The Last Hole

The red headed girl watched the car drive away and gently closed the kitchen door behind her, letting the afternoon sunlight flash across her soft, alabaster skin. She was dressed for the summer’s heat, though technically it had not yet arrived, the soft breezes of spring still providing a last dreamy coolness. A pair of tight, denim shorts hugged the rondure of her bottom and the texture of a pair of lean, cream colored legs could make a man’s mouth water. Her small, bare feet were visible in a set of foam soled flip-flops, the kind worn to the beach by innocent little girls. Each delicate toenail was colored scarlet, matching the ruby flames curling around her head. The tee shirt itself was respectable, but overly tight, as if she’d received it at the age of twelve and couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, letting the cotton slowly stretch thin over her growing curves, only to eventually reveal the outlines of a bra cut so daringly that it only accentuated her ample curves, rather than attenuate them. Her eyes were blue and a sprinkle of almost invisible, sunbaked freckles crossed the bridge of her nose. Her face, while lacking the heart-shaped lines of beauty, was appealingly round, giving her an appearance of adorable purity. 

She crossed over to the corner of the kitchen and picked up two paper sacks from behind one of the chairs. One was small, clearly holding just a few items while the larger bag could barely contain its contents; a thin wooden handle sticking out of the top. With a bag in each hand, she headed toward the living room where she knew he was waiting, tilting her hip as she skirted the back of one chair. It was unconsciously provocative and had any man seen he would have been wishing he could see it again.

The living room itself was dim, the blinds lowered. Two easy chairs sat against one wall, while the other side of the room was dominated by a decent sized television set. She could just barely hear the sounds it was making; black and white footage of some war playing across the flickering screen. The briefest thought of Vietnam crossed her mind but was quickly replaced by the reality of his presence. 

He was sitting in one of the chairs, his walker pushed off to the side, both legs up on the footrest. He wore jeans and socks, but no shoes and from that angle there looked to be nothing wrong with him. Except at his age, only in the mid-sixties, his hair only peppered with silver, he shouldn’t have needed the aluminum framed walker. He smiled up at her, his eyes warm and expressive, filled with affection. But then, something darker filtered through his irises, a primal need responding to the tight nooks and crannies of her body, enjoying the way the material was held snug against her skin. There was a hunger there, a hunger that seemed incongruous and wrong.

She set the bags down, the smaller of the two on the table to his right, while the larger went to the table between the chairs. She knew her parents often ate dinner right there, since it was frequently easier for her mother to bring dinner to him, rather than make him get up and shuffle to the kitchen table. He’d been injured in a traffic accident years before, his leg the casualty of a drunk driver. It had been a brutal blow to a man who had been highly active, a farmer and rancher by trade, and an avid horseman. He’d taught his daughter how to ride.

She stood before him, smiling down.

“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He asked, smiling up at her. She shrugged and gave him a winsome, yet somewhat mischievous grin.

“I thought you needed some attention,” she said softly, bending over toward him. She reached around the side of the chair and snagged the lever that would lower the footrest. It folded back under him as his legs were lowered and she watched as his left, strong leg found the floor first. The right leg was limp. 

“So what’s in the bags?” He asked, nodding toward the small bag on his right. She grinned and picked it back up, opening it.

“Well this one is for me to use,” she said, pulling out a bottle. “On you. You need some tender loving care.” There was a label on the container she held out and he read it with a laugh. 

“Strawberry? You’ve got to be kidding me,” he chuckled. “I can’t have your mother getting a whiff of that.”

She pulled out a good sized rubber ring, wide and thick enough to go around something cucumber sized. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she told him eagerly. “I’ll make sure there isn’t even a little bit left,” she assured him.

“Sure you will,” he nodded. “And the other bag?”

Her smile turned mischievous. “Things for you to use on me.”

“Ahhh,” he said as she put her hand back in the small bag, the paper rustling. “There’s more?” He asked.

She grinned and extracted four dice, the small white kind.

“Two for me and two for you?” He asked curiously. She shook her head. 

“Hardly. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?” She set one down next to the bottle of strawberry oil. “This one decides how many minutes I get to work on you.” She held up the rest. “And this is how many minutes you get to play with the items in the large bag.” She tossed the dice and they clattered noisily on the table. “Eleven,” she said with satisfaction. Then she glanced at him. He picked up his lone, solitary die and gave it a shake. When it landed on the table it came up with two dots showing. She sighed. “Just my luck. Why couldn’t you have rolled a six?”

“Two is bad?” He asked curiously.

She shrugged. “Maybe not for you,” she said, kneeling down before him. She pulled out her phone and opened a timer application and then set it down on the table. She gave him a long, serious look, then she knelt in front of him, her hands sliding up his thighs. He said nothing until she began unbuckling his belt. 

“How is it bad?” He asked. The red haired girl’s fingers worked the waistband of his jeans open.

