Message-ID: <18671eli$9901212123@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Martina Lee" Subject: Lashings of Lust (10/17 from Oh, Susana) Light BDSM, FMM, mast. Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19981228174614.24627.qmail@hotmail.com> 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 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. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----