“Good,” Joe said. “Concentrate on absorbing the ripples of feeling and emotion. Breathe the sensations in, and breathe them back out.”
She pictured the pain and impact like water as if it flowed through her. The more demanding impacts of the flogger made it feel entirely different. It struck her bottom, then her back, her legs, her shoulders, and returned to her ass. Over and over, the flogger sprung, and she thought of snakes, hot in the sun, crossing her naked flesh. She told herself, Fall open. Open.
She thought she got used to it…or at least learned to tolerate it. She felt hot and tingly through her body. Breathe, she demanded of herself. Relax. She wondered what she looked like and wished she could see the mirror, her skin heated to at least bright pink with Joe watching her and stalking, his arm lashing out. Breathe. I love you.
She remembered her fear of ‘wrap around,’ but none of his strokes strayed. She grew confident that he knew how to use the flogger the way it should be used. Relax. As pain turned harsh in one place, he seemed to know, and he moved. She could weather his storm…rather, she believed Joe would bring her through it. She felt her arousal and knew she had become wet and noticed how the whip continually increased her desire. How could pain and violence be so sensual? she wondered With every slap, a fire lit, and her body glowed with lust.
She discovered already that she loved it. She knew, more than ever, that wanting it had been right. But no online description explained the depths of what she felt. Relax, she chanted, over and over. Accept. She fell deep into herself and found herself looking forward to the lashes, even when he deliberately made her cry out. A rhythm of lighter blows came between, and energy slowly built as she waited for the heavy blow to come when she could let go and hear her own voice cry out. In between, she thought of the relief she found as her dreams became real! Love curled up tighter inside her around a core of newborn trust.
“Take my pain,” she said, but she didn’t know whom she said it to. She wanted everything he gave her, and she wanted to see what she could take. She concentrated on the pulse of his blows and tried to move into them. In the part of her mind that still answered to reason, she felt like she moved against her love and began watching it uncurl and start to rise up. She wondered if he read her mind because he stopped and touched her. His hands felt cool on her hot, sparkling skin. She followed his caresses down her back and ass.
“Pita, you are a good girl. You please me.”
“Mmm,” she moaned and pressed to his hand.
He slid his fingers between her thighs and touched her soaking pussy. He took a deep breath. “Ohh, you are a good girl. You like it under the whip.”
Her throat caught and let tears come into her eyes behind the blindfold. She said nothing but arched her back and spread her legs as far as the shackles permitted. A sudden desire to absorb his fingers in her took hold of her lust. She wanted an orgasm. She wanted more of his delicious whip. She amazed herself.
But he took his hand away. She leaned against the pillar and breathed hard, gripped by frustration, exertion, and want. She heard him moving and shuffling something. What next? She wanted more, more of him, his dominance, and her submission. Time stopped. She leaned against the chains, feeling a little room for motion between her knees and her shoulders. Then something cool and stiff stroked her shoulders. She heard silence in the room. She held her breath.
“Pita, I’m going to use you with a crop.”
“Ohh.” She wriggled away even though it felt cool against her heated skin, and her anxiety soared. “I don’t know, Sir. Sir, if I….” Google images of horrible welts and red abrasions strobed across her mind.
“Pita. Steady. Shh.” Her pet name, his hand on her, his breath on the side of her face, settled her. “That’s my good girl,” he said. “We can stop. Say the safe word.”
No . She didn’t want that. Pita wanted more, but her desire to explore ran up against fear. She wanted to trust him again and wanted her body to tingle again. She wanted Joe to help her let go. She shook her head no. “I want to try,” she said aloud. “Sir.”
“Good. We’ll begin then, slowly.”
Joe touched her shoulder with the crop. It tapped her, light and sensual, just as he began with the flogger. She wondered how he understood what it took to handle her, how he knew what to do. It felt like lovemaking. He felt like a lover, but Joe controlled rather than seduced. How different that made it, she thought. Pita knew he didn’t hurt her to cover insecurity or show manhood. It didn’t feel anything like the “normal” manipulation she’d experienced. He used her and took her beyond boundaries. Her job became to submit, to accept, and not merely to enjoy. She suddenly realized she already liked the harsher touch of the riding crop. His pace increased, and some of the blows came harder.
Then Joe began to target the same places on her flesh repeatedly. As the shock and sting built up across her cheeks, Pita felt quiet at heart but surprised herself again when she heard herself gasp at each stroke. First, the crop focused on one cheek, then the other. She squirmed, but the chains didn’t leave that much room. Joe spoke to her: “Let it go, Pita. Breathe and relax.” Each time she moved, the crop still found its mark.
She started to cry. He continued. She wondered if he would stop because of her tears. She knew she wouldn’t be the one to stop. If he would just stop, she thought, just for a minute. Stop, she demanded within herself. Why is he hurting me? What did I do? She strained against the chains, but the cuffs allowed no relief. Could he be using less force, or could she be getting used to it, but she still felt pity for herself and sluggish. “Let it go, Pita,” she heard him repeat. “Give it to me.”
