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There are rewards for doing a favour.

Lest you begin to associate the spankings you received as a child with the very different purpose for which you are exposing your backside now, I refrain from hitting your buttock. As a result, when I finish whipping the backs of your legs, the contrast between their ruddy color and the virgin white of your buttock is dramatic.

Laying the whip aside, I lower my pants, grasp you by the hips, and, without warning, plunge my engorged penis into your vagina. You respond by rising onto your toes and shifting your hips to draw me further inside your body. When my penis reaches your cervix, I release your hips and transfer my hands to your pendulous breasts. Using them as handles, I pull you out of the chair and hug your back to my front. Locked together as we are, my penis is mashed against your vaginal walls, causing sharp but erotically potent pain for both of us. This pain makes our coupling more intense but delays our climax. Thus, several agonized but divine minutes pass before we achieve orgasm.

When I leave your body, you collapse against my chest. I carry you into the bathroom and deposit you on the toilet seat while I run a hot bath for you. After stirring some bath oil into the water, I deposit your limp body into the steamy, fragrant brew that I have prepared for it. You close your eyes and luxuriate in the comfort that your body is receiving. Unable to resist the temptation of exploring the regions that my whip has given new color, I lean over the side of the tub and trace the red line that starts just below your navel and terminates in your crotch. Without opening your eyes, you languorously shift your position to make your body more available for to my soothing hands. I share with you my pleasure in the varying shades that I encounter when I lift your legs to expose the last region that my whip visited.

After satisfying my curiosity, I leave you to soak up the healing warmth. Half an hour later, I return and lift you out of the tub so that I can dry you and sprinkle a coat of powder on your multi-colored pelt. I then carry you into the bedroom and place you on the bed. You have not opened your eyes since your bath began, and I appreciate your need for time to recover from the rigors of your morning experiences. Thus, I cover your warm body, pull down the shades, and leave you to recuperate on your own.

I return an hour later to find you awake and smiling. You are examining your mottled body and seem to be enjoying what you find. Sitting by your side, I ask if you have had enough or if you want to continue. I warn you that, if we continue, your breast will be my next target. After serious refection, you say that, in spite of your reservations, you want to continue. To date, your breasts have been the recipient of adoration, and you want to learn their potential as a source of erotic suffering.

Doubtful if you fully appreciate the consequences of your decision, I have you rise from your downy couch and follow me into the living room. At the center of the make-shift arena, I have placed a simple, straight-back chair. Solidly hitched to the center of its seat is a plastic dildo that curves forward in a way that will apply constant pressure to whatever sheath it is embedded in. While you lower yourself onto the dildo, I explain that its primary purpose is to anchor you in place rather than to provide you pleasure. For obvious reasons, when you complete your impalement, you sit bolt upright posture with perfect posture.

I tell you that the whipping of your breasts will have two phases.

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