The Revenge Of Jolly Roger
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For She's A Jolly Good Fellow free porn video
For She's A Jolly Good Fellow
Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile
By Cal Y. Pygia
The first lash of the cane upon Gail's bare ass was astonishingly
painful, as was the second and the third, which followed fast upon it.
The slender, petite, young woman gasped, gritting her teeth, as tears
sprang to her tightly closed eyes. Her cock and balls, which lay between
her creamy thighs, were incongruous, given the rest of her obviously
feminine charms.
Behind her, Gail's husband, Kevin--they had been married for three years
now, to this very day, having wed when Gail was eighteen and he was
nineteen--studied the angry pink lines that the rattan cane had created
across the sleek expanses of his target's arched mounds. His cock
twitched and stirred, as it always did when he contemplated the effects
of his handiwork. His wife had a lovely bottom. The cheeks were round
and firm, the furrow between them deep, and the flesh covering them both
smooth and pale--except, of course, where the blood had risen, to form
the three parallel stripes across her buttocks and where it would rise
again--and again--to form others of a brighter and deeper hue. Her cock,
like his own, had swelled. It had stiffened, and, although it was
sandwiched between her upper legs, pointing downward, it was half-erect.
Naked, except for the stiletto heels that both tightened and elevated her
buttocks and made standing more difficult for her, especially when her
bottom was being ruthlessly caned, Gail was draped over a special
sawhorse-like frame, over a folded child's-size mattress. Her arms and
legs were secured to the legs of the frame, in Velcro-fastened cuffs, to
restrict her movements and prohibit any attempt on her part to escape.
The uncomfortable position, the fetters, and her nudity increased both
her sense of vulnerability and her humiliation, demonstrating, as it
were, her utter helplessness and loss of dignity. She knew, when she
assumed this awkward and uncomfortable position, that she was utterly at
Kevin's mercy, just as she knew that he was unmerciful and that he would
spank--or beat--her mercilessly. The display of her male genitals, too,
was embarrassing to her, for there was no hiding them, tugged down,
between her thighs, as they were, thanks to her husband's attention to
such details.
Kevin raised his arm high overhead, the cane, cutting through the air,
making a frightful whooshing sound, and aimed the instrument at his
wife's beautiful buttocks, intending to cut another narrow stripe between
the last two lines he'd laid with the brutal cane. The cane streaked
forward, and, landing exactly on target, caused a deep, wide furrow in
Gail's tight bottom. Although restrained by the bench over which she was
draped and to which she was cuffed, Gail managed to jostle her bottom,
and her agonized cheeks shook most piteously and agreeably, signaling, as
did her startled and anguished cry, her distress. A second and a third
stroke of the cane landed, as viciously as the first lash of this second
series, and Gail's head rose sharply as she screamed, loudly and long,
venting the anguish that consumed her red-and-purple backside. Although
the firm rotundity of her buttocks protected her penis and testicles, she
could not help to fear, nevertheless, that the cane would injure her
genitals, perhaps to the point of castration.
Kevin had a gag among his disciplinarian's instruments, but he seldom
employed it, for his young wife's anguished cries were as music to his
ears, offering, as they did, additional evidence, along with her bruised
and battered bottom, of her pain and helplessness and his own power over,
and dominance of, his passive and submissive bride. For the same reason-
-to take pleasure in his wife's pain--Kevin had installed a large mirror
before the spanking bench, so that he might see, reflected in the
polished glass, Gail's frantic eyes, her contorted grimaces, and her
distorted facial features, twisted with the agony that he inflicted upon
her in an ecstasy of dominance, power, and control that clearly and
decisively demonstrated both his own superiority and mastery of her and
her own inferiority and insignificance. The erection of her cock and
the ascension of her balls inside the contracted pouch of her scrotum
also signaled her willingness to surrender her will in favor of his
assertion of his own.
