Hurting Her By H. Jekyll January 4, 2000 revised -- March 31, 2000 They have a storage area in the middle of the old classroom building, where they sex. It had been a restroom in its past life. Tiled, concrete walls separate it from the classroom and other storage closet that bracket it. In its old-fashioned way it has two doors that stand between their chamber and the hall, and which they keep locked. All this conspires to keep their noises away from the heavy traffic of students and faculty. It excites them to know that hundreds of people move about not twenty feet from where they fuck. He had moved a mattress in one weekend; when they aren’t using it he leans it against a wall, draped with a tarp to protect it from any overzealous cleaning lady. She is not a quiet lover, prone to whimpering and crying out, so he recently used this as an excuse to muffle her when he had her close to climax, by stuffing her panties into her mouth, inside out. As usual she hated the idea, but she was not capable of resisting him, and the first time she felt and tasted her panties she got that shivery feeling of anxiety and excitement again. Her eyes teared up and she retched once. Oh, it was good. She got used to the gag, though, and he needs to take the next step to avoid having sex become routine. This one she won’t enjoy. "God I would love to whip you," he murmurs as he strokes her vagina lightly, her lips so slippery and sensitive. "Would you like that, darling? I would love you to whip me. It would make me so hot." "You’re just saying that because you know I can’t. I can’t leave any marks at all on your sweet body, for your husband to see. After I whipped you, you probably wouldn’t see me anymore anyway." "Why not?" "Hell, it wouldn’t make you hot at all. You just think it would, because you’ve never done it. You’d hate it. You’d scream and try to get away. It makes me horny to think about that. You’d neigh just like a horse. Your face would be covered with tears and slobber and snot. You’d sweat like a horse, too. I’d make you keep taking it. God I’d like that." He is lost in his fantasy, electric currents moving through penis, and so soon after coming. She too. She moves down to his penis, takes it into her mouth, and sucks off the last of the mixture of his cum and her juices. She, who only a month ago would never have believed that she would be able to stomach semen. She imagines herself hanging from a bar, imagines a whip making snapping sounds, imagines herself crying and struggling. Could it be that bad? Would he let it get than bad? Oh my. She gets sudden goose bumps from her belly, to her breasts, to her upper arms. "Well, I’ve liked everything else you’ve done to me." She is being a little pouty. She sucks again, to show him something she came to like a lot. He doesn’t answer, but moves his half-erect penis in her mouth. "Where would you whip me?" She is a little breathless now. "Why, in here of course! I’d have to gag you better, though, if you couldn’t control your screaming." After a moment: "Then I’d punish you for the screaming. To teach you discipline." "No darling, I meant what part of me." "Oh, each part in its time," he chuckles. He is quiet a moment. "A lot of porn focuses on the ass, but you’re so lovely I’d like to whip you everywhere. But mostly where you’re the most sensitive. And on everything sexual." "Between my legs?" She hasn’t thought of that, and her fantasy fragment shifts to an image of lying on the floor with her legs tied apart. She never can seem to completely imagine what he has in mind before he does things to her, or makes her do them, and she sometimes wonders how he thinks them up. "Your inner thighs would be nice. They’re really tender and soft, and they’d bruise up nicely so I could see what I’d done every time I ate your pussy for days afterward. And no one else would ever see them in this season. Then I’d whip your pussy, too." "My husband would see them." She likes it that he actually called it a pussy. It always excites her. No one she knows has ever used that word except when telling a joke. "Don’t let him." "He likes to have sex with me almost as much as you do, darling, and he likes a light on." "And you like him to do it, too, don’t you?" She tries to deny it but becomes tongue-tied, not finding the words, sputtering. It is so embarrassing to have him know she still likes sex with her husband. He laughs and kisses her. "Don’t be such a dope. I don’t mind if you like him. You might as well enjoy your wifely duties. Anyway, you could just have a three-week headache." They suck on each others lips, lightly. He runs his finger- tips very, very lightly across her stomach, giving her more goose bumps, while she tickles the shaft of his penis and his balls. She doesn’t think he ever would whip her, but this talk is exciting. It is going somewhere, too, and most of her wants to find out where. "Your belly would be fun to whip. So white and soft. Right here where it pooches out just a little, saying (in a falsetto voice) 'please mark me up’." She rolls away. "My tummy does not pooch out!" But she knows it does and he likes it like that. No anorexic washboard stomach but a woman’s soft underbelly. Her husband is a fitness freak and insults her about being out of shape, though she works out for him regularly. She is completely surprised by what happens