Rebecca stopped outside Mr. Thompson’s office and looked in. “Got a moment?” she asked.

“Sure. Come on in.”

“I would appreciate it if you would come see me in the play room this afternoon at 5:30. I have something to ask you.”

He looked at her. “Something you can’t ask now?”

“Something that would better be discussed there.”

“OK. See you then.”

“Thank you.” She left the office. She had a tremble in her hands, both anticipating the meeting and fearing it.

That afternoon at 5:30, Mr. Thompson walked into the play room. He hadn’t seen any of his slaves on his way there, which was unusual. As he looked around for Rebecca, he found her. She was wearing only suspension cuffs, leather wrist cuffs designed to hold a woman suspended by her wrists. The cuffs were attached to the top of the whipping post. Her feet dangled above the floor. She was facing away from the post. A nearby table had a quirt, a crop, and a longer whip.

“What is going on here? Why are you up there?”

“I’m up here because it makes me wet. All but that last whipping at the laundry made me wet. I found out that pain makes me horny. Not as much pain as that last whipping, but enough to make it hurt. Julia and I experimented with electricity, and it worked, but whipping was better. I beg of you, as your slave, and your obedient submissive, to whip me and fuck me. My pussy is at the right height for you. Please abuse me and give me pain, and fuck me.”

Mr. Thompson just stood there staring at her. She was beautiful. She wanted him. She wanted him to fuck her, but she always wanted him to fuck her. It was the request for whipping that had him flummoxed. He was already hard. The idea of whipping her had done it instantly, even while his mind was still wrapping itself around the idea. He found himself both wanting to whip her and abhorring the idea of whipping her. He walked closer and examined her body. Her body was quite familiar to him, but it was almost new with the idea of whipping it. He found himself playing with a breast and her pussy. He kept doing it while he considered the state of his cock, which was as hard as it had ever been. He stepped back and disrobed, then grabbed the quirt. He took a half-hearted stroke at her hips, and didn’t leave a mark.

“Harder, please!” she cried. He took another stroke, harder this time, across her stomach. It left a faint red stripe. Her gasp encouraged him. He took another stroke that landed just below her breasts, harder yet. It left a definite red stripe. She cried out, “Yes! I’m wet! Feel my wetness! Give me more!”

He reached down and found that she was very wet. He stepped back and took a stroke over her breasts. It was a hard stroke, the hardest yet. It left a stripe on both breasts, and her cry wasn’t of pain but of lust. He kept up the strokes, putting them on her hips, her thighs, her stomach, and her breasts. After ten strokes, he dropped the quirt and separated her legs, then entered her in one swift thrust. She cried out again in pleasure and tried to thrust back, then hooked her legs behind his legs.

He fucked her hard and furiously. He gave no thought to her pleasure, no thought about anything, He just fucked furiously. He had fucked his wife twice the previous night and had dallied with Julia at noon, before Rebecca made her request. It was hard for him to climax, which made it glorious for Rebecca, who wanted a long physically hard fucking after her whipping. She got it, in spades.

He finally came, following several of her climaxes. He held onto her shoulders for support, increasing the load on her suspension cuffs. She didn’t mind; she was feeling no pain in her post-orgasmic, fetish-fueled, ecstatic state. He finally withdrew and sat down on a chair that his slaves had decided was necessary, long before this. They knew his needs better than he did, and they catered to them without letting him know, hoping that it would result in more sex for them. It worked.

He sat for several minutes, looking at Rebecca hanging from the post, with red welts swelling on her body. He felt his body trying to become aroused again, but failing. It was just as well; he would have had problems doing that again even if his cock came erect. He finally spoke. “Are you OK?”

“Yes. I feel great. That was the best sex ever. Even though it hurts, it feels great. Thank you.”

“I’d better get you down from there.”

“No hurry. It looks like you like looking at me like this, and I like you looking at me. Catch your breath.”

He sat for a few more minutes, then rose and approached her. He kissed her deeply, and she returned it. As he kissed, he fondled her pussy. She shook, but didn’t stop kissing. When he ended the kiss, he kept fondling, but stooped to look at her breasts. They had several welts. He kissed the welts on both breasts, bringing gasps of … pain? lust? He couldn’t tell. He kissed both nipples, then sucked on one for quite a while, as he stroked her clitoris. She came again, convulsing under his hand. He abandoned her nipple and went back to kissing her mouth, and she again returned the kiss eagerly.

He found himself wanting to get erect again, to enter her, to feel the powerful emotions of dominance and love. He had realized that he really did love three women now, his wife, Julia, and Rebecca. He pushed aside other feelings that arose. He had enjoyed this coupling more than any for years. It scared him a little that physically abusing this woman that he loved had brought him to this state, but it was at her request, and she seemed to appreciate his efforts. He made a mental note not to get too deep into this role; it seemed like it could swallow him up.

He finally stepped back from her. His hand was dripping with her juices and his, and his lips felt a little numb from the pressure of the kiss. He though she looked like she needed to come down from the pole, even though she looked disappointed at the end of the kiss and the rubbing.

“How do I get you down from there safely?” he asked.

“Julia is waiting outside the door to do it. We have it worked out. Just open the door and have her come in.”

John did so. Julia stood there, nude, with a smile on her face. She must have been listening. She grabbed him and kissed him deeply, then dropped to her knees and cleaned his cock with her mouth. Even though he loved the feeling, he was concerned about Rebecca. “That should wait until Rebecca is down.”

“She’s fine. We’ve been putting her up there to get used to it for a while now. Let me finish.”

She continued her lingering licking, cleaning him completely. She then looked up and spoke. He could see the look of love in her eyes. “Thank you, master, for giving Rebecca what she needed. I hope you liked it too.”

He looked down, then reached for her hand and pulled her up to him. He embraced her, then kissed her again, long and hard. He pulled back from the kiss, but not the embrace, and said, “It was intense. I loved it. I love you, by the way, and Rebecca, as well as my wife. You probably already knew that.”

“It was obvious to us both, and probably is to your wife. I haven’t spoken with her about it.”

“You don’t need to call me master, by the way.”

“I like to, in situations like this. I like to be mastered.”

“You like to be masturbated.” They both laughed, and they could hear Rebecca laugh too. “You’d better get her down. I have to work on not getting so wrapped up in the … ecstasy, joy, whatever … of doing that it overcomes me and destroys the relationships I have.”

Julia walked to the wall and retrieved a short stool. “I don’t think you can.” She put the stool below Rebecca’s feet. It took the strain off her wrists. Julia reached up and disconnected the chains that attached the cuffs to the post, and Rebecca was free. She stepped off the stool, a little unsteadily, then walked to John and hugged him.

“Thank you, master. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”