Wheel of Misfortune

What a difference an hour makes. At 11 PM, Julie Turner had been
clinking cocktail glasses at a pleasant soiree in the Bel Air home of a
studio executive. At midnight, she was kneeling bare-ass naked, on a
step-like whipping block, bound to it - and absorbing the stinging blows of
a jockey bat.
"Oh, please! Enough of that," she gasped, as the short, thick riding whip
with its scalloped leather surface blistered her behind. "I don't think
you've had enough, Julie," Roy Minter replied. "I don't think you've had
nearly enough." The girl pleaded that she had suffered more than sufficient
punishment, especially in light of the fact that she hadn't done anything
wrong. Again she felt the sting of the flexible bat; it made her upper body
press downward on the top step of the padded block, flattening her bare
breasts. Once more, she yanked hard on the ropes that held her leather
wristbands to brass rings on each side of the wooden contraption, but found
herself unable to pull free.
This darkened room - hidden behind a garage - was so strange, so isolated,
and the treatment she was receiving so new to her, that it seemed as if the
brightly lit living room of the mansion back there in Bel Air was a world
away, a lifetime before. The partygoers had been polite and the host
charming, but the foolish 23-year-old actress had grown bored. And that's why
she'd taken Roy Minter up on his suggestion to leave the staid, "A" soiree and
head out to the ocean and the amusement of his notorious beach house.
Minter was a notorious son-of-a-bitch. In his 40s now, he had been a
promising matinee idol. More famous for his fast lifestyle than his devotion
to acting, his reputation for arriving on a sound stage hours late and badly
hung over had cost him some choice roles. Nevertheless, he remained popular
with the film colony crowd and managed to secure enough second banana roles
to keep him in bourbon and broads.
"There," Roy said, smiling as he stepped around in front of the girl
where she could see him. "Now you've had enough-of this." He was tapping
the jockey bat into the palm of one hand. "Of course, it's only a warm-up
for the real thing." "Real thing?" Julie asked through tears that had
formed in her eyes. Roy laughed. "The bull whip," he replied. "You can't
be serious," the girl said, briefly forgetting her bonds and starting to
rise from her submissive, kneeling posture. The ropes at her wrists, waist
and ankles pulled her quickly back.
She was able to lift her head enough to get a good look at her tormentor.
Roy Minter was a fine figure of a man; two decades of debauchery didn't show
in either face or form. His tall, muscular lean body boasted the results of
regular hours in his home gym; the passing years had only served to chisel
his rugged, neatly mustached face into an even greater handsomeness.
Standing in the tight black leather pants and full-sleeved black silk shirt
he favored, the middle-aged actor made a striking picture. The shirt, its
buttonless V neckline halfway down Roy's masculine chest revealed plated
muscles and dark curls of manly hair. The pants emphasized both the
flatness of his stomach and the imposing size of his genitals. Yes, Roy
Minter was a fine figure of a man, all right.
Staring at him, the naked girl felt the juices collecting in the depths of
her pussy. She had always been aroused by Roy, first on the screen before she
ventured from her midwestem home to Hollywood, then upon meeting him at the
studio and in the endless round of parties the performers enjoyed. There was
something vaguely sinister about him, something that thrilled her.
Julie had once read, in a serious cinema journal, that the thing that made
the top male stars so appealing was the sense of danger they projected. That
had struck a chord in the young, would-be actress. The writer had claimed
that women, watching in theaters around the country, were turned on by that
almost indefinable fear they experienced as they, imagined themselves
romantically involved with these cads, these strong, willful movie stars. The
fans were women who couldn't experience such things in real life. Not only
did they lack the opportunity, they didn't have the courage it would have
taken to throw themselves into the arms of such a man had the opportunity
arrived. In the safety of the velvet-upholstered movie house seat, they could
fantasize exciting liaisons with dangerous men.
Fantasy hadn't been enough for Julie. Being beautiful and talented, having
won her local beauty contests and the lead roles in her high school and
college plays, she had set out for Hollywood, in search of men like Roy
Minter as much as movie fame. Tonight, for the first time, she had
consented to give herself up entirely to his power. Alone with him, in this
dank room that, along with the garage, made up the ground floor of his
two-story beach house, she was at the bastard's mercy.
Roy had gone to a rack, where various implements of torture hung in a
careful arrangement, and traded the jockey bat in on a bull whip. Returning
to stand before the girl's face, he had let its business end uncoil and drop
to the bare, concrete floor. He stood there, imposing and fearful, feet
widely planted, powerful fingers around the thickened handle of a whip that
seemed to rise from the floor like a black viper.