“Well, that’s the game, isn’t it?” She asked, opening the fastener of his jeans and grabbing the zipper. “The game ends when you’re satisfied. So if I can’t get things done in two minutes, you get a chance to play, at least for eleven minutes. Then I get another go. If I don’t manage things, then it’s your turn again. Back and forth.” She pulled the zipper downward, exposing his boxers.

“I see. And what happens if you do ‘satisfy’ me, as you so quaintly put it?”

She looked up at him, their gaze meeting. “Then we’re done.” She gave him a sweet smile, then tugged at his pants and he lifted his ass off the chair with his arms and good leg.

“Interesting,” he replied with a grin. “It’s all about self-control, isn’t it?” 

She shrugged. “For you? Depends on what’s being done to whom, don’t you think?” She asked, her eyebrow going up, the gleam in her eye just a little brighter. There was a sultry look there, something almost naughty. He swallowed and then tapped the larger sack. 

“What’s in there?” He asked.

Her laugh was like a silver bell. “I’m sure you can guess,” she replied as she tugged his pants down all the way to his ankles. His right leg was strangely shaped and withered. She ran her hands back up his legs and he sighed with pleasure. 

“Oh,” he groaned as her fingers dug into the warped and shriveled muscles. She rubbed his legs for almost a minute, watching the pleasure on his face, the relief of aches and pains that were difficult to articulate. He sighed in pure happiness.

Then she grabbed his boxers and tugged.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with his cock and it sprang upward, surging into the open air, an awkward commentary on the situation. For a long moment neither said a single word and she just stared at his length. Then, with deliberate patience, she pulled his boxers down even further, off him until they puddled around his ankles. She got as close as she could, and he was suddenly very cognizant of her breasts touching his knees. Slowly she picked up the bottle of oil, unscrewing it as the light in her eyes darkened with sultry sexuality.

“Two minutes,” she said, tapping the screen of her phone. It started counting down and she lifted the bottle, pouring oil into her hand. For a moment the space between them was barrier enough, but then she touched his length, her fingers curling around his shaft. He gasped, her touch electric, his hips thrusting upward against her palm. A little smirk on her face appeared as she slowly drew her hands downward, the oil spreading along his length. He let out a moan, his eyebrows narrowing at the overwhelming pleasure. When her hand met the base of his rod she let go, only to again place it over the tapered head, twisting gently in a mind blowing caress. His fingers tightened on the arm rests, knuckles white and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You… you’re trying to make me cum.”

She said nothing for a long moment, only caressing him. “I said satisfied,” she corrected, her hands going up and down in the oil, massaging his manhood. He swallowed hard and glanced at the timer. 

“Two minutes…” he gasped. “And what happens if I do it to you?”

She knelt there, her face a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Me? Why would I cum?”

“Because of what’s in that bag. Because of what I do to you,” he said with nonchalance.

She laughed. “I know what’s in that bag. It’s not there for that.” She gave him a wry smile. “You’re going to torture me.”

“But you like that kind of thing,” he responded.

“Yessss, but there are protocols,” she replied dismissively.

He leaned forward slightly, her hand bumping into his belly. “Then let’s make this more interesting. A challenge if you will.”

She rubbed him a little faster, making him groan. “A challenge? What kind of challenge?”

“Simple. If I satisfy you then I get the last hole.”

Her eyes widened. “What? I don’t think so!” She shook her head vehemently. “You want that, you ask Mama.”

His steel gray eyes looked hard at her. “You need a risk, something to resist. You don’t want to give in. I need a reason for you not to cum. This is a good one. It’s daring.”

She grimaced, uncertain. The things in the large bag weren’t meant to satisfy her. At least not technically. They were meant to satisfy his urges. It was always about him. She wanted it that way. 

“You love playing these kinds of games. Besides, you know that I’ll probably climax first. You, on the other hand, have probably had four orgasms already today. You’re enured against it.”

That was hardly true. She’d been tormented all day, though he didn’t know it yet, constantly stimulated by not given relief. She was dry tinder. Still, he was right about one thing - she could do things to him that wouldn’t give him a chance to switch the table. Besides, he was almost assuredly in the same shape.

But why agree to such a thing? Why risk changing the rules? She was about to shake her head.

“And we’ll watch Rachel twice as much this summer,” he added as she slowly brought both hands down on either side of his length, His eyes fluttered and he let out another groan.



She didn’t answer him verbally, but her hands made long, firm strokes up and down, squeezing and massaging him. The seconds ticked by and when there was just a measly half a minute left she lowered her face, tongue extending to delicately lap at the glistening head of his prick. She could feel his heartbeat through their connection and she had no doubt he was nearing the pinnacle. Still, his breathing had only increased marginally. She licked and swirled her tongue around the rim of his shaft’s head, pumping sporadically as her other hand came up, nails gently caressing his scrotum. She knew how much he loved that.

