Dance of the Flogger, Part One

“Hands behind your head, young lady,” he commands. I’m already not wearing any clothes, but the position he’s requesting makes me feel vulnerable, even more naked. I turn to face the wall and slowly raise my arms, interlocking my fingers and resting my palms on the back of my neck.

He smacks my backside hard enough that I yelp. “Did I tell you to face the wall?”


“N-no, Sir. Should I turn back around?”

He pauses. I shift my weight from one hip to the other and back again, not sure what to do. Then his hand caresses me across the full of my bottom. “Your wiggling has helped me decide. Stay where you are.” He removes his hand and I whimper. He’s crossed the room to the area where the implements are kept. Whatever touches me next will not be the gentle palm of a lover’s hand.

He returns and whips the space behind me. I know better than to look. “Flogger?” I ask. He lets it fly again, a rush of sound through the long, black leather tails. The air cracks at the end of the stroke.

“I wasn’t going to whip your bottom just yet, but since you’re so nicely in place…” he lets the sentence trail off, tickling me with the leather tips. He swings lightly a few times, the tails bouncing off my flesh, lighter and softer than if it was his own fingers dancing on my flesh.

He puts the flogger between my legs, its long polished wooden handle touching the insides of both my thighs. Tapping backing back and forth, the wooden shaft is my instruction to spread my legs. I widen my stance, my bottom presented in full as I lean slightly forward to allow my forehead to rest on the wall. My nipples also touch the wall in this new position and I arch my back to let some of my body weight rest against my breasts. Balanced, I nod my head.

The strokes come hard and fast and I can’t help but moan. The harder he whips, the more sensual the blow, warming my flesh without sting or stripe. He gets in a few lighter strokes that actually hurt more than the harder ones. He tilts his wrist at the end so that the tails whip into the crevices of my body. These bite my skin, though they do not mark. I crave the heavier falls of the leather, the ones that light up behind my eyes as rose, cherry, scarlet.

After a solid minute of whipping, he stops and touches me, gauging my warmth. He slides his finger between my thighs, testing my wetness as well. “Good girl,” he says, his voice rougher and deeper than when the session began. “You have much more to come. Now turn around.”

I turn and begin to lower my arms, craving his embrace. He flips the flogger in his hand and taps my elbows with the handle. Returning to position, legs still spread, I tilt my head and frown. I don’t want to ask what we’re doing, but I want him to know I’m confused, that I need his guidance for what is coming next.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks, as if, for the first time in all the years he’s spanked me, I might want to be surprised by the next punishment my body is to receive.

I nod, biting my lip. This is going in a different direction that I’d been expecting when I first threw myself over his lap while we were watching TV. “I feel dirty,” I’d announced, counting on him to know that I didn’t mean I was in need of soap and water.  He’d taken a deep breath as I felt his cock stir beneath my thigh. “Are you my filthy girl?” he’d asked. “Let’s go,” I’d answered, climbing up and nearly running to the bedroom, removing my clothes as I went. But now that I stand facing him, bottom pink but now ignored, I’m not sure what’s coming next. The unfamiliarity has  me wet with anticipation. I’m trembling from my clasped hands to my bare toes curling and clutching the carpet as I wait.

He cocks his head as he says, “Alright,” as if he’s saying, “You asked for it.” He goes to my nightstand drawer and pulls out a twelve-foot length of soft black rope. He wraps it around me from back to front, leaving the length at the sides of my breasts. “First, I’m going to bind your breasts, each individually, so that I have two perfect, beautiful targets for my whip.”

He wraps the left side of the rope length around my left breasts three times, squeezing it forward. He does the same to the right, then ties the two lengths behind my wrists, which are still behind my head, and leaves the rest to trail down and tickle my back. I realize that if I pull back, the rope will lift my breasts higher. I tug experimentally.

“That’s right,” he says, his voice now in that place that melts me, as if lust has coated his vocal cords. “Lift them up, you dirty girl. Present them to me.”

I pull my elbows back then press my wrists against the rope. He squeezes my left nipple then the right, then takes each in his mouth, leaving them wet and chilled in the expectant air. I know what’s coming, but I need him to put it into words. “Are you going to whip my tits?” I ask, giving him both the opportunity to tell me what’s going to happen and approval to use vulgarity in his description.

“Of course I’m going to whip your tits. First I’m going to smack them, lightly, teasing you into thinking it’s something that you want. Then I’m going to step back and raise my flogger to them. You’re going to keep them lifted, so I can whip them in full. Every now and again I’m going to lick them, wetting them, so that the leather drags across your skin. If I stop, you’re going to beg me for more. If you don’t beg for more, I’m going to lay down the flogger and get the junior cane. I’ll cane you here,” he rests his finger horizontally across the top side my right breast. “And here,” he does the same on the underside. “And here. As many times as you can take without collapsing.” His finger rests directly on my nipple, hard beneath his touch, beneath his threat. “And if you do collapse, I’m going to fuck you. Wherever I want.”

Surprising me, he leans forward and kisses me, then rests his face against my throat. “I want you so much,” he whispers. I know it’s true. He’s naked too. “What do you want?” he asks.

“Are you going to spank my bottom again?” I ask in reply.

“Before I take you, I’m going to whip that ass so hard it glows.”

I take a deep breath, then draw myself up to stand with my back arched, shoulders pressed back against the wall, wrists pulling the rope so that my tits are at attention, ready for his mouth, his flogger, even his cane if he can’t resist. “Don’t warm me up. I just want you to whip me. Everywhere.”

He smiles; I close my eyes. Twenty leather tails land on the side of my right breast, curling up and over my flesh, licking the nipple as it pulls away. My knees buckle, not in pain but in delight. With one stroke, my body is on fire, every nerve-ending on edge. I return to position quickly, ready for more.

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