Strip
By Louetta

   Yummy whipping, naked in the woods.

   Today I give my body to those around me to do with as they wish. 
Stripped naked, without a trace of modesty, bound tightly to a tree,
suntanned body glowing in the morning sun.  A captive, helpless, trembling,
erotic, tempting, tender.  Here is the tree to which I'll be bound.  The
air is cold but I am not.

   My own inner engine warms me as the erotic effects of surrendering my
body overcome the embarrassment of being forced to strip naked in the
woods. First shoes, then socks, then jeans, then shirt, then bra, then the
soft white panties that hide my tender pink sex from the world.  Then
bound. Bound naked to a tree deep in the woods on a cold September morning.


   Bound naked, hands behind the tree, above my head, wrists tied tightly
together, pale white breasts glowing softly in the morning sun, offered to
the hands that will lovingly caress them.  Ankles bound to the sides of the
tree, legs spread just enough.  Just enough to offer a clear path to the
moist pink lips of my sex, just enough to allow a gentle stroking, a gentle
spreading, the sudden, electric touch of a finger tip, the quiver and moan
that accompanies the entry of fingers into the warm and moist tunnel that
makes me a girl.

   "Strip!" I'm told.  "All the way."

   And strip I will.  Slowly.  They want me naked, they shall have me naked
but they will wait for it.  A morning surrendering your body tied to a tree
requires more than a one minute strip tease.  My shoes first, then my
socks. I build a neat little pile next to the tree to which I will soon be
bound.  Now my jeans.  I struggle a little with the buttons as eager eyes
await the first glimpse of my thin brown legs.  Summer has just ended and
except for my lily white ass and smooth white breasts my body is brown as
the bark on the trees. 

   Carefully I remove my jeans, first one leg then the other and demurely
add them to the pile.  My legs are long and thin, ten thousand meters a
week in the pool has given me a body more like a teenage boy but what I
lack in tits and ass I make up for in legs.  A pause.  I look at them and
they look at me.  They like what they see.  Now my shirt.  Slowly
unbuttoned, from the top.  Slowly opened in the front, slowly off my
shoulders and down my arms and it takes its place in the pile.  Now naked
except for my perfunctory little bra and panties.

   The sun feels good on my long brown body.  I feel my breathing quicken
slightly as facing them I put my hands up behind my neck and slowly fluff
my hair.  My hair is fine but I want them to have a good look.  At five
foot ten I look nakeder in my underwear than other girls do.  Long legs and
a long body give you maximum girl and minimum underwear.  Now my bra. 
Slowly I drop the straps over my shoulders.

   I look at them and they look at me.  The ache in my loins makes me
wonder who wants me to get naked faster, them or me.  Slowly I reach around
for the clasp that holds my bra.  Alone, I would simply spin the flimsy
garment around and unhook it in front but today I do it from behind, elbows
high, tits thrust out.  I have to make the most of what I have.  First one
clasp then the other then slowly I bring my hands around to my sides and
finally they meet in front of me.  I look at them, they look at me and I
drop my hands to bare my tits, white as snow, soft as silk, pink nipples
pouting, about the same size as my little sister's.

   Now bare assed except for my little cotton panties I casually put the
bra on the pile.  More hair fluffing.  My nipples are so hard they hurt. 
Now my underpants.  This I can't stretch out.  Once they're down the first
six inches no one will care about the rest.  They will have what they want.
My taut white ass, the silken ramp of my pubic hair, the moist pink lips of
my pussy.  Fingers in the elastic at either side I slowly ease them down,
down in back, ass is bare, down in front, hair exposed, daylight between my
thighs, the sun peaks at the pink lips of my cunt.  In an instant the
panties are at my ankles, I step out, they join the pile.  Naked as a
jaybird.  Naked in the morning sun.

   Hungry eyes upon me, devour me.  Now hands behind my head once more I
display myself proudly like a Roman whore.  They look at me, I look at
them. They like what they see.  All brown hair and boobs and flat tummy
above sleek brown hair, long thin legs, taut little rear.  I rejoice in the
power of my own naked body.  I enjoy being a girl.  Naked.  In the woods.
In early September.  With the warm sun shining.

   With one of my captors on either side I am placed back against the tree.
Time to be bound.  Stark naked.  I can feel my breath quicken.  Soon I'll
be helpless, feel the roughness of the ropes against my skin, the tightness
in my stomach that is the fear I always feel when I'm bound, the fear that
feeds the fire building in my body, the fear that's fanned when first I
feel the whip, that fans the fire that burns in my loins, that burns hotter
with each cruel stroke of the lash til finally with the wanton thrusting of
my hips nature takes over and my whole body explodes in the mind blowing
display of fireworks that is orgasm.

   I can't wait to be tied.  Hands over my head my captors pull them behind
me, behind the thin white oak so I can be bound.  Wrists crossed in back of
the tree in back of my head they are bound together tightly, very tightly
with a six foot strand of the dreaded rawhide.  Over and under, down and
thru.  Then tied off.  Now there is no turning back.  There will be no
escape today.

   Thus bound I have an audience in front of me.  Now I know the true
meaning of what it is to be naked.  Hands behind me, above my head, bound
to the tree, my brown and white body offered.  Defenseless, vulnerable,
ready for the taking.  Now my ankles and we're through.  Roughly they pull
my feet around to either side of the tree.  Roughly they bind then and now
I am truly helpless.  Truly a prisoner.  Truly a captive.  They stand in
front of me and stare.  And the more they stare the more my moist pink
pussy burns.

