The sting made Irene blush. Her heart was beating fast. Elaine stood and pushed the sole of her flat shoe down on Irene's stomach. The frightened woman was determined not to move. Each time she breathed she felt the pressure of Elaine's whole leg on her belly. The sadistic dyke was pulling the belt from the loops of her denim pants.
The tongue of leather smacked Irene's knees first. The pain was blunt, muffled by the tight slacks. "Roll over," Elaine told her, the voice without anger -- merely cold, deliberate. Irene was vaguely relieved. She had been afraid Elaine would strike her sex.
For a few moments the belt hung limply from Elaine's hand, and Irene wondered if her lover had been drinking that afternoon. The lesbian had only beat her a few times, and all but one time she had found out -- later -- that she'd been drinking for hours before. But Elaine's movements were always slow and deliberate, and she could not really tell.
The first stroke was not at all painful. It even seemed to tickle the ridge between the two buttock cheeks. A tingle san between the globes, and her rectum itched for a second, until a more violent thrust made her wince. She heard the leather crack against the air before a third stroke made her quake and she knew her ass was being bruised. Elaine shoved her foot between Irene's legs, and Irene breathed in deeply as the toe of the shoe jabbed the flesh around her asshole. Then Elaine stepped back and let her have it again, this time on the backs of her calves. Her legs swung back involuntarily, but Elaine kicked them down again with her heel.
"Pull down your pants."
Irene started to turn over, her thumbs already hooked under the waist of the slacks. "No," she was told. "Just open the hook at front, and I'll pull them down." She obeyed, and Elaine kneeled down at her side. She turned her head and looked up at Elaine's face, which betrayed no emotion. She felt Elaine's fingers tug at the pants. She stuck her rear up in the air, and the garment slid over her ass and then easily down her legs.
Elaine's hand rested gently on one cheek. But she took her hand away and stood again. Irene felt the edge of the leather against her rear, teasing the muscle before it would strike. Elaine was pulling the strap away. It dangled for a moment from her clenched fist before she brought it down.
Her globes vibrated with the force of the leather, and the path of the leather was marked with pure white, while a burning red surrounded it. The end of the belt crawled between her legs and was almost covered by pussy hair. It touched the clit slightly, and Irene tried to reposition herself to feel the touch again, but in the next moment Elaine had drawn the cowhide away and was running it gently over her calves; as if to tickle her.
Elaine drew the length of the strap back into her closed hand, drawing on it as a fisherman draws in his line. When she let it down again, it was the cold metal of the large buckle that chilled Irene, and she wondered if Elaine was going to strike her with it or if she was just trying to frighten her.
"Oh, please don't, Elaine. You don't want to hurt me, really, do you, Elaine?" Her voice was calm. She did not allow it to break. She knew Elaine was half-crazy when she resorted to violence and she was afraid of her now.
Elaine, as if reconsidering, let the metal rustle inside the pubic bush. The buckle chilled Irene's clitoris, and the walls of her cunt leaked a small amount of fluid. The end of the belt slid over the twin humps, teasing the space between. A shiver, half of pleasure, half of fear, passed down Irene's spine.
Elaine knelt by her side. She was doubling the belt. She folded it over once more and started to whip Irene's ass; her force, though not restrained, was not clearly painful. The buckle and the loose spike scratched her and stung her, and the leather -- layer upon layer -- struck her with a dull thud. She was breathing hard, and she gasped for air when she felt Elaine's palm move between her leg and force itself against the exterior flesh of her cunt.
Elaine had let go of the belt, and it moved lazily against her butt, merely touching her, no pressure but the weight of the heavy belt itself, until Elaine took the buckle and led it to the hole. She prodded the cunt folds with it, and she aimed the clasp inside. Now Irene's cunt walls jammed close around the thin spike. The curve of the buckle mashed hard against the puckered pussy folds.
Elaine massaged the leather against the inside of her leg. She rubbed the whip so close that Irene's skin burned with the friction. Then she tucked a few inches of the belt between Irene's buttocks, while she pushed down on the cheek with her open, sweaty palm. Both women were breathing hard. "Oh..." Irene sighed.
The hole dilated, and for a moment the nail was lost inside. She felt fingertips shove the whole buckle inside her. Elaine's finger bent and covered the end of the tong so that it would not jut into the wall.
Her hand was gentle now. The other arm came around under Irene's breast and grasped it. The thumb whipped the tit into a hard erected cap. Elaine's pumping became sloppy as Irene's vagina grew more wet. She pulled the belt buckle from the divide and started to finger her as she jabbed her own pubis against Irene's ass cheek. The friction made her wet, and she forced her breasts against Irene's back, raising her other hand around to Irene's left tit to manipulate its nipple until it was stiff and hard with rushing blood.
She was rubbing herself against Irene dog-style, but her own sex got no deeper than the tuft of pubic hair. She got up and looked around. She found a broom against the wall. Looking over her shoulder, Irene saw and was filled with fear. When the stick touched her leg, she was afraid Elaine was going to beat her with it, but instead her lover aimed it between her thighs. She poked the delicate tissue gently. Irene reached under to pull apart the sides of the hole, and then she led the narrow wooden pole inside her. The stick shoved the sections of the muscle apart as it moved swiftly through the greased channel. It was perfectly stiff, and Irene squirmed so that her clit could feel the full pressure.
The pole moved inside her; Elaine twisted her wrist side to side as she shoved the wood through and pulled it back again. She leaned forward and rubbed her own slick sex against the broomstick, but she had to ram the joint up Irene when she began to cum, shooting her ass straight in the air and pulling at the stick with her hand to force it deeper inside.
Elaine stood, her fingers still wrapped tight around the wood, while Irene pumped the last few strokes. Her face was blank. The venom had evaporated, and she was greedy now only for her own orgasm.
Chapter Five
"This is Annie, and this is Lydia." Irene shook hands with both women. Annie was plain, a bit heavy, with full breasts. Lydia was older than her lover, who was about the same age as Elaine and herself. Delicate, Lydia's face was that of a young woman, and her age was betrayed not by lines but by the texture of her skin. She was natural, at home with her maturity, and she had not bothered to dye her hair, streaked with silver-gray. Not much older than forty, she was exquisitely beautiful, each feature in perfect harmony with the others. Her breasts were small, her waist tiny, and her legs long and thin. She was so much a "lady", in fact, that Irene wondered how long she had been swinging -- or whether Lydia, like herself, had been forced into the situation.
The suspicion was not confirmed. If anyone, it was Lydia who was the unofficial leader that night. She began to make vaguely dirty remarks -- tittering at her own humor all the while -- even as she hastened to the kitchen to bring in the coffee and cake.