He groaned again, eyes closed, his lips pressed tightly together. He was under tremendous strain. She could feel it. His entire body had stiffened and she could feel the thrust of his hips. She began bobbing her head, knowing that he needed the movement as well as the sensation and she felt him pulse in her mouth.

*Chirp* 

She pulled her mouth off him and let go of his shaft. His eyes opened and she could see the need in them. “Damn,” she muttered softly.

He swallowed hard. “You… you’ve gotten better,” he admitted.

She gave him a queer look. “I’ve always been good.”

He nodded. “That’s certainly the problem,” he replied.

“What?” She asked.

“Stand up. It’s time for you to get naked,” he said, taking a deep breath to settle his sensitized nerves. His cock stood straight out, glistening and hard.

She rose to her feet and began to yank off her shirt but he held up his hand. “No, no, no. Slowly. A tease. Then satisfaction.”

She glanced at the phone. “You only have ten minutes and thirty seconds left,” she warned, with only her smooth belly bare. He shrugged indifferently. “I’m not about to let you make me cum.”

“I think I have time. You, however, do not.”

With a short sigh, her expression changed from practical to sultry. She began swaying, twisting and shimmying back and forth with her hips and bottom. If he noticed the rolling of her hips, or the truncated thrusts he said nothing. She grabbed the shirt and began peeling it upward, revealing the lace bra that cupped her amazing breasts.

She tossed it aside, close by but easily reached if necessary and then she brought both hands up to unhook her bra. She turned her back to him as it came loose and she slid the straps down her shoulders, holding the material in place as she rotated back to face him. His eyes hungrily focused on her bosom as the lace slowly dropped and even he sucked in a breath of desire as the two, pink, pierced tips of her breasts were exposed to his eyes. Gold glinted and a small padlock dangled from the right nipple. The graceful curve of the undersides of her breasts seemed to catch the light of the table lamp and then the bra fell beside her shirt.

“Are you following rule number one?” He asked as her fingers went to the button of her tight shorts.

She gave him a wicked smile. “Of course. I’m required to. Julie and Kari would have my head if I didn’t.” 

“Or they’d punish you,” he observed wryly. He said nothing else, clearly wanting to see, rather than hear about the toy she’d stuffed into her own slit early that morning. The button popped open and she pulled the zipper down, feeling some of the pressure on her loins lessen. It didn’t change her arousal, and she was certainly feeling it, but the twelve inches of rubber seemed to be pressing into her less. She turned her back to him again, presenting her ass, and with short tugs, managed to get the denim shorts down off her ass, pulled from her thighs, to let it drop to her ankles. She kicked it off, getting rid of the flip flops as well. She turned back to face him and he leaned forward, his eyes intent on the three inch diameter circle, outlined clearly at the front of her pink, bikini cut panties.

“Ah,” he said knowingly. “The Core Driller. Of course. What better toy to stuff you with while wearing those tight little shorts.”

“If I take off my panties, I won’t be able to hold it in,” she warned him.

He nodded. “Lay on your back, take the panties off, and then we’ll worry about your dildo.”

She shrugged and lay down, her knees bent and her bare feet literally up in his lap. He had to lean forward to see her fingers snag the pink cotton and pull it down off her loins. It slid up to her knees and he grabbed the material himself and pulled it free of her cute, little, bare feet. He tossed it with the rest of her clothes and put his hands back on her, fingers touching the arches of each sole. She sighed, one hand between her legs.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commanded.

The redhead on the floor opened her legs and put one hand over her sex, keeping the soles of her feet right where they were. The hand cupping her sex wasn’t to hide the sight of her little pink clit, or the glistening wetness of her petals. It was to keep the black rubber monstrosity in her gaping cleft. He watched with amusement as she grasped the end of the dildo and pushed it a few inches back in, her body shivering with sexual delight.

“Pump that thing while I take a look in the toy bag,” he said, nudging her with his good leg.

She drew three quarters of the dildo’s length out of her dripping sex and then slid it back in with a soft moan. “You know… you’re supposed… to be… doing things… to me,” she replied, thrusting the massive cock back into herself. From the sounds she was making it must have felt very, very good.

“Oh I am,” he said as he rummaged through the bag. “I’m tormenting you.”  He made an excited noise of satisfaction and grabbed something down near the bottom of the sack. “Here we are,” he said. He extracted something and held it out. “Here. Take this. You can remove the Core Driller and put this in its place.”