Although the severe angle at which she was bent over the frame restricted
her ability to react to the thrashings of her buttocks, instinct,
combined with involuntary muscle contractions, ensured that she made the
effort to do so, for it was virtually the only way that she could
attempt, however vainly, to evade the fiery lashes that ignited her
bottom and enflamed her loins. Therefore, from his vantage point,
standing behind her, Kevin was able to see and enjoy the knitting of his
wife's brow, the furrowing of her forehead, the squeezing shut of her
eyes, the gaping of her mouth, and the look of desperation mingled with
pain that each of his powerful strokes caused as the whistling cane cut
deeply into her bruised and tattered bottom.
Tears spilled from Gail's eyes, coursing down her cheeks, and the sight
of them in the mirror further enflamed Kevin's lust for his young wife's
blood. His cock was fully erect now, straining against the front of his
trousers, making of the fine fabric a tented "V" that, for Kevin, was
another illustration of his own power and dominance, for was not a thick,
hard cock, raised and ready, meant for penetration, occupation, and
possession--unless, of course, the organ belonged to a sissy like Gail
rather than to a true man like Kevin?
To give a sound spanking, Kevin believed, one had himself to have
received such a thrashing, and to humiliate another person properly, one
must himself have been properly mortified. To this end, before he had
begun to spank and shame Gail, he had, without her knowledge, submitted
himself to the dominance and mastery of a brutal, powerful man, a German
sadist named Heinrich, who had not only caned Kevin's ass until it was a
raw, bloody mess, but had also required his victim both to suck his
master's prick and to take his Aryan cock up his ass. Heinrich had
fucked Kevin fast, deep, and hard, and, ever since, Kevin had returned
the favor, along with the canings and humiliation he had received at the
German's hands (and cock), to his faithful, loving, and ever-more-
obedient wife.
He often thought of Heinrich and what the sadistic bastard had done to
him--what he had put him through, for no other reason than the German's
own pleasure in Kevin's pain--when Kevin administered his own canings of
Gail's helpless ass. She would never know the source of Kevin's rage, or
suspect that it had a homoerotic origin, but she would endure the effects
of his rage all the rest of her days, for, three years ago, she had
become his victim, as he himself had once been Heinrich's injured party.
Kevin swooshed the cane, raising and lashing it back and forth several
times in front of him, to let Gail hear the instrument's cruel sound as
it cut the air, just as, in a moment, it would cut her flesh. She had
hung her head, in fear and disgrace, but the impact of the cane would
cause her to jerk her head erect--or as erect as she might, restrained as
she was--and allow him another sight of her distorted and distressed
features as she cried out, her bottom afire and her soul in torment.
Each time he raised the cane, each time it smote Gail's buttocks, and
each time she screamed, he would remember Heinrich doing the same to him,
or Heinrich ordering him to suck his cock, or Heinrich commanding him to
take his massive member up his impaled ass.
In rapid succession, his hand and the cane it held a blur, Kevin
delivered the third series of strokes to his compliant wife's buttocks,
watching with great satisfaction as her quivering, jerking bottom
received the strokes that drew red lines across its smooth, but bruised
and battered, surface. Her cock rock hard, but still pointed downward,
between her sleek thighs, Gail howled, her whole body tensing with the
agony she felt in her enflamed ass, the cheeks of which continued to
tremble and clench even after the last of the strokes had cut her bottom,
forming, almost in an instant, another wicked red welt among the other
long ridges. Gail cried, screamed, and whimpered. Her face was smeared
with tears and mucus. Her mascara had run in dark streaks, along with
her tears, down her red cheeks. She looked a mess, just the way Kevin
liked to see her.
She had not yet begun to beg, though, which meant that she had not, even
naked and bent over a spanking bench, with her ass blossoming like a
ripe, beautiful flower, lost all dignity and composure. Kevin smiled,
knowing that she would, and soon. He almost regretted stripping away the
last shreds of her self-respect, because, then, the caning of her ass
would be more physical than emotional; at the moment, it was both, which
made her howls of anguish doubly joyful.