next. He grabs her, pulls her back hard, and slams her to the mattress. He holds her down by her shoulders, staring in her face, her heart instantly in her throat. His face isn’t two inches above hers. "I didn’t tell you you could leave!" He uses *that* voice. She lies absolutely still, her eyes round and white, feeling so very small. She reaches a hand, shyly, up to his face. "Darling, I'm so sorry. Please, I'll be a good girl." There is the tiniest catch in her voice. "That’s better. You’re so much better when you’re submissive. If you try to assert yourself again I’ll have to punish you." Now she can tell he isn’t angry at all. He is enjoying this. He is so impetuous, always catching her off guard. But that brief shock hasn’t completely evaporated. He has never hurt her, just some stinging slaps in sex play, but he seems so powerful that she doesn’t know if he ever might. "Would you whip me for being bad?" "No, I’d whip you for the enjoyment of it." He massages his penis, squeezes a drop of pre-cum onto his fingers, then rubs it onto her lips. He holds her head still, makes her open her mouth, then slowly spits frothy saliva into her mouth. One of the things he came up with to dominate her and make her excited. She works to not miss his spit, to catch and swallow it all. "What I’d like to whip most of all is your breasts. They’re so good, and they’d bounce all over the place when I hit them. Not like those flour bags most big breasted women have." This is true. She herself loves her breasts, their firmness and the fact that her nipples point upward. She’d heard about upward-pointing nipples in an old movie once, as a teenager, and had almost rushed to the bathroom to inspect herself. Even her husband doesn’t berate her about them. One of the few things, she thinks. "I might not even use a whip on them. Maybe a long piece of inch-thick doweling. I’d hit you slowly, one hit every minute or so, on the minute, so you’d know just when it was coming and would have plenty of time to experience each one. Anticipation is everything, little sweet one." She gets that shivery feeling in her belly again and now is really hot. A couple of times he got her high like this then said it was time to get back to their offices, leaving her horny and distracted all afternoon. Is this one of those times? It is working, the bastard! The image of herself, her breasts marked and swaying while she tried vainly to avoid the blows, is exquisite. She thinks she would say yes if he actually put the question to her. "You’d really like to beat my breasts, darling?" "My sweet, simple bitch, they’re whip magnets! Anyone would want to. Don’t get me started. They should be battered until they're bruised and lumpy and a little bloody. Then I’d pump them while I fucked you." "Oh, please, would you? I’ll be brave and not even need a gag. You’ll be so proud of me." She thinks she might orgasm right now. He gives her a very sweet kiss. "That gets us back to the issue of markings, doesn’t it?" He makes her get up on her knees and sit back on her ankles, then lock her fingers behind her neck. He kneels in front of her and pulls her head down to his penis. She notices that it is larger than usual and darker hued, and realizes how much he must like the fantasy. Now she hopes he will be able to find a way to do it. She licks the head of the penis, sucks it into her mouth. He winds his hands through her hair, holding her head still while he moves his dick in very short strokes. Then he moves his hands to her breasts, squeezes them and twists her nipples some more. "There is a way I can hurt you and not leave too many obvious marks. I’m going to do it." She stops sucking just for a moment, but she knows not to take her mouth off of him until he tells her to. She runs her tongue up the underside of the head, then around it. "I’m going to use nipple torture on you." It seems suddenly quieter in the chamber. There is the susurrus of her breathing through her nose, the sound of a small movement he makes on the mattress. She hears students moving distantly in the hall, and everything in the chamber assumes a more solid character to her, as though she is seeing it for the first time or is suddenly wide awake. Her head is bowed but her eyes look up at him with questions. He pulls hard on her hair, then holds her head still while he finally explains. "I can torture your nipples. They’re dark and only a small part of you, so they won’t show much. Though yours are a little pinkish. I want you to know exactly what’s going to happen, so you can agree in advance." He moves his penis in and out a little, until he is close, then stops and holds her head still again. "You’ll be tied upright so you can’t move and I have easy access to you. You’ll be heavily gagged. I’ll use pliers, and pins, and alligator clips, and I’ll fuck you during it. You know about safe words, but we can’t have one because I’ll hurt you too much and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from using it. That would stop things early and spoil it. It has to be more than you can take. So you have to be gagged. You have to trust me. You have to agree in advance to let me do it. I promise only two things. There won’t be any permanent damage and the time will be limited. I’ll stop after, say, thirty minutes." She kneels at his lap, his dick pulsating in her