She reached up and felt the two silicon covered objects in her hand. They were roughly the size of quail eggs, though shaped more like a pill. Connected with a thick wire, she suddenly felt an uneasiness about their agreement. Maybe he knew her too well. She drew the Core Driller from her sex, again moaning at the pleasure of it. She knew that the size and thickness, the gradiated girths, made for intoxicating pleasure, but it was also unwieldy. She held it in one hand as she brought the two bullet vibrators down to her sopping wet slit, pressing them through her labia, pushing each object deeper with her thumb until…

“Here, let me help.” He’d managed to remove a sock from his good leg and he pressed his bare toes against her sex. She got her fingers out of the way as he squashed the objects into her, pushing, rubbing her petals. It was rough, unfocused, and messy, but it was also degrading. Almost instinctively she spread her legs wide, butterflying herself as he foot fucked her. His big toe went in, shoving the vibes deeper and then he pulled back, pressed his toe against her clit and rubbed.

She stiffened, arching her back with pleasure, and it didn’t help when he activated the small remote. Both balls began vibrating, at different speeds, swirling in her depths like dancing fish in a whirlpool. Through a haze of exquisite bliss, she realized she’d been an idiot. He could make her cum anytime if he really wanted to. Then he pulled his foot away, toying with her.

“Kneel,” he commanded her. “Hands behind your head.” The sound of the paper sack again filled her ears and as she rolled to her side and got on her knees, he pulled something silver from the bag. She faced him, fingers interlocked behind her head. She took the opportunity to glance at the phone, checking how much time he had before she would again have the chance to turn the tables on him. If she could just get through the next three minutes.

Suddenly his hand lashed out, striking her hard. It wasn’t a blow to the face. He’d never, not once in her entire life, struck her there. Instead his hand spanked her left breast, smacking it toward the right side of her body. Then he hit her other tit. She gasped, eyes widening as he delivered a flurry of spanks, stinging with heat, swatting at her chest with rapid, open handed strokes. She gasped, then closed her eyes, struggling to deal with the sudden change in sensation, fully aware that the stinging discomfort of his clout seemed only to enhance the buzzing love between her thighs, rather than drain or nullify it.

There was a pause in the spanking and her eyes snapped open when a horrible pinch, centered upon the tip of her left breast, made the sting of the tit slapping seem mild. She looked down, swallowing the shrill yelp that threatened to escape her lips as she realized he’d clamped her nipple. The steel bite of the vice was behind her piercing, but the clover clamp had been tightened cruelly and she could already feel the restricted blood flow affecting her.

A chain connected the two clamps and he lifted the second one with an efficiency that only a rancher could possess. In less than two more seconds he’d crushed her right nipple, placing it in identical straights. She almost lost her grip, her hands coming loose from behind her head, even as her knees buckled. She sucked in a breath, her bosom moving deliciously, the chain and clamps dangling provocatively from the pink and gold points.

“One minute left,” he observed. She glanced down at the phone and saw he was right. The timer moved through the top of the clock and the sixty second countdown had begun. He reached back into the bag and because his hand didn’t go to the bottom, she knew what he’d taken hold of. He pulled it out. It was a stick, wrapped in leather, almost three feet long. A short, small, square of hide was secured to the end, stained black. Any horseman would recognize it, though she’d never seen him use one, at least, not on a horse.

“Stand up and spread your legs,” he ordered, swinging the crop imperiously. She rose, keeping her hands laced to the back of her neck. She stared straight ahead as he ran the head of the crop down from her throbbing, aching nipple, over her belly, and then to the sodden swamp between her legs. He leaned back, which gave him plenty of room to maneuver the weapon.

“Wider,” he commanded, tapping the soft and wet inner thigh of her leg. The redhead girl moved her feet further apart and he rewarded her obedience by tapping the crop upward, smacking the dripping petals of her sex. She gasped, eyes widening in alarm. He did it again and this time she went up on tiptoe. 

“Thirty seconds left,” he whispered. “Thirty,” the crop smacked her pussy with just enough force to make her shudder. “Twenty-nine,” the crop snapped to the right, striking her on the leg, just where it met her torso.” “Twenty-eight,” he said, flicking the shaft to the left, grazing her labia and impacting her other inner thigh. “Twenty-seven,” he said, eyes bright, bringing the crop back up to tap her sex.

She stood there rigid, arms and legs locked into position as the vibrators swirled and buzzed inside her. The crushing pain of the clamps had numbed into a pulsing throb at each breast, an agony that she could barely tolerate. She stood on tiptoe, her body trembling from the strain as he snapped the crop through a triangle of torment, always seeming to come back to her pussy, striking the soft, malleable, sensitive petals with just barely stinging blows.

When he got to one, she expected him to strike her left thigh. It had been the pattern he’d kept through the count. But he didn’t. Instead he brought the crop back up, changing the angle of his stroke. Instead of swatting the swelling, bright pink petals of her womanhood, he aimed higher. The leather pad at the end bit into the top of the redhead girl’s slit, striking not the lower opening and the surrounding flesh, but the one little nub that he’d ignored up to that point. He hit harder too and she cried out, hands finally coming off her neck, going to the sore spot between her legs, knees buckling as the crop stung her exposed, delicate, and now burning clitoris.

