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Lovers meet for the first time.

Endorphins cascade into your brain and your body explodes into a mind-numbing orgasm. Your throat becomes sore as your screams turn from those of pain, to those of ecstasy. As the peak subsides, your exhausted body dangles once again from your constricting bonds.

You come to once again. Your head still enshrouded in the leather hood. Its clinging material now soaked in in your sweat and tears. Your body is sticky with sweat and your crotch and thighs are tacky with your vaginal secretions.

The guttural voice is back at your ear, "Good! The whore awakens."

You cringe and gathering a tiny bit of your shattered self-esteem, you mumble into the mask, "I'm NOT a whore!"

"What's that?", the voices says. "You're not a whore? Why, sure you are! Only a whore would pass out from pleasure while having her ass abused so hard and so deeply."

Your mind tries to rebel against that thought, but you are mortified to realize that he just might be right. You DID ultimately enjoy the pain and its resulting pleasure. Your pussy quivers and your aching butt clenches at the thought, sending a shiver through your body.

You are wrenched from your reverie as the tip of a leather riding crop smacks into your exposed, defenseless cunt. The whippy, rounded rod parting your swollen pussy-lips, as the flat leather tip smacks into your tender clit. You suck in air before erupting with a keening screech. You try to press hips forward to escape the blistering tattoo of the crop, but you're held in place by the bar. Your voice turns into a whimper, then a continuous moan, as your body betrays you by slowly arching back into the assault on the sacred mound of your womanhood.

The rising tide of an on-rushing orgasm climbs higher and higher as the pleasure hormones flood your overfatigued mind. Cunt juices pour from your excruciatingly aching vulva. And just as the tsunami is about to come crashing into the shore, the riding crop stops, leaving you hanging over the precipice of the mother-of-all orgasms.

Your throat rumbles as the hood-muffled wail of unfed-lust fills the air. Pleading. Begging. Whimpering. Moaning with unfulfilled carnality.

The hand snatches your ponytail, twisting your head up and back, sending blades of sharp pain into your scalp.

The voice is once again at your ear, "What a fucking slut you are! Nothing but a fucking slave to abuse and pleasure. Begging to have her cunt whipped! Is that what you want you little fuck-doll? IS IT? Do you want me to continue whipping your cunt? Are you a WHORE? A SLUT? A FUCK-TOY for my enjoyment?"

Your mind reels. You hang on the edge of unquenched desire, the likes of which you have never before known to exist. You are poised at the apex of an earth-shattering, life-changing, all-encompassing decision.

The last vestige of your old-self falls away. You lay claim in your soul to the titles of "whore", "slut", "fuck-toy" and even "sex-slave".

You nod your head in acquiescence, jerking against the fist still clenched in your hair, sending stabs of fresh, glorious pain into your scalp.

You scream in delight as a long, thick, steel-hard bar of man-flesh buries itself to the balls in your quaking cunt. The spongy head bouncing off your cervix with every thrust. Your hips being pounded into the restraining bar in front.

Your pussy spasms. Clenching the plundering spike hard in the hot abyss of your gluttonous fuckhole.

The hand in your hair yanks hard, sawing back and forth, like it's holding the reins to a bucking bronco.

The other hand skims under your belly and between your thighs, latching onto your clit, smashing it between finger and thumb.

You cum harder than ever before. Jets of hot liquid explode from your open cunt, soaking your lower body and his, as you experience the no-longer mythic female ejaculation.

Lights explode behind your closed, weeping eyes, as your whole being transcends into another plane of existence. Where pain is pleasure and pleasure is pain, and all is beautiful, floating in a pool of blinding light.

You pass out.


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