Posted at 22:20 on 27 May 2014 by Pandora / Blake
I got out of the shower and took D's hands. In the wording that invokes our relationship, I told him that I would really like a flogging, "...on my back and legs and body. Does that sound like something you might enjoy?"
"Yes," he smiled, "I think I can manage that."
I lay face down on the bed, buzzing with happy excitement while he assembled floggers. He gave me a choice, and I picked the ones that looked like they had the most thud. For the last two days I'd been directing a Dreams of Spanking shoot that crackled with energy and joy, and I hadn't been beaten once. Time to redress the balance.
I think he started with the lightest toy. I relaxed utterly, enjoying the light brush of its thongs, and begged him to go harder. I lifted my feet for him to cradle in his hands, and sighed with pleasure as he whipped both soles at once. Eventually, after licking caresses on my shoulders, back, thighs, calves, and feet, he started to aim heavier strokes at my bottom. I groaned with satisfaction. Only then did I realise that he was already using the heaviest flogger, the one with braided leather thongs. I don't remember it ever feeling this nice before. Later he used one of his long, heavy leather straps, usually a struggle for me to take - and I lapped it up.
My bottom and back were warm and tingly when he told me to turn over. I was floating in a happy, safe, relaxed space. I lay on my back and watched curiously as he bound my ankles to the corners of the bed, my wrists above the headboard.
Back to the flogger, on my breasts at first. I held his gaze and gasped with nervousness and pleasure. At times he used fast whippy strokes, rotating the flogger and clipping my nipple with the tips; at others he used it slower, harder, taking careful aim. Both made me wriggle happily.
I smiled when he opened the drawer and took out nipple clamps, the little decorative square ones that close on all four sides. The rotating metal felt nice as he screwed them shut, but I was so high on endorphines that once on I couldn't really feel them pinch. Still, I think I gasped a little louder when the leather thongs flicked the hard, framed points of my metal-clamped nipples.
He flogged my belly and thighs. I wanted and didn't want (but mostly wanted) it to land between my legs - and, eventually, it did. We've never done this before. He watched my face as he whipped my cunt again. It felt sharp, a shock, stinging slightly but not burning. Exciting. Not unpleasant.
Teasing me, he moved the flogger up and down my body, alternating between breasts, belly, thighs, cunt. I closed my eyes and let the sensations wash over me.
At one point he told me he wanted to hurt me more. Was that okay? "Yes," I answered. I remember feeling a burning joy that he had taken my request and surpassed it, ignited his own sadism. He flogged my inner thighs, my stomach and breasts, and then my cunt so hard my body arced and I cried out. He spread my labia with his fingers and deliberately exposed my clit to the next stroke of the flogger.
What else did he do before he untied me? I can't remember the order things happened in. When he released my ankles he whispered, "You're not done," and I lay there, waiting patiently, feeling a rare, peaceful stillness. I was perfectly in my body and my mind was blissfully quiet.
At his instruction I knelt up on the edge of the bed, facing the mirror. I felt light-headed with happiness. We looked at each other, full of love. He lifted his hand and slapped my left breast, slowly, hard. I hissed out air through my teeth and closed my eyes. I was ecstatic.
He hit me again and again, and although it hurt I don't think I ever felt afraid.
At one point he stopped and, before he did what he did next, he told me, "I'm not doing this to punish you. I'm doing it because I fantasise about it a lot." His hand drew back again and he struck me on the cheek. My head knocked to one side, but it made no dent in the love and security I felt.
I met his eyes again. I loved him for wanting to hurt me. I needed this. My whole body glowed with pleasure.
He slapped my face again, and I took it. I ate it. The energy of the blow charged me up and, after briefly closing my eyes to absorb it, my gaze met his with a shock of electricity. His eyes sparkled and mine flashed a challenge. He hit me again, hard enough to make my cheekbones sting and my skull buzz, and I grunted a breath. Our eyes reconnected, crackling with energy. It wasn't anger, but it was like anger. It was a fierce joy.
Not long afterwards he said "Okay, we're done now." He drew me into his arms, lying down on the bed, and stroked me. I was so grateful to him for beating me; not only for fulfilling my request but for taking it further than I expected, for pushing my boundaries. I rested my head on his chest, waiting to see what emotion would break out of me, but I felt clear-headed. I felt perfect. "I don't need aftercare," I told him, a little surprised. "Actually I feel amazing."
Later he guided me over his face and licked me to orgasm after orgasm. I leaned back and stroked his cock with one hand, then turned around so I could suck him. I got him hard enough that I wanted him in me, and I knelt eagerly on all fours on the bed and offered him my cunt. Afterwards he lay on his side and cradled my head in his hands as I took his cock into my mouth. I felt malleable, accepting, so relaxed that his cock could slide deeper than it ever normally did into my throat. I could feel the head of it push past that barrier, fill my neck and chest with its solidity. I couldn't breathe around it but I lay there, waiting, unafraid, until he withdrew and I could exhale and inhale. It's an old game but every time we play it, his gasps of pleasure thrill me.
We ended up with me straddling him, jerking him off in my right hand, alternately dipping my head to lick and suck, watching the sweat sheen on his chest and shoulders and face as his neck tensed and he pumped come all over my hands and his hipbones. I licked up the creamy pools and squeezed his softening cock fondly in my fist.
How wonderful that one moment he can be beating me, and the next writhing under my hand. This thing we do may be violent but most of all it's about vulnerability, openness, trust, and love, love, love.
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