flutter. Somehow, she had forgotten something and it was bugging her.
“Oh my God,” Ellen shouted suddenly. “There it is, right in front of me. I’m playing with them instead of thinking about what to do with them. Holy Shit. Frank would have laughed his head off if I’d forgotten to do the tits. Jesus, the tits, the tits. I’m losing my mind.” Ellen picked up the paddle and began slowly, rhythmically, beating Patty’s breasts, first one then the other with their steel rings occasionally banging in contact with the paddle. Considering that she had been about to leave, Ellen took her time, paddling with strong, carefully placed strokes the top, sides and bottom of each of Patty’s freely swinging tits. When they had assumed the same battered, beaten condition as the buttocks, glowing fiery red and coursing with increased blood from the prolonged smacking, Ellen backed away, surveyed the affects of her beating and discarded the paddle. She stood back, sweating and admiring her work, then again ran her hand up and down Patty’s inside thighs, which by now were flowing actively with the light colored fluids being generated by the combination of the double dildos and the floggings of butt and tits. Ellen finished up the session by tweaking each nipple with her long, sharp nails and then adding the finale, as she called it. Something special to wrap up the session, she chained Patty’s nipples to weights.
Soon, it was all over and a panting, sweating Patty hung on the frame, her ass still in the air, the bar and its attached dildos still splitting her ass cheeks and cunt lips wide apart. Her hood was attached to the ceiling chain and from each nipple a thin shiny chain led to the horizontal bar between the spread and clamped knees. The chains went over the bar and hung down, supporting the small weights that kept them taunt. The other ends of the chains were hooked to the new nipple rings that F&E had thoughtfully reinserted for Patty while she was spread out on the kitchen table.
From inside the hood came groans and whines of physical and emotional discomfort, signaling to Ellen that the set up for the night was now complete. Patty was, as usual, complaining, but Ellen knew that behind all of this hollering and struggling, Patty was a first class masochist and was getting massive doses of emotional and physical thrills and orgasms from each thing they did to her. It was her covert, seemingly naive style that had thrown both of the couple off initially, but the discovery of Patty’s many piercings had invalidated all of this.
Patty was fully aware of the affects of the discipline and torment she was experiencing and it was the concerted conclusion of both Frank and Ellen that if offered her freedom, Patty would complain loudly, but find a way to refuse. Meanwhile, she suffered and enjoyed the torment of the tripod frame, twenty hard strokes on butt and breasts from the wooden paddle, the prolonged anal and frontal penetration, the gags, the hood, tongue stretching and tit torture. Patty, like the other guests at the camp, was just another member of the Cabin Club. She was having fun.
Chapter Seven
Nobody Said Anything About Sex
Frank came back with a couple of things in a small duffle bag. Katy was pleased to hear him enter the room and stayed very still as he approached her.
“I got delayed for awhile there,” Frank said. “But in the process, I picked up a few little things for you.” He dropped a canvas bag on the floor and began to remove the contents, which he dumped on the floor next to the pinioned girl. Katy immediately smelled the rubber. She chattered urgently behind the gag, trying to tell Frank that she did not enjoy latex and that she was possibly allergic to it, but of course, with the hood and gag, Frank didn’t get any of the messages.
He powdered both of Katy’s long legs, rubbing the talc over and around the feet and joints. Then he unfastened the left leg and started the challenging
“Oh my God,” Ellen shouted suddenly. “There it is, right in front of me. I’m playing with them instead of thinking about what to do with them. Holy Shit. Frank would have laughed his head off if I’d forgotten to do the tits. Jesus, the tits, the tits. I’m losing my mind.” Ellen picked up the paddle and began slowly, rhythmically, beating Patty’s breasts, first one then the other with their steel rings occasionally banging in contact with the paddle. Considering that she had been about to leave, Ellen took her time, paddling with strong, carefully placed strokes the top, sides and bottom of each of Patty’s freely swinging tits. When they had assumed the same battered, beaten condition as the buttocks, glowing fiery red and coursing with increased blood from the prolonged smacking, Ellen backed away, surveyed the affects of her beating and discarded the paddle. She stood back, sweating and admiring her work, then again ran her hand up and down Patty’s inside thighs, which by now were flowing actively with the light colored fluids being generated by the combination of the double dildos and the floggings of butt and tits. Ellen finished up the session by tweaking each nipple with her long, sharp nails and then adding the finale, as she called it. Something special to wrap up the session, she chained Patty’s nipples to weights.
Soon, it was all over and a panting, sweating Patty hung on the frame, her ass still in the air, the bar and its attached dildos still splitting her ass cheeks and cunt lips wide apart. Her hood was attached to the ceiling chain and from each nipple a thin shiny chain led to the horizontal bar between the spread and clamped knees. The chains went over the bar and hung down, supporting the small weights that kept them taunt. The other ends of the chains were hooked to the new nipple rings that F&E had thoughtfully reinserted for Patty while she was spread out on the kitchen table.
From inside the hood came groans and whines of physical and emotional discomfort, signaling to Ellen that the set up for the night was now complete. Patty was, as usual, complaining, but Ellen knew that behind all of this hollering and struggling, Patty was a first class masochist and was getting massive doses of emotional and physical thrills and orgasms from each thing they did to her. It was her covert, seemingly naive style that had thrown both of the couple off initially, but the discovery of Patty’s many piercings had invalidated all of this.
Patty was fully aware of the affects of the discipline and torment she was experiencing and it was the concerted conclusion of both Frank and Ellen that if offered her freedom, Patty would complain loudly, but find a way to refuse. Meanwhile, she suffered and enjoyed the torment of the tripod frame, twenty hard strokes on butt and breasts from the wooden paddle, the prolonged anal and frontal penetration, the gags, the hood, tongue stretching and tit torture. Patty, like the other guests at the camp, was just another member of the Cabin Club. She was having fun.
Chapter Seven
Nobody Said Anything About Sex
Frank came back with a couple of things in a small duffle bag. Katy was pleased to hear him enter the room and stayed very still as he approached her.
“I got delayed for awhile there,” Frank said. “But in the process, I picked up a few little things for you.” He dropped a canvas bag on the floor and began to remove the contents, which he dumped on the floor next to the pinioned girl. Katy immediately smelled the rubber. She chattered urgently behind the gag, trying to tell Frank that she did not enjoy latex and that she was possibly allergic to it, but of course, with the hood and gag, Frank didn’t get any of the messages.
He powdered both of Katy’s long legs, rubbing the talc over and around the feet and joints. Then he unfastened the left leg and started the challenging
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