tied the girls wrists with leather straps. "Tighter," ordered Sylvia. Valerie obeyed. Sylvia sat on the bed, for Valerie to bind her ankles. "Now lift me onto the bed," ordered Sylvia, to which Valerie again promptly responded. Now, she bound her under the armpits and across the top of her chest, with thick leather straps, that she attached to the bed. The next set were placed over her shiny, tan thighs.

Now, Valerie went for the whip, as Sylvia lay on the bed, with a combination of lust and fear in her eyes, that made them glassy and deep as pools. Valerie walked back with the weapon in her hand. She found herself phantasizing that she was wearing the leather leotard outfit of Barbara's, and actual enjoying the horrible chastizement she was being forced to administer. She was angry at Sylvia, more angry at her than the others. The others had cast her in the role of a victim, a role for which she surely could not be blamed. But it was Sylvia who cast her in the ignoble role of an executionet. And for this, she could be criticized. She did possess a free will and could have declined, damn the consequences. What more could they have done to her than they had: already? She began to think that there is a thin line between victim and executioner and that each acts under a measure of compulsion. she saw this night how the roles can easily be interchanged. She had found out tonight that in all things there was a measure of pleasure, no matter how painful and in all things, a measure of pain, no matter how pleasurable. She thought that values could be written as besuits the author, and no one could conclusively refute the solutions derived.

As she lifted up the whip, she felt a rage within her. It had probably been developped by an inter-hormonal reaction, for justification for what she was about to do. She hated Sylvia for what she was making her carry out, and so wanted to punish her. The whip came crashing down on the girls breasts, as she winced with pain, but suddenly felt an excitation that mere sexual manipulation could never produce. The whip came down again, now leaving in its wake, a redness and blistering of

her tan skin, that seemed ready at any moment to start gushing forth blood. The girl began to breath heavily and she felt every inch of her body tingling with passion. Again, the whip came down on those lovely breasts, reddening the skin still more. The sexual excitement was becoming unbearable, as her head moved violently from side to side. Currents of pain and pleasure ran through her body like electricity. The whip came down again. This time a trinkle of blood crep through the broken skin. The girl was breathing in heavy short gasps, struggling with her fetters to move her body in unison with the strange delight passing through her. The pain was like. shut

a refreshing mistral, blowing through the palms on a tropical isle. Again, the whip came slashing down. Her eyes tight. She tried to raise her buttocks as far up as she could, considering the fetters that held her down. The excitement that she felt was quickly transferred to her executioner, who, too, was growing more emotional with each blow, and by now could not differentiate anger from passion. Every variety of emotion passed back and forth between them, as though they were one. Again, the whip struck its mark. Now, the girl was moaning wildly, as she was in the throes and midst of orgasm. She could feel the maiden juices welling up inside of her and swirling around like a whirlpool. "No more, Valerie? No more!" she cried out. But Valerie continued to whip her.

mine.

Oh!

"You wanted to be whipped," Valerie said, "Then you shall be whipped. You've had your orgasm. Fine. But I haven't had So, I'll continue, until I do." And she did. "Please, stop!" the girl begged. "You're killing me. It hurts sol My poor titties! No one ever did so much to me like you are please," she continued, as the whip continued to find its mark, slashing in the blood, that had now spotted the black leather.

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