At 2:02 PM, Alessia crosses the main hallway. Her naked body shows the signs of the morning session.
Alessia steps into the living room to find Giorgio waiting, his hand already gripping a paddle. She recognizes it immediately—the beechwood one, with six holes drilled in a line across its surface.
“Come here,” he commands without looking up. His voice carries the weight of authority, low and controlled. Alessia approaches and takes her place by the wall, standing straight with her arms hanging at her sides.
“Hands on the wall. Legs wider.”
Alessia obeys. She places her palms on the wall, spreading her legs until she feels the muscles of her inner thighs stretch. The position fully exposes her buttocks, tightening the already bruised skin.
Giorgio performs a micro-inspection, running his hand over her buttocks, feeling the hotter areas.
“Fifty-seven. You count them,” he says.
He raises the paddle. Takes aim. The first strike: sharp impact, the sound like a ball hitting a wooden board. Alessia’s skin quivers.
“One,” she says, her voice almost neutral. Giorgio doesn’t respond, rotates his wrist, and strikes again.
“Two.”
The progression is metric: paddle lifted, a second of void, paddle slicing the air, the skin reacting, the voice counting. Alessia holds up well for the first ten. After the twelfth, her breath becomes irregular, her fingers start to tremble. Giorgio measures the strikes: alternates areas, shifts the trajectory by a few centimeters to avoid overly cruel overlaps.
At twenty, Alessia’s voice cracks. “Twenty,” she says, but the vowel slurs into a half-cry. The paddle continues. Giorgio observes the struck areas. Alessia starts to bounce on her feet, occasionally lifting off the wall by a millimeter, then immediately returning to position.
Thirty-four. “Thirty-four,” she sobs. Giorgio slows slightly. He pauses, looks at her, then resumes more calmly, giving the tissues time to absorb the impact.
Forty. Forty-four. The marks turn purple.
At fifty-seven, her voice is a whisper. “Fifty-seven,” Alessia says, breathless.
Giorgio places the paddle on the table. He approaches her, placing his fingers on the line of her buttocks. Alessia clenches her teeth, her body leaning forward to maintain contact with the wall.
“Good,” Giorgio says. “Now on the sofa.”
Alessia turns, her eyes full of tears. She walks in small steps towards the sofa, letting herself fall face down.
Giorgio kneels between her legs. With one hand, he spreads her buttocks; with the other, he starts licking her vulva. Slow movement, monotonous rhythm, his flat tongue exploring only the edges, then dipping lower, to the point where the flesh trembles. Alessia clings to the cushions, her arms stretched forward. Her breath immediately ignites, air entering in gulps and breaking halfway. Giorgio doesn’t accelerate: each lick is identical to the previous one, a chain of predestined events.
Alessia contorts and lets go in a very strong orgasm.
Giorgio turns her over and makes her keep her legs spread. He takes a leather whip and uses it enthusiastically between her legs.
Alessia’s screams become increasingly uncontrolled.
After ten lashes, her vulva pulses like an open wound. Giorgio doesn’t stop, continuing to twenty. Alessia starts sobbing uncontrollably.
Finally, Giorgio stands in front of her, unzips his pants, and lets them fall. Alessia kneels on the floor, taking his cock between her lips gently, and starts sucking.
Giorgio guides her head, his fingers intertwined in her brown hair. Alessia lets herself be maneuvered, moving back and forth according to his imposed rhythm. Occasionally, Giorgio stops her, presses her face against his abdomen, then lets her breathe. No comments, no superfluous gestures.
The blowjob lasts some minutes. In the end, Giorgio comes without a sound, with a single spasm that makes his whole body tremble. Alessia swallows everything without making a face, then remains on her knees, her face red and her breath disorganized.
Giorgio adjusts his clothes. “I can’t wait for tonight,” he says lightly.
Alessia nods and smiles.
—
At 9:07 PM, Alessia is already positioned on the bed, face down, her legs spread just enough to leave everything in view. Giorgio enters with a light step. He wears a white t-shirt, sweatpants, bare feet. In his hand, he holds an extension cord: he unrolls it, swishes it through the air.
