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From: "Martina Lee" <susanasue@hotmail.com>
Subject: Lashings of Lust (10/17 from Oh, Susana) Light BDSM, FMM, mast.
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This is the tenth chapter of my book of short stories, collectively 
entitled "Oh, Susana". I am posting all 17 chapters, including reposts 
of the four chapters submitted previously. Please feel free to comment. 

WARNING: This is adult entertainment only, dealing with sex and sexual 
subjects in explicit language and detail. If you are under age for that 
kind of thing, leave now. This story, and others in the Oh, Susana 
series, may be reposted on ASSM, and redirected to ASS, but may not be 
put to commercial use by anyone but myself. I am willing to discuss them 
on ASSD or you can email me at <susanasue@hotmail.com>

Oh, Susana!
The erotic adventures of a South Seas sexpot
by Martina Lee



10. Lashings of Lust

Enough was enough. Susana had been teasing Neil and Peter unmercifully 
for two days, repeatedly psyching both of them into a frenzy of lust and 
then rejecting all attempts at even the simplest physical contact. She 
was on the ultimate power trip, obviously getting a great kick out of 
fanning the flames of desire in them and then backing off to watch them 
smoulder.

She had started again just 10 minutes ago, parading seductively in front 
of them, touching herself suggestively, talking "dirty" and ducking 
merrily out of range if either of them reached for her.  Simultaneously, 
both of them decided it had gone on long enough. They had not discussed 
it, they insisted later, but they acted together as if they had planned 
it in detail. Susana was still laughing, revelling in their frustration, 
as Peter pulled her to her feet, stepped behind her and pinned her arms 
behind her back.

She struggled briefly, trying to twist out of his grasp, and her eyes 
widened in shock as Neil stepped forward, tore the silk nightie from her 
body and then yanked her panties down her legs and over her feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. "Shut up, teasing bitch," 
said Peter, and frog-marched her into the bedroom. He threw her 
face-down on the bed, flung himself full-length on top of her, worked 
his legs between hers and stretched her arms out to either side.

Susana could feel his erection, still confined in his laplap, throbbing 
in the cleft between her buttocks. She bucked beneath him, her mind 
churning with a strange mixture of terror, outrage and sudden lust.

Peter worked his feet apart, spreading her legs, and pinned her even 
more tightly to the bed. Then Neil was at the bedside, wrapping a cord 
around each of her wrists and ankles and strapping them down at the four 
corners. She bucked again, and Peter lifted his weight off her, got off 
the bed, stood watching as she struggled against her bonds.

Susana cursed, twisted her head to look at him. "What is this?" she 
said. "Rape? Are you going to rape me, you fuckers?" Peter grinned at 
her. "Not yet," he said. "Maybe later."

He grabbed two pillows from the head of the bed, jammed a hand under her 
hips and lifted them off the bed, then stuffed the pillows beneath her 
stomach. He ran a hand over the smooth roundness of her upthrust 
buttocks, slipped it between her legs and dipped a finger into her 
dripping cunt, then slapped her hard on the bottom with his open palm.

Susana jerked with pain and shock, stifled a sob by burying her face in 
the sheet, and discovered that she was more aroused than frightened. 
"Punish me," she said. "You're right. I am a cock-teasing bitch. Punish 
me."

She turned her head again to look at Peter, just in time to see Neil 
step away from the wardrobe and hand him the Samoan fly-whisk she 
thought they had lost years ago. She caught her breath. "Yes," she 
whispered. "Yes. Whip me. Punish me."

Peter raised the whisk, trailed its coconut-fibre threads up her left 
leg from ankle to thigh, then brought it down hard across her jutting 
buttocks. He wasn't playing; it HURT!

Susana gasped, buried her head again in the sheet. No more, she thought. 
But the sting in her cheeks was outmatched by the hardening of her 
nipples and the juices flooding her quivering cunt, and when she spoke 
it was a breathless: "More. Do it more. Whip me. Punish me."

Peter raised the whisk again, brought it down harder across her shoulder 
blades, then harder still across her bottom again. And again, and again.

Susana writhed beneath the stinging blows, raised her head and 
discovered that Neil was standing on the other side of the bed with the 
video camera, filming her humiliation. There was no doubt he was 
enjoying the scene . . . his laplap jutted to a point in front of him as 
his cock strove to rise above the horizontal. "Arsehole," said Susana, 
and gasped again as once more Peter slashed at her backside.

The pain was exquisite. Her buns were on fire, and her cunt was awash 
with her own juices. "Fuck me," she moaned. "Rape me. Fuck me now!" 
"No," said Peter, and stepped up on to the bed.

