It hurt like Hell; but I was in Heaven. I was slick with desire, my cunny a running river. Floating on cloud nine, I screamed again as the whip bit into my tender thigh, the welt not far behind. “But daddy I have been a good girl.” I was sobbing, every breath a dagger in my side. I was sure at least one rib was broken.
“I know.” His voice was sandpaper and steel. “You’re welcome.” The whip kissed my tear stained cheek, blood bubbling up in its wake. I smiled over my split lip, thanking him with every breath. Daddy’s hands would be gentle later, as he soothed my scar-bound skin with gentle strokes of salve. Until then, I lived in the Glory of his lashes.
I was chained to an upright Saint Andrew’s Cross. He circled me, prowling like a predator on the hunt, eager to decide where to strike next. I was a prey who had wandered willingly into his trap. I was more frightened than I had ever been; a true deer in the headlights.
He whipped me until dusk, and then until dawn. By the time it was noon again, I’d lost feeling in my hands and feet, but not where it counted. I was a latticework cross-stitch in ivory and crimson, and all I could think about was getting more, the snap of the whip, and the smooth walnut of the crux decussata.
My throat was raw from crying and shouting, and from the eight times he’d throat fucked me with his thick cock. From the look in his slate eyes, I knew number nine was coming soon, and I had no idea when it would stop. The very thought made my slick pussy drip even more. Woe is me, the luckiest little pain slut on the planet; and blessed is Saint Andrew.
Erin
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