Ulysses and Sophia part 18
The gasp that had been trapped in Ulysses’s throat finally escaped, ragged and wet, but Sophia didn’t grant him a moment to recover the rhythm of his breathing. The martinet sang through the air again, a sharp, high-pitched whistle that ended abruptly against the center of his back.
It wasn’t a dull thud; it was a line of pure, concentrated heat. The twelve leather tails struck simultaneously, fanning out across his spine like the teeth of a rake designed to flay. The sensation was immediate and invasive—feeling less like a blow and more like a row of hypodermic needles being jammed directly into the vertebrae. Ulysses arched instinctively, the sapphire bungee cord creaking as he tried to curl away from the source of the pain, but there was nowhere to go. His body swung helplessly in the suspension, the movement only serving to make the leather bite deeper into the muscle.
Sophia stepped into his space, the scent of her perfume mixing with the faint, coppery tang that was beginning to rise from his skin. She adjusted her grip on the Danish oiled wood handle, her knuckles white with the pressure. "Hold still," she murmured, though her tone suggested she expected the impossible.
She struck again, lower this time. The tails wrapped around his right side, licking across the back of his ribcage. The impact vibrated through his bones, a deep, resonating ache that made his lungs stutter. A second blow followed instantly on the left, the leather snapping against the sensitive skin covering his ribs. It felt as if the bones themselves were being bruised, the force radiating inward until his chest felt too tight to expand.
"Please," Ulysses choked out, the word barely audible past his clenched teeth.
Sophia ignored the sound. She drew her arm back, targeting the base of the spine. The martinet cracked against his tailbone with a vicious, stinging accuracy. The pain there was different—sharper, more electric. It shot down his backs of his legs, making his toes curl inside the empty air. He screamed, the sound tearing from his throat and bouncing off the dark green laminate walls.
But Sophia was just getting started. She shifted her stance, lining up the shot for his buttocks. The flesh there was already tender, swollen and angry from the severe spanking he had endured earlier. The skin was tight, hot to the touch, and littered with marks.
When the martinet landed, it was catastrophic.
It felt as if she had thrown a handful of salt into an open wound. The sensation was a white-hot flash that expanded instantly, consuming his entire lower body. It was like gasoline meeting a spark, or dry ice being pressed flush against bare skin. The sting of the leather on the bruised flesh was so intense it bordered on hallucinatory, a searing agony that made his vision flash white behind the blindfold.
"Stop! Oh god, please stop!" he begged, his voice cracking into a sob. He thrashed in the bonds, the bungee cord stretching and snapping back, but his struggles only made the punished muscles rub against each other, reigniting the fire.
Sophia didn’t pause. If anything, his desperation seemed to fuel her precision. She had promised him attention, and she delivered. She brought the whip down again, and then again, counting internally. She struck the crease where his ass met his thighs, then the full swell of his cheeks. She hit him eight times in rapid succession, the rhythm unyielding. Each lash compounded the last, the nerves in his buttocks firing so frantically they ceased to register individual blows, instead merging into one continuous, torturous scream of sensation. He was drowning in it, his body rigid, sweat pouring off his forehead to mingle with the tears leaking from beneath the blindfold.
Finally, she moved lower. The whip whistled through the air, landing with a wet slap against the back of his thighs. The muscle there was thick, but the leather tails found the sensitive spots, wrapping around to bite the inner thigh where the skin was soft and untouched. Ulysses howled, his legs kicking out in a reflex that was violently checked by the suspension.
She worked her way down methodically. The calves were next, the tails stinging the taut muscle fibers, feeling like a swarm of hornets attacking his legs. She didn't miss a spot. She whipped the sensitive hollows behind his knees, and then moved down to his ankles. The final blows were reserved for his heels. The strike against the thin, fragile skin there sent a jolt of agony up his leg that made his entire body spasm.
Silence fell over the office, broken only by Ulysses’s ragged, hyperventilating gasps and the wet sound of him trying to swallow past the pain. He hung limp in the cords, every muscle twitching with residual shock.
Sophia’s heels clicked on the floor as she circled him. She came up behind him, her presence a sudden heat against his back. She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, her breath warm and teasing against his sweat-slicked skin.
"Now," she whispered, her voice low and melodic, cutting through the haze of his suffering. "It’s time to do the front x-ray."
