"Stuart Hughes - Clock's Runnin, Mister" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Stuart)

"They were only teasers," she said. "Now we start for real."
She smacked the tawse down on his stomach. He bucked.
"That's one," she said. She hit the left side of his chest. "Two." She
smacked his left thigh. "Three." She slowly walked round the other side of
the bed and hit the right side of his chest. "Four."
Pausing, she looked into his face. His eyes were beginning to water. His
chest, stomach and thighs were marked red. His penis was hard.
She raised the tawse and hit his right thigh. "Five." She continued to
beat him - stomach, left side of his chest, left thigh, right side of his
chest, right thigh, and back to his stomach again - counting each blow out
loud, and with every blow she felt release, felt all the pain and hurt of
her life flowing out of her, flowing into his ocean. It was crazy, she
knew, but every time she hit him, she felt him absorb more of her pain and
hurt, really felt it, and it felt euphoric.
Jack was sweating, the muscles of his face tight and trembling. Burning
marks striped his chest, stomach and thighs.
He could take it though. He could absorb more.
By the time the count reached thirty, Jack was snuffling and groan_ing
behind the gag. By fifty he was bucking at every stoke, curling his
fingers around the metal chain and tugging against the restraints, his
heels rucking grooves in the sheet as they pulled against their bonds. As
she watched, a tear ran down his cheek.
She was sweating heavily herself now and the muscles in her arm tightened
with fatigue. She rested, to catch her breath, and glanced at his
restraints to make sure he wasn't hurting himself. If she had known he was
going to writhe like this she would have padded them for him.
She hit him again and this time he jerked madly, his chafed wrists and
ankles wrenching against their restraints.
She stopped hitting him and took a step back.
Eyes screwed shut, tears running down his anguished face, sweat pouring
from under his armpits, Jack arched his back as high as he could and
thrashed wildly against the cuffs.
She took another step back. The tawse fell from her hand.
Sometimes, when I'm really wild these aren't enough to hold me.
Jack continued to writhe frenziedly against his restraints. His back
arched off the bed. Muscles bulged in his arms and legs, bigger and bigger
until she thought his limbs were about to explode. The cords of his neck
swelled to enormous proportions.
Sometimes, when I'm really wild these aren't enough to hold me.
Jack turned his face towards her and opened his eyes. No longer ocean
blue, the tide had turned and his irises were a dark, menacing indigo.
Wild eyes.
She screamed.
And then the handcuff chain securing his right wrist snapped. Jack grabbed
hold of the leather ball-gag, tore it effortlessly in one blur of motion,
and hurled it towards her. White froth, flecked with blood, foamed from
his mouth.
She screamed again.
"WWRRROOOOONN," Jack gurgled through the escaping foam. He seemed to like
the distorted noise and gurgled it again: "WWRRROOOOONN."