Club Fatale, Pt. 9 - Sex Stories

Club Fatale, Pt. 9

... even more intense when the prey was inexperienced or even underage. How wonderful it would be to take everything away from this girl. She probably hadn’t ever been with a man before. I would be her first. I thrust the knife into the wooden pole -- leaving it quivering like my victim. Flipping the whip through a figure eight, I struck -- slicing into the small of her back, just above the buttocks. She stood on her tip-toes and screamed through the gag -- a muffled, high-pitched sound, glorious to my ears. Again and again I struck, drawing welt after welt across the tender flesh of the girl’s back and shoulders. I put every ounce of the skill that Angelique had taught me into it. The girl responded like a fine instrument, giving voice to a rising song of pain in which I heard love, lust and adoration. Yes. She adored me. I was her master, her whole world. Her dominator and slayer. I continued, striking at buttock, calf and thigh in rapid succession. First one leg, then the next. My strikes grew random, leaving the girl no way to anticipate the location of the next lash. On and on, I struck, until the girl grew horse from screaming and her head and body hung in her bonds -- and her back oozed blood from every pore. Quick glances told me that my show was well-received. Several Clubmen were jacking off or being serviced by Femmes. Emmanuelle’s head was in the Commodore’s lap -- lips locked about his hard cock -- while he pushed her down violently, raping her throat. It was time ...

... for a break. For me, anyway. The girl’s torment would only end in death. I returned the whip to its place and took up the cord garrote. I touched the girl on the shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain. I twisted the garrote about her neck and slowly tightened it as I entered her. She was as tight as I had ever felt in a woman. And warm. She gripped my cock as I probed her. Then, suddenly, I popped her virgin cherry -- eliciting a second cry. It was almost enough to make me come, but I paused and regained my control. I started pumping, fucking the newly-minted woman in truth. Her flesh sucked me in, trying to milk me. I ravaged her with long strokes. Every dozen or so, I would give the garrote a twist, feeding my passion through her own agony. In no time the girl was bucking against me, gasping hard in an attempt take in life-giving breaths. I knew that I should release the twist, but the tighter her neck grew the tighter her cunt became. I found myself taking her just one twist more -- and just one more -- and one more... And so on, until her face was empurpled. I took her right to the edge of unconsciousness, holding her for nearly a minute -- cock extended inside her -- rope wound tight -- free hand fondling perky tits and tweaking erect nipples. Suddenly, she gave an agonized cough and thrashed with the last of her strength. I could feel it. She was right there -- on the edge of death. I whispered into her ear. “You’re a true snuff slut, aren’t you cunt?” I ventured. “You know ...