“Ohh, Sir, please!” She wailed and hugged the pillar.
“Say your safe word, Pita.”
“NO, dammit!!!” she snapped, loud enough that Joe faltered. She could feel her muscles rigid with determination. Her mind wished for an end, but Pita’s heart and soul knew Joe wouldn’t take her further than she could go. She outvoted her mind. And something more came to her, an understanding of what the moment meant: her chance and her submission. She wanted him to decide.
“Alright, Pita,” he said. She heard the energy in his voice right next to her ear. “You can do this. Accept it. Breathe.” His words came softly, a low rumble and a counterpoint to the pop of the crop.
His next stroke outdid the others. The sensation clearly moved from sting to a searing pain. To her fevered mind, it seemed like a hot knife sliced into her bottom. She shrieked and writhed. “Ohh God!”
“Relax, Pita. Breathe,” he insisted. He stopped and touched her shoulder. “You are a courageous good girl.” Joe quit speaking, as if he found something to think about. “As long as you’re with me,” he promised, “I will not let harm come to you.” His voice quavered. “I will own and care for you.” His voice soothed her heart like a balm, and she felt his words become her strength.
“Say your mantra, Pita. Say it.” His crop cut through the air and exploded on her, this time across her shoulders, and again she screamed. “Say it, Pita.”
“Sir will own his Pita.” Another blow cut into her shoulders, and she cried out.
“Yes. Sir will own his Pita. Good. Keep going.”
Another blow rushed through the air and cracked against her flesh, this time her sore, hot bottom, and she saw white light behind the blindfold. Pita heard herself cry out. She tried to remember the next line.
“I…will serve…my Sir,” she struggled. Deep inside of her, she felt defeat swirl. She wondered how to go on. She thought of her safe word, bobbing nearby, and wanted to reach for it.
But Joe barked near her ear, taking over for her and pushing them both toward some goal she couldn’t see. “Finish it!” His demands were as relentless as the crop. She’d never experienced pain washing over her this way. Her mind fuzzed. She wanted him to stop and couldn’t think of the last line.
“Breathe, Pita. Say the mantra. Together…”
“Together we…ohh God, I can’t.” Her voic
e came as a moan. Her voice sounded so weak. Anger rose within her and surge at him, at herself. He pushed her relentlessly toward some momentous thing.
“Yes, you can,” Joe said. “Focus on the words. Say it. Together we….”
“Together we are whole.” She blurted the words, sobbing into the wet blindfold.
“Good girl, Pita. Again, say the mantra,” Joe commanded.
This time, a victory behind her, she obeyed unthinkingly. She reacted to each blow. She recited the words that described her heart. “ Sir will own his Pita….” She took a blow. “Pita will serve her Joe….” She cried out, or just cried, but the hypnotic rhythm of words eased the hard rain pouring onto her body. “Together we are whole.”
She heard triumph in the finish to her mantra, and Joe’s voice filtered into her triumph. She could hear him saying her words with her! She reached out for his strength, listening for him, and let his voice lift her whenever her own faltered.
“Sir will own His Pita.”
“Pita will serve her Joe.”
“Together we are whole.”
Something important just happened, she knew. Her reactions somehow changed. She still absorbed blows, knew pain, but it didn’t swallow her. She heard her own voice humming the mantra, or perhaps she heard Joe’s voice. It didn’t matter. It felt to her, in the euphoria of subspace, like song rather than speech. She stopped struggling and quit crying. She found herself breathing with the rhythm of the crop and the words they sang together. She floated, soaring above air currents, tethered by chains to a pillar. She felt high above herself, as if she looked down from a far height above tall pines. She heard his voice beneath, holding her aloft. His voice swelled in her. Loved washed over her, and trust. She knew he changed her, and that she changed herself. She felt new.
“Pita… hold me while I undo your hands.”
“My hands,” she thought. What had she done with her hands? “Ow!” She winced as blood rushed to her arms while he helped her lower them. “They’re so heavy and sore,” she said. She felt like stone, and tired...all right, exhausted. Joe removed the blindfold. She pressed her eyes shut against the light. He picked her up like a doll and carried her to the bed they would share. She wrapped her arms around him and relaxed into his embrace. His sweat made his skin slick, but she didn’t care.
She cared only for the kisses raining down on her face like the flogger and crop rained on her body. Her skin still burned. He kept saying, “Good girl,” and Pita cried against his chest. He stroked and comforted, saying she’d done well. She felt joy and peace beside her love and new trust. She knew Joe loved her in a way no other could claim from her, and he opened depths in her she didn’t know existed. She wanted to fall into them. He would be there to catch her, she knew.
A Rose of Any Color: MaleDom: A BDSM Anthology Page 27