*chirp*

“Your turn,” he said devilishly as the timer expired. He tapped the phone again, restarting the clock, this time on a two minute run.

She looked up at him, realizing that she was on the ground. Pain radiated out from the tip of each breast, and only the vibrators, still buzzing inside her body, kept the ache of his torment from overwhelming her. She ran her fingers over her thigh, feeling the roughness of the skin. He marked her. She knew it. And the diabolical thoughtfulness of his torments meant that she’d suffer, even as she tried to use her two minutes wisely.

It was this understanding that forced her upward, to get back on her knees, to straighten her spine. She didn’t have minutes. She only had a hundred and twenty seconds. She couldn’t waste them feeling sorry for herself, flat on her ass between his feet! She propelled herself upward, levering forward. 

He’d softened somewhat, but that was resolved in the first ten seconds of her sweet sucking. Her soft and slippery mouth moved with almost panicked urgency, bobbing up and down his shaft. Her hand encircled the base, adding stability and pressure. She didn’t bother to tickle his balls, or do anything else. Her entire focus was the fellatio, she wanted to, no… needed to… make him cum.

His member turned to granite. She felt it. But now there seemed to be some sort of serene barrier. He didn’t moan. He didn’t thrust. He merely let her suckle and suck him. She began to worry, then panic, and the movements of her head became more frantic.

“Patience girl. Be gentle,” he warned.

She forced herself to slow down. The throbbing soreness of her breasts made thinking hard and even though the sting was now fading from her slit, her clitoris still felt hot from the last and final blow he’d given her. She knew that going too fast could hurt her efforts to make him orgasm, so she suckled, drawing him in deep, only to lap at his tip with her tongue. This seemed to turn the tide because a moment later he gasped, his hips rising at last, thrusting into her mouth and then down her throat. She began swallowing, trying to get him deeper, but his hand patted her head.

“Sorry, dear heart.”

*Chirp*

She practically gagged and pulled herself up off his cock, saliva dripping between them. She wiped the back of her hand across her face and stared up at him. He was already reaching for the bag. 

“Stand up girl, and spread your legs again,” he said.

Her eyes flashed to the crop, but he’d set it aside. Now he drew his hand out of the bag and her lips pressed into a tight line. She’d remembered putting the wooden clothespin in there, but it had been a caveat, a last minute thing. Why had he focused on them?

He leaned forward and grasped her labia, pinching and pulling on it. She whimpered as the first clothespin bit down on the fold of dewy flesh and he made no effort to spare her discomfort as he did the same to the other side of her pussy. When he raised the third peg she felt the tears forming in her eyes and when he delicately, but perfectly placed it on her clit, pinching the sensitive, nerve packed nub. Salty streams flowed downward, over her cheeks.

“There now,” he said in satisfaction. He touched the clothespin, wiggling it back and forth and her eyes widened in panic. Her hands moved, but she stopped herself before blocking him. Her clenched fists struggled with where to go until he looked up.

“Behind your back,” he said, fingering the peg, her little nub getting twisted in all directions. 

She jammed her fists behind her, struggling with the torment. 

“Spread your legs further, and hold still,” he muttered. She whined as he pulled on the clothespin, tugging her clit outward. Then with his left hand, he gathered the excess oil and saliva she’d left on his cock, or perhaps it was a drop of precum. He gently dabbed it against the head of her clit, using the clothespin to pull back the hood, just a little. The expression on her face was almost indescribable, the agony and ecstasy of his caress, just that bit of fluid, between the pad of his finger and her clit, sent her in a climbing spiral. 

She realized in shock that she no longer cared. She needed to cum. She had to cum. She tilted her hips toward him, angling upward, pushing herself closer. His fingers didn’t let go of the clothespin and it twisted, back and forth, sending lancing shards of pure agony up into her. But then he stroked her clit again, softly, so sweetly that she was near to swooning just from the sheer pleasure. 

“P-p-please,” she whined. “Please… please… daddy!”

He didn’t stop. The twisting caress seared her and she went up on tiptoe once more, strained almost to breaking. She could feel the pressure inside her, past boiling and nearing the blowing point. It was there, just over the edge, escape and climax. She was going to cum!

He let go of the clothespin and pushed her backward slightly. She gasped, eyes blinking. Her body trembled violently. She was so close! No! Please NO! She stared at him. 

“Turn around and put your hands on your knees,” he ordered.

Uncertain, hoping for relief, she did as she was asked. She stuck her ass toward him and bent over, hands on her own legs. Her breasts dangled downward, as did the clamps and chains. She hoped to feel his hands between her legs, but instead there was a swish of air. A loud crack filled her ears at the same moment his hand struck her rump and she was knocked forward, enough that she needed to take a step.

She yelped as the sting of the spank became heat and he moved forward in his seat, his left hand grabbing her by the hip, turning her slightly. She moved with him, only to get another blistering wallop on the other flank. Her hand flew back and covered her ass.

