pain builds in a wild crescendo, finally reaching a peak where it begins to blur into pleasure. Like a developing photograph, wonderful sensations come into focus, exploding throughout my entire body. My sex pulses in response, conditioned both to fear and to want what is coming.
When the whipping stops, he tells me to lower my arms. I do so, my shoulders flaring at the sudden return of blood. I flex my fingers to encourage the sensation.
‘Kneel,’ he says.
I sink to my knees, grateful not to have to stand any longer.
‘Right down.’
It’s as though I’m melting into the carpet. I bend my knees all the way, until I’m sitting on my calves. Then I fold my body, sliding my arms out in front of me like a sphinx and lowering my forehead until it touches the carpet. I love the position. It deepens my feeling of submission, liberating me further from the confines of reality.
I sense movement, feel the stirring of air as he walks around me, inspecting me. I know he intends to whip me more, and I’m not surprised when I feel the tails flick against my bottom. He directs me to adjust my position.
‘Present yourself for me,’ he says.
I have been well trained and I know exactly what he expects. I lift my bottom, raising it up in the air. At the same time, I curl my spine forwards, cat-like, tucking my head under. My breasts still burn and tingle, radiating warmth from the punished skin.
The whip finds my back, caressing, tickling, as he draws the tails over my waiting flesh. The first strokes are gentle, almost sensual. Each unerringly finds its mark with a resounding slap in the small room. I can feel my skin reddening beneath the slow, steady onslaught, building until I can’t restrain my little gasps and yelps.
A particularly hard stroke between my shoulder blades makes me cry out and for a moment I dip my back, as if I can escape the pain that already sings through me. I gather myself at once and resume the position, hoping he isn’t disappointed in my momentary weakness.
He says nothing, just continues to lay on, the soft leather tails painting stripes all along my exposed body. His aim is flawless.
He walks slowly around me as he whips me, circling me like a shark. Now the whip finds my bottom, and he brings it down hard on the more resilient flesh of my cheeks. I open my eyes to peek, watching him out of the corner of one eye. He gathers the tails in his left hand before releasing them as he swings the implement down, striking precisely where he aims.
These strokes are deeper and more penetrating, designed to push me. I can no longer control my cries and it’s all I can do not to writhe and struggle and try to escape the whipping. But I imagine my Master watching. I desperately want to please him, to make him proud of me. I must take this. I must endure what I am given. It’s what I want too.
The tails lick between my thighs, striking the delicate folds of my sex. I hiss with pain, sucking air in through my teeth. A few lighter strokes follow, peppering my bottom with leather kisses. Then he delivers another sharp stroke to my sex. This time I scream.
The pain is intense, but it’s also exquisite. I blush to imagine how wet the tails of the whip will be after a few more of those strokes. I can feel the sticky dampness between my legs. I am forbidden to come, but if he continues like this my body may betray me. He is testing me.
Again and again he punishes my bottom, wrenching wild cries from me. I clutch the carpet, digging into its soft loops with my fingers to draw the focus away from my sex. It doesn’t work.
My nipples are still sore from the breast whipping, hard and erect. Painfully aroused. An image flashes into my mind of being kissed there. A warm, wet tongue flicking over each burning little pebble of skin. It makes my sex pulse and another well-aimed stroke inflames the delicate nerve endings there. My entire body is throbbing, desperate for release. But if I come, I will fail the test. And I will be punished.
It takes all my willpower to hold back my climax. My thighs are soaked with wetness. I hold them far enough apart that nothing makes contact with my clit. One touch would be all it took. I focus on my submission instead. My obedience. I am a good little slave. I will hold my position and take whatever I am given, whether it be pain or pleasure. For they are not my master.
After a while he eases back, slowing the strokes and laying them on with less and less force, fading the sensations. Now it feels more like a sensual massage. I sigh as the tails flick lightly over my back again, my burning cheeks, then once more kissing my nether lips. Sensations wash over me, but I am not at their mercy. I feel like I have weathered a storm.
When he stops, he stands in silence for several moments. The only sound is the blood pounding in my ears, the pulsing of my skin as heat and desire consume me. I am flying.
‘Good girl,’ he says.
The words bring tears to my eyes. I could let go and melt into the floor now, dissolve into a quivering puddle at his praise.
Only I know this isn’t the end. I am here to be tested, after all, not merely tasted.
‘Raise your right foot.’
My entire lower half trembles as I obey. I bend my knee and lift the leg just enough to hold my foot up, parallel to the floor.
He dangles the whip over it, teasing it with the tails. I shudder, but manage to hold still. When I feel the whip lift away, I brace myself. Then I cry out as he brings it down sharply across the tender flesh of my sole. Heat flares across the skin and I point and flex my toes over and over until it becomes bearable. The feeling travels along all the nerve endings in my leg, all the way up to my sex. A second stroke wrenches another cry from me, but by the third I am succumbing to the pleasure. I lose count after that.
I hear him laugh softly, as though amused by my obvious arousal. ‘Now your other foot,’ he tells me.
I do as he orders, offering up my other delicate bare foot like a sacrifice. It receives the same treatment, first a series of gentle flicks and then proper stinging strokes. Both feet feel like I’ve walked on hot coals, the soles pulsing hotly in concert with the throbbing of my sex.
When he is done he orders me to put my leg down and kneel up. Gratitude floods me as I do it, swimming in sensation. I am slightly dazed and euphoric, my entire body excited and stimulated. My sex pounds in time with my throbbing heart. He has made my entire body an erogenous zone.
‘You’ve been very good,’ he tells me, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ I whisper.
‘And you’ve earned a reward.’
I wait for him to continue, but it seems he wants to tease me. I resist the temptation to speak.
‘What would you like now, little one?’
It’s all I can do to choke out the words. ‘Please, Sir. Please may I come?’
He takes my chin in his hand and raises my head to meet his eyes. I blush furiously at the eye contact, delirious with arousal, drowning in shameless lust. For a long moment he peers deep into my face and suddenly I fear he’ll say no. I can already feel the tears of frustration pricking at my eyes.
‘Yes,’ he says at last. ‘But you must do it twice.’