Still, reducing her beyond tears, to begging, was always his ultimate
goal, for, when the spanking reached that point--and only when it had
reached that point, and she was begging and pleading for his mercy--would
he have attained his objective. Of course, her pleas did not mean that
he would respond the way she hoped and put an end to her suffering, not
at all. The caning would continue until the predetermined number of
strokes had been delivered, no matter Gail's state of mind or the
condition of her ass.
The cane flashed, landing a resounding whack across both cheeks of Gail's
highly decorated ass, and she shrieked, her face a mask of unadulterated
anguish. She staggered upon her high heels and would have doubtlessly
toppled had it not been for the cuffs that restrained her. Her buttocks
flexed, then trembled, and she gasped as the full measure of the cane's
most recent lash blossomed in her badly bruised (and now -lacerated)
cheeks. Grinning, Kevin smote her derriere again, even harder, the
impact of the cane furrowing her battered bottom, and, as before, Gail
screamed, the sound of her agony sweet in her husband's ears. A clear
drop of Cowper's fluid, or pre-cum, adorned the tip of Gail's purple
glans, a diamond, as it were, formed of the agony she received at her
husband's cruel hands.
Without pause, he raised the cruel instrument and swung it downward, in
an arc, fiercely, against her enflamed fanny, and his wife howled again,
as he completed he fourth set of three strokes. Normally, he paused
between each trio of blows, but, this time, having delivered twelve
strokes of the cane, he continued, slashing the cane down, fast and hard,
into her ravaged bottom, delighting in her screams, her squeals, and her
shrieks as the red lines seeped blood and red welts rose, in lines,
across her buttocks. He paused only after he had added the fifth set of
three strokes, bringing the running total to fifteen strikes.
Blood continued to ooze from the angry red welts that the cane had etched
in the sleek flesh of Gail's round, arched bottom, careening over the
silken globes and down the backs of her firm, shapely thighs and calves.
Gail had been reduced to tears at the completion of his previous strokes,
and she whimpered openly now, through the film of saliva, mucus, tears,
and running mascara that made her face a glistening, horrid mess. At
last, her dignity as tattered as her tush, she begged her husband to
cease and desist in his punishing of her bottom. "Please, stop," she
murmured. "I can't take any more."
"I have no doubt but that you would like me to stop," he replied sternly,
"but I have not yet reached the predetermined number of strokes, and I
would be amiss in my husbandly responsibilities if I were to spare you
the rod prematurely." He ran the cane over the curve of her bottom in a
loving and caressing manner that, he knew, she would find intimidating in
the extreme, promising, as the gesture did, further punishment to follow.
"Please," she repeated, her tone soft but desperate, "don't strike me
again."
The cane, hard but smooth, continued to sweep up and down, over the
rotundity of her buttocks, lightly tickling her flesh. Involuntarily,
she flinched, in fear of the cruel instrument. Her prick, still thick
and hard, bobbled between her legs, her balls jiggling and bouncing.
Visually, Kevin examined her bruised bottom. Her ass cheeks were purple
where they were not red, and fifteen red stripes, some oozing blood, like
liquid rubies, stretched, parallel to one another, across her battered
buttocks. He found the sight of her bloody, bruised, and lacerated
behind as beautiful as a blossom in full flower and, despite her
buttocks' bruises and lacerations, he knew that her bottom could, in
fact, endure many more lashes of the cane, should he wish to subject her
to additional blows, although not, perhaps, without doing somewhat
serious injury to the muscles and maybe scarifying her flesh permanently.
Still, he decided, he would be able to complete the predetermined number
of strokes without doing lasting injury to Gail's buttocks. Other women
had endured far worse punishment than Gail would receive this day--as,
indeed, had Kevin himself, at Heinrich's hands--and Gail would not,
therefore, be afforded any consideration or mercy.
He rubbed the cane gently over her ass, letting its length sweep tenderly
up and down, over the battered flesh. Then, with a flash, the cane rose
and fell, striking hard across his wife's backside, and Gail screamed,
gasping and crying as pain exploded in her buttocks. Her ass flexed and
quivered as, again and again, she shrieked and howled. When she was able
to speak, she pleaded again for mercy, despite her knowledge that no
mercy would be give to her. Tears spilled in a steady stream from her
eyes. Mucus ran from her nose. Saliva drooled from her mouth. Mascara
coursed down her cheeks. Blood spilled down her buttocks and thighs.
