my lover, the master of the pain he was about to give me and I was about to offer him as a token of our painful and perverted love.

“Yes, Princess, you’ll do,” and with that he lead me by the hand, my wrists and ankles jingling as we walked hand in hand out through the door of my bedroom, down the wide stairs, and out to the garden, where our huge wine barrel lay on its side, solid in its cradle and with its massive varnished curves gleaming malevolently in the afternoon sun. It looked strong and mean and dangerous, a dark engine of depraved and evil pain. Suddenly nervous, I caught my breath. I would be a tiny and defenceless naked girl strapped against its massive flanks.

My Daddy spoke.

“The wet grass is too soft for your heels. I’ll carry you,” and turning me half towards him he put his left arm round my back and bent forward to scoop me up with the other. I put my arms round his neck and snuggled against him as we carefully set off, Daddy’s bare feet silent across the damp lawn. My bottom and my cunt lips brushed intoxicatingly against the tip of his bobbing erect cock as he carefully carried me to where I was to be tortured. I felt the heat of his sex against mine.

I whispered,

“You know you could have me if you want me, Daddy.”

“I know, Princess, I know...”

We had arrived at the huge wine barrel, the hot sun beating mercilessly down on our naked bodies. The sweat trickled down my back, and deep in my stomach the lovely tensions had become a hard knot in my abdomen. I squeezed my thighs together; like my back, they too were sticky with my sweat. He kissed my forehead and continued,

“..but here we are,” and he leant forward to allow me to step daintily from his arms and stand in front of him.

I unbuckled the belt and slipped it from my waist. Then I lifted my arms and with my unfettered breasts swaying freely between us I placed it over his head so that it was looped round the back of his neck, the two ends swinging across his chest.

Keeping his back straight, he then bent his knees a little and wrapped his arms round the backs of my thighs, just below the cheeks of my bottom. He tightened his grip and straightened up, and with his stiff cock pushing its way between my knees; he gently lifted me from the ground and laid me with my back against the barrel, its hard smooth wood warm against my sticky, sweating skin.

I stretched my arms out and he quickly clipped my wrists to the thick wire looped at either end of the barrel. With my sweat gluing me to the varnished wood and my stretched arms clipped tightly above me on either side, I was safely and securely held in place. Helpless, I tipped my head back and gazed straight up to the cloudless blue sky.

Crucified against the curving flank of our huge machine with my taut stomach stretched and my feet dangling above the grass, my full, soft breasts swayed freely, gently swinging from side to side as I tried to control my rapid, nervous breathing, to pull more of the warm soothing summer air into my lungs by breathing slowly and deeply. But crucified as I was against the curving wood, and my stomach a knot of fear, all I could think about was that my big hard nipples were without doubt the most prominent part of my otherwise slim body, and my Daddy was about to whip them. My attempts at self control collapsed and I caught my breath as I recognised the completely exposed and vulnerable position my silly, inventive, schoolgirl mind had engineered for the punishment I was about to endure.

But not yet; in order to open me up to his attack even more, and to hold me even more securely in place, my Daddy separated my legs and then lifted my calves one by one, spreading my legs far apart and clipping my ankles to the wire loops at either end of the barrel, almost directly below my wrists. My legs were thus stretched far, far apart, wider than I would have thought possible, until they were almost horizontal. With my broad arse thrust forward and my sweating body bent back across the curved surface, my cunt now gaped, the lips completely open and almost as prominently exposed as my breasts.

Believe it or not, I actually giggled at that point when I realised that I did in fact have to thank my mean old games mistress at school for something after all. If she hadn’t forced me to become a member of the school swimming team, with all the extra swimming and weight training, even at the age of seventeen I would never have been able to spread my legs so wide and in that position. If they could see me now…

“Princess...”

My Daddy’s voice rescued me from my unpleasant memories of upper sixth sport in an English girls’ school. Even being whipped by him is a lot better than playing hockey in February, let me tell you. I lifted my head enough to watch as he stood admiring my young body, helplessly spread-eagled and naked for his pleasure and mine. My heart started to pound and the hard knot in my stomach threatened to stop me breathing.

“Princess, you look so beautiful.”

I blinked in disbelief. I looked so beautiful?

I could have believed it if he’d said I looked so raunchy, so sexy, so vulnerable, defenceless, spread open and completely exposed to his evil attack. Yes. I could have gone along with all of that. But I certainly didn’t feel beautiful, I suddenly just felt naked and scared and fragile and very frightened. But I didn’t feel in the least beautiful.

All of which I suppose just proves that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Of course, maybe if you’d been there, dear Reader, you too would’ve said I was beautiful, with my young body stretched tight, strapped naked across our barrel, waiting to have my big, soft, sexy breasts with their dark areolas and erect nipples brutally whipped. Maybe you too would have seen beauty in the sight of me clipped tightly across the huge torture device I’d invented. Maybe you too would have seen beauty as you waited to watch me sweat and squirm when the square hard leather tip of the belt I’d given to my Daddy punched into my soft flesh, and maybe you too would have seen beauty as you waited to hear me scream when I felt the shock of it crack against my tanned skin, burning into my core and the hurt of it making me cry.

Because I knew that I was going to cry; deep down I knew that I wanted my Daddy to show his love for me by making me cry. It was why I’d given him the belt as half of a present, the other half being me, any and every part of me, for him to use the belt on. I’d presented myself to him; he had all of my young, slim body to use as a target to hit with the stiff leather belt, to whip me for his pleasure and as a release for his depraved and sadistic sexual desires.

“Daddy,” I whispered, “Make me cry and make me cum.”

And with my heart pounding and a brick of fear in my stomach I tipped back against the slope of our barrel, and closed my eyes, and waited, completely defenceless and exposed for him to abuse for his enjoyment.

I waited in the warm sunshine for my Daddy to whip my bare breasts.

The first flick of the square leather belt tip smacked into my left nipple with a sharp crack. I was too surprised to scream, I merely jerked my eyes wide open and grunted deep in my throat as instinct kicked in and I struggled to soothe my stinging flesh with my hands. I was strapped in place; I could do absolutely nothing to protect myself or to even comfort myself. The full enormity of my complete defencelessness was vividly brought home to me as I watched my Daddy stand comfortably in front of me with an easy smile on his face, taking his time with his erect cock swaying in front of his body to carefully aim at the same nipple.

I could only watch, wide eyed in my sweating fear as the wicked leather snaked towards my shrinking flesh, the stinging tip coming closer and closer until it once again smacked into the my soft, yielding breast. Then another sharp crack; both my nipples were on fire.

I gasped, and struggled to contain the pain as my Daddy pulled the belt back and once again carefully aimed it at me, and once again I watched helplessly as the leather snaked towards me, its tip curling away from me until the very last split second when it viciously flicked round with all the weight of my Daddy’s arm behind it and it punched deep into the soft mound of its target, burying my erect nipple and its surrounding areola in a pool of sharp agony that exploded across my body.

This time I screamed, a real, full-throated, heart-felt scream that echoed off the garden walls.

Thank God! It started me breathing again!

The belt was becoming suppler as it flexed and warmed up, its tip becoming even more vicious as time and time again it spat its venom against me, the weight of the leather punching deep into me again and again, flattening my breasts hard against my chest; the weight of the blows forcing the breath from my body. Daddy’s arm was loosening up as he settled into a leisurely rhythm, hitting me harder and harder as he sent the belt snaking towards me, the square tip eagerly seeking its soft, defenceless targets.

I hated that damned square belt tip; it was killing me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off it; I could only watch as it flew through the warm summer air towards me, carrying the full strength of my attacker’s arm to bring pain to my sweating, tortured body.

I lost all sense of style and control and dignity and simply screamed with every impact.

My nipples felt as though red-hot knitting needles were being twisted into them and through them and then wrenched out and rammed back in. I stared down at them in horror, expecting to see blood, but I suppose seventeen-year-old girls are tougher than they look. My dark nipples were a deep, glowing red and hurt like hell, but they were somehow undamaged, and anyway, this was just the beginning; so far the silky skin of the full soft mass of my breasts was untouched. I realised that there was still a long way to go.

I attempted the ultimate schoolgirl defence; I started to cry.

Through my tears I watched my Daddy stop, look deep into my tear filled eyes, and then with an even bigger smile, take his usual unhurried aim at my heaving, sobbing chest, and the belt once again snaked towards me. His cock shone with the streaks of his excitement that trickled from it and it was even stiffer than it had been. Crying as I was being whipped had proved to be no defence; it had only made my Daddy more determined and his cock even more erect! In my pain and fear, I could actually hear my heart thud in panic in my chest.

But actually I couldn’t stop crying; my body was in pain and my mind was in chaos. Between my deep shuddering sobs I fought for breath, struggling to fill my lungs with the soothing summer air, fighting the agony from the dark mass of burning pain which was all that was left of the once delicate tips of my now wrecked breasts.

You have to remember that with my back spread tightly across the curve of the barrel, my breasts were even more exposed than if I simply strip and stand up straight, so that when he took a step to his right, turned slightly so that he was till facing me, and lifted the belt higher than before, he was easily able to bring it down hard across the fleshy tops of both of them, the last five or six inches of leather smacking heavily across the smooth unmarked upper slope of the my left breast, and the tip, that wicked, evil, square leather tip, landing on the corresponding part of its fragile partner in pain.

The tears were streaming down my face and blocking my nose and choking in my throat; and the sweat was streaming down all over my shining, young body, but my Daddy looked cool and relaxed and in control. He was still smiling and simply enjoying hitting both of my breasts at the same time. My soft, sweet body burned with the fire of his punishment.

Howling like the cornered animal that I was, and crying continuously in my pain wracked, sweating helplessness, I could only watch through my tears as my Daddy moved half a step and carefully lifted his arm to hit me again, again bringing the leather cracking down across my soft mounds and causing yet another deep red stripe to spring to life on my shining, dripping flesh. This time the square belt tip curled even more wickedly round my soft contours, and planted its fiery kiss deep in the soft flesh of the side of my breast, forcing a path deep into me, crushing the breath from my lungs. The leather dug deep into me and seemed to grip my skin as he deliberately rasped the belt back across my abused skin as though he was trying to rip my breasts from my chest.

It was agony. I howled in pain and sobbed uncontrollably. I was staring with unbelieving eyes down at my tortured skin, completely lost in my pain and my desolation, when he took me by surprise; he whipped me in exactly the same way again, and again, and again…. and again. The pain was beyond belief and my lovely big, soft, kissable, tanned breasts, which were created to be looked at, and to be admired, and then to be gently stroked, squeezed, fondled, licked, were simply tortured masses of hideous red lines and weals and pain as they swung helplessly on my body.

My Daddy’s cock looked enormous! Droplets of his excitement flew from its tip as it swayed stiffly in front of his stomach; a shiny wet semicircle of his fluids showed where his cock had repeatedly bounced back against his abdomen as it freely swung about as his arm lifted for each stroke of the belt. Even his balls seemed to have grown so much that he had to spread his legs to accommodate them!

The pain was complete, filling my body and my mind.

I felt my grip on reality sliding away; I was beginning to see the world through a pale pink haze. The world began to fade before my eyes, to slide away on a sea of pain to a distant and remote place, and it was merely interesting, in a detached way, to observe my Daddy once again standing directly in front me, and to see the belt once again come snaking towards me in slow motion. It swept lazily through the hot summer air, closer and closer, until it jerked out of my reverie with a shriek as it cracked into me, smacking the breath out of my lungs one more time.

Christ! It hurt. It seemed that my whole body hurt. The brick that had filled my stomach an irrelevance in the face of the reality of what was being done to me. I was back in the here and now with a vengeance as both my breasts swayed and shuddered and smarted and stung and hurt; I hurt more than I could imagine, I hurt more than I could bear. I hurt too much for it to go on. But I had no choice. I shook my head and shouted and screamed and cried as the hard strap of leather advanced implacably towards me once again, punching the breath out of me as it cracked into my tender and aching body.

Then suddenly, with just a final sob, my tears dried up. I had no feelings left, only the pain. I had no breath left, only the pain, I had no tears left, only the pain. I couldn’t cry any more. I merely hung there, crucified, stretched and naked across the curve of the hard, hot wood in the French summer sun as my sweet, loving Daddy whipped my breasts with his belt.

Then at last I felt something change deep in my body.

