Robert's Needs

The leather cuffs are soft but implacable.

They don’t lock, but they don’t have to either, because I can’t reach the buckles no matter how much I stretch or twist my fingers. I’m hanging by my wrists in my boyfriend Robert’s garage, midway between a bench press and a scattered set of free weights. With a huge effort, I could just barely touch the floor with my toes, or the lanyard hook that I’m hanging from with the tip of my middle finger. The thing I can’t do is release myself. There are also cuffs around my ankles and a chain linking them to the floor, to prevent me from drawing my legs up.

I’m feeling a cool breeze on my naked skin, and I’m wondering how in hell I ever let myself get into this situation. Again.

Robert and I were born on the same day, and we went to the same schools. We had always been friends, even in the grades when boys and girls aren’t supposed to like one another. Then he developed an interest in bodybuilding around the same time I developed an interest in boys, and I promptly got a hopeless crush on him. By the time we were going to the same college, he was a Big Man On Campus, always surrounded by a flock of girls much prettier than me, and I filed the desire I felt for him in away, along with all those dreams that kids eventually have to give up on.

Then we were both out of school and working, and Robert was married after a whirlwind affair and divorced by his new wife the very same year. Somehow I wound up at his place trying to comfort him the best I could. We sat on his couch, drank his wine, and talked for hours. Finally, in a low, hoarse voice, he made his confession to me.

“The thing I really long to do,” he said, “is to whip. To whip a girl, to make her squirm with pain, to crush all the resistance out of her. To make her know that she is feeling my power. To make her suffer as Darlene made me suffer.” He deliberately lightened his tone. “Is that some sick shit or what?” But I knew he meant it, meant it with everything in him.

Silently, all my muscles trembling, I forced myself up from the couch. I turned my back on Robert and lowered my maroon skirt and matching thong to my ankles and stepped out of them. I imagine he blinked.

“Allie, are you sure?” he asked. I nodded, not because I was sure at all, not about being whipped. But I was sure I wanted to please him more than anything in the world, and if he needed me to be in pain, I would be in pain for him.

That first time, he just slapped my ass. The sting surprised me, as did the warmth that followed it. It hurt, yes, but it was also the culmination of years of fantasies. Robert was being physical with me for the first time. and the pain made it clear that this time it wasn’t all just my imagination. I knew that the inevitable follow-up to Robert spanking my ass would be Robert fucking my cunt.

I was right. After about a dozen hard slaps, he undid his pants and he fucked me bending over a chair. That first time, he didn’t even bother to undress himself or do anything else to me. I knew that he knew that my cunt was wet and ready for him. I was no stranger to sex, but I had never been fucked like that, with such energy and enthusiasm. He came in me, and when he pulled out and turned me around, I saw how wildly happy he was. Even though I hadn’t even come, so was I.

We’ve progressed a long way from simple spanking and doggy style since that day. Now I was moaning while I dangled from the hook, not from the pain, not yet, my mind full of crazy memories of the past and fantasies of what was to come.

Now he enters the garage, turning up the heat so we will both be sweating. He is wearing leather, because we’ve learned that the sight and smell of leather impregnated with his sweat make me hot. He is carrying a big whip and a small strap, but it’s the strap that scares me the most. It’s a gag, and that means he is going to use the big whip. A lot. On me.

The gag’s leather plug fills my mouth as Robert tightens the strap around my head so it can’t come loose. He positions himself at the best distance to use this particular whip, which is four feet of stiff leather and two feet of flexible. Robert and I have become connoisseurs of whips and whipping styles.

He draws the whip back and lets it fly, thwack! It is exactly as painful as I expect it to be. My ass is still burning when he lays the second stroke on me. After about four strokes, I start cursing my stupidity, but of course he can’t hear me because of the thick plug in my mouth. It hurts like hell, and it begins to dawn upon me once again that I can’t stop it, I really can’t stop it, and the whipping is going to go on and on until my crazy boyfriend is finished with me, whether I like it or not. I must be the crazy one.

But at the same time this thought triggers a flood of deep submission, and I feel myself melting inside. I belong to Robert. Thwack! I am his slave, his puppet, his doll. My feelings belong to him too. Thwack! All this, I know, is painted on my straining face and my sweating body. It’s so humiliating, the loss of self-control, and that fuels my lust even more.

