As I hung, suspended from the ceiling by my wrist cuffs, I heard the click of high heels coming towards me. I managed to twist my nearly-naked body around and beheld Domme Zoe walking towards me, a vicious-looking bullwhip in her hand.

The instrument of torture was so lengthy that the bulk of it was dragging along the ground beside her; so substantial in weight that I could hear it scrape along the floor.

I was a first-time guest at the monthly mega-orgy taking place in the celebrated and splendid Monserrat Manor. At the tender age of twenty-one, this was a coming-of-age present to myself, an adventure and a stretching of my erotic comfort zone. I was fortunate to score an invitation to this exclusive party. My family has money and connections.

The Manor's servants had hung me in an open area at the end of a hallway on the third floor of the BDSM wing of the mansion. That level housed several guest suites dedicated to bondage; I could hear the muffled sounds of fucking and other perverted pleasures coming from the rooms that lined the corridor.

The professional European dominatrix approached slowly, letting me get a good, long look at her luscious body framed by a revealing black fetish outfit. I was mostly focused, though, on that damned instrument of agony. It was a bigger one than I had ever faced before.

More than I had anticipated.

And yet, my cock stirred to attention.

I took a little comfort in knowing that my genitals were protected from the whip by a padded jockstrap under a plastic athletic cup. That, however, was offset by the knowledge that Zoe certainly planned far more intimate and intensive tortures for my cock and balls later in the night, perhaps within the well-equipped "medical room" I had heard about down in the basement.

But first, I was to be flogged. I had once been whipped, timidly, by a past girlfriend who tolerated my kink for a short time, and moderately once, by a semi-professional hometown Domme. However, this would be more punishment than I had ever experienced, judging by the hefty tool Zoe had chosen.

(I didn't know the lady personally, but I knew her worldwide reputation and had seen her videos. The guidelines for this session, communicated via email, had pretty much been left open to her discretion.)

The gag that filled my mouth would muffle the bulk of the screaming that I would certainly emit in the next few minutes. Thus, the sound should not overly disturb the majority of guests in the mansion, but it would likely alert a nearby few that something fun was happening in the hallway.

It now occurred to me that several guests might interrupt their debauchery long enough to emerge from their rooms and witness my torture for their viewing pleasure.

My cock stiffened even more at the thought of an audience for my suffering.

Shit, they might even approach and play with me between strokes; that was entirely permissible under the loose "house rules" for sessions like this that took place in a public area. My genitals were covered, but my ankles were held a couple of feet apart by a spreader bar, so my ass and thighs were fully accessible for groping and more.

Another new experience. My head swam.

As Zoe drew near, I could make out the mix of emotions on her face:

Lust.

Wickedness.

Amusement.

God, she was mesmerizing.

Her eyes slowly scanned every inch of the body she was about to assault. I must have looked good; my tan is overall, my body fit and hard. The servants had oiled me up for the visual factor. Somewhere a video camera was capturing this session for my future viewing pleasure.

Zoe reached out and touched my chest.

That's all it took. I couldn't help it.

My body broke out in a massive sweat.

I hoped Mistress Zoe wouldn't see it, but she couldn't help but see and feel the perspiration and smell the stink, evidence of my fear.

I thought she would be repulsed, but the knowing grin, the quiet chuckle, told me everything I needed to know about the terrifying next few minutes.

She paused to see if I would grunt out my safe-word code behind my gag: three grunts, followed by one.

I stayed strong. Other than a groan, I remained silent.

Without saying a word, she circled around me, lightly touching my body here and there, inspecting my flesh close-up. My skin was unmarked, but that would soon change.

I had been told that she would expertly cover my entire body, except for head and my crotch, with stripes and redness. It wouldn't be permanent, but I was cautioned not to patronize any public beaches or gyms for a few days, lest I be forced to answer some difficult questions.

The hallway flared out enough in this section that she would be able to swing her tool of torture without restrictions.

She stopped behind me and paused. With what I assumed was the butt of the whip-handle. Zoe rubbed my exposed, oiled-up anus. A promise of things to come for my (nearly) virginal asshole.

Then, I heard the woman step back and take a couple of deep breaths to compose herself.

I would not see the first stroke coming.

Tears welled up in my eyes as my body tensed into a solid plank of flesh. My intensive erection pressed hard into the padding around it, causing some pain, but it was minuscule in comparison to the frightening amount that I was about to experience.

I had contracted for cruelty, and I was about to get my money's worth.