The Contortionist · Part 2

The Contortionist · Part 2 (2/2)
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grunted at the first true stroke. Her legs wobbled slightly from the inertia of the cane blow. The pain was bright. There would be a red mark, but Wendy could tell it wouldn’t welt or bleed. Bobbi was adept at walking that line. She was more than capable of more severe outcomes, but neither of them tended to enjoy those.

The lighter tapping returned, slightly further down her leg, that wonderful tingling sensation following. Then, as that feeling reached a peak, the whoosh of wood through air and a sting struck the new spot. Wendy inhaled, and before a moan could fully escape her gagged mouth, the taps returned, tracing further along her legs. Bobbi was taking her time and truly treating Wendy to a spectacular sensory experience.

In her position, her head below and behind her outstretched legs, Wendy could both feel and watch the cane work its magic along her legs. The wooden implement never spent more than a fraction of a second not kissing her skin. The lighter strokes, rapid but noticeable, were meant more to keep her skin activated, sensitive, tingling. A shallow but persistent sensation not letting her body rest. They were a sort of portent to each coming real strike. Those were sharp, radiating deeper and brighter. Her green eyes could already see where each harsher hit landed, faint pink lines stretching across taut calves.

The unrelenting sensations, the taps punctuated by the harder strikes, built atop one another, all towards a growing overload of feeling. Wendy loved this feeling, how it seemed to spiral out from the afflicted area to her whole body. It made the hair on the back of her neck raise, her heart flutter, and her aroused womanhood clench around nothing. The constant cadence of tap, tap, tap, tap, thwack, rhythmic and wondrous. Her mind fading into the pulsing touch that seemed to reach across her whole body despite the narrowness of its origin.

By the time the epicenter of the sensation reached the heels of her feet, she was moaning and drooling constantly around the knot of rope in her mouth, a pool of wet slobber growing on the wood beneath her chin. She had closed her eyes to let the world fall away to pure sensation. Then the rhythm slightly changed as the wood shifted to scrunched soles. The tap, tap, tap followed by a harder thwack remained, but that last harsh strike now came whistling louder. Bobbi was taking advantage of how much harder she could strike here without the worry of leaving a lasting mark. It was a perfect way to kick the impact play into a sudden higher gear.

As fiery pain lanced from her assaulted soles up her leg, Wendy felt the faint reflexive raising of her feet as they tried to escape the merciless storm of sensation. A strong hand clamped over-top of her joined feet. A backstop that ensured the full transfer of energy for the harder strokes. Wendy’s mind was turning to an unthinking mush, overloaded by the physical onslaught, and just as she thought she might settle, Bobbi changed the game once more. The light taps evaporated as a series of repeated and mercilessly harsh strikes came in rapid succession. Thank whatever higher power existed that Bobbi hadn’t been making her count the strokes because this final fusillade whited her mind, blanking at the sharp turn of events. Wendy, lost in the experience, couldn’t even tell when she began shrieking, but at some point, after the blows ceased, she realized she was indeed yelling.

Still recovering, Wendy soon felt a new sensation as strong, calloused hands began massaging her calves. Where the red marks were, it hurt slightly, but it felt oh so good. Then her tenderized soles felt something warm and soft lap and caress. Bobbi was kissing away the pain. Tender, affectionate touches that were the opposite of the cane’s, but were just as loving and desired by the contortionist. Wendy shifted back down into emitting low moans. Lips and hands began a dance trading back and forth between flexed calves and arched feet. It was a heavenly worship, loving and perfect. Wendy could have let those caring caresses continue for a century, but it seemed her mistress had further plans.

As another warm, passionate kiss graced Wendy’s instep, she felt one and then the other leg be pressed in towards her. Knees bending in obeisance to the other woman. Gently, those strong hands guided first her left and then her right foot into place so that Wendy’s feet passed her jaw on either side of her face, soles coming to rest on her shoulders, knees spread wide to accommodate the new position. Wendy let her green eyes open, her jaw now resting along the tops of her in-steps, her face framed by her own feet. This position was one of contorted bliss.

She looked into hungry and proud eyes, her love’s. Bobbi commanded her to remain in the position as she stepped away briefly, returning with a set of pliers and a spool of wire. Her wife used the tools to affix Wendy’s leather ankles cuffs to the posture collar. Until further notice, the contortionist would remain completely wrapped around the ladder’s step, her feet fixed as an odd pillow to her chin. Bobbi also added rope around Wendy’s knees to ensure they remained splayed wide, explaining she needed easy access. For what, she wouldn’t share with Wendy just yet, and that uncertainty had the perfect planned effect as Wendy couldn’t stop drooling both figuratively and literally at whatever was coming.

