Fucked In The Barn

By | July 17, 2009

Continued from earlier.

Chris struck her again with his crop, the sound of the blow was music to Penelope’s ears and was followed by a stinging sensation in her buttock and a warm afterglow. “Ah!” she exclaimed, grateful he understood her intentions, her needs.

“Stand up” his voice was stern but not unfriendly. She pulled herself up with his help and leaned on the wall of the stable to aid her balance.

“Hold out your hands” it was an order, one that had her complying immediately. She wanted to know how far he would take this, but at the same time relished the suspense, enjoyed the feeling of being controlled by him.

Chris looped the reigns around her wrists and drew the two ends between her forearms three times creating makeshift cuffs. He threw the free ends over the beam above Penelope’s head and pulled the dangling straps down. Her arms were raised so her hands were level with her face. She was already at his mercy, now supporting herself on one good leg and the tension on the leather restraints. His face was calm, commanding, his voice steady, reassuring and firm.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

“Yes” whispered Penelope, “Oh yes!”

The reigns were pulled so raising her hands. Penelope had to stand straight, arms above her head now. Chris tied off the straps on a hook and walked around his captive. He placed his crop on her cheek, drawing it gently round and down, across the side of her neck and earlobe.

With her arms raised the hem of her jacket was level with the waistband of her jeans, presenting a tempting target. Too tempting to resist. The crop swished behind her and dealt a swift blow to her buttock. Penelope twisted involuntarily, loosing her balanced and instinctively putting out her injured foot to steady herself. She swore as the pain reminded her of the pulled ligaments, but Chris’s strong hands where there to steady her.

His fingers brushed against her breasts through her clothing. She imagined him undressing her now, in the stable, taking her here. But she knew he was not about to do that.

When the next kiss of the crop stung her ass she managed to steady herself by using her arms and leg alone. The other raised slightly, the constant effort this required making her even more aware of his control over her.

Her unseen captor continued to place one blow after another on her rump. Not hard in themselves and softened by the denim of her jeans, yet the cumulative effect had created glow which spread out from her tingling buttocks up her back and down the back of her thighs.

The blows stopped, their blissful tattoo replaced by an eyrie silence, devoid of sound, the warm glow in her ass replacing harsh caress of the crop. Penelope stared straight ahead, wondering what was to come. Her gaze was caught by the dust dancing in a shaft of light created by a displaced roof tile. The golden specs echoed her thoughts, dancing, floating, spinning round as she imagined His next move.

She felt his hand reach under her blouse and grasp the full mound of her left breast through her light cotton bra. His breath was hot on her neck, quickening as his thumb and forefinger took her nipple and squeezed. The pressure slowly increased until it reached a cruel intensity making her cry out in pain. The seed of pain in her tortured areola germinated, grew until it blossomed from her mouth in a wailing joyous ululation.

She became aware of the tension on her arms reducing. His arms were around her, lowering her onto the bails of straw. Her jeans were removed exposing white cotton panties to the cool air. He grabbed her ankles and raised them, inspecting her reddening ass cheeks. Chris gently rubbed the glowing skin with his free hand, soothing them. Round and round he rubbed watching as the moist patch in her panties grew darker, its aroma richer.

Crack. He landed a flat-palmed smack so hard on her arse that she drew in a sharp breath and held it for a moment such was the shock.

His fingers hooked inside her underwear, seams ripped, the panties were no more than a tattered memory. He lowered her buttocks onto the coarse straw. Penelope’s burning rump felt skewered by a hundred cellulose daggers.

She felt her legs pulled wide apart and allowed herself to look down between the wide V they formed. Chris stood, trousers at his knees, cock waving in front of him. She licked her lips, eyes imploring him to continue.

Chris pushed into her hot, avaricious sex parting her pouting labia, gliding on a river of fragrant fluid into the very centre of her being. There was to be no careful build-up, no delicate tease, they both needed to feel him take her.

He drove into her, pubis to pubis, Penelope his to possess. The unremitting strokes pressed her buttocks onto the bales stabbing her skin a thousand times. Chris began to shudder, eyes rolling. He grabbed her bound hands and pulled her face to his, not to kiss her but to exclaim “Yes!”.

Her pussy clenched and bound his cock in an embrace as tight as that of the straps on her wrists. His orgasm filled her while hers enveloped him.

For several minutes he pulled her close until his shuddering stopped and her muscles released their grip on his cock. He let her fall back onto the straw, cock slipping out of its warm prison. She looked as his thick, veined, softening member, tongue playing on her lips again.

Chris knelt on the straw next to her head and let her tongue lap at their mingles fluids until she was satisfied.

Penelope looked up at him, “Thank you. Master”