mouth, her mind running in circles. Can she do it? It is so much further and more intense than anything they have ever done, but she is still hot, and she does want to do it for him. "Do you trust me?" --------------------------------------- On the day, he meets her as she enters the chamber. She has run hot and cold since the previous evening, afraid of what is coming, wanting to please him, being briefly aroused, wondering what it all means. This morning, when no one was around, she stroked and squeezed her nipples through her sweater, got sexy, then was nearly caught when the work study student walked in unexpectedly. He tells her to strip quickly. They have only her hour lunch break, so she can’t waste time. She lets him pull up her arms, watching as from a distance, and notices that he uses long, beautifully patterned, silk scarves to tie her hands apart to a pipe that runs overhead. She has never been tied before. Having it happen simultaneously frightens her and makes her desire herself. A phrase from last Sunday's sermon runs around in her head: "Flesh of my flesh, flesh of my flesh." He has fixed screw rings into the floor--she wonders how and when he did that--and ties her legs apart with more scarves. Another long scarf, this one with a floral design, goes around her belly then to another ring set into the wall behind, so she is pulled back. He tightens everything. She can hardly move. By now she is almost hyperventilating. He licks her nipples then kneels and sucks her pussy lips. They kiss deeply, lips and tongue, for several minutes while he plays with her body and gets her high. He strips and enters her for a moment, then withdraws. She is completely slippery. The gag is next. Not her panties this time, but something she can’t choke on. A ball gag, with a tie around her head, followed by duct tape around her lips. "I won’t blindfold you, because I want you to see what’s happening to you." Because she can't say anything she murmurs against the gag. This is so exciting. Why hasn't he done this before? Do more. Then he puts his dick back in her and holds a pair of needle nosed pliers in front of her face. She just stares as he puts the pliers on her right nipple. They are cold and so hard and sharp-edged, and in feeling them all her desire drains away. It's too soon, she thinks, and trys to tell him to wait, but she can't talk. She steels herself, bites on the ball. She can’t look away. She thinks it's just my nipples, only my nipples, I can stand it. She is grasping at straws. He squeezes hard and twists. She hadn’t known her body would jerk so. She forgets her grip on the ball-gag, squeals, and tries to tear away. He squeezes again and twists the other direction, and now she is jerking back and forth, begging him through the gag to please stop, please. He stops, waits a moment for her to subside, to think maybe he will end it, and goes to the left nipple. Then back. She is moving so fast, bucking, arching, shaking, using every contortion the scarves allow. Many directions but not much distance. She is aware of few things beyond her nipples, and then only as fragments of a picture. There is no continuity. She hears herself yelling, and then gasping because she can’t get enough air through her nose, then screaming shallowly before her lungs can fill. But no noise of consequence escapes. He can hear it very nicely, but no one can in the hall or the classroom. And she is completely winded in seconds. This brings him to orgasm quickly, one that explodes from his cock and sends vibrations up and down his body. He holds on to her to keep from staggering. So good, but too damned soon. He shoots up into her for a long time; but he doesn’t get soft and he wants more. After he collects himself he stops for a moment to pick up the alligator clips. She couldn’t keep this dance up for more than a few minutes. No one could. When he suddenly stops she mainly just hangs by her arms from the beautiful scarves, though she can’t stop her body from twitching this way and that. After a moment she is merely moaning and wheezing, but this changes to a whine when he holds the two-inch clips to her eyes. Oh no, please don’t do it, please no. But he does. One on each nipple. They cut A different pain. He squuezes them, then yanks them off roughly and gets her moving again. He puts them on again, and adds some kind of weights that pull her nipples down, stretching them out. He is close again, already. There is hot water all down their legs. He realizes she has pissed on herself. On him, too, which for just a moment gets him to think how this is a reason to punish her later. She doesn’t know how long it has been, has no sense of the time. The initial panic passes to fatigue and a great sadness, and always the hurting. Her arms and her legs spasm. It takes her some time to realize she lost her water. Great shudders run through her abdomen. Not her breasts, though. They just stand there pertly on her chest wall, waiting for what will happen next. Between hurts she hangs, writhing back and forth, gasping and whining, but when he hurts her again she bucks and cries again. He takes up a long pin with a red plastic bead on the end. She does notice the bead, then the silvery gleam. He starts putting it through the extended nipple, very slowly. Her body is moving again. Though the pin is sharp he has to push