You will have noticed that I’ve told you how the size of Daddy’s cock bore witness to his hugely obvious sexual excitement, but so far I haven’t mentioned any sexual excitement of my own during this vicious punishment.

That’s because so far, there hadn’t been any.

So far I had only been hurt; in fact from the very first stroke of the belt I hadn’t been even remotely excited sexually, I had been in way too much pain for that. I was merely hanging there, and only just hanging on to my sanity; it was my loving duty to be a tightly strapped naked plaything for my Daddy, a toy, a weeping, pain wracked object for him to torture as an afternoon diversion. For this time the only purpose I was allowed was to entertain and excite him by squirming and screaming and crying and hurting and sweating and, at last, dripping from between my legs!

Through the deep red haze that coloured my vision and my thoughts, such as they were, I stared at his cock again, and suddenly found myself savouring a warm, wanton feeling which dissolved the brick in my stomach and warmed me deep in my cunt. His cock was huge; the shaft streaked with his dripping fluids, his balls huge and hard between his parted thighs. I stared at my Daddy’s rampant body, and I felt proud.

I did that.

Offering myself to this prolonged torture and enduring this agonising torment had made my Daddy’s cock huge, hard, and ready to penetrate me! The heat of my love for him grew from deep within me, and as much as I could I flexed my pelvis against my bonds, writhing my arse cheeks against the flanks of our barrel and breathing in the warm French summer air with its unmistakeable smell of my own sex. All this pain was not wasted; I could feel my orgasm start, way down, low down in my stomach where my bladder pressed against my abdomen; right down between my legs.

Another breath of summer air drifted gently past me, redolent of the sweet, dirty smells my own cunt. With my tears drying on my face I managed a half-hearted smile as I looked into my Daddy’s eyes and the belt I’d given him snaked towards me again

“Daddy,” I croaked.

“Daddy, mmh!” The thud as the leather bit into me stopped me talking. I cleared my throat and tried again, but was again cut short by the belt as it cracked yet again across both my breasts.

“Daddy. I love you.”

He stopped, and took one last, lingering look at my brutally tortured body, my big, soft, beautiful, abused breasts, then stepped towards me and placed the belt round my neck, the two ends hanging free in my body exactly as I had hung it round his neck so long ago; just before he’d clipped me in place and started to whip me with it. I lifted my lips to his as he pressed his naked body against mine and kissed me, his tongue deep in my mouth. With his left hand on the back of my neck he steadied my head, pressing our smiling lips together, and with the other reached down between us and I groaned deep in my throat with the wanton pleasure of it as I felt his fingers glide easily over and between the lips of my gaping cunt. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against my soaking pubic hair as his fingers delicately played with my labia, teasing my clitoris and its little hood, teasing us both with the notion that he might give in to what was after all our hearts’ desire by entering me, deflowering me first with his fingers, then with his cock.

Then he took my breath away. He did enter me!

Between my splayed legs his searching fingers pressed tightly against me as they slowly moved my cunt, then, sticky with my viscous sweetness, they moved on, gliding easily over my perineum to gently stroke the dark, tight bud of my anus, circling it with increasing insistence as I rocked my pelvis forward as much as I could, doing my best to offer him my arsehole by thrusting it back against his hand as yet another part of me for him to play with. I gently pushed from within my bowels, easing my rosebud lips out towards him and I held my breath as his finger slid easily in to me. My Daddy had entered me! I relaxed my control and my anus wrapped itself tightly round his finger like a sweet little mouth with a lollipop, drawing him deeper into me. We hardly breathed as he gently stroked me with his finger, pushing it deeper and deeper into my willing, eager arsehole.

“On my tummy, Daddy,” I breathed, “Like the first time.”

Speechless, he nodded his agreement. His cock was hard with the excitement of the absolutely brutal whipping he had just inflicted on my poor, damaged breasts, and with his finger deep in my arse and his other curled finger tips resting against my tightly stretched sphincter, he pressed it against me, squeezing it between our sweating stomachs. He flexed his knees, leant his whole body against me, fiercely bending me back between the curving rock of our wooden barrel and the pole-like hard place of his stiff cock, and masturbated against my willing young body as I hung there, immobile and totally helpless against his onslaught, a soft, slippery surface for him to pleasure himself against! I squealed in pain as the buckle of the belt that was still hanging round my neck dug into my poor, tortured breasts. He grabbed the end of the belt and threw it to the ground.

Then he was thrusting against my soft flesh like a wild beast, his cock desperately digging into me as deep as it could against my taut, stretched stomach. I did my best to help him cum by allowing him the soft access to me that he craved by trying to relax my stomach muscles, but really what I wanted was him inside me! Clipped in place like a wonderfully dirty, wildly sexual pagan crucifix with spread legs, all I could do to help him was to press my lips even harder against his and kiss him lovingly, slipping my soft tongue into his mouth with a quiet moan.

There was a grunt deep in his throat and I felt his movements become even more frantic, and then with a triumphant shout he threw his head back, and still rutting hard against me, his cock erupted all over me, spraying his sperm between us as our shining, sweat soaked stomachs slid up and down, his sperm and our combined sweat a sticky mess on our skin that smacked noisily between us in the wild paroxysm of our filthy, depraved lust. He continued to push into me and I willingly pushed back and licked inside his mouth and did everything I could to excite him with my young body and my soft tongue and my willing, dirty mind.

He thrust against me, his finger still stroking me deep in my most secret place, my anus in tight spasm round his knuckle, as I forced my slim, soft stomach against his abdomen, holding my breath and pushing my diaphragm out against his still pistoning cock as it thrust violently up and down between us, trapped between our dirty, sticky, shining, sweating bodies; held in place for ever by our dirty minds.

Sadly his brutal spasms gradually exhausted themselves and us, and eventually, with both of us still breathing heavily, he came to a complete stop, and his once proud cock started to slip down between us. He moved to disentangle our bodies.

“Please don’t take your finger out of me, Daddy,” I whispered. “I love it. I wish it could be there forever.”

And so we stayed there, his cock limp as it dribbled the last of his cum down my abdomen while his finger gently stroked deep inside my arse and my tongue licked round inside his mouth; joined as one, united in our filthy exhaustion. Gradually our heartbeats slowed as one to a normal rhythm and I shut my eyes and cried, for love this time. It was a sweet moment.

But I’d had no orgasm.

The sweat and cum on our bodies cooled and we both shuddered as a cold breeze blew over our exhausted, damp bodies. We looked up. The blue sky had long since disappeared, to be replaced once again by dark, threatening clouds. It started to rain. Daddy straightened up and stretched across to unclip my ankles, the movement dragging his now soft cock across my slippery stomach. A final drop of his cum oozed out on to me and he squirmed in a tiny last moment of pleasure.

He looked at me, “I love you, Princess.”

I looked deep into his eyes, “And I love you, Daddy.”

He looked at me, slightly surprised.

“How can you still love me, after what I’ve just done to you?”

Even though my breasts were still on fire, I had to laugh.

“My dear, sweet Daddy. I love you and I trust you.” I was nodding my head for emphasis as I made each point. “I’m happy to let you do anything to me that you want to do, anything.”

He looked at me sceptically.

“Tell you what, unclip me and I’ll prove it to you, right here, right now, in the rain.”

A dismal, mild drizzle had set in, so he carefully unclipped me, first my ankles, then my wrists, and he carefully set me down on the soft, wet lawn. The grass was soaking and my heels sank in immediately, and I staggered slightly, roughly rubbing my abused breasts against him. I cried out in pain and he steadied me by the arm and looked at me, wondering what was to happen next. I reached up behind my head, found the clips, and undid my dark hair, shaking my head to spread it over my shoulders.

“Daddy, I love you and let you do anything you want to me. It’s been ages since we finished lunch, you must need a pee. Lay me down on my back on your feet, yes, on the cold, wet grass, and piss all over me.”

He didn’t argue. We’d played piss games before, but never so formally. It was as though we were animals and he was staking his claim, marking me as being his territory, his property, more his bitch than his daughter. My breasts hurt like hell and my back was stiff because it had been bent unnaturally back for so long, but with Daddy’s help I lay down, naked in the rain on the wet grass at his feet, spread my legs wide and smiled up at him.

I’d been right. He did need a pee, and he simply stood beside me and pissed on me, not touching his cock, but turning his body from side to side to cover me in his warm, golden spray, soaking my whole body. He soaked my thighs, my pubic hair, my stomach and my poor, sore, whipped breasts, and then he pissed on my face. I opened my mouth but had to shut my eyes as he very deliberately pissed on my head, making sure that he soaked my hair. I lay there, luxuriating in the tantalizing combination of his hot piss and the cold, cold rain as they mingled indiscriminately on my body.

The last drop dribbled from him onto my stomach, and I suddenly shuddered with cold.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“No! Thank you, Princess.”

A cold wind blew. I was soaking with my own cooled sweat, and Daddy’s cum and his piss were cooling on me too, and it was raining. I was naked, wet, and freezing, and lying on the cold, wet grass. I lifted my hands to him,

“Help me up, Daddy?”

He took my hands and helped me to my feet. More of his cooling piss dripped from my hair and soaked my back and my shoulders as I stood up. We both shivered, giggling naked in the sudden storm.

“This’ll keep you warm,” he laughed, and bending down, picked up the belt and buckled it back round my waist. Then he bent to pick me up to carry me back to the house.

I laughed; I’d proved my point. Only a seventeen-year-old girl could care about that at a time like that!

“Are you sure you want to touch me, Daddy? I’m a very filthy little girl today!”

“No, darling. You’re a very filthy little Princess.”

“But,” I thought, as he carried me back to the house, “Not only am I a very filthy little Princess, but I’m a filthy little Princess who needs to cum, and soon!”

So, my dear Reader, that’s the end of part one of “The End of Summer.”

I’m sure that had you been there you’d have been much too much of a gentleman to leave me in that state of frustrated excitement. I know I’m stamping my foot like an ungrateful schoolgirl again, but I think you’ll agree that I’d earned an orgasm. I’d love to know how you might have satisfied me at this point in my tale.

There’s only the second part of all this to go before my memories of that wonderful summer in France to come to an end. I had to go back home to study industrial design, would you believe, which was very exciting, but I was sure that I would miss my Daddy and his wicked pleasures. Perhaps you would have liked to look after me as I started my new life, young and alone in what was really a very strange country to me, for all that I was born there?

The last whip of summer:

The end of summer: part two

Daddy had just finished whipping my breasts and pissing on me, all at my invitation, of course, and he helped me to my feet, but the warm summer weather had disappeared again and we both stood there in his secluded country garden in France, shivering and naked in the rain. He picked me up and I put my arms round his neck and snuggled against him as he carried me back to the warmth of the kitchen, where he carefully set me down on my feet.

Even though he’d just brutally beaten me; my tear streaked face and the overlapping weals on my breasts bearing witness to the single-minded ferocity of his attack, my Daddy’s a very sweet man, so even though he enjoys whipping me and making me cry, he is also capable of great love and tenderness, so he did a very sweet thing for me. He could see that I was absolutely exhausted so he unfastened my wrist straps and then got down on his knees at my feet and took my shoes and ankle straps off for me. With a sigh I ran my fingers through his hair; it was a relief to be completely naked again.

Then he lead me by the hand to the bathroom, ran the shower for me, and washed me, carefully, shampooing my hair for me as he used to all those years ago, as though I was a sweet, innocent little girl again. It was wonderful; I just stood there and let him take care of me and pamper me. Then he dried me, being very gentle and taking great care not to hurt me, especially when he was drying my breasts. Then he wrapped me in a huge, warm white towelling dressing gown and I sat on the edge of the bath and watched as he had a quick shower, dried himself, and wrapped a towel round his waist.

We walked hand-in-hand back to the kitchen as a succession of bright flashes told us that the storm outside had stopped grumbling and had become a ferocious, living thing again. My sandals and my straps lay in a heap on the tiled floor. Everything was wet and filthy, greasy with rainwater, mud, his cum, our combined congealed sweat, and his piss.

Daddy turned to me. “I don’t think we can use this lot again, Princess, and the belt’s still lying out there in the rain, but in this weather it can just stay there. Anyway, all of this old stuff’s all for the trash I’m afraid.”

“But Daddy…”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I have some presents for you in the dining room.”

