Authors: Selena Kitt
The Doctor smiled. “No, perhaps you
don’t. But you will. And you will trust me, April, that what I am about to do
is for your own good.”
She watched him approach, her gaze
flicking from his hypnotic eyes to the whip in his hand. She felt her legs
begin to tremble again with an excitement she couldn’t explain, and her stomach
seemed to turn to liquid within her body. The Doctor came up to her and reached
out, seized hold of her hair and pulled her head back in a savage grip. He cut
off her sudden gasp of surprise by sealing her mouth with his lips.
His kiss was fierce and possessive
like pure electricity, and she almost swooned at the unexpected force of his
passion. She couldn’t know that the drug he had slipped into her drink was
helping sap her will, making her even more a slave to her body’s wild and
forbidden desires which now surged unchecked through her blood with each beat
of her fevered heart; but neither had she expected to feel this kind of
desperate desire and consuming passion she felt from him, coming off him like
animal heat. She had thought that she was the one who was out of control, who
was barely able to contain her violent needs, but now she realized that he was
every bit as excited as she was, and the idea that her own desire could inflame
a man to this level of passion was almost more than she could bear. She felt
weak; her hold on her very consciousness was slipping away.
But just when she felt herself falling
into the swooning haze of her own illicit desires, he brought the whip up and
spanked it sharply against her nipple, sending a flash of pain through her body
that lit her up like a bolt of lightening over a storm-dark sea.
He spanked her again and April had to
tear her mouth from his to gasp for sudden breath. The pain and sense of
violation shocked her, but that was nothing compared to the burst of wild
licentious heat that coursed through her body and made her arch her hips away
from the wall, as if rising eagerly to this outrageous punishment of her tender
body.
He let go of the whip and took her
breast in his greedy hand, wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed, and the
strength of his hand was just what she needed. Her breasts felt achy and full
to bursting, and his possessive grip seemed to be the only thing that held her
together. Her shock and modesty made her pull away, but even as she did she
contrived to push her body harder into his hand, wanting more.
“Yes,” he said. “Perfect. Now we must
get these clothes out of the way.”
“Doctor! Please! What are you doing?”
she moaned as his fingers went to the buttons of her bodice.
He didn’t answer. His fingers worked
swiftly, unfastening one button after another, and April was horrified. The
kissing, the touching, even the whip she could stand, but despite the Doctor’s
drug coursing through her veins she was still too much a child of her time to
allow herself to be undressed without feeling a deep sense of shame and
humiliation, albeit tinged with an unexpected surge of lewd excitement at the
knowledge that her naked body would soon be prey to his hungry gaze.
The Doctor ignored her protests. He
had trouble with the buttons over her breasts, as the pressure of her sumptuous
flesh was such that it strained the fasteners and he had to compress her
breasts in order to push the buttons back out through the slits. April groaned
at the feeling of his hands on her excited flesh, but from then on it was easy,
and he opened the dress all the way down the front, down to the very hem above
her ankles. The feel of his fingers working over her stomach and below chased
any lingering feelings of modesty from her mind, and when he uncuffed her hands
and commanded her to remove the garment entirely, April complied, holding onto
his shoulder for balance as she slid her gown from her body. She stood before
him dressed only in her shoes, stockings, and thin white camisole
But when he took her wrist to
re-attach the manacle, she suddenly resisted him, trying to pull her hand away.
She looked at him from the depths of her near nakedness, feeling his hot eyes
on her body.
“Please, Doctor,” she begged
breathlessly. “You know what I need. I’m naked before you without modesty or
pride. Please, just take me now and end this torment. Do it, I beg!”
He ignored her, pulled her arm back
and clipped the manacle around her wrist.
“You’re like a silly girl who goes
around picking up bits of shiny metal from the sand when an entire gold mine
lies just beneath the surface.” He fastened her other hand to the wall then
picked up the whip. “It is time to mine the treasures within.”
