The Whip Master

by Breanna Hayse

  "We can't determine a compatible personality by whether or not your horses react to their presence."

  "The mares liked him, too," Elias added with a mischievous grin.

  "If he was interested in Pony or Pet play, your little stable-girls might be an option, but he's not. I'm just afraid that Fifty will blow it with him if he wins the auction. She said it herself—he's too much like me."

  "Then change her opinion of you. Be an asshole."

  Dorian stared at his friend in disbelief. "Are you suggesting that I deliberately hurt the girl so she falls out of love with me?"

  "That is exactly what I'm suggesting. Hear me out. She loves you because you are kind to her. You've been everything that her vanilla family was not. You need to let her see the other side of you—the side that covers himself in leather and releases a whip. She's not a pain whore like One—it will repel her, or, at least, make her think twice about wanting to join your house."

  "I can't do that to her, Elias. I won't risk hurting her like that. She's too delicate and sweet. I don't want that ruined."

  "Okay. I respect your decision. You said that she is reporting to One on Sunday, right? Have her wear her leathers. You might be sadistic, but that little lady of ours is creative. She will find a way to discourage Fifty without completely messing her up."

  "You are a cruel man."

  "Thank you," Elias said gratefully. "Just keep this in mind—if this guy is anything like you, he will win her over in time. But you have to cut the cord, and you and your wife both know it. Come on. We need to get to the field and start the Festival before the natives get restless."

  Dorian nodded, and together they exited the Manor and headed towards the giant white tent that had been erected to protect the guests from the heat—and any naked participants from being sunburned. He ascended the stage and waited until the applause ceased.

  "Welcome to Graye Manor, both old friends and new. I hope you are finding your accommodations comfortable and our staff eager to please." Another loud round of applause with cheering was his answer. "We've given all of you a list of activities that are available to you. We want you and your pets to be as comfortable as possible, so I wanted to extend the offer of clothing optional. For your peace of mind, I will clarify that the island is kept under perpetual guard by my security team and can be entered in only three ways: the drawbridge, which is up and locked by code; the water channel, which has an electric net to prevent trespassers from bypassing either by boat or swimming; and the air, for which we have a radio frequency block to prevent drones or any type of camera equipment from operating. That is also the reason why your cell phones, cameras and computers are inoperable. Your safety and privacy are vital to the Manor. Regarding the optional clothing, please respect the other guests and exercise yourselves in an appropriate manner. That means, Mr. Doyle, no flashing Tiny Tim at the mares. It's not fair to tease them before an auction."

  Everyone joined the young man in a wave of laughter. His generous endowment was well known by everyone who attended Manor Festivals and often caused a ruckus among the maids who also served as pony-girls.

  "I won't tease if you promise to allow me stable access after everything is over," the man agreed, sporting a huge smile.

  "Don't you ever get tired?"

  "Nope, which is why my girls have problems walking the next morning," Mr. Doyle answered, flexing his muscles.

  "Don't worry, folks," Dorian said as the crowd groaned. "This year I paired him to auction for our Insatiables. We will see who can't walk the next morning."

  Despite the heat, the mood was light and intoxicating. The crowd dispersed, eager to explore the events and the smorgasbord of wonders the legendary Dorian Graye had planned for them. Elias elbowed him.

  "I'm going to the stables. Wanna come?"

  Dorian shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm feeling a bit restless. I think I'm going to spend some time and throw my twelve-footers."

  "How about you do a demo? These kiddies don't know the first thing about whip handling and would love to see the master at work."

  "I hate doing demos," Dorian groaned.

  "You hate being the center of attention. Would you like a live subject?"

  "A live one is better than a dead one, don't you think?" Dorian asked with a half-smile.

  "I'll make the announcement. Let's do it in the arena."

  "You'll do just about anything to get me to the stables, won't you? Very well."

  Dorian walked solemnly back to the Manor and retrieved his perfectly matched pair of kangaroo hide bullwhips. He slid his palms around them, coiling and uncoiling the soft oiled lines through his fingers as he reintroduced himself to the leather. Respect and awe filled his heart every time he lifted the lethal braided snakes in his hands. They were weapons, pure and simple, and could be used to inflict either pleasure, pain or death. That was the primary reason he hated to perform publicly—there would always be some jackass who would try to emulate him and end up taking out an eye (either that belonging to the jackass or the bottom he played with), or worse.

