I screamed much more loudly and for much longer than I had expected to as the leather fall of the stock whip wrapped itself around my naked flesh.

I had been anticipating this whipping for at least two months when I had agreed to return to Phoenix Arizona to visit my master and lover Andrew Scarlett.

I was very familiar with this particular stock whip as it had been a going away present from my mother. The whip was perfectly designed for torturing a woman. The three feet long plated thong was about half an inch thick where it joined the handle at the swivel point. Its thickness reduced along its length until; at the free end it was no thicker than a pencil.

A traditional stock whip has a short section of flat leather at the end of the fall called the cracker. This section can be made to move at supersonic speed when one cracks the whip. This whip did not have a cracker because it was not made for making sound; this one was made for inflicting agony. Instead, this one was fitted with a one foot length of solid round leather. It was about the thickness of a drinking straw.

Once more, this length of lovingly cared for kangaroo hide encircled my body and I my howl filled the room. My cuffed wrists were attached to a hook in the ceiling. If I stood still, I could alleviate some of the pain in my wrists by taking some weight on my tiptoes which just touched the floor.

I stood gasping for breath as I watched my master swirl the leather in the air behind his head before sweeping his arm forward to bring the leather accelerating again towards my body. His aim was improving (or getting worse depending on one's point of view) and this blow impacted on the tender flesh under my left shoulder and wound around the front of my body across both breasts. A deepening scarlet line ran along my soft flesh. It marked its path over the pale pink of my left aureole, passing under the nipple and continuing on over to my right breast where it bit into my nipple.

I screamed loudly and lifted my feet and wriggled like a freshly caught fish on a hook. When I ran out of breath, I gasped and howled again as the pink line darkened to an even deeper shade of scarlet.

Eventually, I calmed down sufficiently to again take some weight on my toes. I looked at my master with tears running down my face as I endured the burning pain from the three welts that now encircled my body.

I didn't beg him to stop because I knew that it would be futile. I was going to take whatever number of strokes that he had planned for me. I stood shivering in expectation just as my mother would have done many times during the thirty years of her marriage to my late father. Like her, I whimpered not just from the pain that had progressively built up with each stroke but also, from the expectation of what lay in store. I felt my juices running down my inner thigh and I delighted in the deep throb in my belly as the linings of my vagina became engorged. I could see that my Master's penis had become wonderfully swollen in the small leather briefs that he wore while he reveled in my discomfort. I longed desperately to feel that swollen member deep inside me and rubbing on the sensitized inner wall of my sheath.

I did not stay in position very long before I was howling and writhing again in a desperate effort to throw off yet another bout of delicious agony. The leather encircled my body and impacted its energy with a stinging pain like the burning tentacles of a jellyfish. This stroke hit my right thigh where it wound its way across my pubis before circling my left buttock. The solid leather tip of the fall buried itself with supersonic speed into the left side of my anal crease.

I did not stop howling after that and paused only twice to let out screeches of pain with each impact. The first occurred as the whip again wound around my breasts yet again but, this time, from a different direction which caused the line of fire to cross my left nipple. I was no longer in control and my body was simply reacting to the pain without any conscious involvement on my part. I heard myself screech again as the whip this time wound around my buttocks. My master demonstrated his rapidly developing skill by causing the fall to again impact down the right side of my crease but, this time, with the very tip burying itself into my anal bud.

He put down the whip and kissed me and I kissed him back as best I could while still suspended by the hook. He left me thus for another half hour hurting terribly from the many purple lines encircling my body. The only thing that distracted from the agony in my skin was the increasing pain in my arms and shoulders as the muscles and tendons reacted to my suspension.

I thought of the words of my mother as she handed me the whip that my father had used to beat her with for more than two decades. "You will never ever get used to being beaten by this," She confided, "but the first time will be the worst."