He stood astride her waist, facing her feet, and slashed her between the 
legs with the whisk. Susana squealed, clenched her buttocks, then 
unclenched them and rolled her legs outward, spreading the target area 
even wider as a tide of lust swept over her and she shivered with pain 
and excitement. A fresh rush of juices filled her sodden cunt to 
overflowing and she felt the wetness spreading across the sheet beneath 
her.

Peter trailed the fibre tips of the whisk up the inside of her left leg, 
then her right, then slashed again at her wide-open cunt. The rough 
tendrils scraped the inside of her thighs and tore at the tender skin of 
her labia, driving deep inside her sopping crack. Susana bit at the 
sheet, trying not to scream, as Peter lashed her again. A fourth time, 
and suddenly she was shaking uncontrollably in the first throes of 
orgasm.

Peter dropped to his knees across her back and reached between her legs, 
fingering her clitoris as spasm after spasm swept through her. Finally 
she was still, and he swung off the bed and bent to untie her. Neil put 
down the camera and undid her bonds on the other side of the bed.

They rubbed her wrists and ankles, and Peter stepped into the bathroom, 
came back with a jar of cold cream and spread it liberally over her 
burning back and buttocks, massaged it gently over, around and inside 
her stinging slit. It helped. Peter bent his head to hers, kissed her 
softly on the forehead, and whispered: "Who's the boss?"

Susana rolled over, pulled him down to her and kissed him on the mouth. 
She smiled up at him, winced with remembered pain, smiled again. "I am," 
she said. Then: "I want to see the tape."

She pushed Peter away, rolled off the bed and found a laplap, wrapped 
herself in it and walked out into the living room.

"Get me a drink," she ordered Peter as he followed her out. She settled 
herself gingerly into the armchair in front of the TV while Peter 
fetched drinks and Neil hooked up the camera and rewound the tape. Both 
of them looked slightly shame-faced, like schoolboys caught 
masturbating, and there was no longer any sign of their previously 
rampant erections. 

Susana took her drink and leaned back, feeling once more in full 
control. "Roll it," she said. Neil punched the play button, sat down on 
the couch to her right, and picked up his glass from the table in front 
of him. "Cheers," he said. Peter sat on the other couch opposite him and 
they both raised their glasses in her direction, drank, and then turned 
their eyes to the television set.

Cunt. It filled the screen from top to bottom, the labia majora puffy 
with passion, the purple inner lips protruding, wet and glistening. Neil 
must have been crouched at the foot of the bed, shooting right up her 
crack. Towards the top of the screen her enormously magnified vaginal 
opening winked wetly at the camera, like the mouth of a goldfish gulping 
water.

The image panned back, revealing angry red streaks on the upthrust 
mounds of her buttocks, and the smooth brown cliffs of her inner thighs. 
Her own voice on the soundtrack: "More. Do it more. Whip me. Punish me."

The scene receded again, the camera rising at the same time, to reveal 
her spread-eagled form face-down on the bed and Peter beside her, 
holding the fly-whisk in his right hand and testing its fibres across 
the palm of his left. Suddenly he raised the whisk above his head and 
slashed down across her shoulders.

On the bed, Susana bucked, her face pressed hard into the sheet. In her 
armchair, watching, she parted her lips, panting slightly, and shifted 
carefully in her seat, aware that once again her still-smarting slit was 
turning into a juice factory.

She glanced to her left, noted the bulge in Peter's laplap, then to her 
right and saw that Neil had a hand clapped firmly to his groin and was 
rubbing and squeezing himself rhythmically. "Let me see your cocks," she 
demanded, as the screen Peter took another swipe at her bottom with the 
whisk and the camera moved to take up a new position on the opposite 
side of the bed.

Neither of them looked at her, they were too engrossed with what was 
happening on the screen, but both obediently opened the front of their 
laplaps and their erections sprang into view. Neil wrapped a thumb and 
forefinger around the base of his cock, squeezed his balls with his 
other fingers.

Susana looked back at Peter. His hands were flat on the couch beside 
him, his hard brown dick jutted enormously from between his legs and he 
licked his lips as on the screen Susana bucked and writhed with each 
swish-smack of the whip on her backside.

"Play with yourself," said Susana. Peter ignored her, or more likely 
failed to hear her. She leaned forward, reached out and flicked the tip 
of his cock. That got his attention! He flinched, looked blankly at her. 
"Play with yourself," she repeated. He looked back at the screen, 
wrapped a hand around his rigid tool, and began to milk it slowly.