I love surprise presents, so I trotted through, and there on the table was a parcel about the size of a shoebox. I tore off the wrapping and opened the lid. Inside was a brand new pair of black patent high-heeled sandals and some other packages. The shoes had a much higher heel that the girlish ones we’d just trashed; these were real sexy, grown-up woman’s shoes with a slight platform. I slipped my toes under the one thin strap, and found I was effectively on tiptoe, the front of my foot continuing the vertical line of my shin, right down to where this single, thin strap crossed my toes. A thin T-strap buckled at my ankle, and that was it. Wearing these, my feet would be to all intent and purposes completely bare. I put on the other on but when I tried to stand I found the heels much higher than I was used to and I had to steady myself on my Daddy’s shoulder. We both giggled.

He walked beside me across to the hall and back as I tottered along unsteadily, hanging on to his shoulder. There was an extra bright flash of lightning and an immediate crack of thunder; I stumbled and almost fell over, grabbing for support at his towel, which fell off him and landed in a heap on the floor as he caught me easily under my arms. We ignored the towel; if he’d bent to pick it up I really would’ve fallen over!

I tried walking again, and almost fell over again, then my brain clicked into gear as I realised that I was trying too hard to be sexy in my new heels. The French girls do it effortlessly; they just walk, and trust the design of the shoes to do the work of making them look sexy! I drew myself up to my full height and rocked my pelvis forward, pushing my stomach and my arse out in opposite directions. I tried walking on my own, and found that if I let my full weight rest on my heels and rolled my hips as I walked, and proceeded with care, I was okay without my Daddy’s support; anyway, I loved the deep, solid click as each heel hit the wooden floor.

I turned to him and kissed him. In these heels I was the same height as him!

“They’re fabulous, Daddy, just fabulous!” And I kissed him again.

“It takes my breath away, Princess. You look wonderful, tall and slim.”

I kissed him again, my tongue deep in his throat and my hips grinding against him. Remember, I was in my dressing gown but he was naked, and although he’d just cum all over me, the rain had cut things short before I’d reached anything like the peak of intensity that I so avidly sought. There was still an urgent need deep in my body. It was definitely time to lead him on again, just like the early days, so like a bitch in season I shamelessly ground my hips against his naked body and felt his cock begin to stiffen again.

He cleared his throat.

“Don’t forget the other packages, darling,” and he lead me by the hand back to the table.

There were two other packages. The big one contained a set of shiny new wrist and ankle straps. I kissed him again and eagerly slipped my dressing gown off, and buckled on the wrist straps while he knelt at my feet and put the ankle straps on me, just above the thin straps of my new shoes. They were made of much finer leather than the old ones, and were padded, so they were much more comfortable. Their clips were bigger and brighter and looked easier to fasten, and they jingled even more that the old ones had as I paraded round the room, lifting my hair and pirouetting to show off my naked body and my new clothes.

I have never felt sexier!

The last package was waiting for me. I was pretty sure that I knew what would be in it and I wasn’t disappointed; a new belt, thick, hard, black patent, with a bright silver buckle.

I suddenly felt quite tearful. These gifts were just another sign of his life-long never-ending generosity towards me, which I’d always tried to repay by being a “good” girl, and more recently by being his “dream” girl, and I was about to abandon him and fly away over the Atlantic to study. I would miss him and I was afraid that he would be lonely.

Naked except for my shiny new black and silver finery, I took the belt with both hands and knelt at my father’s feet, and with my back straight and my breasts swaying freely I kissed it, and with tears trickling from the corners of my eyes, I held it up to him.

“Daddy, this is for you. Use it on me. It is yours, and I am yours, always.”

He smiled down at me; a moment of peace and stillness, until the house once again shook and rattled with the ferocity of the storm outside.

“Don’t cry, Princess. It’s a gift for both of us.” He stopped, helped me to my feet, and looked at me speculatively, “but I would like something in return…” he stopped, suddenly nervous.

He’s always diffident when he wants something particularly dirty.

“What can I do for you, Daddy?”

He looked at me, tall and tanned and naked except for my bright new finery, and said

“I’ll bet there’s one thing you could easily give me right now, Princess. Your bladder must be full. You haven’t had a chance to pee since lunch.”

I could immediately see where this was going. As you’ll have gathered, my Daddy and I are pretty intimate; we even know when the other has to use the bathroom, and of course, as soon as he mentioned it I suddenly had to go, real bad!

It’s wonderful, dear Reader, to be so close and so intimate and so loving with another person in that way. Would you like to get to know me so well as that too?

He continued, suddenly serious.

“You can give me the gift of your sweet piss, Princess, direct from you to me.”

And so it was. In a deliberate and almost respectful silence, punctuated only by the raging storm outside, and with his cock once again swaying in front of his stomach, my Daddy, naked except for the shiny black new belt he’d buckled round himself, padded across the room and lay down on his back on the cool wooden floor of his dining room. I, his Princess, also naked except for my new leather finery, stepped over him to kneel on either side of his upturned face and lowered my cunt to his mouth.

Just as I was about to smother him with my sex he whispered up to me,

“Do it slow, Princess. I don’t want to lose any.”

“Sure, Daddy.”

And with that, I sat down on his face, my full weight pressing my naked cunt hard against his lips; I squirmed in delight as I felt his nose just brush my anus and his tongue glide over my hymen to torment my urethra as I released my bladder, and with no preamble or delay, carefully pissed in his mouth.

His lips were sealed against my cunt; between us we didn’t spill a drop as I slowly emptied myself into him, giving him time to swallow each mouthful, and from time to time flexing my pelvis to tip my hip bones forward just enough to lift my anus clear so he could grab another breath through his nose before he greedily gulped down yet another mouthful of my hot piss. As I sat there, rocking slowly back and forth, naked on my Daddy’s face while he drank my piss straight from my body, his tongue licked between my labia, stroked my clitoris, caressed my hymen, reached back almost to my perineum as I emptied my bladder into him.

I watched in fascination as his chest and stomach rose and fell as he breathed and swallowed, breathed and swallowed, swallowing every drop of my gift to him, which must have been rich and strong, full of flavour, but Daddy loved it, and just lay there, naked on his back with his erect cock pointing to the ceiling, swallowing every drop of his naked daughter’s hot, sweet piss!

What a family!

I was becoming more and more aware that whilst my Daddy had had a great afternoon, whipping me before cumming all over my stomach, I’d endured a lot of pain and not much else. Don’t get me wrong; I was my Daddy’s daughter, there primarily for his pleasure, of course, but I did feel it was “my turn”, and as I sat on his face and pissed in his mouth, my logical schoolgirl mind told me that there was only one way to go.

All through the summer I’d proved to both of us that I’d achieved my best orgasms when I was hurt, and despite all the theories about “subspace”, etc. (I’d done some constructive research when I wasn’t just lying by the pool or being strapped to the barrel!), I knew in my heart, and my mind, and elsewhere in my body, that for me the equation was simple. More pain equals more orgasm - end of story!

I looked around the dining room, searching for inspiration. Nothing. I looked out of the window. The storm was shaking the glass again so there was nothing going to happen for me out there. Then I thought about the big dining table beside us and looked down at myself, at my beautiful sexy new shoes and my new straps and suddenly I had a plan! I gulped when I thought for even a moment about the torture I was about to instigate for my self, but it felt right. It was the logical (schoolgirl thought again) conclusion to our dirty summer of our excitement and my pain.

My bladder was empty and I cautiously raised myself up. I didn’t have to wipe myself because my Daddy had kissed my cunt one more time and licked me clean and dry; then I heard him smack his lips as he flicked his tongue round his mouth, savouring the last taste of my sweet golden liquid. I stood up tall and straight and naked in my new shoes with my feet still on either side of his head. A flash from outside illuminated the room.

“Daddy, we can’t go outside in this. Put a couple of cushions on the dining table, one on top of the other.”

He got to his feet and placed a couple of cushions from the huge sofa on the table.

“That’s it; now help me climb up. I promise I won’t scratch the wood with my new heels.”

And my Daddy obediently helped me to first climb up and then to sit down on the small pile of cushions. With my feet dangling towards the floor he steadied me as I carefully lay down across the table, flat on my back so that my head tipped backwards off the far edge. I felt my big, sore breasts separate on my chest and rest against my upper arms, which I’d let flop down by my side; my hands, and more to the point, my wrists with their jingling straps rested on the wood, just beside my hips.

“Daddy, lift my legs up one at a time and clip my ankles to my wrists.”

He understood my plan immediately, clever man, and quickly lifted my right foot up on to the table and clipped it to my right wrist. In a moment he’d done the same with my left foot and wrist, and there I was, lying flat on my back, naked across the dining table, with my arse raised high up on the two cushions, and my knees bent so that my feet were flat on the wooden surface beside my hips.

Clipped together as I was in this position, my legs naturally spread themselves wide apart as my knees flopped outwards; the secret, dirty places between them now anything but secret. With my arse raised on the small pile of cushions, and my ankles pulled close to my hips, I knew that my cunt and my sweet little anus were pointing to the ceiling, completely exposed, completely on display to my Daddy’s avid gaze.

But I wanted him to be in absolutely no doubt as to what I wanted, so I carefully stretched my arms apart across the flat surface, dragging my feet and legs with them. I actually remembered to take some care to not scratch the wood with my new heels! The arc through which my wrists travelled meant that my legs, joined as they were to my wrists, were not only spread wide apart, but had to bend back at the knees even more, squeezing my calves hard against my thighs so that my dirty places were even more exposed and vulnerable.

I was young, with a fit young girl’s flexible body, so I was reasonably comfortable when my knees flopped even further open until they were almost resting on the table. My pubic mound, with it’s little thatch of dark hair, was the highest part of my body, and my upward facing cunt and arsehole were the most exposed the had ever been, the most exposed that it was possible for them to be; open to my Daddy’s gaze, and completely vulnerable, waiting, with no protection and defence for what was about to happen

I looked down the length of my splayed, naked body at my Daddy. He was standing at my feet, drinking in the vision of depraved and dirty loveliness that I presented to him. His cock was huge again, standing stiff in front of his stomach; he had already started to unbuckle the belt from round his naked waist, so I think he knew what I was about to say.

I smiled up at him.

“Daddy, it’s time. Take our bright new belt, wrap it once round your fist, and whip me between my legs – for real. Daddy, please whip my cunt.

And so he did.

But first he took a half step back, and with an easy motion swung the belt up so that the tip rested directly on my pubic hair. I closed my eyes and waited, but not for long! I felt the belt lift off me, and then almost immediately come crashing back down on the hard bone of my pelvis, my scant, girlish pubic hair offering me no protection as I felt the belt bounce off me, only to come back down, even harder this time. With clenched teeth I kept my mouth tightly shut, but my contracting diaphragm forced the noisily through my flaring nostrils. Sweat suddenly glistened all over my body and I felt my eyes water; crying already?”

The second crack of the thick, hard tip smacking into the thin and stretched flesh of my pubic mound was deafening; the only thing louder was my scream when I lost control as he lifted his arm again and whipped me for the third time in exactly the same place; that part of my body where the soft, thin padding over my pelvis could most easily be forced aside by the impact of the flailing leather as it thudded and punched and smacked against my shrinking skin.

My tears trickled back from the corners of my eyes; I sobbed and choked but I was already becoming excited and my legs fell open even more and I lifted my hips from the cushions on which they rested and I offered myself to my Daddy; I offered my body to my Daddy, I offered my pain to my Daddy. He nodded in approval and lifted his arm again and smacked the leather down again and again, each time, it seemed, driving it harder and harder against my body, each time, it seemed to punch into the part of my red and tormented flesh it had smacked into just a second before.

He stopped and surveyed the deep red glow of my skin through the thin covering of hair at the top of my legs. He stretched forward a hand and stroked me gently with his fingers where his belt had punched into me, then he stooped low and kissed me there too, rubbing his face and chin against my tormented flesh, kissing me and licking me on the very place where seconds before he had been whipping me. The touch of his lips and his tongue and his face were a soothing antidote to my pain; I felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of my rich, aromatic fluids pour from my cunt and trickle down over my perineum to disappear into the rich, dark world, deep between my arse cheeks where my little anus lives. It tickled, but I hurt too much and too urgently to laugh, I had no silly old song to hum.

Then he walked round beside me, his stiff cock once again bobbing in front of him, the thick rope of his mucus swinging from its tip, and took up his position beside my knee.

