Free Into The Arena by Sean O'Kane Page B

what she was feeling.
    He laughed. "I'll give you a little rest. Let the pleasure die down and then we'll go back to your lesson. A bit of tit whipping I think."
    She gasped in horror. He couldn't mean it! Her eyes followed him as he sauntered over to the railings at the edge of the deck and one of his men brought him a drink. She longed to speak, to beg him not to carry out his threat. But she couldn't, she didn't dare think of what he might do if she spoke again. She watched him take a long drink from his can, her throat was dry and she burned and ached all over. She licked her lips, Carlo saw her and raised his can to her in a mocking salute, then went back to talking with his comrade.
    When he at last returned to her, she had to admit that he really knew what he was doing. She was so desperate to get on with her lesson and be taken down that when he asked, "You want the tit whipping now, Blondie?" she nodded in resignation, biting her lip in readiness.
    She needn't have bothered. Nothing could stop the scream which exploded from her as the thin whip sliced across the tops of her breasts. Just as with her backside, the soft, fatty tissue let the whip dig deep before it fell away and the burn seemed to etch itself on the insides of her eyelids.
    "It doesn't matter if you win or lose. No one cares if you're whipped or not. Just so long as someone is. Understand?"
    She arched in her bonds as a second blast of pain ran across her chest. And it was a few seconds before she could nod her understanding. And strangely enough, even in her pain-befogged condition, she really was understanding. Her only importance lay in the entertainment value of this body which she had always been so proud of. It could give good value sexually, athletically, and now she was discovering, by simply being punished. Suddenly she wished she could see what she looked like, suspended and pulled taut, her long legs split, her breasts stretched and laced with whip marks. The spurt of arousal which then shot through her as she visualised herself, left her gasping in its wake. And she was too late in nodding this time.
    Carlo repeated himself and this time landed a millimetre perfect lash across her nipples. She convulsed like a gaffed fish and howled to the sky, but managed this time to nod her agreement before she earned any more. She was sweating and shivering by now, a confused mass of agony and arousal, her head hung down as she waited for the next lash. But instead Carlo came close and again, as she whimpered, he reached for her nipples. They were hard and throbbing, more engorged than she could ever remember seeing them, or feeling them. Just his touch, his cruel, hard fingers on the tender flesh, took her breath away. She shivered all over.
    Carlo came closer, squeezing her throbbing, pounding nipples until she cried out.
    "You like the idea that someone will like seeing you whipped," he whispered.
    "Aagh!" He twisted them cruelly hard and she yelled again, and then nodded her head, before letting it loll onto one shoulder as he stepped away.
    "You have a few more on those lovely tits and then you can rest again."
    She groaned at the prospect but renewed her grip on the chains and prepared herself. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes again and she shook it back, just in time to see Carlo adjust his trousers before he took up his stance again. She realised he had a wonderfully straining bulge in them and suddenly it was as if there was a secret bond between them. They shared the thrill of what was being done to her. They had different perspectives sure enough; he wasn't hanging in chains, sweating and hurting all over, but he understood what it was doing to her and shared the arousal.
    From somewhere she found the strength and courage to nod to him before he started again. He nodded back gravely.
    "You are nothing except the pleasure you give. Understand?"
    He launched an uppercut sweep which cut into the lower slopes of her breasts this time and