I have never been able to figure out whether Robert counts his strokes, or whether he judges his progress by my reactions. Once he left off the gag and had me count them, but I was so distracted by the flood of feelings inside me that the numbers came out all crazy. He punished me all the more for that, to be sure, but we never tried that idea again. All I know for sure is that eventually the whip falls to the ground, and Robert is there beside me, fucking me, fucking me in the same bondage that held me fast for the whip. Thwackkk! A particularly hard stroke draws me back to the present moment.

I am still hanging by my wrists, my ass and my whole body racked with pain, and I feel Robert’s strong arms around me and the tip of his cock probing my slit. A little maneuvering, and he’s easily in at just the right angle, all made possible by the suspension.

That first fuck is over in a single frenzy of motion. After the whipping, neither of us ever lasts long. It’s not even clear who comes first this time, though one of us is triggered by the other’s orgasm. Then he’s out, gone, and I become newly aware of the weight of my bound arms. My shoulders are in red-hot pain, almost as bad as my ass. A hot, heavy river of Robert’s jism is creeping down my right thigh, making me itch unbearably. I have what seems like hundreds of other itches, and I can’t scratch. I can’t scratch.

I try to think of something else. I try to tighten my pussy muscles so that no more of his come will seep out, but I can’t, there’s too much of it. The smell of sex is like a low, thick cloud trapped inside the garage, mixing with the smells of machine oil, spilled gasoline, and bare metal.

I hear Robert pick up the whip again. I moan softly. The deepest, most submissive part of me is actually craving another encounter with my boyfriend’s cruel whip. He doesn’t strike me with it, though. Instead, he rubs the hard leather unbearably across the criss-crossing of fresh welts that cover my bottom. I begin to shake my ass, not even caring how much worse it makes my shoulders feel. Robert reverses the whip in his hand and shoves the handle of it all the way up my cunt in one thrust. He’s not worried about the angle now, just dildoing me with the handle for his pleasure alone. I hear him grinding his teeth in frustration and rage. That’s a bad sign. Or a good one.

Then the handle is gone, Robert’s gone, and I hear the noise of lubricant being squeezed out of a bottle. Robert comes back and slaps whole handfuls of it onto my ass. This particular lube has a couple of special ingredients in it. The first one makes it feel cold, almost freezing, stinging the unbroken skin between the welts. He rubs it into my asshole, making it crinkle up. He steps away briefly, and I hear him setting the cooking timer all the way to the maximum, which is half an hour. My body shakes uncontrollably at the thought.

Then the second ingredient of the lube kicks in, and the coolness fades, to be replaced by warmth, intense warmth, heat. The crinkles fade away, my asshole dilating. Sometimes Robert tortures me with my own lust, denying me relief by the hour. Not today, though. And I’ve learned not to be surprised by how quickly he can recover from his orgasms, no matter how satisfying they may be. He wipes his hands on a rag and pulls on his thin leather gloves. He unclips the chain that holds my feet to the concrete floor, letting my body swing freely on the hook, pulling my ass cheeks over to where he stands..

I’ve never been able to take it up the ass except in bondage, which is another one of the ways in which Robert has taken me further than any other man would or could. I know that Robert will have smeared his cock with a different lube that numbs him just a little, so he can last a long, long time in my ass. His cock slides up me, and how easily it goes in is a sign of how relaxed I am, despite the sweat, the funk, the pain. I belong to him, and he can fuck me whatever way he chooses.

This time he chooses not to thrust, but to push and pull my whole body over his unmoving cock. The strain on my arms grows to the point where I’m screaming into the gag, but my asshole remains firmly plugged with him. Eventually he grows tired of this, and lets me hang loosely, his cock still up my ass, while he reaches around my hips to give me three orgasms with his gloved fingers.

For the last stage, he reattaches the chain, somehow managing to stay inside me, and fucks me until it seems like his cock has become huge enough to come up the back of my throat. Robert is not small, but in my ass he always seems twice, three times as long and thick. The timer’s bell rings, and at last he comes to his second release, his sperm filling my bowels, adding an internal heat to the unbearable external warmth. Sweat is pouring down my face and tits and Robert’s spunk is pouring down my bruised thighs. All this time, he hasn’t spoken a single word to me.