The stillness of the room was once again shattered by a blinding flash overhead, followed by an almost complete silence, in which my Daddy whispered to me.

“I’ve always loved your thighs, Princess.”

Through my tears I smiled bravely up at him, at least I tried to smile, and I can only hope I looked brave as he prepared to whip the softest, most pale and in some ways the most sensitive and fragile flesh on my body. The leather glinted evilly against my shining, sweating body as he laid the weight of the belt along the length of my thigh; the tip just inched short of my dripping cunt.

Over the summer he’d learned the value of making me wait; he knew that if he delayed from time to time, the anticipation made me (and still does, even though he’s played this trick on me many times over the years) tense myself in fear of the blow that is about to fall.

It certainly worked this time; the shrinking flesh on the insides of my thighs tightened up and almost went in to involuntary spasm, as I lay there, naked, waiting for the pain to continue.

Then he flicked the belt high in the air and brought it arcing down on to me with a snaking movement so that the main weight of the leather burned a path of pain the length of my thigh and the tip punched in at the last like a blow from a fist that smacked and cracked as though the lightning outside had set fire to the soft flesh, the softest flesh at the very top of my leg, a bare inch from my cunt. I shrieked! I screamed! I howled! I cried, as my cunt gushed its goodness out all over the sweet square of skin between it and my arsehole, soaking my anus afresh with the aromatic fluids of my excitement.

The sweat was dripping form me but I managed to get my cries and screams under control, and I lay there and sobbed huge wracking sobs as I watched my Daddy take careful aim once again, and whip the wicked belt down the length of my thigh and punch its hard tip into the same tormented flesh of my pale inner thigh. The pain was once again incandescent in its ferocity and I realised that my head was tossing from side to side and I was shouting,

“No, Daddy! No!”

But he ignored my cries; I was lifting my body to meet the next crack of the whip, welcoming it with spread legs and burning pain and choking tears and he whipped me over and over, with each stroke the belt tip creeping ever closer to my sex, to my labia, to my dripping cunt. My mind was in as big a mess as my body, a complete confusion, the complete turmoil of wanting desperately to be whipped on my cunt and of wanting desperately not to be whipped there. I was in acute pain, but a huge sexual excitement was building my body and the sweat of my pain was indistinguishable from the sweat of my growing sexual delirium, the gasps of my wracking sobs indistinguishable from my howls of lust and the desire to be whipped on the cunt by my Daddy until I came or I died and I didn’t really care which.

He stopped again.

“Don’t make me wait, please, don’t make me wait. I’m too scared to wait.”

He looked at me sharply and I realised that I’d actually spoken out loud. I smiled a weak, tear-filled apology as he looked down at me as he crossed to stand beside my other knee.

“Ready, Princess?” he asked me quietly.

There was a rumble of thunder.

I swallowed and sweated and nodded.

He lifted the belt, and as if in slow motion I watched it swing high above his head and start to come down towards me, the black leather snaking towards my thigh and cracking hard into it, and the hard tip accelerating as it too approached my body, approached my exposed, defenceless cunt and whipping hard into it, flicking round at the last millisecond of impact to punch deep between the lips of my labia and smack against the hood of my hard little clitoris and to hurt me, hurt me, hurt me, deep between my legs as the speed and the venom of the hurtling leather weapon split me in two and my mouth gaped soundlessly and I simply stopped breathing!

Christ!

I though I was going to pass out; really I wanted to pass out. The pain I’d felt before at the hands of my Daddy was simply as nothing compared to the sea of pain I was drowning in as my cunt was violated by this indescribable force which had the ferocity and anger enough to stop time. I was simply frozen, immobile on my back, naked on the table, held motionless in time and space by the impact of the belt in my cunt.

The belt hit me again.

Sweet Jesus!

I was wrenched back to this world as it suddenly closed in on me all too completely as once more my Daddy brought our bright new belt punching down the length of my thigh to kick hard into my cunt, the bright, new leather cracking off my labia, crushing my clitoris against my pelvis, again splitting my body between my legs with an arc of fire that burned from my knee to deep inside my womb, scorched my bowels, drove the air from my lungs….

My lungs! That was it! I’d stopped breathing. I forced my chest to heave, my ribs lifting and hauling the air into my tortured body and in my already semi-delirious state I observed my situation with a startling and logical clarity; now I have some air in my lungs, now I can scream. Good.

So I did. I lay naked on my back and my lips stretched wide and I screamed my pain and agony up to the ceiling. I screamed again, enjoying the release of the hoarse, deafening sound, enjoying the cool air in my lungs. My throat hurt. I was starting to lose my voice. The belt came down again, the tip again punching deep into me; there was a real danger that my virginity was actually going to be surrendered to a viciously swinging leather belt that was shiny with the viscous fluids oozing from my tortured body.

My Daddy must have thought so too, I was dimly aware when he moved round to stand directly between my legs and the belt slammed straight into a new target. There was an indescribable flash of pain as the sharp new leather bit into me on the tiny square of my perineum between my cunt and my arsehole, but that pain faded to nothing as the belt tip, thinner and more pointed than the old one, punched between my aching labia and smacked off my labia with a howl from me that deafened us both.

I was wracked with hellish pain. I tried to rock on to my side to protect my weeping cunt, but the bondage we’d improvised for me was too good. I could hardly move at all; I certainly couldn’t protect any part of my body from my Daddy’s flying belt. I was a helpless target for his vicious aggression

There never was such torment, such pain, inflicted on a seventeen-year-old girl ever before, never in all of recorded history; but it was happening, and it was happening now, and it was happening to me.

And it hurt so, so much!

The belt hit me again. I was too far-gone to know where. It just hit me somewhere between my legs and I was too far-gone even to care. My job was to merely to lie there and to allow myself to be punished; to be whipped. Difficult questions like where I was being whipped were simply beyond my comprehension. The pain overwhelmed me, centred in my dripping, throbbing cunt with its puffy red swollen lips. My eyes were open but I was only capable of looking in on myself, inward to my pain, inwards to my beating heart and heaving chest; inwards to my aching, tortured cunt and that sweet, tender square of flesh in the delicate space between my legs and between my cunt and my arsehole; my soft, normally so kissable perineum.

I thought’ “Please, Daddy. Kiss it, don’t hurt it any more.”

But again the belt cracked in to my once kissable perineum, kissing it hard in a way that brought my heart to my mouth and another hoarse scream to my lips and a sudden, sweet, tension, deep in my stomach.

“Oh, yes’” I whispered to my self, so quietly that even Daddy didn’t hear, and from then on I simply ceased to exist. I floated naked on my back on the table, I floated naked on my back in a delirious sea of pain, ripples of pain that washed out from my tortured sex as my Daddy’s belt continued to batter into me time after time. The excitement spread right through my body, even my bruised and abuse breasts throbbing in sympathy with my whipped cunt; my heart pounding and my body throbbing as the blood rushed through me, struggling to carry the life-giving, pain-repairing oxygen that my damaged body desperately craved, but which my distant mind disdained.

The pain was the most appalling I had ever experienced, mind-numbing in its intensity, heart-stopping in its focussed agony as Daddy kept on whipping our new belt into my cunt, and wonderful in its dirty, sexual depravity.

I struggled to spread my arms and legs even wider, lifting my bare arse off the cushions in my eager attempts to offer my wanton, degenerate self even more willingly to my punishment; pushing down with my feet in their sexy new heels to force my arse clear up into the air, bent backwards with the throbbing gash of my gaping, weeping cunt spreading itself wide to accept blow after blow of the shining, saturated leather weapon which was turning my most intimate dirty places into a sea of unrelenting pain and bliss. I pushed myself up and up towards my torturer. I realised I was shouting;

“Smack me, Daddy, smack me hard. Smack my cunt; oh Christ, hit me with that fucking thing won’t you. Yes, yes! That’s it. Fuck! Yes! C’mon Daddy! I’m not a little kid; hit me, yes right there! Again!”

Then lightning lit the room and the world rumbled around me and the sea of my pain exploded all round me and a wave of my depraved delight threw me backwards on to the surface of the table with my tears cascading from my eyes to soak my hair and the polished wood and my gaping cunt contracted and squeezed in spasm deep down into my womb and my gushing fluids simply sprayed out from between my legs, soaking my Daddy’s hard cock and his stomach as he continued to whip me. I wailed my pleasure to the ceiling and my whole naked, abused body writhed its agonised orgasm and I continued to spray pure, filthy sex from my cunt and my uncontrollable spasms of delight shuddered through me. The back of my head jerked back onto the hard table top with a thud. I almost lost consciousness but the pain in my head was lost in the pain from my whipped cunt, and my legs jerked and my knees opened as I lost all control and my Daddy lost all control and flailed my body indiscriminately with the belt and whipped me indiscriminately all over the insides of my thighs and between my legs again and again.

Still with my orgasm wracking my body I pushed myself up towards him once more, my slim, undulating body articulating my desperate plea to him; “My cunt, Daddy, hit my cunt!”

And so he did, but already I was coming down. My cascading tears faded to deep, shuddering sobs. He stopped his punishment and I lifted my knees back up until they touched, squeezing my thighs together in a vain attempt to comfort to the abused flesh between my legs. Now that my orgasm was fading, the pain started to come back, to grow and grow and to hurt me more and more in all the places where our hard new belt had punched it kisses of our fiery, debauched love deep into my soft, abused, fragile, amazing seventeen-year-old body.

I was coming down fast from the wonderful, pain-induced plateau that I had inhabited for those few short minutes and I wept in my desolation and despair that I had at last found that special place only to lose it again so soon. I wept because I had to go to the States soon and would have to leave my Daddy behind; me sweet, loving Daddy who understood me so well and gave me what I needed so generously. And I wept because my cunt and my thighs hurt like hell where my Daddy had whipped me mercilessly as I lay in front of him, naked on my back and trussed up to present him with the perfect target for him to whip, my naked cunt spread open like a smiling mouth, ready for the wicked kisses of our new belt.

I sobbed uncontrollably for a long time and my Daddy came round behind me and cradled my head in his hands, kissing my eyelids and cheeks to dry up my tears.

I opened my eyes.

“Daddy,” I whispered, “Thank you. That was wonderful, the most special….”

I was lost for words.

“I love you.”

I was surprised when he didn’t answer. I looked up at him. His mouth was working but he couldn’t speak. He could only look at me through his reddened eyes and shake his head as his tears ran down his cheeks.

My sweat was already cooling on my body when I craned my neck round to look at him. Just above my face he still had a huge, drooling erection bobbing in front of his stomach, his juices dripping from his swollen balls into my mouth, but gentleman that he was, he was doing his best to ignore it as he comforted me in my distress.

I whispered up to him again.

“Daddy, go round and look between my legs,”

Mystified, he sniffed and did as I’d ordered.

“I have something special for you.”

You see, as I’d been lying there with my feet flat on the table in their sexy new black heels and my legs bent high at my knees, I’d enjoyed the feeling as my thick, viscous, sweet smelling fluids continued to trickle from my cunt as it gradually recovered from its spasms, and felt them trickle slowly down over the sweet, dark rosebud of my anus. My Daddy wouldn’t make love to me by entering my sex in the usual way, but I was suddenly desperate to have him cum in me instead of on me, fun as that can be, so I parted my feet a little and slipped my hands down over the cheeks of my arse and with my fingers pulled them apart enough to display my arsehole to him.

Remembering how I’d helped him to slip his finger in to me – had that really been earlier on that same day - I gently pushed my sphincter out a little way towards him. I reckoned that enough of my fluids had trickled down from my cunt to ease his entry to this, my most sweet and secret place, and so I looked up at him with a smile and said,

“Please?”

His cock was against my arse in an instant and bending at the knees he shut his eyes and gently forced his tip into me. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, I felt like a Victorian heroine and I almost swooned with delirious pleasure. My Wicked Daddy was inside me. Gorgeous! I know that he’d cum in my mouth before, but this was different, this was better, easier.

Actually, it was a lot easier for both of us!

It was easier to set up a rocking motion with my hips than to bob my head up and down, and he was able to stand almost motionless as his cock slipped deeper and deeper into my anus and I rocked my body gently back and forth, back and forth, the tightness of my virgin arsehole really doing all the work for both of us as it gripped his big hard cock and I moved my body to slide him back and forth inside me.

