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I run an equine tack and supply store. As your sophisticated readers can imagine, though, many of my male customers do not ride horses. They come in to buy a riding crop or a buggy whip that is intended for their own bare backsides. Over time I learned to spot such men. They come in nervously, and rather than go immediately to the whips, they browse among the other items. When they make it back to the stick department, they fondle them carefully, as if holding dynamite.

I often go up to such a customer and begin a conversation about where he rides and what sort of horse he has. When I know for sure that the man has no interest in horses, I tell him I know why he’s buying a whip. Before he can even begin to stammer a denial, I ask him if he’d like me to demonstrate some of the whips on him. Most agree. After the client selects two or three of the wickedest, we go into the back room where I bend him over my strap-cutting table and give his bare bottom a good going over.

I’ve always found these experiences incredibly exciting, but not long ago I found something more exciting that changed my life forever. One afternoon a tall man entered the shop wearing a dark, Italian-made business suit. He went immediately to the whips and began swishing several through the air. I knew he was different from any other customer I had ever had. He was wonderfully dark and sinister, an intense man who looked as though he was used to power.

“May I help you?” I asked. He stared at me for several seconds. I felt like he could read my arousal in my eyes. He could.

“Which of these switches is the most painful?”

“Well, if you could tell me what kind of horse you have —”

“I don’t have a horse. I have to discipline a naughty young woman.”

“Well, I really don’t know which is the most painful. But if you’d like — you can test them … on me.” Could it have been me who said that?

“That’s very kind of you. I will.”

“If you’ve found what you think you want, then follow me into the back,”

said. I couldn’t believe what I was doing, but I was more excited than I had ever been before.

Entering the back room. he said, “All right now, pull up your skirt and bend over the table.” I was mortified because this sounded so similar to my own mistress patter. I hiked the skirt up around my waist, revealing my pink lace panties. When I bent over, he yanked the panties down to reveal my fine, firm fanny.

He played with a riding crop. Swish! Swish! It cut the air with a fine clean sound. I wondered how much it would hurt… and if I could take it. Such thoughts made me even more excited.

Suddenly a blow landed on my helpless rump. Crack! God, it stung. He laid down that crop and took up another. Swish! On the other cheek. I yelped.

“Which stung more, the first or the second?”

“The second, sir.”

“All right, let’s try another.” The crop swished in the air. Crack! I hissed through gritted teeth, but the sting soon faded. My arousal, in contrast, only increased. “How did that compare?”

“Worse than both, sir.”

“Interesting.” He laid three more welts in rapid succession. “It does handle well. Nicely balanced in the handle.”

I heard a zipper fall. His hand probed for my dripping pussy. “Fuck me. Oh, please, God, fuck me hard,” I begged.

He teased my clitoris with the tip of his cock. Suddenly — Swish! Crack! — two more blows from the switch. As my bottom arched with the stroke, he drove himself into me. As he rode me. he fingered my welts. Soon I was screaming with pleasure. Little orgasms riveted through me like machine-gun fire. When he was ready, he pulled out his dick and shot his load all over my reddened rump.

“Lick me clean,” he commanded. I knelt quickly and began licking his thick scepter as his come drip-dried on my ass. As I sucked, he told me, “You have real aptitude. I would consider taking you on as a slave. I already have one but I’d like another.”

“I don’t know,” I lied. I was ready to do anything to come every day like I just had.

“My name is Steve. I’ll leave you my number. You think about it.” He zipped up his pants, paid for all three crops and left.

That night, I inspected my ass in the bathroom mirror. Most of the welts were disappointingly faint now, considering how much it had hurt. The most incredibly sexual experience of my life was in my past. I hated that, so I called him.

“I expected to hear from you.”

“I want to be your slave.” Just saying the words started me throbbing with passion again.

“Why?”

“Because you gave me the greatest thrill I’ve ever had today.”

“From now on, you shall refer to me as master when we speak.”

“Yes, Master.” The turn-on was so intense, I was nearly kissing the phone.

“You will come to my home for dinner tomorrow. I will expect complete obedience. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

I wore my best dress and my favorite black lace undies to dinner. Steve answered the door in a dressing gown. He took my coat and I followed him into the living room. He sat down, picking up a half-finished glass of dark red wine. I was nervous. I squirmed as my new master watched the show. Finally, as I trembled in anticipation, he said, “Well, my dear, let’s have a look at my acquisition.”

It took me a clumsy moment to realize that he meant for me to undress, so I hastily began to strip for him. “Slowly, slave, slowly. You have so much to offer.” I tried to undress as seductively as possible, hoping to arouse his cock and not his anger.