She pulled away, her footsteps receding as she walked around his suspended body. Ulysses shook his head weakly, a silent plea for mercy that he knew was futile. "No... please, Mistress... I can't..."
She ignored him completely. The clicking of her heels stopped directly in front of him. He could feel her there, a wall of dominance staring at his exposed front. His chest heaved, his cock hanging heavy and ignored between his legs, terrified of what was to come.
There was a rustle of fabric as she raised the whip. Ulysses tensed, his entire body bracing for the impact. But it didn’t come.
She held the martinet aloft, letting the anticipation build. One second. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating. Two seconds. Ulysses’s heart hammered against his ribs, the wait almost as bad as the pain. Three seconds. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter behind the blindfold, his breath hitching in a silent sob.
Then, the air split.
The leather tails cracked across the front of his neck, just once. The impact was precise and terrifying, the tips of the tails stinging the delicate skin of his throat and catching his Adam's apple. The pain was sharp and shocking, stealing his breath instantly and leaving him dangling in the void, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
Sophia didn't give him time to recover from the neck strike. The martinet whistled through the air again, landing with surgical precision across his pectorals. The first lash striped horizontally across the upper muscle fibers, the leather tails biting into the dense tissue with a sharp snap that made Ulysses' entire torso jerk against the restraints. "One," Sophia counted coolly.
The second strike overlapped the first slightly lower, the tails wrapping around the curve of his chest to lick at the sensitive underside where muscle met armpit. Ulysses howled, his knees buckling instinctively only to be caught by the suspension cords. By the third lash, his nipples were taut with a mix of pain and involuntary arousal, making them perfect targets. The fourth strike landed dead center—twelve leather strands converging on the tiny buds like a swarm of angry wasps.
"Electricity!" Ulysses shrieked, his back arching violently as the pain radiated outward in jagged bursts. The sensation was nothing like the deep throb of his bruised ass—this was pure nerve lightning, crackling down his ribs and up his throat.
Sophia moved lower without pause. The martinet sang against his abdomen, each stroke methodical—upper abs, lower abs, the tender space just above his navel. The tails wrapped around his waist, leaving burning stripes across his obliques. She worked down systematically, alternating sides, turning his sculpted six-pack into a canvas of angry red welts. His stomach muscles clenched and jumped beneath each impact, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Then she paused.
Sophia stepped closer, letting the cinnamon-colored tails brush against his swollen lips. Ulysses flinched at the contact, tasting salt and leather. "Open," she commanded.
His jaw trembled as he obeyed, parting his lips just enough for her to slide the Danish oiled wood handle between his teeth. The taste of varnish and sweat flooded his mouth. She pushed deeper, the smooth wood pressing against his tongue until it hit the sensitive spot at the back of his palate. Not enough to gag—just enough to make his throat twitch with discomfort. Tears leaked from beneath his blindfold as he struggled to breathe around the intrusion.
Sophia held it there for twenty agonizing seconds, watching his throat flutter. When she withdrew it with a wet pop, saliva trailed from his lips to his heaving chest. She didn't wipe it away.
The whip cracked across his ribs again, lower this time—right where his torso met his pelvis. Ulysses screamed into the empty office, the sound bouncing off the soundproofed walls. Sophia flicked her wrist, spinning the tails in a slow, taunting circle just above his groin. The leather whispered against his skin, promising agony. His cock twitched pathetically, caught between fear and arousal.
Then she struck.
The pain was volcanic. Twelve leather tails wrapped around his shaft and balls simultaneously, the sting exploding outward in concentric waves. Ulysses convulsed, his scream fracturing into wordless, animalistic shrieks. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced—white-hot wires slicing into the most sensitive nerves of his body. Sophia didn't pause. Seven more lashes rained down in quick succession, each one igniting fresh fire across his groin until his thighs were slick with precum and tears.
When she finally moved lower, whipping the fronts of his thighs, the relief was almost worse. The contrast between the unbearable agony of his genitals and the merely excruciating sting of his legs made him sob like a child. She worked methodically—kneecaps, shins, the delicate arches of his feet. The final lash across his toes curled them violently inward, making him wail like a newborn baby.
