The Ojastara Tales: Asking nicely, in a Scottish accent 1

The flogger was reaching between her shoulders, and Ojastara, her arms outstretched and her wrists tied to pillars of either side of her. Her bonds were not uncomfortable, but she couldn’t slump and relax, the way she wanted. 

Bridget was applying the flogger almost lazily, letting its weight drive the impact as she swung it down on Ojastara’s back. Ojastara sighed. A happy sigh; this was good pain, and it was almost comfortable. Then there was movement within her, and her eyes widened suddenly.

Bridget had introduced a dildo into her cunt before the flogging started. Now it was as if it had suddenly woken up. “Remote control,” Ojastara thought.The stimulation was gently insistent, and exceptionally pleasant.

Then Bridget stepped in front of her. She was a tiny girl, with hair the colour of a fire engine. She wore satin black shorts, cut high, and a tiny black leather bra, and little black high heeled shoes. Apart from her hair, she was pale white, speckled with freckles. She smiled at Ojastara. “Oh, I am enjoying myself! It’s a pity you don’t colour much. But you have the yummiest skin.” 

Ojastara nodded. Just then, with the vibe in her cunt slowly becoming more insistent, she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to form a sentence. She watched, helpless, as Bridget raised the flogger again, and delivered two slashing strokes to her breasts, left to right and then right to left.

One of the lashes caught at Ojastara’s dark plum-coloured nipple, causing an instant’s fiercer sting among the long, warm thud of the flogger’s path. Ojastara felt it like a kiss, or a kiss-and-bite, and she sighed, pleasured. The flogger lashed her breasts long and hard, with only occasional sharper sensations. 

The strokes came shorter and faster as Bridget worked her way down Ojastara’s body. The flogger swept across her thighs from left to right and back again, for a long, long, hypnotically long time. “Tara,” she said at last (no one but Bridget ever called her ‘Tara’), “I’d love to whip your cunt. Long and – mostly – slow, till you come. That all right by you?”

The flogging stopped, suspended, waiting on Ojastara’s word. Bridget bit her lip, supplicant though she held the whip, waiting. 

Ojastara smiled. “That’s you. You ask me nicely, in your Scots accent. I don’t think I could refuse you anything, little Bridget. “I mean, yes. Yes, please.”

“Oh, thank you. You’re so sweet, Tara.” And the flogger dropped, to lash upwards at Ojastara’s warm, dark, wet and tender lips.


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