  He looped the twin whips over his shoulder and made his way to the kitchens. Only Fifty acknowledged his entrance, looking bedraggled as she scrubbed the dishes in the giant sink before loading them onto the immense washer belt.

  "Master? Can I get anything for you?"

  "Stay where you are. I'm just picking up a couple of pieces of fruit."

  "Are you going to give a demonstration?" she asked, her eyes filled with longing.

  Dorian refused to give into the lump in his chest and allow her to join him. "Yes. Master Elias thought it would be nice entertainment for the guests."

  "Yes, sir. I am sure they will enjoy it immensely. I know I would."

  Dorian geared himself to not be affected by the sadness in her eyes. "You are being punished, Fifty. Naughty girls who break the rules don't get to play." He patted her on the head, kissed her temple and then went to finish his task.

  "Jamal begged me to select Passion as your model," Elias said, as Dorian approached him. "I set up the Open Cross in the arena for you."

  "Passion? That means he wants me to blood her, doesn't it?"

  "He said he cannot pleasure her like you can, and she has been very well-behaved lately. She also asked if she could be at the carving station tonight."

  "I've forgotten what a masochist that woman is. I don't think pain even registers with her until she sees blood."

  "Yes, she is a delightful rarity. I think that new girl, Dorothy, will be running a close second."

  "You might be correct. So…" Dorian stopped in his tracks. The benches were packed. "Did you tell everyone to come here?"

  "Nope. Word spread, and everyone left what they were doing. You forget, Dorian, that while most people have seen your artwork, few have seen you paint. You take on a different form when you have a whip in your hand."

  Dorian rolled his eyes and turned to the excited crowd. "Before we begin with this demonstration, I cannot emphasize enough that what you're about to see has taken me decades to perfect. I practiced for hours, months on end, on pieces of fruit until I could trust myself to move on to human flesh. A whip," Dorian uncoiled the heavy leather, "is a dangerous weapon. Never handle one without knowing what it can do."

  The two twelve-foot lengths snapped almost in slow motion as Dorian awakened them. With a quick flick, he wrapped the right one around the watermelon and split it with a single crack. The crowd oohed.

  "If a whip can do this to a melon, imagine what it will do to the flesh. Or…" he slung the tip to an orange, leaving the fruit open, "… an eye. If anyone wishes to learn the art, we will teach you. Just don't let your pride make you believe you can do this without instruction. This could accidentally be your submissive's neck."

  Silence filled the arena as the whip wrapped around the length of a large sweet potato. Convinced that he had discouraged the majority from 'trying this at home', Dorian nodded for his model to be secured to the custom res
traint device and removed his shirt. He could not afford to be hindered in any way.

  Passion's eyes were bright with excitement as Elias restrained her.

  "Does this slave's Master wish her to receive my whip?" Dorian asked Jamal in a formal request.

  "Yes, this slave's Master wishes so."

  "Is this to be for pleasure or punishment?"

  "For pleasure, Mr. Graye. Hers, and ours," Jamal responded with a smile and a wink.

  "Excellent. Does this slave consent to the receipt of my whip for pleasure?"

  A gasp was heard from the audience, making Dorian suppress a smile. To ask a slave's permission, especially over the request of her Master, was unheard of! It was also wise—especially in a public forum. He did not want the new or inexperienced clients to think that any of his girls were brainless, dependent cyborgs with no sense of self-preservation. He also wanted to distinguish between the consensual aspects of receiving pleasure and a non-consensual session of punishment.

  "This slave gives her full consent, Master Graye."

  "Does this slave have any requests?"

  Passion grinned, nodding. "Yes, sir! I ask for full contact, front and back."

  "Full contact means possible splitting," Dorian announced for the sake of the crowd.

  "I want to be blooded, sir."

  "Limits?"

  "My nipples, Master Graye. They are newly pierced and still healing."

  "As you wish. Would you like a safeword?"

  "No, Master Graye. I trust you."

  Those three words always brought a feeling of pride and humility to Dorian's heart. It saddened him that the next generation of Dominants and submissives were in such a hurry to gain satisfaction that they never got to know the joy of building a foundation of lasting trust the way he did with his girls. Well, hopefully, the festivals and training offered at the Manor would encourage new Masters to a place of responsibility, patience and skill-building, andhis maids would be an example of a heart of submission combined with old-school values.