The martinet handle pressed against Ulysses' tightly clenched entrance with sudden, clinical precision—cold Danish oiled wood slick with Sophia's sweat from gripping it during the whipping. He gasped sharply through his nose, his hips jerking forward instinctively only to be yanked back by the suspension cords. Sophia tutted, applying steady pressure with the rounded tip of the handle, circling the puckered muscle with the same calculated rhythm she'd used during the spanking.
"Relax," she murmured, though her tone made it clear this wasn't a suggestion.
Ulysses whimpered, the sound muffled by the blindfold still secured tightly across his eyes. His thighs trembled violently as Sophia increased the pressure, the smooth wood threatening to breach him. He tried to force his body to yield, but every instinct screamed against the invasion. The handle circled relentlessly, a cold, unyielding presence against the most intimate part of him.
"Breathe," Sophia commanded, her voice betraying no impatience.
He sucked in a ragged gasp through his nose—just as she pushed forward. The initial stretch was unbearable, a white-hot lance of pain that radiated up his spine. Ulysses howled, his back arching as the wood breached him inch by torturous inch. Sophia worked it deeper with slow, methodical twists, her grip firm on the oiled handle.
"Good boy," she praised as the widest part popped past his resistance. The sudden fullness stole his breath—his entire body clenched around the intrusion, muscles fluttering wildly.
Sophia twisted the handle once, sharply, and Ulysses sobbed. Every tiny movement sent fresh waves of discomfort radiating through his abused body. Yet beneath the pain, something darker stirred—a shameful heat pooling low in his gut as she began sliding the wood in shallow thrusts.
Sophia watched the whip handle disappear and reappear between Ulysses’ clenched cheeks with clinical fascination. The Danish oiled wood gleamed under the office lights, slick with sweat and resistance. But it wasn’t just his ass that held her attention—his cock had begun to twitch in erratic pulses, the flushed head drooling precum onto his bruised abdomen.
Three minutes in, his hips stuttered mid-thrust. A choked gasp tore from his throat as his stomach muscles seized. Sophia, knowing full well what was about to happen, reached around him and grabbed his penis, pointing it up towards his stomach and chest.
The orgasm ripped through Ulysses with volcanic force—his hips stuttering against the suspension cords as Sophia milked him ruthlessly. The first spurt arched high, painting his collarbones in pearly streaks that gleamed under the office lights. His next pulse splattered across his sternum, thick ropes splashing between the raised welts left by the martinet. Sophia tightened her grip at the base of his cock, forcing the subsequent jets higher—his chin, his throat, the hollow beneath his Adam's apple—until his head lolled back against the blindfold, mouth slack with overwhelmed ecstasy.
"Look at you," Sophia murmured, dragging her thumb through the mess on his pectorals. The semen clung to her skin like liquid satin as she smeared it across his nipple, mixing with the sweat and precome already glazing his torso.
"Making such a spectacle of yourself."
Ulysses could only whimper, his thighs quivering as residual spurts oozed from his slit. The semen pooled in the divots between his abdominal muscles before gravity pulled it downward in glistening rivulets. One thick droplet slid along the crease of his hip, tracing the border between pelvis and thigh before disappearing into the thatch of dark hair at his groin. Another branched at his ribcage, forking around a fresh welt to trickle down his flank toward the small of his back.
Sophia let the last shudder of Ulysses' orgasm fade into stillness before withdrawing the whip handle with a wet pop. The Danish oiled wood clattered onto the pink rug, rolling slightly before coming to a stop 2 feet behind Ulysess. His hips jerked at the sudden emptiness, muscles fluttering involuntarily—an obscene little twitch that made Sophia's lips curve.
Sophia dipped her fingers into the cooling mess on Ulysses’ chest, gathering thick strands between her fingers like spider silk. She worked methodically—first smearing it across his collarbones in broad, possessive strokes, then dragging her palms down his trembling arms. The semen clung to his skin, mixing with sweat to form a slick, shimmering glaze that darkened the fine hairs on his forearms. When she reached his wrists, she interlaced their fingers briefly, pressing their joined hands together until his knuckles were sticky with his own release.
"Every inch," she murmured, circling behind him where the suspension cords dug into his flesh. Her touch traced the knobs of his spine, each vertebra receiving a slow, deliberate daub of semen before she smoothed it downward. After getting his lower back and tailbone, she rubbed the seminal fluid into his bruised buttocks. Sophia kneaded it into the inflamed skin with cruel precision, her fingers digging into the welts until Ulysses whimpered through clenched teeth.