"This wasn't made for human flesh," he said coldly. There was no longer a
trace of grin on his lips, nor did a bit of residual friendliness remain in
the tone of his voice. "I got this when I was on location years ago in west
Texas. At a cattleman's supply house. It's for beating recalcitrant bulls,
to get them out of a favorite grazing pasture." "Well then, d-don't use it
on me," the trembling girl managed to say. "I'm going to," Roy replied
icily. "To soften you up. And then I'm going to strap you to that" - he was
pointing to something on the wall behind him - "and beat the shit out of you
with something that hurts even more. Then - only then - will I have my way
with you. And I shall, you'll see. You'll beg for my cock. You'll beg
for it."
As he stepped around behind her, Julie gazed more carefully at the thing
on the wall before her. It was a wheel, a huge wooden wheel bigger than any
you would find on a stagecoach or covered wagon. It must have been more
than six feet in diameter, because it left very little space above and below
it on a wall that looked the standard eight feet in height. The hub, of
gleaming brass meticulously set into and riveted to wood, was flush with the
thick spokes and the outer rim - which also had an inlay of shiny brass.
Heavy straps were placed for the wrists, arms, ankles, thighs, chest and
waist of an outstretched victim.
Before she could offer a comment, Julie received the sharpest pain she'd
ever felt in her life. Her leather wrist and ankle bands were tight enough
to cause pain already, and her hunched position on the whipping block made
her back ache. Even so, the lash of the bull whip on her bare rump was so
powerful that it made the other hurts disappear. "Ohhhhhhh," she groaned.
"Oh, Roy. Please don't hit me again that hard. Ohhhhhhh." "I'm going to
whip you even harder," she heard him sneer; then she felt the lash once
more. This time the plaited leather bit into the flesh of her back. The
girl gasped, then steeled herself for more. Terror vied with pain within
her body as she felt the bull whip strike again and again. Minter whaled
away at her shoulders, upper back, buttocks and thighs, bringing tears that
had previously formed streaming down a lovely face.
It was agony, the worst suffering Julie Turner had felt in her life, and
when the lashing finally stopped, the inflammation of her flesh seemed to
increase her suffering all by itself. By then, she had slumped to the
padded surface of the whipping block, pressing her large, round breasts into
the shape of crumpets. When the man finally let up, it was to disconnect her
straps from the ropes that bound them to the rings on the block, then yank
her brutally to her feet. "You're not as complaiant as I wish you to be,"
Minter said, "but you will become so shortly. After you've been treated to
more lashing - on the wheel." As if with a reflex action of her whole body,
Julie tried to pull out of his grasp. The powerful actor spun her around,
then made use of her forward motion and pushed her toward the wheel. The
girl stumbled, then fell against it.
Laughing, her tormentor caught up with her and, dropping his whip on the
cold, hard floor, used both hands to turn her back to the wheel and boost her
onto pegs that protruded from the rim. She struggled, but it was no use.
Not only was the man much bigger and more powerful than she, but fear had
weakened her muscles, made them numb and useless. She found herself
standing on pegs that forced her legs wide apart. Her arms were
outstretched and drawn way up, connected by her wrist straps to hooks high
in the outer rim of the wheel. She could only watch Minter as he worked
swiftly to pin her in place. Thick leather straps now bound her firmly at
wrists, arms, chest, waist, thighs and ankles. Her back was pressed flat
against the smooth, even surface of the hub, spokes and rim of the giant
wheel.
Though in terror, she was growing increasingly excited. Somehow, after
the brutality of the whipping, she began to feel that she could withstand
any pain. And that meant she could give herself up to any pleasure the
torture might also provide. Yes, a strange and rare thrill filtered through
Julie Turner's marvelous young body. Naked, at the mercy of a powerful man
she had dreamed about since first seeing him on the movie screen when she
was an adolescent girl, she was wildly aroused by his maniacal masculinity.
Trapped, what could she do but relax and enjoy any sensations that might go
beyond pain, that might feel pleasurable or exhilarating?
"Taste my whip one more time," Roy leered, as he retrieved the instrument
from the floor. "The bull whip meant for an animal. My texas bull whip."
He began to flog her with the long, thick, pliable whip. Evidently, through
a great deal of practice, the man had become incredibly artful in its use.
With just the cracker at the end, he deftly tormented first one breast and
then the other. He delivered a single final blow - with the very tip of the
whip - to first one nipple and then the mate. When he had completed his work
on her breasts, he lashed the other parts of her body: Shoulders and arms,
stomach both above and below the waist strap, thighs and calves all came under
the leather. Finally, he tattooed her pussy, bringing shrieks of pain
cascading from between the girl's lips. He finished with a particularly hard
lash, horizontally delivered, across the crack of her pussy.
Setting the whip down again, he went to the wheel and released a catch on
one side. Then he began to turn it. A dizzying sensation nearly overcame
the girl. The room seemed to be spinning. She found herself staring at
everything upside-down. The whipping block hung from the ceiling; the whips
and paddles in their rack were stuck in place as if by magic. Blood rushed
to her head and her heavy breasts fell toward her face. She saw Roy Minter
dangling like a bat from the ceiling of a cave.