He leaned over her, one hand on her
bound wrist, and ran the tip of the riding crop along the line of her jaw as if
examining her, down her throat, over the peaked hill of her breast and down her
stomach. She gasped as the whip slid over the gentle mound of her lower belly
and prodded her gently between the legs. It was a gesture of ownership: a
foretaste of what was to come.
“Besides,” he said. “You don’t even
know what it’s called, do you? What common men and women call it. It’s called
‘fucking’. Can you say that? Can you ask me to fuck you? Go ahead, Miss
Carnovan. Say it. Say ‘Fuck me Doctor. Put your big cock in my pussy and fuck
me.’ ”
April hung her head to the side,
hiding her face in shame. She couldn’t possibly say such words and she never
would. She might suffer from an excess of all the sexual humours in the world,
but she could not compromise her womanly dignity to that extent. Even as she
stood chained to the wall clad only in her underthings, she clung to her pride,
her sense of being a proper lady.
The Doctor grabbed her head again. Her
stubbornness seemed to ignite his passion, and he kissed her savagely, running
his hand over the silk camisole, warm from the excessive heat of her body, down
over her side, till he reached down behind her and grabbed the globe of her ass
and squeezed it as if he could express some rare juice from her flesh, some essence
of divine female sexuality. April groaned submissively into his mouth, her
little tongue fluttering against his like a frightened hummingbird.
“Let me show you,” he said to her.
He stepped back and smiled. “Look at
your breasts, April. Go ahead and look at your nipples. They’re hard and erect.
A sure sign of sexual arousal. You love this, don’t you? Deep inside you love
what I’m doing to you.”
April looked down at herself and saw
the peaks of her nipples projecting against the sheer silk of her undergarment,
casting dark shadows beneath them. Even her areolas showed through the thin
fabric. But she didn’t need to look at herself to know her state of sexual
torment and desire. Her womanhood was aching and swollen and seeping with her
own aroused juices in a most shameless and humiliating way. She had hoped that
he wouldn’t notice these telltale signs of her own arousal. She had hoped to
maintain a shred of dignity.
“But we can get you hotter than this.
Watch.”
The Doctor grabbed the top of the
camisole and pulled, ripping it down the center and allowing her sumptuous
young breasts to spill free, proud and high on her chest, rising and falling
with her excited breathing. She was burning with shame and excitement, and one
seemed to feed off the other as both fed off the blaze of angry lust she saw in
his eyes as he looked at them.
She still wore a pair of imported
white French panties in the modern style, scandalously brief and sheer, her one
naughty indulgence. She knew that they left nothing to the imagination: her
little tuft of blond curls was visible through the exquisitely sheer fabric,
which was now so damp with her own lubrication as to be nearly transparent. His
eyes seemed to see right through them. Suddenly she had no secrets.
The excitement and the humiliation
were almost too much for her, and she grew suddenly lightheaded. She thought
she might pass out, but just when she felt herself falling she was startled
awake by the wicked hot slap of the whip against her nipple: a sharp stroke
that just brushed by her eager bud, kissing it with the harsh leather and
sending a spear of lurid pain down between her legs and up through her bound
arms, and before the pain had even died away The Doctor’s tongue was on her
breast doing the most obscene things, licking away the pain, circling her erect
areola and soothing it, coaxing it into even greater hardness, painting her
with his own sexual heat.
April gasped. Again her hips thrust
out reflexively, seeking some sort of contact, but this time she found the Doctor’s
hand waiting for her. He reached out his fingers and slid them along her aching
crease behind her thin panties and her stomach clenched into a paroxysm of
needy pleasure that startled her, as if her hips had taken on a mind of their
own.
The Doctor kissed her again, and this
time April held nothing back, letting him take her and bear her down into the
sea of her own passion. She opened her mouth wide, her tongue seeking his,
trying to tell him with her kiss that she needed more of his hand between her
legs, his punishing whip upon her suddenly yearning breasts, and what her kiss
couldn’t say she said with her greedy hips, hunching them against his thrusting
hand, crushing the aching softness of her need against his hard fingers.