It wasn’t a dull thud; it was a line of pure, concentrated heat. The twelve leather tails struck simultaneously, fanning out across his spine like the teeth of a rake designed to flay. The sensation was immediate and invasive—feeling less like a blow and more like a row of hypodermic needles being jammed directly into the vertebrae. Ulysses arched instinctively, the sapphire bungee cord creaking as he tried to curl away from the source of the pain, but there was nowhere to go. His body swung helplessly in the suspension, the movement only serving to make the leather bite deeper into the muscle.
Sophia stepped into his space, the scent of her perfume mixing with the faint, coppery tang that was beginning to rise from his skin. She adjusted her grip on the Danish oiled wood handle, her knuckles white with the pressure. "Hold still," she murmured, though her tone suggested she expected the impossible.
She struck again, lower this time. The tails wrapped around his right side, licking across the back of his ribcage. The impact vibrated through his bones, a deep, resonating ache that made his lungs stutter. A second blow followed instantly on the left, the leather snapping against the sensitive skin covering his ribs. It felt as if the bones themselves were being bruised, the force radiating inward until his chest felt too tight to expand.
"Please," Ulysses choked out, the word barely audible past his clenched teeth.
Sophia ignored the sound. She drew her arm back, targeting the base of the spine. The martinet cracked against his tailbone with a vicious, stinging accuracy. The pain there was different—sharper, more electric. It shot down his backs of his legs, making his toes curl inside the empty air. He screamed, the sound tearing from his throat and bouncing off the dark green laminate walls.
But Sophia was just getting started. She shifted her stance, lining up the shot for his buttocks. The flesh there was already tender, swollen and angry from the severe spanking he had endured earlier. The skin was tight, hot to the touch, and littered with marks.
When the martinet landed, it was catastrophic.
It felt as if she had thrown a handful of salt into an open wound. The sensation was a white-hot flash that expanded instantly, consuming his entire lower body. It was like gasoline meeting a spark, or dry ice being pressed flush against bare skin. The sting of the leather on the bruised flesh was so intense it bordered on hallucinatory, a searing agony that made his vision flash white behind the blindfold.
"Stop! Oh god, please stop!" he begged, his voice cracking into a sob. He thrashed in the bonds, the bungee cord stretching and snapping back, but his struggles only made the punished muscles rub against each other, reigniting the fire.
Sophia didn’t pause. If anything, his desperation seemed to fuel her precision. She had promised him attention, and she delivered. She brought the whip down again, and then again, counting internally. She struck the crease where his ass met his thighs, then the full swell of his cheeks. She hit him eight times in rapid succession, the rhythm unyielding. Each lash compounded the last, the nerves in his buttocks firing so frantically they ceased to register individual blows, instead merging into one continuous, torturous scream of sensation. He was drowning in it, his body rigid, sweat pouring off his forehead to mingle with the tears leaking from beneath the blindfold.
Finally, she moved lower. The whip whistled through the air, landing with a wet slap against the back of his thighs. The muscle there was thick, but the leather tails found the sensitive spots, wrapping around to bite the inner thigh where the skin was soft and untouched. Ulysses howled, his legs kicking out in a reflex that was violently checked by the suspension.
She worked her way down methodically. The calves were next, the tails stinging the taut muscle fibers, feeling like a swarm of hornets attacking his legs. She didn't miss a spot. She whipped the sensitive hollows behind his knees, and then moved down to his ankles. The final blows were reserved for his heels. The strike against the thin, fragile skin there sent a jolt of agony up his leg that made his entire body spasm.
Silence fell over the office, broken only by Ulysses’s ragged, hyperventilating gasps and the wet sound of him trying to swallow past the pain. He hung limp in the cords, every muscle twitching with residual shock.
Sophia’s heels clicked on the floor as she circled him. She came up behind him, her presence a sudden heat against his back. She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, her breath warm and teasing against his sweat-slicked skin.
"Now," she whispered, her voice low and melodic, cutting through the haze of his suffering. "It’s time to do the front x-ray."
She pulled away, her footsteps receding as she walked around his suspended body. Ulysses shook his head weakly, a silent plea for mercy that he knew was futile. "No... please, Mistress... I can't..."