He didn’t like that. He grabbed a magazine off the side table and opened it, shoving it between her chest and the chain hanging from her nipples. She blinked as he wedged the paper down, letting its weight pull on her nipples. It hurt like hell and she let out a sharp wail.

“Use your hands to keep that magazine from pulling on your tits,” he said simply. She did, grabbing it with both hands. Again he held her hips and this time, when he slammed his hand into her ass, she didn’t try to cover up. His blows were measured, heavy and precise, warming then burning her posterior as her skin reacted to the impact of his hand. He paused a moment to rest his hand and she stood there trembling, her breath short and strained, her body a riot of sensation. Need, wanton desperation bubbled through her veins, tempered into steel by the terrible throbbing at the tip of each breast, even as the clothespins danced with each shake of her hips. She heard a tinkle behind her, the sound of leather and denim, but too much was going on for her to make the connection. And when the next stroke crossed both cheeks of her ass, it wasn’t his hand that torched her flesh, but his long leather belt.

“Ahhhhggghhh!” She cried out, losing her footing, stumbling forward. He snapped, pointing back to the spot before.

“Get right back here young lady. I’m not through with you.” It was the voice of a disciplinarian. She shuffled back into place, sniffling, tears already wetting her cheeks, but still cognizant of the fact that her thighs were even wetter, soaked with her yearnings. She assumed her place once more, wondering just how many minutes were left before he had to stop.

She timed it in blows, each with him stopping to rub his hand across her rump, to slide his fingers through her wetness, then to add insult to injury and flick the clothespin hanging from her clit as hard as he could. She cried out each time, but managed to count to a full dozen before he stopped, almost mid-swing.

*Chirp*

She could do nothing about the clothespins, or the clover clamps, or the vibrators itself, but she tossed aside the magazine. It didn’t help. Her body was a riot of sensation and already she was having trouble telling what hurt and what felt good. She fell toward him, crashing to her knees, hands fumbling for the rubber ring she’d left near the bottle of strawberry flavored oil. She grabbed it, thrusting it down on his still hard, slick shaft and he groaned at the unexpected feeling of it. She pressed the button along the side when it stopped at the base of his rod and it began vibrating. She grabbed the bottle and practically upended it upon him, cupping her hand to catch the overflow. The scent of strawberry filled her nose and she began rubbing him quickly, desperate to make him explode.

“Breanne,” he gasped, his body going rigid. 

Her hands moved wildly, every trick she knew, every sweet longing stroke. She felt his hips thrust up between her palms, his manhood possessing every strength and need any man could have. She felt him pulse and knew he was close.

“Breanne,” he whispered, reaching out and touching her chin. She looked at him. “Please…” he moaned. “Not yet.”

She glanced at the phone. She had a whole minute. One full minute. They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Then, totally surprising herself, she pulled her hands away. His cock trembled from the vibrator, but clearly it wasn’t enough. She sat on her heels, doing nothing, watching as he shook, stimulated, but not satisfied, doing as he asked. The tension in the air was palpable. And then, just before the phone announced that her time was up, she did the unthinkable. She reached up, and turned off the vibrating ring.

*Chirp*

Clarity sprang to his eyes and he nodded to her. “On your back. Give me your feet,” he said, his voice gruff and gnarled. She swallowed and sat, then swung her legs up as she lay down. She set her legs in his lap and felt him run his fingers up and down them. Her own sex still shook from the vibrating bullets inside her, her clit throbbing and shaking. The two extra pegs hung off her sex like afterthoughts of torment, biting at her. The steel chain was heavy upon her ribs, but it did relieve some of the pressure pulling at her nipples and she stretched out her arms above her wealth of copper colored hair.

She heard the rustle of the bag, but had no idea what he was taking from it. Then his fingers snagged the ankle of her right foot. She felt the elastic sliding down over her toes, settling into the delicate arch. She knew he loved that part of her, even as a child he would rub her feet, tickling her, or sating other, more wholesome desires. She prepared herself for the stinging snap, but gasped instead as his good foot moved up, his toes once more pressing into her clothespinned spread wetness. He penetrated her as much as he could, eliciting a blissful cry, but then he began probing at her bottom with his toe. Just as she winced and hissed, his fingers pulled on the rubber band, stretching it out fully, only to let it fly free, the elastic snapping back to crash against the soft, white, fragile, graceful curve of her instep. 

She jerked, but it was still the toe in her ass that was disconcerting, at least until he pulled the rubber band out a second time, only to let it go with the same destructive force. Her leg jerked again, but he held tightly to her ankle, relishing the pliability of skin. He knew that very few men knew the pleasure of holding down a woman, to force her open, to taste her and use her. To hurt her. He snapped the rubber band, his eyes tracing the faint pink line etched into her sole. Another snap and she whimpered. He lifted his foot, this time placing it between her legs, mashing the clothespin dangling from her clit. She cried out as it twisted her clitoris and snapped the rubber again. She shivered, body twitching as her leg tried to free itself from his grip.