It was heavenly, and at least I wasn’t going to choke and vomit down my breasts as I had a few days previously when the tip of his cock repeatedly brushed the back of my throat. And we could look at each other as I languidly screwed my Daddy with my arse. He reached down to fondle my breasts then lifted his head and pushed deeper into, his stomach thrusting against me and his face in a huge grin as his cock erupted, spraying his spunk into me, deep into my arse. With a smile I relaxed and pushed easily against him and I once again burst in to tears, this time for love, for love for my Daddy as a gentle, sweet orgasm lifted me high above the pain of my body.

And that, dear Reader, is how my wonderful summer of love with my Daddy came to an end. I hope I haven’t shocked you with some of my memories but it has been my pleasure to share them with you; they are very precious to me.

One of the big important lessons that I learned that summer was that I need the support and love of an older man to guide me and nurture me. My Daddy has always done that for me, but not in a mean spirited or selfish way; he was (and still is) delighted that I have found a lover who looks after me in the same way as he always has, not instead but as well. The fact that my lover is a woman doesn’t faze him in the slightest, as you will read when I get the next batch of these memories written down.

In fact they sometimes work together as the three of us seek our path together.

But he helped me find all this out about myself. I publicly thank him for that now, with all my love.

Canz

A personal note from Canz:

This is the true explanation of the huge coincidence that has changed and coloured every aspect of my life by giving me the love and friendship of Marie D’Estaing, who has been an excellent business colleague and my beautiful, loving partner, with whom I have spent the rest of my life.

A friend in need:

College was okay, I learned lots, but I didn’t really fit in, so I was a bit lonely at first.

I know I’m smart and quite good-looking and I had naturally supposed that most of the other students would be similar and therefore pleasant and welcoming, but right from the off it just didn’t work out that way. Part of the reason was that I didn’t dress like the other girls. I’d lived in France or England on for quite a few years, and loved how stylishly most sophisticated French women dressed. I loved to try to copy them, so at that time I only had nice dresses, some of them quite short, or neat skirts, and tops that I suppose were a bit see-through. And, of course, good quality leather shoes with heels.

Other than when I’d been in school uniform, and you should have seen how some of us used to wear our school uniform, I’d been quite used to my bra being quite visible through my clothes and I really thought nothing about it. But surrounded as I was by girls and boys, all of whom were dressed almost identically in sneakers and thick, black T-shirts decorated, if that’s the word, with psychedelic skulls and guitars, and scruffy jeans, I stood out. I was different.

The girls thought I dressed like a tramp and the boys hoped that I was a tramp.

I’m not a tramp, so as I said, I was a bit lonely.

It all changed one Friday afternoon. I was again sitting on my own in the cafeteria, listening to the fun going on around me as my supposed classmates planned their weekends without me, and I found myself closing my eyes, having to hold back the tears. I was remembering the wonderful times I’d had in France with my Daddy in the warm summer garden of his lovely French home, and with all my heart I wished I was I back there, sipping some wine, and chatting with my father in the mixture of English and French that seemed so natural to us.

A self-pitying tear rolled down my cheek.

An accented woman’s voice said,

“Madamoiselle, are you all right? Here, take one of my tissues.”

I opened my eyes, and standing over me was a slim, full breasted woman of about thirty, holding out a Kleenex. She was elegantly dressed in a pale skirt and jacket, with a dazzling white blouse underneath. I couldn’t see a bra through her blouse. She looked at me kindly though her dramatic dark-framed spectacles, and as she looked down at me I was struck by how perfectly her beautiful black hair framed her face.

I went through the “Thank you, but no. I don’t need one. I’m okay, really,” rigmarole I’d picked up at school in England, but she smiled and waved the Kleenex at me.

“Non, non, Cherie. Take the tissue. Please.”

I nodded and took the tissue. The woman’s heels clicked as she stepped away and sat down across the table from me.

She said, “You’re new here,” It was a statement, not a question.

I nodded as I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. She continued,

“You’re lonely. You miss your father and his charming house in the Languedoc.”

Alarmed, I sat up straight.

“Who are you? Do I know you? How do you know me?”

She shook her head. “Non, non, Cherie, we’ve never met, but I came looking for you. Please do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm. I will explain. My name is Marie D’Estaing. I work here. In fact, next semester I will be one of your teachers. I lecture to all you first year students about the more aesthetic aspects of structural design. It is important that things look good as well as working good, sorry, working well.”

She grinned and continued.

“ I’m sorry, I’ve been over here for years but I still get the language wrong sometimes.”

“Oh,” I said, still very guarded. “Okay, I suppose it’s okay for you to be here in the students’ lounge, but that doesn’t explain why are you looking for me, or how come you know me and my father?”

“Relax Cherie. I don’t know you or your father, but every year at this time I help out the registrar with the new admissions, and when I was filing your paperwork I noticed that you give your nationality as American but your home address as Le Vintrou, in Languedoc; in France. That’s my hometown, well it’s just a village really, but of course you know that. I am from Le Vintrou; and my older brother still lives close by, in Mazamet. He owns the hotel in the centre of town. So I emailed him about this interesting coincidence and he replied just yesterday that he has seen you and your father going about, and that he has even delivered to your house.”

I looked at her sharply. “Is he the tall, rather mysterious man with an office in the yard next to the hotel?”

“Oui!” She laughed. “Very unlike most Frenchman he doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t smile much and he tends to be rather silent.”

Now I knew whom she was talking about and I was even more worried than I had been before.

“What did he tell you about us, I mean, what did he say to you about us?”

She smiled. “He said you were a pleasant and attractive couple and that it’s a pity that more of the foreigners who settle in our village aren’t like you and your father.”

I looked at her closely. “What else did he say about us? Did he say anything about how we met?”

This time she laughed out loud. “Cherie, Cherie. You are worried about the unfortunate incident with the door to the wa-wa in his office. Relax, in France we don’t worry about these things the way you Americans do. So he saw you pee. So what? Was anybody hurt? No, of course not. In fact, some people like to..... Really, my dear, that little event was… of no importance. I’ve been telling him to fix that door for years; it’s caught me out couple of times!’ She laughed again.

Talking to a Frenchwoman I couldn’t help it. I shrugged my shoulders and said,

“It was important to me at the time. I was embarrassed.”

“I’m sorry. You are right, I shouldn’t laugh. Anyway, when he and his men delivered your father’s barrel they saw that you are a model of decorum; quite the demure little American girl.”

With a giggle she saluted me.

Still uneasy, I said,

“He and his men were very helpful, and it was good of your brother to give me the barrel in return for what happened.”

“He gave you the barrel! I assumed that you’d bought it. What happened?”

She leant forward with a conspiratorial smile. “When he saw you peeing, were you naked or something?”

I found myself warming to this cheery, intelligent, confident woman of the world. I nodded with a wry smile and another shrug of the shoulders.

She laughed again.

“He didn’t tell me that bit! But you were right to take off all your clothes. Those ancient porcelain monstrosities can be lethal. When I was little I once slipped off the treads and fell into the damned thing wearing my school uniform. There was one hell of a row about it! I think he keeps the old thing deliberately to try to catch us girls out.”

I realised that I was having the most fun I’d had since I’d been here, and while Marie was almost twice my age, with her smile, and energy, and effortless French style, “us girls” was about right. I wanted her to stay.

With my fingertips I touched her hand where it lay on the table between us.

“Marie, thank you for cheering me up. I was lonely, but now I feel much better. Would you stay and have some coffee with me?”

“Thank you, my dear. I would love to, but not here. The coffee here is tasteless brown dishwater. But it would be lovely to sit and talk with you about Le Vintrou. We must know many of the same places, and maybe even some people apart from my rather grim big brother.”

“Let’s go somewhere else then.”

She said. “I have a better idea. Would you like to come over for dinner?”

I hardly knew her, but then I didn’t know anyone else, and I’d absolutely nothing else planned, and she was charming company; and she was French. That’s what clinched it.

“I would love to.”

“Come on then. I’m finished for the day. Are you?”

I nodded happily and we swept out of the cafeteria. I was very aware of all the eyes following us, so just as I reached the door; I turned and smiled.

“See you all on Monday,” I said brightly and followed Marie out to her car.

Outside the heat and humidity were frightful. The air in the car park shimmered like a blast furnace and we both immediately started to sweat. Being part of the faculty, her car was quite close the door, an elderly but well preserved dark green Jaguar sedan.

I like cars.

“A Jag,” I said, enthusiastically. “Cool!”

“You know about cars?” Marie asked.

“A little. I like nice ones like this.”

“It is nice. It was a present from my brother. He gave it to me a few years ago and told me to look after it.”

We climbed in. The heat inside was oppressive.

“Whew,” said Marie. “It’ll cool down soon, don’t worry,” and she slipped her jacket off her shoulders and turned towards me as she reached behind to place it carefully on the back seat. Taken by surprise, I stared at her chest. As I’d suspected, the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra had been quite well hidden by her jacket, but now I could quite clearly see her dark nipples and areolas pushed against her thin white blouse. Two of the buttons had come undone and it gaped as she leant behind her to smooth the creases on her jacket as it lay on the seat. Between her pale breasts there was a trickle of sweat.

She looked down at herself and then smiled at me. “It’s too hot for clothes sometimes, isn’t it,” and started the engine.

I tore my eyes away from her exposed cleavage, realising that under her demure pale suit she had what in romantic novels was usually described as a full and voluptuous body.

I blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” I said.

She laughed. “Now, now. That’s not true, is it? Of course you meant to stare. But don’t worry, Cherie. I look good. I have a nice body. I’m proud of my figure.”

She sat up straight. Her nipples were definitely harder where they pressed against the thin material of her blouse.

“Not bad for an old lady, eh?

I blushed, but managed to answer her.

“You’re not old,” I replied. “You look younger and you certainly behave a lot younger, and are certainly more fun than those idiots in my class.”

She shook her head and looked at me sadly.

“Have they been giving you a hard time? Did I hear that a group of them were taunting you about something?”

My eyes watered.

“Yes Marie. They were.”

I took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry to say that they really don’t like me. I used to be at a girls’ boarding school and I don’t want to tell tales, but somehow they learned that I’m still a virgin and the girls were nasty about it to me.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Haven’t you had a boy, with breasts like those? With your looks and your figure I’d have thought you’d have your choice.”

“I do, but they all seem so stupid and so immature. I spent all summer with my Daddy and I miss him. He’s an amazing man.”

I stopped. Careful.

She looked at me with what I can only describe as fondness, this elegant, sexy Frenchwoman I’d only just met.

“Cheer up, Cherie. I’ll tell you something even more amazing. I’m thirty-one years old and I’m still a virgin too. C’mon. Lets go.”

She settled herself in her seat but made no effort to adjust her blouse, which had gaped open even more; the cool air was playing over her body and her nipples were quite stiff and erect under the flimsy material. I had to force myself to not stare at her breasts. She kicked off her shoes and engaged drive, pressing down on the gas with her bare foot.

We drive out of the car park, slotted into the traffic, and drove in silence for some minutes.

“Do you have a car, Cherie?” she asked.

“My father has promised me one if my results are good. I learned to drive in his E class.”

“Mercedes?”

“Yes. He’s going to give me an SLK if I do really well.”

“Mercs are nice,” she laughed. “Listen, Cherie, we are both beautiful women and I think it’s good for beautiful women to get nice cars as presents. Your father’s a generous man, like my brother.”

I looked at her again.

We both laughed, the first time I’d laughed properly in weeks.

I turned to face her, staring at her almost exposed breasts. My knees were just visible. I felt an unexpected tingle deep in the pit of my stomach and between my legs. What was happening to me? Was I feeling a strange attraction to this woman? “Marie, I love your Jag, with the leather, the wood. I don’t know if I could drive it though.” I looked at her coyly. “Do you think my legs would be long enough to reach the pedals?”

She looked down at my lap, and then at my face. I tried not to blush

“It’s hard to tell. I can’t really see how long your legs are. Pull your skirt up and let me look at how long they are.”

There was a tension deep in my stomach and I slid the hem of my skirt up to show most of my thighs and sat looking there at Marie’s breasts as she stared down at my legs, then looked back at the road. She looked down again and swallowed once, took a deep breath, and said,

“Cherie, I can’t really see what I want to see. Pull your skirt up higher.”

It was suddenly very quiet in the car.