"You look wonderful in that position, my dear," he joked, as he grabbed
the bull whip. "I like talking to your twat as much as to your pretty face.
Would you like to suck my dick, darling? You're perfectly placed for it, you
know." "No!" Julie insisted. "I'm not doing that for you, you beast." He
just laughed. "You're going to," he promised; then she saw him -
upside-down - draw back the whip. "OH!" She cried in pain as the business
end of the bull whip smacked her tits. Minter went through the same process
as before, lashing from bottom to top this time, as he covered the same
already sore areas of skin. He whipped her breasts, finishing with deft
touches to the nipples, then went up and down her arms from shoulder to
hand. "Stop! Please stop!" Julie pleaded, but it was to no avail. It
seemed as if the sadistic mother-fucker was in a mad frenzy, though the
conscious artistry of his whip work belied that. Roy knew what he was
doing.
He lashed her flesh with the greatest ingenuity. Stinging her belly, then
her thighs, calves and feet, he returned to her midsection. The girl knew
what was coming and cringed against the anticipated pain. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
It was a cry of maximum agony. The whip was battering her cunt. "I'll whip
your damned pussy till you give me what I crave," she heard him say, and
then he went right on lashing between her legs. A bizarre feeling overcome
the girl; her body seemed to burst through pain and emerge in another
world. Eyes closed, she saw brilliant white light, and felt as if she were
drawing right out of her body. She could hear and feel the lashes of the whip
but, as they landed, they seemed merely to tingle rather than to hurt.
Increasingly, a warm and wonderful feeling engulfed her. It was as if the
pleasure in her pussy had spread to her whole body. Maybe it was hanging
upside down, the sensation of the blood filling her face, or maybe it was
the accumulated pain. All the girl knew was that this was a totally novel
sensation; she wanted it to go on and on and on. "Mmmmmmmmmmm," she heard
herself saying. "Marvelous. Marvelous. Marvelous."
The feeling did go on and on, but after a long while it came to a gradual
stop - and she opened her eyes. She found herself staring at the hard cock of
the man she had adored for so long: Roy Minter had dropped his whip, unzipped
the fly in his black leather pants and brought out a stiff hard-on. "I'm
going to lash your face now," he said in a soothing voice, "with my dick."
So saying, he bent at his knees and lay the bloated head of the organ on her
chin, then brought it around and across her lips. He massaged her face with
the tip of his cock, running it over her eyes, nose and forehead, then bring
it back to her mouth.
"Would you like to taste it?" he asked. "You've had a taste of one bull
whip. Now have a taste of another." Julie was in a dream world. Still
upside-down, she could see the underneath of her master's cock and balls.
The sight was a strange one, as if she were looking at some object she'd
never seen or heard of before. The weight of his rod lay on her upper lip.
Gently, the man was slapping her lips with the tip of his dick, "whipping"
her with it, as it were. Passion swamped her. Pain and pleasure melded into
a single entity. The smell of her own sweat mingled with the masculine
scent of Roy's genitals. Some wonderful experience seemed to await her,
something that would miraculously complete the pain/pleasure of the inverted
whipping.
Her lips parted. "That's a girl," she heard Roy say. "Oh, yeah. That's
the way to do it." Her lips had parted and her face had lurched forward.
The man had thrust his loins at her, and now the rod was well within her
mouth. She began to suck, pursing her lips around his bone; then she was
moving her face forward and back - opposite to each steady thrust of his
loins. In and out of her sucking mouth the hard dick traveled. Julie was in
ecstasy; she felt the passion explode in the very core of her womanhood.
Roy must have been enjoying much the same thing in his manly organ, because
she felt his cock expand to its fullest within the confines of her mouth.
Suddenly, as she went over the top with her own climax, his hot seed
exploded into her mouth. It was a fantastic experience for the girl. Every
muscle in her body ached, and yet she experienced an all-encompassing
pleasure. The world was turned upside-down to her, and yet it seemed as if
what she was seeing was somehow normal, as if seeing it in reverse would be
wrong. She sucked down every drop of her tgrmentor's semen and, when he let
his softening organ slip from her mouth, she felt completed.
Seconds later, Roy had replaced his dick in his pants. He spun the wheel
180 degrees, undid her bonds and helped her down. He led her to her
clothing and watched her dress. "Did I live up to my reputation?" he asked
with a grin. "What reputation is that?" she asked. "Why, as Hollywood's
greatest lover," he replied. "Oh, you lived up to your reputation, all
right, Roy," she said. "But not that one. You live up to your rep as
Hollywood's greatest son-of-a-bitch. And I love you for it."