Again the whip slapped against her
breasts, and still his fingers slid against her, forcing her to respond. April
was torn between the outrage and indignity of having her sweet and tender
breasts slapped with the evil leather crop, and the rapturous pleasure of
having her pussy stroked and played with by a hand that seemed to know her most
secret needs. It was almost more than she could bear, and she twisted in her
bonds, her hands opening and closing, fingers spread wide, then clenching into
tight little fists of impotent excitement and humiliation. Her entire body was
on fire: the orgasm she needed so desperately was there, just barely out of
reach, and coming closer with each slap of the whip against her burning flesh.
It was so right. She knew
instinctively in some deep, unexplored part of herself that this was what she
deserved, to be tied up and whipped even as her deepest sexual desires were
satisfied by the obscene touch of his hand. In her female soul the pleasure and
the pain, the shame and the triumph were inextricably bound up and tangled
together, and she only had to glance at the feral gleam in the Doctor’s eyes to
know why she was being beaten. She was too beautiful, too desirable, too
sexual, and so she had to suffer.
But the suffering was glorious. He
began to hit her harder, so that each slap made her breasts bounce and jiggle
on her chest. She groaned with shame as her body betrayed her, pressing up off
the wall looking for more of this delicious punishment. He changed the target
from her red and aching nipples to the soft undersides, and as he slapped her
he licked and sucked the nipples he had just whipped, playing his tongue around
them and nipping them softly with his teeth, setting off fireworks in her body.
The effect was electric. April howled
and her hips began to make the most lewd and obscene humping actions against
the Doctor’s plundering hand, the soft skin of her belly clenching in spasms of
raw feminine hunger. In one part of her mind she knew she was making a shameful
spectacle of herself, but with the other she felt the blessed relief of her
orgasm thundering down upon her like a herd of wild horses, not far now. All
this tension of these last weeks and months was all coming to a head,
blossoming within her, ready to burst forth, and she knew that the Doctor was
right: there was a sexual animal inside of her, a shameless and wanton whore
who longed for the worst and most shameful things to be done to her. She knew
it now, and her shame was like an exalted thing, something that lifted her up
and out of herself into a realm of pure sexual lust, brilliant and almost
cleansing in its ferocity.
It was the whip, the terrible
indignity of being tied to the wall and beaten and loving it, the way the pain
melded into the maddening pleasure of his fingers working at her cunt, driving
everything else from her mind. He was demanding she let go, demanding she give
in to her most obscene and salacious desires and show him the whore she was
within, and she didn’t care any longer. Her dignity, her self-respect, none of that
mattered any longer.
“Fuck me!” The words burst out of her,
and she hardly knew what she was saying in her sudden delirium. “Yes! Whip me
and touch me there, Doctor! Hurt me! Make me come! Please! Make me come!”
The Doctor smiled, the look of intense
sexual hunger on his face giving his grin a wild and evil cast.
“Show me what a slut you are,” he
hissed at her as his fingers poked and probed at her through her sopping
panties. “Let me see how a little whore comes from having her tits whipped and
her pussy played with. Because you are that whore, April, and I want you to let
her out. Give it to me. Give me all your hot come, bitch.”
His words were horrible, and yet they
inflamed her blood. She opened her mouth to cry out in protest, to tell him to
stop, that she couldn’t take any more, but just then his fingers pushed the
soaked crotch band of her panties to the side and he opened her up with his
fingers, spread her pussy apart and exposed the soft and tender flesh inside to
the humid air of his sexual torture chamber. His thumb slid upwards till he
found the engorged bud of her clitoris and slid in greasy circles around it,
pushing it this way and that while his middle finger slid into her virginal
pussy, touching her just where she needed it most and easing the terrible
congestion she felt there with its savage insistence.