Bobbi’s warm lips landed on Wendy’s exposed lower ones. Her tongue worked down and around Wendy’s clit deftly. The small, special button hardening and engorging in response. Wendy clenched her fists, her breath quickening. She was bound into a tight contortion, still feeling the buzz from the cane, so it didn’t take her long to slip towards an orgasm, but maddeningly Bobbi stopped shy.

“Not yet, cunt,” Bobbi chuckled. “Let’s take away your sight to keep you guessing about the real fun for today.” Had this been merely a warm up? thought Wendy, worried and elated as leather descended over her vision. Next something painful clamped and pulled apart one of her outer labia and then the same for the opposing side. She was spread and exposed. A humiliating and arousing prospect. She imagined herself as a perverse art installation at this point.

Bobbi’s strong fingers returned; playing, teasing and penetrating her. She worked with an inspired wickedness from Wendy’s perspective. She would build the contortionist to the edge of bliss and then stop. One time, she left her fingers inserted, but cruelly still as Wendy desperately tried to clench around the stoic digits. Another time a single finger stopped its twirls and pressure on Wendy’s clit with inhuman precision. Worst of all, though, was to come.

Worked to the precipice of climax, Bobbi once again paused, completely leaving Wendy to undulate her upturned hips despite the pull on her labia in the futile hope of catching some stimulation. Only vacant air greeting her. Then suddenly a warm breeze flowed over her oversensitive clit as her mistress blew on it. It was such a faint sensation, but needy as Wendy was, it felt like a divine gale. Then that too stopped. She whimpered, wanting it or any stimulus to return. Her prayer was answered when suddenly she felt her clitoral hood spread fully and a single tap came from one of Bobbi’s fingers. Then another and another. A faint tap, tap, tap reminiscent of the cane, but maddeningly, there was no thwack, only the constant tapping.

She felt every touch, but it was too light, too fleeting to give Wendy the relief she desired. She thrashed against her bonds. Her fingers scratched the rough wood. Her feet rolled and flexed underneath her face. Thighs trying to close. Hips twisted, her labia stretching against the clamps. Nothing could abate the assault. A dark chuckle came from her mistress, “Aww, seems cunt’s cunt needs something. Do you want some extra stimulation here, cunt?” Bobbi asked teasingly as her finger continued its cadence.

Wendy couldn’t think, but she knew she needed to convince the sexy voice to do something else. She mewled and begged through the rope between her teeth. Frantic and unsure of what to say, Wendy spewed sounds she thought were words, pleas maybe even, but she was too far gone to register exactly what she was saying. It worked though, as her perfect mistress finally relented, saying, “Alright, but I don’t think you’ll quite enjoy what I have for you.” Wendy barely caught the ominous nature of the words as she was more focused on the suddenly missing tapping sensation.

She heard Bobbi step away. Then what sounded like nitrile gloves snapping on. A fearful thought shot through Wendy’s mind. Is she about to put icy hot on my clit again? They had tried the chemical play a few times, mostly as punishment for Wendy for real or imagined transgressions. It was one of the most intense sensations. She could only wonder in terror how her hyper stimulated sex would react to the chemical heat. She tried stilling her mind, but the fear grew with each passing second.

Then she felt Bobbi’s presence looming over her. This was it. She expected to feel deceptively cool cream coat her clit, but instead there was a powdery sensation that dusted the spot. It was curious, like talcum. Bobbi painted the dry substance across every surface of her clit and lower lips. As her wife continued to work, Wendy noticed a new sensation, a slight discomfort that soon exploded into the worst itching feeling she had ever felt. Wendy let out distressed whines. She had no way to scratch the infuriating feeling.

“Figure it out, cunt? This is the strongest itching powder I could find. And you know what, unlike the icy hot, this itching isn’t going to get better until I wash you off. See, it’s made up of these little irritating bits that dig into your skin. It’s purely physical. It might dull or you might get used to it a bit if left alone, but if I do this…” A warm breath blew across Wendy’s exposed and itching pussy. Wherever that human made breeze caught Wendy, the burning irritation exploded to new heights briefly. “Fun, huh?” Wendy’s loud if muffled protests made clear she disagreed with her wife’s assessment, but Wendy couldn’t deny that this was an inspired torture. Soon the powdery substance was added to Wendy’s down-turned tits, rubbed deeply in by safely gloved hands.

“So, still want that orgasm I know you’ve been lusting after? Happy to oblige, cunt. I have both a magic wand here and your favorite dildo. Catch is, I’ve coated both in the same powder, so if I use them, you really are going to feel it. And as you can tell from the rubbing, friction makes it itch so much worse. So, you may want to take a minute to think about if you really want an orgasm.” Wendy screamed as she felt a gloved finger rub her clit, the burning irritation blooming horrendously. “I’ll let you think over the orgasm while I get the breast pump set up.”

