My Body His Drum

When it was time, he asked me to lie face down on one side of the bed, naked and trusting, as he readied two slender canes and a short stiff leather whip known as a sjambok.  We'd already discussed the session we were about to commence. It would be different from our usual spanking sessions and we were both excited to try this new experiment in sensation. Despite my body's light trembling, I was thoroughly calm, my usual pre-play anxiety set aside in favor of anticipation.

Placing the canes and whip next to me, he leaned over and stroked my hair, allowing his fingers to comb through the waves. His fingertips rubbed tiny circles over my scalp and the nape of my neck, waking the nerve endings, gently commanding them to welcome his touch. He then moved down my back, first working delicate patterns on the surface of my skin, then sweeping arcs over the musculature with the flat of his palm.


Continuing downwards, he took both cheeks of my buttocks in each hand and squeezed. This part of my body is always ready for his touch, no coaxing needed. I arched my back, presenting my bottom more fully. He kneaded the flesh, switching sides, pressing deeply into the soft, welcoming tissue. Before I was ready for him to end his touches there, he continued the journey down my thighs and calves until he finished at my feet, where he stopped and reached for the sjambok.

The whip picked up where his hands left off, stroking not striking, tracing a path from the soles of my feet back up to my neck then down again. Its journey was meandering, teasing and tickling. Every cell of my body answered yes when he finally asked if I was ready.

Despite the plan, my body expected pain. I tensed, but the sjambok landed lightly and quickly on the lower curve of my backside, then again, and then again. Tap, tap, tap, it struck a dancing rhythm, the leather bouncing off my bottom in teasing wisps. He let the sjambok fall across my flesh as quickly as he could, each stroke blurring into the next, building with intensity as he began to unpredictably allow the whip to fall harder than I expected every few strokes. These blows stung but so quickly merged back into the overall pattern that I began to look forward to the sudden peaks of sensation.

Once my bottom was tingling, he allowed the whip to travel down the backs of my legs, still tapping a steady rhythm, and then to the soles of my feet. He lifted my left foot and placed three firm lines across the arch, then circled his thumb deeply into the flesh, massaging away the sting as quickly as it had come. He repeated the cycle, then used the handle of the sjambok to continue the massage over the sole of the entire foot. I moaned encouragingly. We had not discussed including feet but now I didn't want him to stop. He gently set the left foot down and picked up my right. I wiggled my toes at him in delight and he laughed quietly, teasing and tickling me before letting the sjambok do its work.

Finally the whip traveled back up my legs to its final destination, where after a few more moments of tapping, the rhythm stopped. He set the sjambok down and picked up the canes, taking one in each hand. Tracing patterns with their tips all over the back of my body, he spoke to me in a warm, assuring voice.

"Breathe into the sensation. Long, deep breaths. Sigh, moan, or cry out if you want. Let your voice and your breath flow. Tell me if you want me to go faster or slower. If you want me to go harder or lighter. Feel free to touch yourself. You are welcome to come when you are ready, if you are ready. This is for you."

"Yes, Sir," I breathed, my entire body tingling as he began the tapping rhythm again, this time with the canes falling one after the other after the other, back and forth, percussively coaxing a pink blush to the surface of my skin. I could feel the warmth rising even without seeing the change of tone.

The canes felt completely different from the tapping of the sjambok.  Whereas before I had felt trembling throughout my body as I became more and more open to whatever sensation he was about to bring to me next, there was now no awareness of sensation other than the tingling of the area where the canes were striking. The harder strokes blended seamlessly into the overall pattern he was playing on my flesh and soon I wanted more of them. "Harder, please," I asked.

He allowed the canes to strike with more force. "Let your body move as it wants," he told me. "You may allow your body to meet the canes. Arch, twist, take what you want from the strokes."

I arched my back so that the cane strokes were all landing in the curve between thigh and buttocks. He teased down my thighs and I wiggled, begging the canes to come back to that same spot. The flesh there buzzed with electricity; I could nearly feel sparks with the landing of each cane. He continued to tease, drumming down the backs of my legs quickly, only to return to that same spot that was now sending tendrils of energy to the furthest extremities and deepest recesses of my body.

I slid my right hand beneath my body and between my thighs. I pressed two fingers to the flesh there and found that I was so wet, so ready, that my fingers nearly slipped inside without any further pressure. I adjusted and trapped the tips of my fingers between the bed and my clit. "I'm ready," I urged him. "Harder, faster, please. Please."

He let loose an intense rhythm across my ass and thighs, my body his drum. My head spun, sensing that the blows would have felt like pain on another day or in another body but in this body, today, the canes had both grounded me in pleasure and lifted me into ecstasy. The muscles of my thighs tightened as I felt myself rise towards orgasmic peak.

He noticed the change and directed all of the attention towards my backside. Moments later, I was coming in spasms that shot up into my shoulders and down through the soles of my feet. Every inch of me was trembling as I collapsed atop my hand.

He set the canes down and put one hand on each of my hips, wordlessly directing me to twist and kneel on the edge of the bed, thighs parted. I was still shuddering, unsure how I would take anymore sensation. I craved the firm grasp of his hands on my shoulders, craved being held, centered. When he rested his hands exactly where I wanted them and began to knead the muscles at the top of my spine, I had to ask. "How could you tell I wanted that?"

"I could tell by the way you moved," he answered.

He continued to massage and sooth me until I caught my breath. I nodded and arched again, opening to him. He trailed his hands down my back and stroked the heated backside presented to him. Once more, he asked if I was ready.

I was ready. I was ready to do this every night with him for the rest of our lives.