CHAPTER NINE
He removed the boots and helmet, put back on her pumps.
"Oh—ah—my God—stop—anything—I'll do anything," she whimpered incoherently as he carried her unresisting, shuddering naked body—clad only in rosettes, nylons and pumps, towards a huge Y-frame... a whipping frame. It was set against a vertical post about 31/2 feet high, so constructed that it could be tipped like a seesaw from one side to the other, or rested upright at a 45-degree angle. He placed her on this, swiftly and expertly cording her wrists and ankles; the legs were hugely straddled as he attached her ankles to the broadening fork of the frame which made up the open section of that letter Y; her wrists together and to the base of the narrow vertical plan of that frame.
"Oh my God—what—n—now—oh have m-mercy I can't stand anymore," she whimpered, looking back as she saw him stride to the panoply at the wall and take down a 5-thonged light whipping cat; the 3-feet-long lashes were tapered and narrow, ending in pointed tips, fitted to a short thick handle.
Now, to her consternation, he approached the frame, and suddenly tilted it, so that her head was lowered to the floor. Then, moving behind her, he stood commandeering her uplifted distended thighs and buttocks, with a full view of her rasped, chafed pussy. Her panting breasts dangled on either side of the narrow beam of this ingenious frame.
"Get ready, Myrna. When you've had enough, tell me, `Master, I am your slave, I love only to obey your every command,' " he ordered.
"Oh please—n—no m—more," she plaintively sobbed.
The cat flicked out, with a light caress, laying the five thongs gently to spread out over her still crimsoned bottom cheeks. Myrna started, lifted her scarlet tear stained face and twisted it back to implore mercy. A dozen such light flicking strokes, sensitizing her flesh but not striping it really painfully, had all her nerves influx and her body vibrated spasmodically beyond her control. To see her for the first time thus was to believe her palpitating with fierce feline desire to be loved... and now, he knew, the supreme moment was imminent: her capitulation.
The cat swung up, hovered, then flicked out—between her straddled thighs, whisking right into her exacerbated cunt. Myrna's body jerked and threshed, and wild sobs burst from her. A second flick, a third…
"EACHHAYAYAYEEEEEEAHAHAHRR. OH MY GOD, MASTER, I'M YOUR SLAVE, I LOVE ONLY TO OBEY WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO DO!" she shrieked.
He chuckled. "That's not quite the formula, but I'll accept it." He moved round, squatted down before her congested, tear drenched face, and opened his slacks to liberate his violently turgid manhood. "To prove your sincerity, slave, solace me now with your mouth—or else, the cat!" he hoarsely urged. As she saw him lift the whip above her, Myrna Gentry closed her eyes and with a violent shudder, opened her mouth, closed it docilely over his maleness, and began, at his directions—accompanied with flicks of the cat—to pay her master homage. . .
She is Mrs. Jack Brandon now, and he controls her inheritance, and with her own eager authorization. And when she pleases him and he asks her what reward a lovely slave-bitch-wife deserves, Myrna lowers her thick lashes, blushes hotly, then faintly stammer, "Pl—please— M—master. I... I feel I'm getting too arrogant again, please won't you take me downstairs and discipline me with bondage… and make it long and cruel as you can, I need it so!"
THE END-OR RATHER, THE BEGINNING