As the irritation at her clit, pussy, and tits settled back down to only infuriatingly irritating, she felt the suction cups settle into place. Then the sound of the breast pumps activating. Bobbi had used them before on Wendy, and she rather enjoyed the suction and discomfort they placed on her nipples, but today that lowly arousing feeling was completely eclipsed by another. Each time the pump sucked on her encapsulated flesh, it caused the itching powder’s effect to flare. The steady rhythmic pumping caused her tits to itch in alternating fashion.

It was a terrible, awful sensation gripping her womanhood and her nipples. Bobbi, as always, had really outdone herself. This was truly agonizing, especially after the edging, and Wendy loved every delicious minute of it. She was in a predicament of horny discomfort and the only relief possible would make both worse before either got better.

“Made up your mind, cunt? If not, I can leave you like this for a couple hours. It’s really no inconvenience for me, I promise.”

Oh, of course it wouldn’t be for you, thought Wendy as she struggled against her bonds, the discomfort, and her need. They both knew Wendy’s answer already, but the contortionist played along with her delightfully sadistic lover’s charade. She began begging as best she could through the gag. Bobbi, of course, pretended not to understand, asking her to repeat herself while the she-devil tapped her itching clit once more. Wendy’s voice went ragged as she screamed through the rope, pleading to be fucked, and she meant it at this point.

Bobbi obliged, stepping away only to return with the needed implements. She slowly inserted the powder covered phallic facsimile. Despite the burning from the itching substance, Wendy groaned as the ribbed thing filled her. Then the wand settled on her exposed and irritated clit. Bobbi started things excruciatingly slowly. It was clearly intentional, meant to draw out the predicament. Wendy hated and loved her for it. Then the wand’s vibrations increased and the pace of the intruder gathered momentum. Wendy was filled with a mix of sensations, the awful powder and the lovely stimulation. They warred with each other inside her body and mind.

She wasn’t sure if she could even climax like this at first, but somehow the pleasure started to win out. The irritation was still maddeningly there, but maybe it was being away for three months or maybe it was the predicament itself, but either way it was clear an orgasm was on the horizon. Then it all stopped.

“Oh, cunt, you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? I mean, I had to wait three whole months for you to come home. Besides, I think we need to reapply the powder.”

Wendy whimpered. Bobbi was going to tease her into oblivion at this rate. But truthfully, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Earning the orgasm by stretching her limits, enduring whatever Bobbi wished, made it all the sweeter. It was going to be a long, atrocious day, but it would be everything she could have hoped for.

It was a beautiful day, Bobbi thought as she lounged in a lawn chair, her heavy boots kicked up on a fairly inconspicuous wooden box, sipping cool water. She watched as, across the way, Delores ran the fully tacked out lone ponygirl for the weekend through her paces on the hot walker. The older woman was not holding back, applying the whip liberally to motivate the experienced pony and push her past her limits.

“Goddamn, my life is perfect,” she said aloud as she stomped on the box a few times. “Wouldn't you say so, cunt?” Bobbi was wet thinking about how Wendy was contorted into the small custom box, limbs folded upon themselves, unable to move. It was yet more proof of how amazing her wife was that she could fit into somewhere so small and shallow. The box looked plain, but for a small hole on one end exposing Wendy's sex, a vibrator wand wedged against her clit.

After teasing Wendy for the better part of an hour with the itching powder and the toys, Bobbi had realized that they had both needed a break. Honestly, she was shocked how long her contortionist had lasted. Wendy had been a wreck by that point. It took ages to get all the powder washed away, and then they had taken a long break so the submissive could recover and hydrate. All the while though, having not gotten a climax, Wendy had remained agitated, needy. The break had been a cruelly deceptive gesture by Bobbi, and it had worked so well to continue to build the need.

When the break ended, being so proud of Wendy, Bobbi had let her pick how she wanted to enjoy her hard-earned pleasure. The contortionist had picked the box and for the last two hours Bobbi had fiddled with the controls, teasing her to the edge and back. She had to be borderline delirious once again. It was time to start the vibrator back up after the cool down from the last edge, but this time Bobbi had no intention of backing off. She planned to spend the next hour ripping orgasm after orgasm from the foldy woman she loved so much. Then it would be a few hours of rest and tender aftercare. She had Wendy's favorite meal planned out for the night, and afterwards she would tie Bendy Wendy up once more for them to have glorious sex until they either passed out exhausted or were sated. Then they'd cuddle until Sunday, sleeping in past dawn for once.

Bobbi flicked the vibrator back on. The echoing sound of a woman already primed to explode left the box. Yep, life is really good, isn’t it? she thought as her wife careened into her first of what was sure to be many, many orgasms. “Love you, cunt,” she whispered lovingly.

The Contortionist · Part 2 (2/2)
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