J II

There is a constant flow of customers in and out of the store and no dearth of voyeurs as we sample all the toys we've assembled in the changing room. One item that gains the most interest from me is a leather harness that includes a wide leather collar at the top and ends with a wide leather belt that encircles the waist. A strap with two harnesses to hold various plugs and dildoes goes between the bottom's legs. A wide adjustable leather straps descends from the collar portion with with leather cuffs and terminates at a wide leather waist strap. The cuff strap can be attached either in front of or behind the sub. It fits perfectly right off the rack.

J's interests focus not on the restraints but rather the whips, floggers and tawse items. After more than an hour of playful experimentation, J indicates she wants coffee. Coyly she produces a wide heavy leather strap. Her black eyes sparkle as she indicates she's going to purchase the strap. I advise her that the toy she's selected is hardly for a beginner and even in the hands of the most skilled dom, is going to produce a high level of pain no matter how gently it is used. It is the old: "Be careful of what you wish for" discussion. J remains undaunted. I take it from her and say: "This toy is on me."

Back in the Benz J hovers close to me, hanging on to one arm as we stop for a latte for her and a black coffee for me. Back at her condo J is playfully sexual. She wants to suck my cock. This leads to me on my back on the floor and she squatting over me riding my cock up and down repeatedly. She's working hard, her breathing heavy and she displays frustration at her inability to bring me to climax. She continues until she stops in total frustration.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Me?"

"Ah yes-you!"

"You're young, inexperienced. In time you'll become more adroit. Don't be too hard on your self."

She produces a wail part frustration but more touched by anger and stomps out of the living room to her bedroom. She leaves the door open and I can here her rustling the paper bag as she takes out the leather strap.

The noise stops and the only sound heard is the clicking of a clock somewhere in the condo.

More than 30 minutes go by until she emerges strap in hand.

"Don'tcha want to use this?"

"Do I have your permission?"

"Yes! "

"Into the bedroom-sweat pants off!"

She complies-sinks to the floor on her knees-ass up.

I heft the strap. It is godawful heavy-similar to a razor strop found in old time barber shops.

"Only 5 J."

I bring the strop down for the first time. The power and weight driving her down and flat to the ground. The strop drives all the air from her lungs other wise a scream would have been unavoidable. I want to go to her but resist. Gasping, she gains control and raises her self back up again in the servile position, breathing heavily but other wise silent.

In kumite, there is an execise called arm pounding designed to raise a students tolerance for pain. As part of that exercise, the hardest and most painful blows arise out of the student not using power to deliver the strike, but rather, just letting gravity and the flow of energy focused at the point of impact (the transformation from kinetic energy) as the provider of the force. The impact is far harder. I use this technique to deliver the next three heavy thuddy strops to J's ass. The strokes dive deep into her-not the sharp skin level pain of a surface whipping, but rather, strokes that go deep into the muscles-strokes that push to her core.

She's in control but barely. She is fighting hard-like its the last round of a 15 rounder and struggling just to make in through to the finish line before total collapse. I marvel at her strength. As she raises up for the last time, I replace the strop with my lighter wide leather belt and deliver a final stroke, that rather than going deep. burns like a flash fire across her ass. Expecting the strop and receiving the strap, coupled with an entirely different sensation than what she had steeled herself to against, she goes ever the edge-crying uncontrollably as if she had just witnessed the end of the world. She's prostrate-sobbing as I move to her front and left her head up.

There is defiance etched in her face.

"Someday I'll taste those tears." I murmur.

"Never!" she hisses.

I turn, leave and quietly close the door to her condo. I am sated.