When I was naked, my master smiled. “Kneel before me,” he ordered. I did so gladly, bowing my head submissively. “If you are ready to serve me, to be used as I please, kiss my thigh.” I pressed my mouth to the seam of his trousers, gently kissing it and trying to warm the flesh underneath. He watched in silence, then stroked my hair and said, “Good.” He lifted my chin in his hand. It was hard to look at him, I wanted him so much. But it must have showed because he smiled a rich, deep, manly smile that warmed me right down to my tingling pussy.

Then my master stepped over to his dining room bureau and swept the tablecloth off it and watched me gasp. It was actually an amazing, large wooden contraption with leather bindings all over it, designed to hold his slave in any number of positions. Shaky but eager for the experience ahead, I let him strap me down — bent over with legs spread and pillows under my ass so that it pointed upward. To complete the picture, he blindfolded me.

When I was trussed up to his satisfaction, he ran his big hands all over me in the most wonderful way. He rubbed his index finger around the edges of my cunt, more teasing than pleasing. “It’s hungry,” he said.

“Yes, Master, very hungry.” And I wanted so badly for him to feed it, but I knew he would make me wait.

He rubbed his wet finger lightly across the curve of my ass. My skin tingled at his touch. I knew I would be spanked but I did not know when or with what. He drew away from me for several seconds that seemed like minutes. Suddenly I heard a loud crack and jumped, but he had only struck the table. I recognized the sound of a riding crop and wondered if it was one of the three he had used on me at the shop.

I was trembling all over. I felt a drop of sweat run down from my hairline to my quivering lips. Just at that moment the crop dealt me a wicked stroke across the center of my ass.

When I whip men, I often wonder how anyone can be turned on by pain. But as my master lashed my upturned bottom, I found that the initial sting faded quickly to leave only a lovely burning, passionate heat. Even as I yelped with one blow, I begged for another. When he laid down the riding crop, my bottom was a glorious sunburst of heat.

As I panted, breathless with excitement, Master rammed his cock into me. He rode me hard. I began to squeal with pleasure and soon the two of us came explosively.

Master then unbound me and we went to bed. I have never left his house since.

" />

Forceful Woman

Storyline

I run an equine tack and supply store. As your sophisticated readers can imagine, though, many of my male customers do not ride horses. They come in to buy a riding crop or a buggy whip that is intended for their own bare backsides. Over time I learned to spot such men. They come in nervously, and rather than go immediately to the whips, they browse among the other items. When they make it back to the stick department, they fondle them carefully, as if holding dynamite.

I often go up to such a customer and begin a conversation about where he rides and what sort of horse he has. When I know for sure that the man has no interest in horses, I tell him I know why he’s buying a whip. Before he can even begin to stammer a denial, I ask him if he’d like me to demonstrate some of the whips on him. Most agree. After the client selects two or three of the wickedest, we go into the back room where I bend him over my strap-cutting table and give his bare bottom a good going over.

I’ve always found these experiences incredibly exciting, but not long ago I found something more exciting that changed my life forever. One afternoon a tall man entered the shop wearing a dark, Italian-made business suit. He went immediately to the whips and began swishing several through the air. I knew he was different from any other customer I had ever had. He was wonderfully dark and sinister, an intense man who looked as though he was used to power.

“May I help you?” I asked. He stared at me for several seconds. I felt like he could read my arousal in my eyes. He could.

“Which of these switches is the most painful?”

“Well, if you could tell me what kind of horse you have —”

“I don’t have a horse. I have to discipline a naughty young woman.”

“Well, I really don’t know which is the most painful. But if you’d like — you can test them … on me.” Could it have been me who said that?

“That’s very kind of you. I will.”

“If you’ve found what you think you want, then follow me into the back,”

said. I couldn’t believe what I was doing, but I was more excited than I had ever been before.

Entering the back room. he said, “All right now, pull up your skirt and bend over the table.” I was mortified because this sounded so similar to my own mistress patter. I hiked the skirt up around my waist, revealing my pink lace panties. When I bent over, he yanked the panties down to reveal my fine, firm fanny.

He played with a riding crop. Swish! Swish! It cut the air with a fine clean sound. I wondered how much it would hurt… and if I could take it. Such thoughts made me even more excited.

Suddenly a blow landed on my helpless rump. Crack! God, it stung. He laid down that crop and took up another. Swish! On the other cheek. I yelped.

“Which stung more, the first or the second?”

