Finally she had it in as far as it would go. The leash was
pretty tight but she could still breath; her face had been bright
red before the leash began tightening. Much of her body was
red now, between the exertion and the welts, and all of it was
sweaty despite her being naked in the chill of the desert night.
The firelight flickering on her glistening form was lovely. The
sweat pouring down her face had forced her to close her eyes but
close examination confirmed that tears were still forcing their
way out from under her eyelashes to mingle with her sweat. It
was hard to determine how much of the pain twisting her face came
>from the shaft’s penetration of her most private parts, how much
>from her exertions, and how much had come from the whipping; I
doubt she could have separated it. “You’ve done well, slave, but
this was part one. Now that you’ve stretched yourself around it
and lubricated it, the fun part starts. Now you fuck it; c’mon
slave, up and down”, I ordered, and gave her a stroke on the
breasts to emphasize the point. She groaned but began to raise
herself up, then to lower herself after rising only a few inches.
The whip kissed her belly, and I said “You can do better than
that”, and she pulled herself up about six inches above the
point of her lowest descent and then started lowering herself
again. She’d done so well that I decided to go easy on her and
accept that. It was pretty slow going as she slid up and down
the shaft the first few circuits, but as she stretched herself
further, a process accompanied by a lot of screaming, and, at
the end of each lap by her tearful inquiry, “Can I stop now ?”,
it became easier. Soon, encourage by strokes to her shoulders
or buttocks, depending upon which way she was to go, she was
humping it good, her T&A bouncing nicely. Her hair was too wet,
and stuck to her head instead of bouncing, but you can’t have
everthing. After a few more rounds she ceased asking if she
could stop, I thought because she had taken to heart my repeated
answer, “You’ll stop when I tell you to stop”. She kept going and
I found I’d no need to use the whip to urge her on, which would
not have stopped me from continuing to flog her had not my elbow
become a little sore. Since she’d been grunting and moaning with
her face and chest flushed and her face contorted for some time,
it was hard to tell if there was anything else effecting her
performance, but it soon became clear that her pent up lust was
going to find release no matter how it had to do so. Her
widespread legs were going like mad sliding her up and down on
the wood and the tone of her vocalizations changed from pain to
passion and she started jerking her head back and screaming
“YES – YES – YES” but this time neither of us was under any
illusions that it might be a safeword. Soon a series of
convulsions surged through her, one after another, and when
she was done shaking, her legs collapsed under her and her head
slumped forwards and she hung limp, impaled on the apparatus.
I rushed forwards to check on her. She was out, but she was
breathing, and once the leash was off her breathing was regular.
Her heart was pounding but it was rapidly coming back to normal.
I considered whether she could be revived – I’d planned to
unchain her feet and make her rotate herself around the shaft
a few times, but I’d so enjoyed the look of her humping that I
deferred the change in direction – but it didn’t appear likely.
“Well, slave,” I told her inert form, “it looks like you managed
to thwart my plans after all. I hope you’re happy”. Sure seemed
that way at the end.
I unchained her and took her off the apparatus, and carried her
to the tent. There wasn’t any way to place her that she wasn’t
laying on her welts, as she was completely covered with
crisscrossing stripes from her knees to her neck, but in her
current state it wouldn’t matter. I layed her on her back and
cleaned her face and neck and when she cooled a little covered
her with a blanket and spent much of the night dripping water
with a some dissolved sugar and salt into her mouth and stroking
her throat so she’d swallow. When I thought she’d been
rehydrated sufficiently, I rolled her onto her stomach and made
certain her mouth was clear and in the open, then went back to
the fire to heat my dinner. It appeared Patricia wouldn’t be
eating again tonight. I ate my meal and enjoyed the cool desert
night and warm fire while I replayed the whole glorious day in my
mind. Then I checked on Patricia. She was still completely out,
but I wasn’t comfortable sleeping next to her without restraints
– it didn’t look like she would be waking up tonight but I
couldn’t chance her waking up before I did – so I selected some
soft padded leather cuffs and locked her wrists behind her.
She was still asleep when I awoke. It seemed unlikely that she
would be able to walk back to the base camp, even without
carrying the gear, so after breakfast for me and some more
rehydration for her, I assembled a lightweight cage, tied
Patricia up good and tight and put her in the cage, and lashed
the cage up on a platform in the nearest shady spot. She wouldn’t
be able to get out and no buzzards or coyotes would be able to
get at her; if my information was correct there were no larger
predators in this area. I moved what gear I couldn’t carry out of
sight; when she woke up she’d probably think she’d been left to
die, an idea that I found pretty sexy. Maybe she’d be
sufficiently grateful when I came back for her to forget how
she’d gotten there. Not likely, but possible.
