Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 24

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The sight of her in such a state drove the Whisperer to greater efforts to keep her that way. As the torment went on and on, he began allowing the whistling thongs to sting the very pussy-fesh itself, particularly down between her legs where it was only half-covered by her soggy panties. The wild bucking, hip-twisting, thigh-shuddering reactions he got from these blows gave the game new life, despite the girl’s fagging strength. When the whip laced into her tender pussy, she screamed and jerked around more desperately than ever!

Eventually, however, exhaustion set in, and the girl’s reactions began to diminish. More and more often she allowed her tortured loins to sag against the crotchrope, accepting its harsh bite in exchange for the relief from trying to hold herself up. Fortunately, the Whisperer had planned for this eventuality.

Stepping to the side, he placed his booted foot on the broad iron treadle beneath the ancient sewing machine. By applying his weight to it, he rocked the treadle, setting the gears in motion. The large iron fywheel began to spin, the smaller gears and levers spinning and rocking, making the old sewing machine go through the motions of sewing. It had nothing to sew and no thread to sew it with, so it whirred freely and uselessly along, doing nothing. Well, almost nothing. The crotchrope that Jessica was hanging from was attached to a rocker-arm on the machine, close to its pivot-point, but not quite on it. The result was that the crotchrope began to move rapidly up and down. Not much, only about a quarter of an inch, but that tiny range of motion was more than enough when the rope began to throb deep up inside the crevice of her aching pussy! Jessica’s sobbing changed timbre, and little gasping moans began to fll the moments between sobs. She didn’t even attempt to lift her weight off of the rope as it slowly came alive between her nether lips. Nearly delirious, she welcomed the pleasurable vibration, riding the rope and allowing the mechanical tremors to stoke the furnace of her desire. Her captor worked the treadle faster and faster, until the rope was practically humming. Jessica’s moaning, sobbing cries began to rise, but this time they weren’t cries of pain. Not that she wasn’t in pain; the rope was nestled deep inside her raw, aching cunt, with nearly the whole weight of her body sagging against it, and her torturously bound breasts throbbed agonizingly. But now her arousal was taking command of her nervous system, turning the pain into intense pleasure as it rose.

Working the treadle with his foot, the Whisperer lifted the whip once again, taking careful aim on a new target. With a hissing snap, the wicked, stinging thongs bit into the taut, stretched, swollen fesh of Jessica’s breast. Her reaction was sharp and immediate. She howled in new agony, her body curling, tensing and shuddering, lifting momentarily away from the vibrating rope. In moments the shuddering ceased, and she sank back onto the rope, her sweat-drenched body too tired to hold itself up any longer than a few seconds. The rope did its work, driving her arousal higher once more, until the whip fell with a snap against her other breast. Again she screamed, though not as sharply, and her body bounced and quivered only briefy, never losing contact with the rope between her legs. Her tormentor began to ply the whip against her tortured breasts continuously now, snapping the taut, discolored fesh hard, playing the thin lashes all over the tightly-bound globes. At the same time he kept the treadle going with his foot, deluging Jessica’s senses with both pain and pleasure at once. The poor girl was out of her mind with sensation, sobbing, shrieking and groaning like a demented animal. Her reactions were entirely beyond her control, the dizzying pleasure and unbearable torment overwhelming her and driving her into a frenzy of desire. Her hips began to rock in a sexual rhythm, grinding her clit agonizingly against the throbbing rope. Her gagged screams rose quickly in pitch as she approached climax. There was no stopping it now, and the Whisperer began to lash her tender, swollen nipples hard and fast, while working the treadle as fast as it would go with his foot.

Jessica screamed wildly as she came, wave after wave of mind-bending pleasure sweeping over her tortured body. When at last it ended, she slumped, insensate, against the humming crotchrope. The Whisperer quickly unsnapped the rope and lowered her bottom onto the table at last. With nimble fngers he tore away the soggy gag from her mouth and untied her bound breasts, allowing the blood to fow into the congested fesh once more. After quickly removing the ropes and yardstick from her knees, he massaged the soft tits with both hands, helping the circulation to resume, and gradually they returned to their natural milky color. He was still doing this when the girl began to regain consciousness. She whimpered and moaned, then her eyes futtered open and stared up at him. The look in her wide, glassy eyes was one he would treasure for the rest of his life.

It was a look of innocent wonder, perhaps even awe. “Oh my God,” she said in a tiny, little-girl voice. “I can’t believe it… oh my God… what you did to me… Jesus…”

“The power lies within you,” he whispered softly. “It always has. I merely set it free.”

Her eyes widened, then widened even more, becoming a look of shock. “Oh my God!” she whispered, an expression of horror flling her eyes. Suddenly a fush of humiliation suffused her face and neck, and she turned her face away from him. Her shoulders began to shake, and suddenly she was crying again.

The Whisperer grasped her chin in one gloved hand and wrenched her face back toward him. Her tear-flled eyes stared at him in shock.

“Cease that sniveling immediately!” he hissed, bringing his face down close to hers, his piercing eyes flling her vision. “What you have just experienced is not a thing to be ashamed of! Get that through your head!”

His whispered voice was angry, intense and powerful, demanding her full attention. Aside from an occasional stifed sob, she barely breathed as he spoke.

“There are few mortals on this earth who have the ca- pacity to go where you have just gone,” he continued. “You have the darkness inside you, and you can walk the dark paths forbidden to most! You can accept pain, and transmute it into pleasure more intense than most people will ever experience! You can learn to yield your will to another for a time and become stronger for having done so. You can explore depths inside yourself that most people will never know! This is the power of the darkness! Don’t fear it, girl! Embrace it!”

She simply stared at him, as though not comprehending, but she was no longer crying in shame. With an exasperated sigh he grabbed a handful of the loose, decades-old fabric from the tabletop and wrapped it around her, picking her up in his arms cloth and all. “You may not understand now,” he whispered, “but in time you will.”

He lowered her into the musty nest of old costumes she had been in earlier and left her lying there while he gathered up his ropes and whip into a bundle. Then he returned to her. She stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“Who are you?” she asked softly. “How did you know about me?”

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