More pre-cum oozed from her erect cock. Her penis glistened with her
manly fluids. "Please, Kevin, please don't hit me again. Please--"
The answer to her heartfelt plea interrupted her entreaty, the vicious,
brutal blow of the rattan taking her breath away, as it stole her words,
and she gave vent to the horrific anguish that filled her backside with a
truly pathetic, reverberating series of screams.
Kevin's already stiff cock became more rigid still, and he longed to make
use of his fleshly instrument. First, however, he must complete the
employment of the rattan cane, and he raised it again, high, striking
with all the force he could muster. The implement smote his wife's
bottom with tremendous force, deeply furrowing the muscles of her
posterior. She screamed, writhing in place, her buttocks afire with
anguish.
"Please," she pleaded, her voice weak and her tone more hopeless than
hopeful, "please, please don't--"
Again, the cutting stroke of the cane interrupted her plea, and she
teetered upon her stiletto heels as she gasped and shrieked and moaned
and whimpered.
He had delivered eighteen strokes, but he was not through yet with the
task he'd set himself. He tapped lightly at her bottom, as if to
determine his aim. Twice, he tapped, and then tapped again, a third
time. He repeated the tap-tap-tapping of the cane against her bottom, so
that Gail was not sure after which of these taps the strike would come
and, anticipating the blow after each of the pats, became increasingly
anxious that the strike must surely follow the next rap. When the
slashing strike did fall, it nevertheless took her by surprise, filling
her with as much astonishment and pain as the first blow had that her
husband had delivered to her bottom.
An image arose in Kevin's mind--an image of himself, but younger, and
naked, bent over at the waist and clutching his ankles, the gigantic
German, Heinrich, behind him, a stout and supple cane in hand. Before
him, he saw his wife's derriere, beaten, bruised, and bloody, but, in his
fantasy, her ass was his own, the victim of Heinrich's homophobic self-
loathing, directed at Kevin, rather than at himself.
The mental picture changed, and Kevin saw Heinrich standing before him,
his massive member erect and pointed into his victim's face. "Suck my
cock, bitch!" the German commanded, and Kevin parted his lips, sliding
them down, around the thick, hard prick, taking the man's manhood into
the warm-soft-wetness of his mouth. "Suck it, faggot!" he heard his
tormentor cry. Before him, his wife's beautiful, bare, but bloody and
battered, bottom awaited his pleasure. He raised the cane, and it shot
down, with tremendous force. His wife yelped, lunging against the
mattress folded over the spanking bench. Her bleeding buttocks quivered.
He heard her whimper and groan.
Kevin was positioned upon his elbows and knees, his buttocks high in the
air. Heinrich knelt behind him. Something smooth but rigid poked
between Kevin's buttocks, and he felt the German's prick penetrate him,
parting his anus as the massive organ slid past his sphincter, deep into
his rectum. Kevin smote his wife's ass with all his force and strength,
and the rattan cane, loud as a gunshot, furrowed the flesh and muscle of
her derriere, another red line appearing in the round, arched cheeks of
her ass as she cried out, fiercely and passionately, her cock spewing
thick, white streamers of semen onto her thighs, along her calves, and
onto the floor.
She trembled, but with as much ecstasy, this time, as agony, and, at
last, the predetermined number of strokes having been duly administered,
Kevin tossed the rattan implement aside. Gail's screams were his own, as
the German, ejaculating, spewed his semen over Kevin's buttocks, back,
and thighs. Her moans were his groans, her whimpering his whining, her
pain his anguish.
The German's hated face dissolved, and only Gail was with him, draped
over the spanking bench, her battered and beleaguered ass a beautiful
blossoming of blood and bruises. Kevin gave her bottom a hard pinch, "an
inch to grow on," as the saying went, and Gail cried out.
"Happy birthday," he told her.
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