Angela’s cries came from her gut, some gentle whimpers of sadness, others more like sobs, but most arose as pleas for more. Stopping was not an option now.
Midway through this carnal sacrament, James picked up a paddle, intended to sharpen her experience of pain. The paddle’s sting put her beyond the erotic intent of the thong. Her cries became wilder, her squirms against the stone fierce enough to scratch her skin right through the silken hair at the head of her pubic mound. She fought to keep herself in place, and not bolt, and not cry too loudly in despair, or attempt to beg for mercy. And for her efforts, she was soon rewarded, when James changed his tactics one more time, returning to the more sensuous thong to deliver the final sequence of strikes.
As he finished, James knelt on