She ignored him completely. The clicking of her heels stopped directly in front of him. He could feel her there, a wall of dominance staring at his exposed front. His chest heaved, his cock hanging heavy and ignored between his legs, terrified of what was to come.
There was a rustle of fabric as she raised the whip. Ulysses tensed, his entire body bracing for the impact. But it didn’t come.
She held the martinet aloft, letting the anticipation build. One second. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating. Two seconds. Ulysses’s heart hammered against his ribs, the wait almost as bad as the pain. Three seconds. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter behind the blindfold, his breath hitching in a silent sob.
Then, the air split.
The leather tails cracked across the front of his neck, just once. The impact was precise and terrifying, the tips of the tails stinging the delicate skin of his throat and catching his Adam's apple. The pain was sharp and shocking, stealing his breath instantly and leaving him dangling in the void, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
Sophia didn't give him time to recover from the neck strike. The martinet whistled through the air again, landing with surgical precision across his pectorals. The first lash striped horizontally across the upper muscle fibers, the leather tails biting into the dense tissue with a sharp snap that made Ulysses' entire torso jerk against the restraints. "One," Sophia counted coolly.
The second strike overlapped the first slightly lower, the tails wrapping around the curve of his chest to lick at the sensitive underside where muscle met armpit. Ulysses howled, his knees buckling instinctively only to be caught by the suspension cords. By the third lash, his nipples were taut with a mix of pain and involuntary arousal, making them perfect targets. The fourth strike landed dead center—twelve leather strands converging on the tiny buds like a swarm of angry wasps.
"Electricity!" Ulysses shrieked, his back arching violently as the pain radiated outward in jagged bursts. The sensation was nothing like the deep throb of his bruised ass—this was pure nerve lightning, crackling down his ribs and up his throat.
Sophia moved lower without pause. The martinet sang against his abdomen, each stroke methodical—upper abs, lower abs, the tender space just above his navel. The tails wrapped around his waist, leaving burning stripes across his obliques. She worked down systematically, alternating sides, turning his sculpted six-pack into a canvas of angry red welts. His stomach muscles clenched and jumped beneath each impact, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Then she paused.
Sophia stepped closer, letting the cinnamon-colored tails brush against his swollen lips. Ulysses flinched at the contact, tasting salt and leather. "Open," she commanded.
His jaw trembled as he obeyed, parting his lips just enough for her to slide the Danish oiled wood handle between his teeth. The taste of varnish and sweat flooded his mouth. She pushed deeper, the smooth wood pressing against his tongue until it hit the sensitive spot at the back of his palate. Not enough to gag—just enough to make his throat twitch with discomfort. Tears leaked from beneath his blindfold as he struggled to breathe around the intrusion.
Sophia held it there for twenty agonizing seconds, watching his throat flutter. When she withdrew it with a wet pop, saliva trailed from his lips to his heaving chest. She didn't wipe it away.
The whip cracked across his ribs again, lower this time—right where his torso met his pelvis. Ulysses screamed into the empty office, the sound bouncing off the soundproofed walls. Sophia flicked her wrist, spinning the tails in a slow, taunting circle just above his groin. The leather whispered against his skin, promising agony. His cock twitched pathetically, caught between fear and arousal.
Then she struck.
The pain was volcanic. Twelve leather tails wrapped around his shaft and balls simultaneously, the sting exploding outward in concentric waves. Ulysses convulsed, his scream fracturing into wordless, animalistic shrieks. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced—white-hot wires slicing into the most sensitive nerves of his body. Sophia didn't pause. Seven more lashes rained down in quick succession, each one igniting fresh fire across his groin until his thighs were slick with precum and tears.
When she finally moved lower, whipping the fronts of his thighs, the relief was almost worse. The contrast between the unbearable agony of his genitals and the merely excruciating sting of his legs made him sob like a child. She worked methodically—kneecaps, shins, the delicate arches of his feet. The final lash across his toes curled them violently inward, making him wail like a newborn baby.
The martinet handle pressed against Ulysses' tightly clenched entrance with sudden, clinical precision—cold Danish oiled wood slick with Sophia's sweat from gripping it during the whipping. He gasped sharply through his nose, his hips jerking forward instinctively only to be yanked back by the suspension cords. Sophia tutted, applying steady pressure with the rounded tip of the handle, circling the puckered muscle with the same calculated rhythm she'd used during the spanking.