Two more snaps left the arch of her foot with a definitive stripe of redness and he took his foot out from between her legs. She sighed, tears still wet in her eyes, whimpering and he took the second rubber band and slid it down upon her other foot. He snapped the elastic, watching it bite into the middle of her arch, then did it again, and again, fascinated at her reactions. Her toes curled and she arched her back, lifting her bottom up. Again, he put his toes in her sex, working her, rubbing her, then placing the pad of his big toe on her clothespinned point. He worked it in a maddening, agonizing circle, knowing that it was both pleasure and pain, even as he snapped the rubber band again and again.

She yanked her leg out and this time he wasn’t strong enough to stop her. She curled up to the side, sobbing, both feet still sporting the rubber bands. He leaned forward, sliding to the edge of his seat.

“Breanne,” he ordered sternly. “I’m not done. I’m going to remove the clothespins. Open your legs,” he demanded.

Slowly, eyes closed, her fingers bundled into fists, she opened herself, rolling once more onto her back. She brought her feet together, soles touching in sympathetic hurt, the elastic bands tan stripes edges with the red of her flesh. Just above, her clothespinned pussy gaped red and glistening. He reached up and removed the wooden pegs from her labia, seeing how the wooden jaws had left dark indentations in her flesh. He stroked her, from perineum to the clothespin on her clit, and she gasped, bottom tightening. Then he removed the wooden maw from her clitoris, leaving her crying out. He tossed it aside and rubbed her slit, not penetrating, but going from the top to the bottom, even working the tip of his finger into her anus.

It was pure pleasure and it combined with the vibroballs inside her until she was breathless, eyes cloudy with animalistic need. He could see her shudder, her tongue licking her lips, her hands struggling not to cup her own breasts. He rubbed her petals and clit so softly that it might as well have been his tongue. And as his right hand made nice, his left dug once more, finally, into the paper sack.

She was as unprepared as she could be and never saw it coming. The leather sap swung down in his hand, striking her clitoris and mashing it into a creamy pulp. She cried, her knees snapping together, only to encounter his good leg, pushing and forcing her back open.

“Open your legs you fucking slut! You deserve this! I’m going to sap that sticky swamp of yours until you’re screaming!” He snarled. The words hit her almost like a physical blow and she wailed, opening herself back up. His hand flew, the leather paddle flying. The sound of the blows came like the staccato shots of battle, armies firing hundreds if not thousands of rounds against each other. But in this volley it was only her drenched folds and bruised clit that was a ready target. She brought her knuckles to her mouth, biting at her fingers as he beat her between the legs, her thighs jerking, hips thrusting madly. Her back arched and he aimed right for her clit, no longer wanting to inflict damage to just her petals. He smashed the leather sap into her, beat for beat, need for need, heart for heart and she cried out, rising up, screaming.

He tossed the sap aside and thrust his fingers into her. He snagged the wire between the vibrating balls and yanked them from her. She cried out as he tossed them away, but he pushed himself forward. There were no words, no moments of thought. His strong left leg took his weight as he brought himself down atop her. The wet, steamy contact of their flesh melded as if meant to be, and his oiled, tongue-slicked rod slid into her thrashed and boiling sex, plunging deep. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what he had done, but instead of pushing him off, she rode the penetration further, her entire body vibrating as she wrapped her legs around him, clutching him to her as he pounded hard and furiously into her wetness. Pain and glory and pleasure and guilt swirled through her and when the orgasm peaked she found him shuddering inside her too, spurting white cream deep into her quivering, cumming form.

Quiet descended. He groaned softly, with deep satisfaction. Then he slowly lifted himself, withdrawing from her. It was not easy for him. He had to reach for his walker, grasp it firmly, and then lift himself up with just the one good leg. His cock dripped with her fluids and the oil and he looked down at her naked body, lying limp beneath him.

“Are you okay?” He asked the redhead girl. Another ripple of tiny spasms made her shake and she shook her head.

“I…I… I…” she stammered. “Never…”

He cocked an eyebrow up and took a deep breath. “Well, I think I’m going to head for the shower. I reek of strawberries and I’m not sure you’re up to cleaning me off.” He shuffled forward with the aluminum frame. “I trust you’ll clean up before your mother gets home,” he said offhandedly. He began pulling the walker toward him, but something clicked. She reached out a hand.

“No,” she whispered. The room reeked of strawberries and sex. She sat up and felt the streams of fluid dripping from her well fucked snatch. She reached, her entire body aching in ways she wasn’t really prepared to understand, and pushed the walker to the side, struggling to her knees. His eyes widened as she leaned forward and again took his cock into her mouth, this time suckling his limp and softened member with slow sweetness. 