I eased my hips off the leather seat and silently slipped my skirt up so it bunched at my waist. My tanned, bare legs were completely on display. Marie looked at them in silence for some minutes, and then she said,

“You have beautiful legs, Cherie, beautiful. If you were to take your skirt off altogether I would be able to see absolutely all of them, your lovely hips and thighs.

I reached behind me and unfastened the waistband. Lifting my hips I slipped the whole thing down over my knees, used my feet to slip it off altogether, bent forward to pick it up and threw it behind me on to the back seat.

“Non, non, Cherie. Spread it out carefully or it will crease. Everyone will know.”

So with my legs as straight as possible I stretched behind me and smoothed my skirt out over the back seat, being careful to not disturb Marie’s jacket. I turned slightly to face her as I sat back down and spread my legs.

She looked at me in surprise.

“Mon Deux. Why are you wearing a heavy belt under you clothes?”

I looked down. I’d forgotten that I was wearing Daddy’s belt, the new one he’d given me just at the end of the summer to replace the one he’d used to whip every part of me during the hot summer months. As I’m sure you’ll remember, he’d given it to me as a keepsake after that last memorable night when he’d used it to whip my cunt, as I lay naked across the dining room table. I’d been feeling lonely and for weeks and I’d been wearing it next to my skin to remind me of him and to help me feel closer to him. I wore it on my hips under my skirt because I liked the sexy feeling of it on my skin, and I wasn’t going to even attempt to answer the questions my supposed classmates would have fired at me if I’d worn it where they could see it.

“Cherie. Is it something personal? Should I mind my own business? I didn’t see it, okay. It isn’t there.” She smiled at me.

“Marie. I hardly know you. Can I trust you?”

“Cherie. You are a beautiful and intelligent girl. You already know some of what I’m hoping might happen between us when we get to my home. We both know what it is to be different and to be special; we both know what it is to have to be careful. Believe me, I have secrets too.”

She looked at me closely. “We could share our secrets, one by one. We already know that we’re virgins who like presents.”

So I just looked at her and said, “I liked it when my Daddy whipped me with it. I had orgasms.”

She stared at me. “Cherie, we are going to be good friends, special friends.”

She looked back down at my bare legs and smiled.

“Now I will tell you a secret of mine, non, I will tell you two secrets. The first one is that my rather grim big brother used to whip me too. He used to use a riding crop, all over my body; I liked it, but my second secret is that now I prefer to do the whipping, Cherie,” and she looked into my eyes, and then down at my bare legs.

“Of course,” she said with a throaty laugh, “sometimes the important thing about legs is not simply their length, slim and elegant as they might be, but rather how wide they can spread apart.”

Rising to the bait I tipped the seat back a little and bent my knees to spread my legs as far as I could in the confined space. I looked down at myself. My white panties were sticking to me in the heat and my pubic hair was a dark triangle clearly visible through the thin cotton. For the first time since I left France I could smell my own sex. It felt good.

“You are very beautiful, Cherie. It’s hot today. You’ve taken off your skirt; now your top? You’ll be more comfortable and I’ll have a better view. Of your slim, young body”

Passing cars could see me, but I just didn’t care. I realised that there were possibly real dangers in what I was doing, but Marie just seemed too transparently honest to be anything other than what she appeared to be, the attractive, slightly older virgin sister of the brother had already seen me piss naked in his office. In Marie’s Jag we were in a safe, special world. I pulled my thin, cotton sweater over my head and threw it on the back seat. Reaching behind me I unhooked my bra and slipped it down my arms. It joined my other clothes on the back seat and I massaged my breasts for a moment, my hands a little slippery with my sweat. It was wonderful to feel another pair of eyes on them as they swayed free on my body again.

I’d always hated having them confined in even the lightest of sexy little bras, and acting on impulse I leant behind me, picked my bra up, and threw it out of the car window.

“I hate those damned things; who designs them? They’re bloody awful. They’re so sweaty and uncomfortable. Look at the red lines it’s left in my skin. I look like I’ve been whipped!”

Marie looked at my breasts as I sat there, naked except for my panties.

“Cherie,” she said, “You really are just gorgeous. Every part of you is perfect. Please, keep massaging yourself. Smooth away those marks for me.”

On an impulse, I held my hand up to her lips. She licked it and dipped her head for a moment to kiss it.

“Even your sweat is delicious, Cherie.”

She stretched out a hand and gently fondled my nipple for a moment before lifting her hand to her mouth and kissing it.

“Tres belle, Cherie, tres belle.”

We sat for a moment, Marie stealing glances at me as she drove, while I sat almost naked beside her with my legs apart, squeezing my breasts and playing with my nipples.

My turn.

“Marie. Please may I see more of you now?”

She smiled.

“Of course you may, Cherie,” and with her right hand she undid all the other buttons on her blouse. I leant towards her and helped her as she leant a little forward and shrugged each shoulder in turn so that I could lift her blouse away from where it was sticking to her back and put it on the back seat. We looked at each other and grinned, two good-looking girls in a Jag, both naked from the waist up.

She leant further forward in her seat.

“Now my skirt, Cherie.”

I reached behind her, unfastened the tiny hooks and tugged at the zip. Still driving, she lifted herself off her seat, just a little, and I leant behind her with both hands to unzip her completely. She kept herself raised from her seat and I slipped her skirt down over her hips. She sat back down and lifted her legs one at a time so it was quite easy to slide it down her thighs, over her knees, and down to her feet.

She sighed. “Ahh. I love feeling my bare skin on the leather. There’s nothing like it.”

I had to lean right down over her to take it off her completely. I said’ “Now!” and she momentarily lifted her right foot from the gas pedal, just time enough for me to slip her skirt over her toes and get her foot back down on the gas with scarcely a hesitation from the big, purring cat. Then I had to lean over even more to free her other foot, and I found my face pressing into her thighs.

She spread them apart for me, and I kissed her at the top of her legs, breathing the heady mixture of the aromas of her body, her skin, her perfume, and her cunt. I stayed bent over for a long time, kissing and licking her legs, and rubbing my face on her panties. They were tiny, delicate confections of white lace through which curls of her luxuriant jet-black pubic hair escaped for me to tease with my teeth. I kissed her pubic mound through the lace and started to slip her panties down her legs.

“Non, non, Cherie. Take your time. You will stay for the weekend, please. So we must keep something hidden for a little longer, to tantalise each other and to excite ourselves with thoughts of what we might do together and to each other. Besides,” she pouted, “you have inspected my poor old body for long enough. It’s my turn now. Sit up and let me look admire you now.”

I was suddenly in love with this sophisticated, sexy woman, so I kissed her panties once more and sat up again.

“What would you like to see?”

“Roll your panties down so that they still cover you, but I can see your pubic hair.”

I hadn’t really expected such specific instructions, but Marie wanted me to do it, so I did. It simply never occurred to me to argue.

“What now, please, Marie?” I asked.

“Just sit, Cherie, and let me look at you. We’ll be there soon.”

“What are you going to do to me when we get to your home?”

She laughed.

Something quite new for you, I think, Cherie. And in fact you’re going to start by doing it to yourself. I’ll just watch, and enjoy.”

And with this confusing comment she fell completely silent and I was content to sit quietly beside her and enjoy the rest of the drive, two almost naked women side by side in her lovely old jag.

A final personal note:

So, my dear Reader, that was how I met the love of my life, Marie D’Estaing, my elegant lesbian lover who introduced me to all sorts of new games and who regularly and effortlessly tortures me as we daily confirm and exchange our deep and unshakeable love for each other.

Chapter 14:

My bare back gleamed with my sweat as I squatted awkwardly in the hot late afternoon sun. I shifted my hips, writhing gently in an attempt to prevent the stinging pain from spreading deep into the dark pungent valley between the cheeks of my arse. With my hands clasped behind my back, my full breasts swung freely on my chest as I gasped and squirmed in pain, my naked weight feeling very heavy as it pressed down hard on the low wooden stool between Marie’s spread legs. She sat at her ease, her body cool and elegant, hardly sweating at all even in that heat, comfortable on her chair. I watched her as she drained her glass in one large mouthful, put it down on the table beside her, smiled at me, and slipped her gloved hands down over her smooth abdomen to the lips of her cunt.

She started to masturbate.

Apart from her black leather gloves, her panties - I wasn’t allowed any - and the heels that Marie had commanded that we both continue to wear we were both naked:

“Cherie, we are both sexy women, you and I. We must always look sexy for each other.”

That was okay for her. It was easy for her to look and feel sexy as she sat, poised and completely at her ease in her chair, looking down at me as I dripped with sweat, perched awkwardly on the hard low stool which was not much taller than my heels, so that I was all knees and elbows, and with the full, soft flesh of my arse cheeks squeezed between my hip bones and the hard wood. I certainly didn’t feel very sexy; I was just eighteen years of age and I merely felt very young and very naked and very vulnerable and very much in pain.

Marie smiled the lazy, sexy smile I’ve come to know and love:

“Cherie, spread your legs as wide as you can and push your belly forward. Let your own weight press your sweet young cunt on to the stool.”

With Marie I’m always a good, obedient girl. I took a deep breath, swallowed, and did as I was told, and I howled with the pain as I rocked my pelvis forward and my soft labia spread apart and my open virgin sex pressed down against the “obstructions” Marie had placed on the hard surface of the wood.

I started to cry.

But I’m getting ahead of myself; there is much to explain. Squatting on this stool was awkward, even embarrassing, and having to grasp one wrist with my other hand behind my back meant that I couldn’t cover my breasts or protect myself in any way, which was also certainly quite humiliating, but you will be wondering just what was so painful about my situation.

Well, dear reader, events had moved very quickly, in ways that I think you will find quite exciting. Even now, remembering all this makes me very wet between my legs.

It was in fact little more than an hour since Marie had introduced herself to me for the first time back in the student’s lounge, and already it seemed as though that had been the end of a previous life and the beginning of something completely new and wonderful. As she had driven us in her Jag, both of us virtually naked, to her secluded home by the coast for coffee, I had quickly found myself falling under her spell, and, she later told me, she under mine.

And as you may already know, my dear reader, this turned out to be no passing fancy; we both fell in love that afternoon, more or less at first sight, and even after all these years we’re still together, still in love, and we’re still a very dirty pair of extremely perverted lesbians. Read on!

We sat in silence, openly ogling each other’s bodies, as under Marie’s expert control the lovely old car swept off the freeway and turned down a series of progressively narrower roads for some miles until we fetched up on a smooth dirt track that ended at a pair of tall, narrow wooden gates set in a high wall. Marie stopped the car and suddenly looked very serious.

She turned to me:

“Cherie, this is my home. You are very welcome to come in and merely have that coffee I promised you. We can have a pleasant chat about Le Vintrou and Mazamet over dinner, and then I’ll take you back to town. Or you can take your off your father’s belt and take your panties off all together, and I’ll give you much more than just a coffee and a salad, but I’ll ask, non, I’ll demand much more from you in return.”

I didn’t hesitate. I closed my legs and my hands went straight to where my panties were bunched at the tops of my thighs, and with a smile at my beautiful companion I bent forward, and in one smooth movement, slid them all the way down my legs to my ankles. My breasts were crushed against the tops of my thighs as I bent forward to prevent the tiny crap of white cotton catching on my heels as I lifted both feet and suddenly, apart for my belt and sandals, I was naked.

Sitting up and twisting round, once again keeping my legs as straight as possible, I dropped my panties on the back seat. Turning back, and with my heart pounding, I leant forward and kissed Marie full on the mouth, the first time I’d ever kissed a woman, and I felt myself literally sink into the full, soft sweetness of her lips. I turned my head slightly to one side and pressed my mouth hard against hers, and with my pulse throbbing in my ears I felt her respond, part her lips, and slip her tongue into my mouth. My heart leapt in my throat and suddenly I was giddy with delight and desire and I moaned, and, awkward as it was in the front seats of even that beautiful big car, I slid my left arm behind her neck, placed my right hand on her hip, and pulled her towards me, pressing my naked body hard against hers.

We kissed and kissed, until we were both dizzy from our sudden lust and lack of oxygen. We pulled apart, our breasts rising and falling as our chests heaved and our lungs sucked in the cool air, redolent as it was with the combined scents of our dripping cunts. We breathed deeply, savouring the dirty smell of our sex, which filled the car with the heady aroma of our urgent needs. I moved forward again; our nipples gently touched; Marie’s full, mature breasts were pale against my youthful, dark areolas.