“The second, sir.”

“All right, let’s try another.” The crop swished in the air. Crack! I hissed through gritted teeth, but the sting soon faded. My arousal, in contrast, only increased. “How did that compare?”

“Worse than both, sir.”

“Interesting.” He laid three more welts in rapid succession. “It does handle well. Nicely balanced in the handle.”

I heard a zipper fall. His hand probed for my dripping pussy. “Fuck me. Oh, please, God, fuck me hard,” I begged.

He teased my clitoris with the tip of his cock. Suddenly — Swish! Crack! — two more blows from the switch. As my bottom arched with the stroke, he drove himself into me. As he rode me. he fingered my welts. Soon I was screaming with pleasure. Little orgasms riveted through me like machine-gun fire. When he was ready, he pulled out his dick and shot his load all over my reddened rump.

“Lick me clean,” he commanded. I knelt quickly and began licking his thick scepter as his come drip-dried on my ass. As I sucked, he told me, “You have real aptitude. I would consider taking you on as a slave. I already have one but I’d like another.”

“I don’t know,” I lied. I was ready to do anything to come every day like I just had.

“My name is Steve. I’ll leave you my number. You think about it.” He zipped up his pants, paid for all three crops and left.

That night, I inspected my ass in the bathroom mirror. Most of the welts were disappointingly faint now, considering how much it had hurt. The most incredibly sexual experience of my life was in my past. I hated that, so I called him.

“I expected to hear from you.”

“I want to be your slave.” Just saying the words started me throbbing with passion again.

“Why?”

“Because you gave me the greatest thrill I’ve ever had today.”

“From now on, you shall refer to me as master when we speak.”

“Yes, Master.” The turn-on was so intense, I was nearly kissing the phone.

“You will come to my home for dinner tomorrow. I will expect complete obedience. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

I wore my best dress and my favorite black lace undies to dinner. Steve answered the door in a dressing gown. He took my coat and I followed him into the living room. He sat down, picking up a half-finished glass of dark red wine. I was nervous. I squirmed as my new master watched the show. Finally, as I trembled in anticipation, he said, “Well, my dear, let’s have a look at my acquisition.”

It took me a clumsy moment to realize that he meant for me to undress, so I hastily began to strip for him. “Slowly, slave, slowly. You have so much to offer.” I tried to undress as seductively as possible, hoping to arouse his cock and not his anger.

When I was naked, my master smiled. “Kneel before me,” he ordered. I did so gladly, bowing my head submissively. “If you are ready to serve me, to be used as I please, kiss my thigh.” I pressed my mouth to the seam of his trousers, gently kissing it and trying to warm the flesh underneath. He watched in silence, then stroked my hair and said, “Good.” He lifted my chin in his hand. It was hard to look at him, I wanted him so much. But it must have showed because he smiled a rich, deep, manly smile that warmed me right down to my tingling pussy.

Then my master stepped over to his dining room bureau and swept the tablecloth off it and watched me gasp. It was actually an amazing, large wooden contraption with leather bindings all over it, designed to hold his slave in any number of positions. Shaky but eager for the experience ahead, I let him strap me down — bent over with legs spread and pillows under my ass so that it pointed upward. To complete the picture, he blindfolded me.

When I was trussed up to his satisfaction, he ran his big hands all over me in the most wonderful way. He rubbed his index finger around the edges of my cunt, more teasing than pleasing. “It’s hungry,” he said.

“Yes, Master, very hungry.” And I wanted so badly for him to feed it, but I knew he would make me wait.

He rubbed his wet finger lightly across the curve of my ass. My skin tingled at his touch. I knew I would be spanked but I did not know when or with what. He drew away from me for several seconds that seemed like minutes. Suddenly I heard a loud crack and jumped, but he had only struck the table. I recognized the sound of a riding crop and wondered if it was one of the three he had used on me at the shop.

I was trembling all over. I felt a drop of sweat run down from my hairline to my quivering lips. Just at that moment the crop dealt me a wicked stroke across the center of my ass.

When I whip men, I often wonder how anyone can be turned on by pain. But as my master lashed my upturned bottom, I found that the initial sting faded quickly to leave only a lovely burning, passionate heat. Even as I yelped with one blow, I begged for another. When he laid down the riding crop, my bottom was a glorious sunburst of heat.

As I panted, breathless with excitement, Master rammed his cock into me. He rode me hard. I began to squeal with pleasure and soon the two of us came explosively.

Master then unbound me and we went to bed. I have never left his house since.

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