“Bre, you don’t have to…” he began, only to moan again. Her head moved in patient up and down movements as her tongue swirled around him, the flavors of salty cream mixing and then yielding to the flavor of the strawberry oil. He didn’t stiffen, but his cock became more rigid, almost firm as it grew and filled her mouth. And when she didn’t taste the sweet tartness of strawberry she slid down, licking at his scrotum until he gripped his chair.

“I… I… may…” he began.

So she pulled back. For a moment he was lost for words and his shaft began softening. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled. She stared at him for a long moment, then cupped her hands beneath her breasts. He nodded, his fingers coming up and releasing the clover clamps. She winced, sucking in a harsh breath of air as her heart labored to pump blood back through the crushed tips of her bosom. She moved to the side, where her clothes were piled, and grabbed her tee shirt, pulling it on over her breasts. Both breasts were still pink and sore from the spanking he’d given her and her nipples bore the dark indentations of the clamps. She struggled to her feet and as he finally rose from his chair, the walker supporting him, she padded half naked back out into the kitchen, grabbing the paper towels. She patted her pussy tenderly, shocked at how sore she was. Her clit was swollen, her petals clearly bruised and marked. She twisted slightly, seeing the marks of his belt on the curvature of her bottom. She threw the towels away and went back into the living room.

It took several minutes for her to clean up and she didn’t even realize the rubber bands were still wrapped around each foot until she was done. All of the items he and she had used were back in the paper sacks and she only had her remaining clothes and one last thing to do. She sat down on the floor before his empty chair, still naked from the waist down, her denim shorts and panties beside her. She waited. It took another fifteen minutes before he emerged, freshly cleaned, smelling of Old Spice and soap. He looked around the room.

“Well, it’s almost restored. There still seems to be one thing amiss though,” he said knowingly. She sat up and looked at him, then she pulled the Core Driller dildo out from under her denim shorts.

“Ah,” he said. “Rule number one. A nympho humiliation pain slut must have cock, or some other sexually stimulating object, inside her at all times, so that she is constantly ready for sexual use.”

The redhead nodded. Then, without saying a thing, she spread her legs wide, heels on the carpet, and brought the tip of the dildo to her sex. It was dry, but with just a single press of the black rubber head against her petals, the wet smear of lubricant coated the tip. He watched, totally impressed as the girl pushed the massive dildo into herself, deeper and deeper. It was a marvel. She’d just cum. She’d just been tortured. And to take this… again. He shook his head with astonishment and… just a little pride.

The three tiered dildo sank deeper and deeper, sliding into her slit with ease and grace. She moaned, thrusting, masturbating, shocked to find herself ripening so quickly, so thoroughly, so wantonly. It wasn’t just another penetration. She wanted to fuck herself with it. She wanted… to cum. Again. He sat down in his chair and watched.

But she didn’t have permission and so when she was tense and close to cumming, she stopped, breathless. She reached and grabbed her panties, wedging the phallic pole between her loins and the floor as she threaded the pink cotton onto her toes. Slowly, acrobatically, she pulled her underwear up, letting the cotton cup the bottom of the dildo, holding it, somewhat, in place. 

“Now the shorts,” he asked. “Right?” She nodded and half bent, her body again forced to yield to the firmness of the behemoth inside her. She picked them up, but seemed to have trouble and he gestured to her.

“Here. Here. Let me.” He took the tight denim shorts and held them open, letting her step into them. He drew them up her legs, higher and higher, and then he yanked upward, setting them hard around her loins. She gasped, then groaned, as he forced the Core Driller dildo deep inside her. He buttoned and zipped them close as she shifted uncomfortably. 

“There now,” he said, giving her belly a gentle caress with his fingers.

She nodded. She slipped her feet into the flip flops and picked up the paper sacks. One went inside the other. She headed back out into the kitchen, the bright afternoon sun making patterns on the floor through the window. She tossed her head, sending waves of scarlet strands back down over the tight shirt. 

“Breanne!” Her father said. “Bre! You forgot something.”

She turned around and looked back. He was holding something small and white up. She went back into the living room and smiled as she saw him cupping the dice. She went to him and let them pour into her hand.

“Don’t want to forget these,” he said reassuringly, with a warm smile. She laughed, lightly. 



“No. No I don’t,” she said. She dumped them into the bag. “But next time I’ll bring six.”

He blinked. “Three for me and three for you? Didn’t like the odds?” There was a twinge of disappointment in his voice, marbled with acceptance.

She laughed, laid a hand on his lap, her fingers lightly caressing the still limp bulge. “No, daddy. Five dice for me. You still get just the one.”

And with that she spun away, hips swinging with bubbly grace, her graceful ankles pirouetting on the rubber foam soles of her shoes. Sunlight sparkled across her white, creamy skin as she went back into the kitchen, happy, relaxed, and most of all, satisfied.