Wordlessly, Marie reached up for the remote and the gates swung silently open. The car purred forward and noiselessly the gates closed behind us, just as I undid the buckle of my Daddy’s belt, kissed it, and dropped it at my feet as we quietly entered the peaceful shade of Marie’s beautiful and exotic garden.

The car stopped. Marie slipped her feet into her shoes again, and with our arms round each other’s waists we clicked our way into the kitchen. I went to embrace her again, but Marie pushed me gently away.

“Non, non, Cherie. You must wait. It will be better, believe me,” and she pointed towards the pool.

“Wait there. A ristretto?”

“Double please.”

In all the weeks since I’d left my Daddy’s home in France I hadn’t had a decent cup of strong, black coffee. Marie smiled at me.

“Of course, you poor thing. The student coffee is just awful.”

So I went out to the chairs by the pool, which was just outside, and remembering my Daddy’s old-fashioned rules of etiquette about swimming pools, started to slip off my spike-heeled sandals as I reached the door, which was when Marie said:

“Non, non, Cherie. Keep your shoes on. They make your legs look fabulous. We are both sexy women, you and I. We must always look sexy for each other.”

So, still naked except for my sexy little sandals with the spiky heels, I sat politely by the table, feeling slightly shy, and suddenly very aware of my large breasts with their rather obvious, dark areolas, but in due course Marie appeared, still wearing only her little white lacy panties and her heels, carrying a tray with the tiny coffee cups, two glasses of chilled water, and a small plate of petite fours. She put the tray on the table and sat down beside me, keeping her back straight and her knees demurely together, and even as I drank in the wonderful sight of her beautiful breasts, displayed so close I could simply reach out and touch them, I couldn’t stop myself. I reached for my cup and downed the wonderfully bitter black, unsweetened coffee in one gulp and then sipped a little of the water.

Marie looked at me in some surprise, then smiled and said:

“Here, have mine too.”

The coffee was so wonderful, I didn’t care if I was being rude; I took the proffered cup and gulped it down too.

Sipping some more water I munched on one of the tiny sweetmeats; I was in heaven. I know I’m not actually French, but it was like being back home with my Daddy in France again, only now I was with this slightly strange but very beautiful woman with whom I could feel myself falling in love. I realised that this was no time to hesitate, or come over suddenly shy. To all intents and purposes I was naked in her garden, after all, and she was virtually naked too!

“Marie, I’ve been very rude, drinking your coffee like that, but please, take off your panties too. Let me see you naked.”

My heart leapt as she stood up beside me – was she going to strip for me right now? – but instead she simply turned to face me for a moment with her legs a little apart. Her panties were tight round her hips and the front and the crotch were completely transparent with her sexual fluids, the flimsy material hanging wet and heavy between her legs. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating.

“Of course, Cherie, you will see me naked, and much more, oui, of course, in the fullness of time, but please be patient. You can see that I am wet for you, but first I must put on a tiny little bit of more clothing, and get some things, but just for a moment, I promise, and then I will be naked for you. I will do it for you, but I will ask you first to do something for me, okay?”

Somewhat mystified by these cryptic remarks, but frankly mesmerised by this beautiful, sexy Frenchwoman, I could only agree, and I watched with great curiosity as she stepped back into her home and pulled a pair of black leather men’s gloves and a pair of large garden scissors out of a kitchen drawer. Unhurriedly, but with shaking hands, she pulled the gloves over her fingers, one by one, then, having buttoned them round her wrists, picked up a tiny child’s nursery stool and returned to stand in front of me. Stooping low, with hanging breasts and straight legs, she placed the stool at my feet.

As I watched, again unashamedly ogling her beautiful body. The act of bending over had released a small gush of her sexual fluids, which escaped from her panties where they were pressed tightly against her perineum by her actions, to trickle a little way down the insides of her thighs. Then she stood up and, swinging her hips, walked purposefully round the corner of her house, returning in moments with two large handfuls of freshly cut dark green stemmed leafy plants in her gloved hands.

I watched her with mounting excitement and apprehension as she approached, each step deliberately heavy on her heels so that her hips, breasts, her whole upper body, swayed with each tread. With each footstep her panties leaked another little gush of her excitement onto the tops of her shining, wet thighs as they scissored past each other.

But my gaze was fixed on what she was carrying. I realised with a rush of deep foreboding that I recognised these dark green plants. They were in fact mature stinging nettles!

Obviously it didn’t take a genius to work out how things were likely to develop, and as she sexily sauntered towards me with her breasts swaying in time with each click of her heels, I was suddenly very aware of my nakedness and just how completely defenceless I was. I still have this sweet, wonderful, sexy feeling of defencelessness when I’m with my Marie; she can do anything she likes to me, but this was to be the first time anything like this had been done to me by a stranger - a woman - and I was nervous After all, I’d only known her for about an hour.

Now I know I was already accustomed to some pretty extreme kinds of deviant sexual activity with my Daddy, but I knew, loved, and trusted him. I still do, even when he’s performing the most unspeakably depraved and painful acts on my body, but back then I suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable; an eighteen year old girl on her own in a huge, distant country, far from home, naked, in a strange woman’s garden.

How would you have felt?

I sat by the table and looked up at Marie as she approached. She stopped close beside me, very tall with straight legs in her heels, and looked down into my eyes.

He cleared her throat and spoke.

“In the car you stripped completely for me, which is very exciting. Merci. But maybe now you’re not so sure, Cherie? Tell me, do you want this, or shall we just have dinner and then I’ll take you back to college?”

I sat up with my back very straight and my knees demurely together, (well, as demurely as it is possible to be when you’re stark naked), and with my hands in my lap I looked up at this beautiful, sexy, mature woman. I gazed up at her for what seemed many minutes, and that was when I realised that I was really falling in love. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of going back to my lonely student digs, but even more than that I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her, and of probably never seeing her again, or at least never having the opportunity of being her friend and lover and submissive plaything.

I knew that I had to stay with her and fulfil the bargain I’d made when I stripped at her request in her car!

I coughed and swallowed, and then with a nervous smile I straightened my back, and thrusting my large breasts towards my hostess, said:

“I want to stay. Please tell me what I have to do to stay with you.”

With the two handfuls of nettles held carefully between our breasts, but not touching, and her legs straight and slightly parted, she leant over me and kissed my upturned mouth long and hard. My head swam again as our hearts started to beat loudly in our chests and I straightened my back even more to press my lips hard against hers. With a sudden shock our tongues touched: an electric moment.

Breathlessly we stopped kissing, and Marie giggled and stood up, looking at me over her eyeglasses and posing sexily in front of me like a corny porno-star schoolteacher.

“Cherie, it’s easy. All you have to do is sit down on this little stool, but first I will lay these plants across it.”

And with the stool at my feet she carefully laid the leafy nettle stems across it. Then she took me by the hand as I stood up and guided me round it so that the stool was just behind me and I was standing facing her chair with my feet together. Then, taking both my hands, she sat down on her chair and gently pulled me down as she did so. With my thighs pressed together I slowly bent my knees and gingerly I too sat down, my body sinking lower and lower until I felt my bare arse brush against the stool and the waiting nettles.

The first barb entered my flesh and a cold sweat washed over me as, with an uncontrollable start I jerked upwards a little, away from the evil, stinging pain that had assaulted me. Still holding my hands, Marie looked into my eyes and with a wistful smile, said:

“Please, Cherie. Be brave for me.”

I had to do this. I wanted to do this, for both of us. I wanted to do it for Marie because she wanted me to, and I wanted to do it for myself because…. I needed the pain.

It was weeks since my Daddy had last whipped me, both of us naked in his garden in France, and I had had no kind of sexual torture since then – I’d quickly discovered that merely masturbating didn’t cut it for me any more after the kind of things I’d been through that summer – and at the thought that it was now or never I shut my eyes tight and I was squatting down again, pressing my bare arse hard against the stool, squeezing the wicked, stinging stems with my full body weight as hard as I could between my soft full flesh and the unyielding wooden surface of the stool.

I howled with the sudden pain and felt my heart start to pound and my eyes start to water. I frantically sucked air into my lungs, my breasts rising and falling; my shallow breath hissing in and out through my nose as I clamped my teeth shut. I wasn’t going to give in and start screaming.

Well, not just yet, anyway.

I was in pain and I was in love, in love with this wicked, beautiful woman who could so effortlessly inflict such atrocities on my admittedly willing body. She just sat there, at her ease, still holding my hands as she savoured my pain and revelled in my obedience. I looked deep into her eyes and kept my back straight, offering Marie my breasts as I started to writhe gently on the stool. I was once again a willing participant in my own humiliation, deliberately allowing myself to be hurt, but this time not for my Daddy’s pleasure, but for Marie’s sexual delight - as well, I had to admit to myself, to satisfy my own driving sexual depravity!

But make no mistake; deliberately sitting down on a bunch of nettles when you’re naked hurts - a lot - and even though my body was now covered in sweat, I realised that in my excitement and panic and confusion I was rocking back and forth, simultaneously trying to spread the stinging pain across more of my soft, delicate skin, and at the same time trying to escape from the torment which was filling my mind and my body, and more specifically assaulting the cheeks of my bare arse.

For a moment my salt sweat seemed to make the pain worse, then I thought that perhaps I was becoming used to it, or that perhaps the evil nettles had stung me so much that I was becoming numb, inured against the pain, but either way I realised that I was becoming slightly more able to tolerate my situation, and in fact I was beginning to be able to control the pain, pushing it away from the core of my being so that it was no longer the centre of my focus but rather was at the edge of my perception.

Marie smiled at me and let go my hands. Then she said:

“Good girl. You’re getting used to it. Sit up very straight and put your hands behind your back and hold one of your wrists tightly with your other hand.”

She looked at me over her eyeglasses, once again for all the world like a benign, porno-star schoolteacher.

“Don’t cheat, Cherie.”

I wouldn’t have dared.

And that, my dear reader, was where we came in; where I started this dirty little tale of pain, degradation, humiliation, and filthy lesbian sex, by squatting naked on a tiny stool with my sweat dripping from me.

Are you finding it exciting so far? I hope so. Maybe you should loosen some of your clothing; go on, allow yourself access to the more private and interesting parts of your body. I freely and happily admit that I become very wet and excited when I remember all these tales from years gone by. It’s summer and I’m naked in our garden as I write this, and believe me; it is absolutely my pleasure to write these tales down for you. One of my main reasons for writing them is for your “enjoyment”.

So go on, I do want you to masturbate for me, or even better, have your lover masturbate you as you both read my words together, and if my memories excite you so much that you cum at the end then I’m a very happy woman. I’ll cum too!

Really!

So Marie sat back in her chair, and still wearing only her heels, her sopping wet panties, and her leather gloves, picked up her glass of now not so chilled water and drained it in one gulp, and even though her hand was still shaking slightly, placed it carefully on the table beside her. With a smile at me, she said:

“Pour tu, cherie,” and she lifted herself off her seat just enough to slip her soaking panties down her thighs and over her knees, leaving streaks of her sweet, shiny wetness on her legs as she went, and let them drop to her ankles. She picked up her feet one at a time, to free the tiny scrap of dripping wet lace, which, to my surprise, she then squeezed and wiped all over her breasts before dropping it neatly on the ground beside her. The smell of her sex on her excited, overheated body was overwhelming!

Then she spread her legs and firmly started to feel her cunt with her hands, stroking and squeezing her labia with her gloved fingers.

And that was when she shifted her hips, smiled her lazy, sexy smile, and instructed me to spread my legs and to rock my pelvis forward so as to deliberately press my own cunt down into the small pile of stinging nettles on which I was squatting.

I watched her fingers move faster on her sex and I obeyed her command. With my hands still clasped behind my back I stretched my legs straight out in front of me and then, keeping them straight, spread them as wide apart as I could so that they formed a very shallow Y with the rest of my body, struggling to keep my body still as new areas of the backs of my poor thighs came into contact with the nettles.

With my eyes darting up and down between Marie’s eyes and her masturbating fingers, I nodded, as much to myself as to my mistress, and thrust my hips out behind me and pushed my smooth belly forward, leaning far forward, my full, unfettered breasts hanging freely from my chest, until I felt first my pubic hair, and then my virgin cunt, brush against the stinging plants that were already tormenting me.