"Relax," she murmured, though her tone made it clear this wasn't a suggestion.
Ulysses whimpered, the sound muffled by the blindfold still secured tightly across his eyes. His thighs trembled violently as Sophia increased the pressure, the smooth wood threatening to breach him. He tried to force his body to yield, but every instinct screamed against the invasion. The handle circled relentlessly, a cold, unyielding presence against the most intimate part of him.
"Breathe," Sophia commanded, her voice betraying no impatience.
He sucked in a ragged gasp through his nose—just as she pushed forward. The initial stretch was unbearable, a white-hot lance of pain that radiated up his spine. Ulysses howled, his back arching as the wood breached him inch by torturous inch. Sophia worked it deeper with slow, methodical twists, her grip firm on the oiled handle.
"Good boy," she praised as the widest part popped past his resistance. The sudden fullness stole his breath—his entire body clenched around the intrusion, muscles fluttering wildly.
Sophia twisted the handle once, sharply, and Ulysses sobbed. Every tiny movement sent fresh waves of discomfort radiating through his abused body. Yet beneath the pain, something darker stirred—a shameful heat pooling low in his gut as she began sliding the wood in shallow thrusts.
Sophia watched the whip handle disappear and reappear between Ulysses’ clenched cheeks with clinical fascination. The Danish oiled wood gleamed under the office lights, slick with sweat and resistance. But it wasn’t just his ass that held her attention—his cock had begun to twitch in erratic pulses, the flushed head drooling precum onto his bruised abdomen.
Three minutes in, his hips stuttered mid-thrust. A choked gasp tore from his throat as his stomach muscles seized. Sophia, knowing full well what was about to happen, reached around him and grabbed his penis, pointing it up towards his stomach and chest.
The orgasm ripped through Ulysses with volcanic force—his hips stuttering against the suspension cords as Sophia milked him ruthlessly. The first spurt arched high, painting his collarbones in pearly streaks that gleamed under the office lights. His next pulse splattered across his sternum, thick ropes splashing between the raised welts left by the martinet. Sophia tightened her grip at the base of his cock, forcing the subsequent jets higher—his chin, his throat, the hollow beneath his Adam's apple—until his head lolled back against the blindfold, mouth slack with overwhelmed ecstasy.
"Look at you," Sophia murmured, dragging her thumb through the mess on his pectorals. The semen clung to her skin like liquid satin as she smeared it across his nipple, mixing with the sweat and precome already glazing his torso.
"Making such a spectacle of yourself."
Ulysses could only whimper, his thighs quivering as residual spurts oozed from his slit. The semen pooled in the divots between his abdominal muscles before gravity pulled it downward in glistening rivulets. One thick droplet slid along the crease of his hip, tracing the border between pelvis and thigh before disappearing into the thatch of dark hair at his groin. Another branched at his ribcage, forking around a fresh welt to trickle down his flank toward the small of his back.
Sophia let the last shudder of Ulysses' orgasm fade into stillness before withdrawing the whip handle with a wet pop. The Danish oiled wood clattered onto the pink rug, rolling slightly before coming to a stop 2 feet behind Ulysess. His hips jerked at the sudden emptiness, muscles fluttering involuntarily—an obscene little twitch that made Sophia's lips curve.
Sophia dipped her fingers into the cooling mess on Ulysses’ chest, gathering thick strands between her fingers like spider silk. She worked methodically—first smearing it across his collarbones in broad, possessive strokes, then dragging her palms down his trembling arms. The semen clung to his skin, mixing with sweat to form a slick, shimmering glaze that darkened the fine hairs on his forearms. When she reached his wrists, she interlaced their fingers briefly, pressing their joined hands together until his knuckles were sticky with his own release.
"Every inch," she murmured, circling behind him where the suspension cords dug into his flesh. Her touch traced the knobs of his spine, each vertebra receiving a slow, deliberate daub of semen before she smoothed it downward. After getting his lower back and tailbone, she rubbed the seminal fluid into his bruised buttocks. Sophia kneaded it into the inflamed skin with cruel precision, her fingers digging into the welts until Ulysses whimpered through clenched teeth.
31-35, M