   For a few minutes they leave me there naked and alone.  Cigarettes are
smoked.  Beers are opened.  I become more aware of my body.  The single
strand of rawhide used to tie my hands cuts into the skin against the bones
of my wrists.  The tree bark scratches my behind as I test whether I can
escape.  When I am whipped this will get worse.  Already my wrists are
getting red and raw.  But this will pale beside the pain the wet rawhide
whip will soon inflict on my naked body.  With my underarms exposed I can
feel the dampness there and smell the faint smell of sweat.

   Fear.  Fear at what is going to be done to me.  Fear of the awful pain
the wet cord will inflict on my tender flesh.  Terrified really.  How bad
will it be?  How long will it last?  How hard will they whip me?  Will they
rape me?  Before?  After?  While I'm tied to the tree or later on the cold
hard ground?  And further down I feel the wetness between my legs.  My body
is preparing for sex as well as pain.  For the exquisite pleasure that my
body will provide me in just a very few minutes.  I can smell the familiar
musky odor of my cunt.

   I can feel my heart beat slightly inside my chest.  My long brown hair
partially covers my boobs, a situation they will remedy before they whip
me. I feel a slight quiver in my thighs and my ass.  I dream of the
coldness of the whip upon my body and the warmth inside my cunt.  They are
practiced with the whip and I look forward to the cruelest torture of all,
as the wet rawhide lash takes me to the brink and brings me back,
skillfully, again and again.  No cumming for the captive.

   So the fire burns on inside of me.  But I will fool them.  The bite of
the whip will set me free.  I try but no matter how I struggle the rope
won't budge.  But I close my eyes and concentrate on the magic feelings
deep in my body.  Lost in the joy they give me.  Loving the soft breeze on
my naked body, the bite of the chill air, the slight heaving of my chest,
the quickening of my pulse, the hint of sweat across my forehead, under my
arms, beneath my boobs, in the soft crease of my tummy, between my legs.

   The erotic appeal of my forced stripping, being bound naked, overpowers
my fear of the whip on my body.  I look forward to the lash, waiting,
waiting, waiting for the pain to start, terrified, trembling, shivering in
the cold, shaking gently with the fear, the fear of what is to come. 
Struggling, struggling against my ropes, feeling them cut into my soft
white skin, as the whip will soon cut into my soft white breasts.  The
waiting is agonizing, the fear, the anticipation, the pain that awaits me.
The embarrassment of being naked before strangers mixed with the pleasure
of enjoying my own body.  Feeling the wonder of what it is to have breasts,
to have a cunt, to have an ass, to be a girl.  To offer it to my torturers
to and revel in what my body gives back to me.

   Finally the waiting is over.  Finally, they gather in front of me and I
am about to be whipped.  The anticipating is done and the reality is here.
And nothing quite equals the reality.  Nothing quite equals the thrill of
the whistle of the whip through the air, the crack of the blow against the
skin, the pain as the thin strip of rawhide cuts cruelly into my soft
flesh, the shock of the blow, the leap of my body against its bonds, the
writhing with the pain, the searing pain which spreads from the site of the
fine red welt and registers throughout my whole helpless body, the cry that
escapes my lips, the silent plea for mercy.

   Then, after a few seconds, the pain recedes, slowly, partly, not
entirely.  Your breathing quiets some, you hang lightly from your bonds. 
And then you hear the whistle again.  The familiar sound of the whip moving
through the air.  Toward your body.  And it starts all over again.  And
again.  And again.  It continues.  And you learn what it feels like to be
whipped.  Really whipped.  Over and over and over again.  Starting with my
breasts.  My small, firm, eager round breasts.  My breasts, soft, white,
bared to the morning sun and wind.  Bared to the cruelty of the whip.

   And after what seems like an eternity they are done savaging my breasts
and they move down my stomach, the long brown expanse of my stomach, firm,
harder than my tits, stronger.  Then down over my hips.  Painful strikes
against my hip bones, the tale of the whip sneaking around to tattoo my
bare ass.  Then down my thighs, my honey brown thighs, down to my knees. 
And then he moves.  To this point he has stood beside me, first one side
then the other.

   Now he moves in front and I know what is coming.  With the last two feet
of the lash he takes aim with a vertical stroke.  He aims for, and hits,
the thin ramp of hair between my legs that stands guard over the delicate
lips of my pussy.  One stroke, two, three.  He strikes down.  And now he
aims up.  Up.  Up between my thighs.  Aiming for that narrow space between
my thin brown thighs, the narrow space that leads to the pinkness of the
moist lips of my cunt.  Over and over he targets and hits the narrow tender
target of my cunt.

   And I hear it, I hear the call of my body, my naked body, writhing in
pain, I hear the call, I feel the warmth in my breasts, the hardness of my
nipples, the heat in my loins, the moisture in my pussy, the slight
quivering of my ass, the ache inside that can only be cured by cumming,
cumming, suddenly, violently, over and over again, while my sex steals
control of my body and takes my mind away to a place only orgasm can take
me.

   And I experience the ecstasy of being whipped, whipped til you cry,
whipped til your whole body aches, whipped til the fire rises in your loins
and finally when all seems lost explodes through your body in a mind
shattering release of energy and you cum once and once again and again and
again and, if you're lucky, all the while the whip rains down on your naked
body as your hips buck wildly and you breasts quiver helplessly and
finally, your orgasm spent, you collapse in a heap of joy.  Hanging
helplessly from the ropes that still bind you naked to the tree on which at
first you suffered and later experienced the ultimate pleasure.  Joy in the
woods on a chilly September morning.  Joy amidst the torment that is a
whipping.
   Joy in the pleasure that only a girl's body can provide.