Just as when I had first sat down, with a grunt deep in my throat I started involuntarily, jerking my whole body upwards, away from the pain, my breasts bouncing in my panic. I was suddenly soaked in sweat. Then, with a deep breath, I spread my legs even more and pushed my hips forward as far as I could. Forcing a smile for Marie, I very slowly and very deliberately let my full weight press my cunt hard against the smooth wood of the tiny stool. My weight forced my labia to spread apart and my young, sweet cunt was defenceless, pink and moist, my pubic hair absolutely no protection whatsoever, as my own actions laid my delicate, naked sex open to the devastating attack of the evil plants.

The backs of both my thighs were already on fire where I sat on the nettles; as I leant forward with my legs spread so widely, the weight of the soft flesh of my thighs crushed the hard nettle stems, bending them sharply over the edge of the nursery stool, releasing even more of their saps and poisons to spread themselves over my shrinking flesh, and as I moved the leaves sprang up one by one between my legs and softly brushed the insides of my thighs too, so that the pain spread all over the fleshy backs and sides of the tops of my legs; all of my groin and arse was on fire. My nose was suddenly blocked as I cried. I coughed to clear my throat, clamped my mouth bravely shut, and I felt my tears trickle noiselessly down my cheeks.

But that was nothing. With a sudden deep stab of pain and a moment of real fear I felt the soft leaves and the harder stems press against my open cunt and enter my defenceless body, immediately unleash their wickedness deep inside me. I screamed and pulled myself back, frantically, but it was too late. It didn’t stop the pain. Once you’re stung, you’re stung! And, believe me, you stay stung!

Through stinging, reddened eyes full of salt sweat and salt tears I saw Marie’s hands become a blur of wet, shining black leather as she fiercely groped her own dripping cunt. She was thrusting forward with her hips and her upper body started rocking forward and back, her full breasts pushed together by her upper arms as her hands squeezed and stroked her labia. She started to moan, and in her lust started to spank herself, actually spanking her own cunt as she stared at me with wide eyes. Without her panties the smell from her naked sex was almost overwhelming; I could hear the wet, slapping sound as she punished herself with her gloved hands. I could taste her excitement!

Suddenly I felt as I had when my Daddy had become very excited when he was whipping me, with his big, erect cock bobbing in front of his naked body. I realised that although I was obediently following orders, I was in fact in control.

My actions were exciting Marie. My obedience was exciting her. My fear was exciting her. My pain was exciting her.

I had to continue.

So I steeled myself, and looked deep into her eyes, but the pain was suddenly all too much and I started to cry, sobbing uncontrollably.

Then with a scream I once again pushed my pain-wracked groin forward, thrusting my raw, aching body downwards, hard into the nettles, rocking myself back and forward, back and forward, bending my body forward against the tightened muscles of my straightened legs, anything and everything to obey, to force the deceptively soft leaves deep inside me, to violate me, to torture me, to destroy me!

I gazed lovingly at my beautiful, demanding mistress as she pleasured herself as she watched me subject myself to her wishes, watched her excitement rise as a result of my unspoken agreement to torture myself as a human animal for her pleasure. She furiously masturbated herself with no pretence of style or elegance. Her legs were spread as wide as a human woman’s legs will spread. She was thrusting her bruised and abused cunt towards my face. Her gloved hands were a shining, blur of wet black leather as she continued to brutally attack herself in her frenzy.

I couldn’t resist. Even lost as I was in the hell of my self-inflicted agony I couldn’t resist.

With my hands still clasped behind my back and my hanging breasts swinging wildly, I pushed myself forward as far as I could and forced my face in between Marie’s flailing fingers and pushed my tongue as deep inside her throbbing cunt as I could. I flicked the tip of my tongue against the edge of her hymen – remember that, bizarrely, even now, Marie and I are still “technically” virgins – and then simple flattened my tongue to make as much contact inside her body as possible. She shrieked with delight and slammed her thighs shut on my head, pulling my face hard against her dripping sex and rocking both our bodies violently as her excitement overwhelmed her.

With each thrust of her hips I felt her soaking cunt smear her fluids all over my face, all over my mouth and chin; her excitement dripped down onto my breasts. She was lifting me almost bodily off my stool and allowing me to fall back down onto the battered and bruised pile of nettles, my full weight landing repeatedly on my spread and expose cunt, brutally squeezing it time after time against the pile nettles, which bruised and battered as it was had nevertheless lost none of its power to hurt. In fact, if anything, the nettles were even more effective as my weight crushed them and the leaves, shiny with my sexual fluids and my sweat, smeared my thighs, arse-cheeks, and cunt with a sticky mess of my own fluids and their wicked, pale green venom.

Which was when my pain really took over as I felt the deceptively soft and broken leaves gently brush my hymen and the tip of my urethra, felt them flatten themselves hard against the soft inner walls of my already tortured labia, and then, with another scream – or was it still the same scream, my earlier resolution of silence had long since gone, and I was by now endlessly howling my pain into the warm, late afternoon air of Marie’s exotic garden - I felt the tiny barbs unleash their wicked poison in my most special place, in the beautiful, secret core of my deviant and depraved sexuality, the very tip of my clitoris.

In my sudden agony I simply had to wrench my head free from the thrusting, sexual prison of Marie’s soft thighs, and sit bolt upright, my chest heaving as I gasped for breath and I continually rocked back and forth and howled and wept, with my hands still clasped behind my back and my breasts swaying wildly; they were actually bouncing on my chest as I made myself – no! - as I forced myself to still follow the instructions of my beautiful mistress. Despite, or was it because of, the pain engulfing my thighs and groin, and the hellish stinging agony deep inside the most private and sensitive parts of my body, I continued to obediently make the nettles sting me time and time again, all over my thighs, arse, and especially, deep in the virgin moistness of my sweet, eighteen-year-old cunt.

There was absolutely no way I could force all this pain to the edge of my consciousness; I simply threw my head back and howled my anguish to the sky.

Then, unbelievably, it got worse!

Some time later, after I’d been caned, and when Marie and I were gently, lovingly, cleaning me up and repairing some of the havoc we’d wreaked on my young body, we worked out what had happened deep inside me.

Unsurprisingly, as I’ve already described, the nettles themselves had become very bruised and damaged as I slid around on my bare arse and rocked back and forth on them, and many, if not most, of the leaves had torn free from their stiffer stems, which are, of course, also covered with the same evil, stinging poison barbs. Two or three of these thick stems, released from their clinging leaves, had sprung free and whipped up inside me, hitting the inside of my cunt as I rocked back and forwards.

In effect I’d repeatedly rubbed my by now erect clitoris against these hard, barb-encrusted poisonous stems.

Unlike the softer leaves, which wilted quite quickly - although they certainly lost none of their power to hurt me - these harder, almost woody, stems had stayed quite stiff, as had my poor, over stimulated clitoris, so the stems and my sex were pressed firmly together as I rubbed myself against them as they unleashed their poisons into the most sensitive organ in my body. So whilst rubbing my clitoris so frantically made me deliriously excited with a purely animal sexuality, at the same time the very same actions were causing me great pain; in fact the most appalling pain I’d ever experienced at that tender age.

All I knew at the time was that simultaneously a wave of uncontrollable lust swept through me at the same time as a sudden stab of acute, relentless agony that seemed to start deep inside cunt and my womb and grew and grew until it seemed to spread out all over my poor, abused body. Talk about confusing signals! Without warning I went into a kind of rigid spasm, and even thought I kept rocking back and forth – that had become a kind of automatic motor action by this time – I suddenly threw back my head, arched my back, and stared straight up to the blue, cloudless sky without really seeing it.

Then my diaphragm kind of flipped, and although I wasn’t really sick, like the time when I choked on my Daddy’s cock, my mouth suddenly filled with the bitter, acid taste of the two cups of coffee I’d recently drunk, and, still staring sightlessly up at the sky, I opened my mouth to violently cough, my whole body shuddering, and all this black coffee came erupting up out of me, spraying back down onto my face and all over my chin and my throat before it dripped messily down over and between my wildly swaying breasts, spraying Marie and trickling down my gleaming, sweating stomach and abdomen.

The entire front of my body, from my face down to right down between my open legs was a dark, sticky, mess, streaked with coffee, (and, let’s face it, who knows what else) my sweat, Marie’s sexual fluids, and my tears.

I recovered, but sat hunched at Marie’s feet and wept uncontrollably, a naked, pain-wracked, filthy mess. Even my dripping nose was running all over my upper lip, the salty taste making cough up even more coffee. I was just a little girl again. All I could do was sit there, naked and filthy, and quietly sob.

Maybe I wasn’t so much in control after all!

Then, in the midst of my complete and abject humiliation it was Marie, or rather Marie’s orgasm that came to my rescue.

Through the turmoil of my internal and external chaos I was aware of her starting to scream too, a deep guttural scream that started low in her chest, ripped its way out through her throat, and which, when it escaped from her body through her wide gaping mouth, was a, primitive, primeval ululation, rising and falling for all the world like some wild animal shouting its triumph to the world. The hair rose on the back of my neck and my problems were forgotten as my eyes fixed on my beautiful companion as her black leather clad fingers brutally punished the lips of her sex and she pushed her gaping cunt right in my face. Wide-eyed I watched as her abdomen suddenly contracted, her buttocks clenched, lifting her bodily off the chair on which she had slid down and was now half reclining, and then, deep inside her open sex, I watched her muscles spasm time after time, and her fluids positively spray from her ecstatic body, filling my mouth and dripping down the front of my body, replacing some of the disgusting mess I’d made on myself with her sweet and oh-so-welcome sexual fluids.

My lady had honoured me with the gift of her orgasm, her sweet waters making me hers, forever. Even through the hell of the pain of the nettles I was sitting on, tormenting my tight little virgin cunt, when I closed my eyes and tasted her sex and breathed in its sweet, sweet smell as it rose from where it warmed on my face, in my mouth, and on my chin, breasts and stomach, I was in heaven. I straightened my back, proudly displaying to my mistress where she had marked me as hers when she sprayed my willing body in her uncontrollable animal ecstasy.

Yes, dripping wet and covered in what some would call a disgusting mess (some people will never learn) I felt proud, in the same way as I had when my Daddy had cum all over me when the excitement of whipping me had got too much for him and even with his hands nowhere near his cock he’d orgasmed uncontrollably, so it was with Marie. The sight of my happy acceptance of my helpless degradation, asking nothing for myself other than the privilege of offering my complete obedience to her sadistic instructions, and my compliance with the resultant complete, messy humiliation had brought her to a shattering orgasm. She told me later that it was the most exciting thing she’d ever seen.

But all that philosophical stuff came later. I tortured myself for Marie and revelled in her complete abandon as she orgasmed all over me. I made her cum.

I did that! Who wouldn’t feel proud?

So, my dear reader, that was the first time I made my Marie cum as a result of my submissive obedience. I hope I made you cum too. It would be very exciting for me to hear exactly how you enjoyed this, and the rest of the dirty little memories I’m writing down. If you like you can write and tell me which bits of the story you liked best – I’m writing these memoirs as truthfully as I can remember, but I can always emphasise things you like, there are so many different aspects of these experiences to be considered.

You will have observed that whilst Marie certainly had an orgasm, on this occasion I didn’t, and you won’t be surprised to know that I very much wanted one; let’s face it, I always want one. But as well as being an extraordinarily beautiful woman, Marie is an intelligent, caring, and considerate lover and friend, and being a woman, she has an even better idea of how to satisfy my sexual needs than my Daddy does. (Yes, he and I still occasionally take our pleasure together – Marie sometimes helps too!)

Anyway, chapter 15 describes how she very soon gave me first of many orgasms at her hands (and other implements - LOL).

You may also have noticed that although I kept offering them to her, Marie more or less ignored my breasts, which disappointed me ‘cos as you know I’m rather proud of them, but as she said when I tried to embrace her in the kitchen that first time, it’s better if you wait. So it proved, and as her treatment of my breasts later that same evening played a big part in cementing our loving relationship forever, I will happily accept that my mistress knows best. And as you know, we’re still together.

I hope you will find it as exciting, or maybe even more exciting than this episode, because I firmly believe that free, unfettered, unrestricted sex, the dirtier the better, of course - whatever it is that floats your boat - is one of the greatest things we thinking human animals have.

Let’s enjoy it!

With love,

Canz

Where do I begin?

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