Swish, smack. There was a close-up shot of the whisk landing squarely 
across her buttocks, then the camera panned up the length of her body, 
across her outstretched right arm, to her head.

Her hair was matted with perspiration, her face flushed with combined 
pain and pleasure, and she was glaring straight out of the screen. 
"Arsehole," she snarled, then jerked and gasped as another swish, smack 
landed out of range of the camera.

In her chair, Susana slid her right hand between the folds of her 
laplap, dipped her middle finger into the slippery folds of her crack 
and lightly massaged her clitoris. On either side of her, Neil and Peter 
squeezed, tugged and stroked their rampant horns.

Swish, smack. On the screen, there was another close-up of her face, her 
eyes beginning to brim with tears, her teeth clenched to hold back the 
sobs.

Swish, smack, and she jerked back her head, chin pointed at the wall 
behind the bed. "Fuck me," she moaned. "Rape me. Fuck me now!" "No," 
said Peter.

Susana teased at her clit and closed her eyes, opened them just as the 
screen Peter stepped up on to the bed, the upper part of his body out of 
camera-shot and his jutting cock lifting and pushing the laplap way out 
in front of him as he turned to face the foot of the bed.

Swish, smack. The first of those excruciating blows landed squarely 
between her legs and her body on the screen jerked, heaved  and then 
relaxed, seeming to sink into the bed. Once again the camera moved, back 
to the foot of the bed, and there was another close shot of her 
wide-open cunt, dripping wet and reddening visibly.

Swish, smack. Still in close-up, the red-brown fibres of the fly-whisk 
flashed into view, buried themselves deep in the fork of her legs, then 
withdrew slowly, trailing wetness and leaving new streaks of red on the 
quivering flesh.

Remembering, Susana shivered. She slipped her middle finger deep into 
her cunt, placed the tip of her thumb on her clitoris and frigged 
herself with a pinching motion.

The camera panned back, revealing Peter standing astride her, bending 
forward to take aim again with the whisk. Swish, smack. Her body on the 
screen writhed in what she remembered as agonised ecstasy.

There was a close-up of Peter's face, dark with lust and beaded with 
sweat. Then another long shot as he struck for the final time and the 
body on the bed writhed and shook, almost throwing him off balance.

In her chair, Susana was re-living her crashing on-screen climax. 
Oblivious to everything except the churning between her legs, she spread 
her slit wide with the index and middle fingers of her left hand and 
rubbed furiously at her clitoris with the middle finger of her right. On 
screen, a shot from bed-level: Peter's head, looming over her backside 
and dripping perspiration on her buns, his finger busy in the slippery 
recesses of her cunt as she bucked and twisted beneath him.

Back in the chair, Susana gasped and shuddered, matching spasm to 
on-screen spasm. She returned to sanity just as the screen went blank 
and became aware that both her men were watching her. She snatched her 
hands from between her legs, rearranged her laplap and smiled brightly 
at them both. "Did you come too?" she asked. They shook their heads. 
"Then come over here."

Their laplaps fell away from them as they both rose and stood beside 
her, one on either side of her chair, their cocks like rubber 
truncheons, stiff and twitching. Susana reached up and wrapped a hand 
around each of them, squeezed hard. "A real pair of pricks, you are," 
she said, and laughed as she suddenly remembered something Neil had once 
told her and realised how she could take her revenge.

"Closer," she said, and pulled them towards her by their cocks. She 
leaned to her left, closed her lips over the head of Peter's dick and 
lapped at it with her tongue, pumping at Neil with her right hand at the 
same time. Then she leaned right, and gave Neil the same treatment. They 
moaned, almost in unison. Both had been holding back, and both were 
trembling on the verge of climax.

"Wait," she said, let go of their tools, and stood up. They groaned 
again, this time in frustration. "One minute," she said, and walked 
quickly into the bathroom. She was out in 30 seconds, a large dab of 
cream in each hand. They were standing where she had left them and she 
resumed her seat between them. "Now," she said, "time to finish you off, 
pricks."

She cupped their balls in her hands, smearing on the cream, then swiftly 
spread it over their rigid cocks and began to pump. The odor reached 
their nostrils at the same time as the burning began. They tore 
themselves from her grasp, fled to the bathroom, and Susana smiled to 
herself with satisfaction as she listened to the curses floating back at 
her over the sound of splashing water.

She always knew that tube of Deep Heat would come in handy.

Later, now that she had evened the score, she would take pity on them 
both. But that is another story.



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