“Ready?” he asks softly.
Alessia nods. No need for words.
Giorgio positions himself next to the bed, orthogonal to her body. He runs a hand over her back, then lets the first strike fall. The extension cord snaps, Alessia’s skin jolts. A brief, contained moan.
“One,” Giorgio says.
The second strike lands just above the fold of her thighs. Alessia clenches her fists. The third, fourth, fifth: the sequence is regular, without hurry but without mercy. Each time the extension cord hits the already reddened spot, Alessia jolts, her fingers gripping the sheet.
At ten strikes, her back is wet with sweat. Her buttocks are swollen, the surface rising in small reliefs. Giorgio varies the force: alternates full strikes with half ones, changes direction, occasionally striking the back of her thighs. Alessia starts crying, but without noise. Only tears streaming onto the pillow.
At twenty, her voice breaks, but Giorgio doesn’t stop.
At the thirtieth strike, Alessia screams like a wounded beast. But Giorgio lets her scream, no room for pauses.
At thirty-five, Giorgio says, “Done,” placing the extension cord on the edge of the bed.
A few seconds pass, then he moves to the center. He takes a vibrator from the drawer and he turns it on. Giorgio places it between Alessia’s legs, just above her vulva. The skin there is already swollen, the area purplish; the vibrator caresses it with almost gentle pressure.
At first, Alessia recoils. The sensation of pleasure is too mixed with pain, her body unsure how to react. But Giorgio insists: moves the vibrator in slow circles, then presses it against her clitoris. After a minute, a glistening wetness forms between her legs.
Giorgio turns the vibrator off and goes with his right hand on her back, holding her still. Then with his left hand, he starts striking her vulva: full, decisive slaps, one after the other.
Each slap makes Alessia jolt. She screams, then moans, then screams again. Giorgio’s hand never stops: alternates rhythm, intensity, striking from the side then the center, then again above the clitoris.
After thirty slaps, Giorgio turns her onto her back. Alessia positions herself: legs spread, arms at her sides, her chest rising and falling. Giorgio takes one of her breasts, squeezes it, then slaps it with an open hand. The sound is muffled, the flesh vibrates. Alessia screams again but doesn’t pull back.
Giorgio slaps her right breast ten times, then moves to the left. Occasionally, he pinches her nipple, pulls it upwards, then lets it go. Alessia cries, her mouth open, her face red with tears.
After fifty slaps, Giorgio stops. He takes clamps from the box on the bedside table. They are black, hard plastic, with a very strong spring. He opens the first one, applies it to her right nipple. Alessia holds her breath, then screams uncontrollably. Giorgio repeats with the left nipple, then takes two more and applies them to the labia of her vulva, one on the right and one on the left.
Alessia arches, her back lifting off the bed, her feet pushing against the mattress. Giorgio leaves the clamps in position for three minutes. Then, without warning, he removes them all.
Alessia screams like an animal. She clutches her breasts with her hands, then her vulva, but it’s no use. The pain bounces throughout her body, her tears multiplying.
Giorgio lowers himself to the head of the bed. He takes her face in his hands and dries her tears with his thumbs. “Look at me,” he orders.
Alessia fixes her gaze on him, her eyes swollen, pupils dilated. Giorgio spreads her legs with his hands, lifts her knees. He spreads a line of lubricant on her anus, then lowers his pants. His cock is already hard, swollen, the skin taut.
He enters her without slowness. The first thrust is the hardest: the muscle suddenly gives way, Alessia screams and bites the sheet. Giorgio holds her still by her thighs, then starts moving back and forth. Each thrust is sharp, precise, graceless.
Alessia screams, then cries, then moans. Giorgio accelerates. His cock slides in and out, and after some minutes, he comes. He lets go inside her, with a low rattle, then remains still for ten seconds, his body bent over hers.
When he pulls out, Alessia collapses on the bed. Her breath in pieces, her skin completely purple.
Giorgio sits beside her. Then he leans down and whispers, “Thank you. I couldn’t have imagined a better gift than this.”
Alessia responds, “Happy birthday, Daddy.”