The List 6: Legs are for Being Beaten

The story starts here.

She slid out from under him, and walked towards the bedroom. “Put the vacuum away, take care of any of your disgusting biological needs, and meet me in the bedroom. Enjoy walking, because it might be the last time you do it without pain for awhile.”

She dropped her plate and glass off in the kitchen sink and went to the kitchen. He put the vacuum back in the closet and walked into the bathroom. He forced himself to walk normally despite the electric twitches in his feet from the earlier caning, and leaned back as he pissed. He closed his eyes and flicked the last few drops of piss off his cock, put the toilet seat back down, and strode into the bedroom.

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively as he walked into the bedroom, letting her eyes flicker over his nudity. She could see the little tremors in his muscles, the slightest hesitation before he put his feet down. Things she had caused, and he had done for her.

She sighed and pushed herself off the bed. “Stand there.” She pointed to the middle of the room with a thin dowel rod, and he walked to spot. “The things I do for you. I’d rather sit on the bed and torture you, but I can’t get a good swing sitting down.” She lined up her body, and kicked his feet a little further apart. “Aren’t I considerate?”

Any reply was cutoff by his grunt as the wooden rod whacked into his shin, bouncing off the thin skin and muscle, sending a shock wave into the bone of his leg. He hissed out his pain, and shook his head. “One, ma’am.”

Laughter forced itself past her lips. “Oh, that’s so cute. He thinks how many times I’ve hit him matters.” She slapped his shin with the rod again, sending another wave of pain into his body. “It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve hit you pet.” Another slap from the dowel, an inch below the other. “Because I’m just going to hit you…” Whack! “Until I think…” Whack! “Your legs…” Whack! “Have been…” Whack! “Beaten…” Whack! “Enough.”

He rose up on his toes at the last strike, the skin of his legs glowing red and angry. She stepped around, and started working on his other shin silently, her mouth a hard line of intense concentration. Hitting him exactly where she wanted, exactly as hard she wanted, ratcheting up the pain and sensation for both of them.

She moved from heavy, hard hits to light, stinging taps and back to hard hits, distressing the thin skin on his shins before moving to the back of his legs. She worked him over, moving back and forth across his legs, up and down the heavy muscles. Slapping, hitting, crushing, distorting the skin and muscles, forcing energy into the bones from unnatural angles.

Time vanished, and the world shrank until it was just the bedroom, then the two of the them, floating in a void of pain and pleasure. She moved around his body, focusing on his legs, leaving a spiderweb of red lines and abrasion across the skin. The wooden rod glistened with sweat from his body. Blood rose up near his skin, then peaked out in tiny drops, winking and bouncing as his muscles spasmed.

The sound of wood hitting skin filled their ears, echoing around the pleasure, forcing it into peaks and valleys. The sound of wood hitting skin forcing it higher, his gasps and moans little bursts of percussion that accented the sound of torture.

She kept working on his body, tearing it away, robbing of its vitality little by little, hungry and wanting to take it all until he had nothing left to give. His body jerked in little shocks and waves, and she waited until he started to wobble, then slid a chair from the desk behind him. “Sit.”

He dropped gratefully into the chair, and then dowel slashed down hitting the front of his upper legs. Trapped against the wood of the chair there was no give, and the pain made him jump. He forced his hands to grab the chair seat, holding himself in it while she continued beating him, barely pausing.

The world got a little smaller, and she relentlessly worked her way up and down the front of his legs, bouncing the wooden rod off his body until he was sobbing and gasping in front of her. When his moans no longer sounded human, when they were the desperate sounds of a trapped animal, she finally stopped.

She stroked his hair gently, letting him come down, and slid her breasts across his face. He moaned again as the pain mixed with sudden pleasure, and sank in the chair a little. She let his head rest against the skin between her breasts, feeling his hot, wet breath, and then gently pushed him back.

She reached over the dragged an old blanket off the end of the bed, and spread it out in front of him. He leaned forward as she slipped away, and she smoothed a wrinkle in the blanket with her foot. “I think that covers the legs. Hands and knees now. It’s time we fill that hole in your ass.”

Preview: Butt fans rejoice, next up is part 7: Assholes are for being violated, with dildos, buttplugs, or hands. Possibly extraneous commas, not sure if that first one is necessary.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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