on it hard, and twist it a bit, to get it to go through all the way. This slows things down more. She tries to pull back away from the needles, her cries now lacking any power. More a pathetic mewing. She sees little black spots in front of her eyes. He pulls the pin out, slowly, then pushes it through at another spot. Slowly, slowly. He pulls it out again, puts it through the areola into the meat of her breast, drives it in a way, removes it slowly, finds another spot on the areola and drives it again. She is now just pushing back against the wall with the scant strength she can borrow from the pain, pushing against the ring in the wall. He moves to her other breast and uses the pin again. And again. Then he removes the pin and the clips. She just hangs there, moaning. He pulls up the breast and gets a nipple into his mouth. He sucks. Then the other side. Then back. She hardly feels it. Then the clips again. He puts them on and squeezes them very hard, drawing more blood and making her twist and moan and mew. Then he stops, while she hangs like a sack, gasping and whimpering, and he sucks her blood again. Then the pliers again. He fucks up into her and comes again. It is so good. --------------------------------------- He pulls out of her and backs a step away, puts down the tools, steps back up to her. She follows the usual pattern. Her mewing subsides again, but she still writhes softly. Her wheezing almost covers the moaning that seeps through the gag. He puts his finger to his lips until he is sure she sees and recognizes it. He removes the gag. There are streaks of froth around her mouth where saliva was forced past the ball and tape. She can’t get enough air and can’t hold herself up. She tries to talk to him. "Oh darling I’m so--I’m so sorry." Another gasp. Her face crumples. She winces, screws her eyes shut. Then: "I tried, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t. It hurt so much. Oh darling please, I’m sorry." She is crying more. Her face is covered with tears and sweat and snot, just as he had said. She is redder in the face than he has ever seen; the color extends down her neck to the tops of her breasts. Her nipples are swollen hugely, very dark, and more droplets of blood have oozed out. She will need to hide them from her husband for awhile. He caresses her face. "Later. You were so lovely up there. Now I’m going to fix you up a little so your nips won’t hurt so much and you’ll be presentable in the office." He sprays her nipples with a freezing spray to numb them, them washes them with a wash cloth and soap and water from the sink. He takes some ice from a cooler and for ten minutes numbs her entire breasts deeply. Then he applies some antibiotic ointment and two large, circular plastic bandages. She becomes much calmer during this, though shivering from both the torture and the ice. He unties her ankles, her wrists, the scarf around her belly, and lowers her to the mattress. He has to hold her tightly to keep her from falling. He washes her face very gently, with a warm washcloth. Even with the scarves, her wrists are pretty raw, though her ankles seem okay. He wonders how she will explain them to her husband. He’ll have to help her think up something; she’d never be able to handle it on her own. She huddles up against him, shaking. He holds her, decides to fuck her again. She is wet from before but has no desire, just keeps holding him. In a few minutes: "Time to get up. You have to clean up your mess before you go back to your office. Tomorrow I’ll tell you how I decide to punish you for not being disciplined and pissing on yourself." Her eyes get red again and she begins to cry. A sweet, sad, doleful cry. She bites her lip to help herself stop. Then he says: "It only lasted twenty minutes. When we do this again we’ll work it up to the full half hour." She starts crying again, can’t stop the crying, holding her head against his chest while he caresses her back, kisses her hair. --------------------------------------- Epilogue Her nipples throb on and on, no end to the hurting. Her husband is fully asleep, finally. She gets up softly and walks to the kitchen, gets something, then walks to the hall bathroom. She had been a zombie in the office, trying not to be weepy, unable to concentrate. The work study student had thought she’d had a fight with her husband. At home her husband noticed something wrong, and she said she had a sick headache. He cooked a light meal, but she couldn’t get herself to eat much. Of course he didn’t try for sex. He was really very attentive. She undresses and peels the bandages off her nipples. There is just a little blood on them. The nipples are almost grotesque, very swollen, clearly bruised, and a little scabbed. She thinks: oh my God, they’re mutilated. She puts together two ice packs and holds them to her breasts until the throbbing finally diminishes, until the nipples are completely numb. She washes them again, very gingerly, and puts on more ointment. She reads the label on a medicine bottle and takes four tablets. After a bit she leans back against the wall and looks at herself in the mirror that fills the wall over the sinks. She looks only for a minute; then another, and another, and finally is staring at her breasts. The drawn look on her face is replaced by a kind of dreaminess. She starts slowly masturbating.