  Dorian nodded to Elias, who removed himself from the arena and activated the sound system. There was only one condition that Dorian had when doing a pleasure whipping session—and that was the playing of his own orchestral recording of 'Lux Aeterna'—a gift that had been arranged, and performed, by four of his own maids. It was powerful, tantalizing, and sensual, with the heavy bass and percussion designed to penetrate every nerve with excitement—of both him and his subject.

  Passion wiggled in her restrained position on the unique, open cross. The design held her erect, with her arms and legs splayed apart, and gave him full access to her entire body. The double spreader bars for the wrists were stabilized on an aluminum trapeze that hung from the metal frame of the tent, and her ankles were secured in cuffs that were locked into a flat bar that had been permanently mounted in the ground.

  Slowly, Dorian brought the whips to life. One in each hand, he began to turn them in wide, counter-clockwise circles on either side, giving the snake-like movements time to come into sync. The swishing sound of the braids was accentuated by the melody, building in intensity and speed as the musical measures progressed. With his hands in close proximity, Dorian began a mechanical rotation of his wrists, and the beauty and power of the Florentine began to take shape. Before he even touched his subject, he commanded his whips in a graceful dance that would bring her to the height of pain and pleasure.

  He threw the right whip towards her back, cracking it just before it made contact. He needed to prepare her for both the sounds and sensation, taking the time to enhance both her natural fear and unnatural excitement. He threw the left whip, pulling back on the other one, this time allowing the tail to wrap around her waist. The right whip followed, licking gently around her right calf. Left, then right, followed in quick succession—each embracing her body with the delicious scent and texture of plaited hide. He then drew both arms out to his sides and with a quick flick of his wrists sent both whips to intertwine with one another until the ends wrapped around her hips. He shook the handles and made the braided snakes release her. It was time to begin.

  He returned to the Florentine, making sure to pop the crackers at the end of the whips in time to the music. The first lash bit into her buttocks, and was quickly followed by a second lash that landed near the top of her left thigh. He repeated, warming her skin with a slow, gentle rhythm over the entirety of her body. It was not until her skin was flushed with a rosy pink glow that he sent his first true lash across her back. The left whip fell, striping her on the downward stroke while the other with caught her on the top of the figure eight flail. This left a giant, X-shaped welt in the center of her shoulders. His mark.

  Her suffering was so perfect as the whips licked her body with their methodical, precise placement. The welts grew into ridges, raised above the surface of the flesh in blazing scarlet lines. Through clenched jaws, Passion's breath exploded from her chest in short bursts of sharp, piercing pain. Tears leaked from her magnificent, overly large green eyes and gathered at the corners of her generous lips—lips that turned up in the delight of the perfect torment. Inflamed marks from the whips decorated her complexion like the fine lines of aged parchment, each set in perfect space and distance from one another, and her sweat-covered body took on an ethereal glow.

  He backed up and shook out the whips, undulating them back and forth in a swishing display of hypnotic movement. Passion tensed, arching her neck, and waited for the sharp flicking of the soft skin between her legs. She moaned as the stinging bite of the popper met with her bare pussy, and she began to reel with the music. The sounds of the whips rose and fell, their hushed cadence like loud whispers between the musical notes. The onlookers held their breath, intoxicated by the proficient artistry of the Whip Master. The leather licked, bit and kissed the entire length of her inner thighs and into the soft, moist crevices of her folds.

  He paused to allow her to catch her breath, running his hands over the welts and assessing her physical and mental state. She had already shifted into subspace and was prepared for the moment to take her over the bridge and bring her to nirvana.

  Dorian stepped back and threw the whips horizontally, leaving two fine slices across the center of her bottom. Her body shuddered as it absorbed the impact and then waited in anticipation for the next round.

  Tiny specks of blood trickled from the wounds on her back and Passion's body tensed, signaling the need for the finale lashes. At the crescendo of the music, Dorian delivered. With each pulsating downbeat, the whip fell—opening tiny gashes in her trembling flesh. The finale boomed overhead and he released the whips in unison to mark the undersides of her bottom and her upper thighs. One last throw sent the twin braids between her open thighs, each one wrapping around her legs in a tight embrace, pressing snugly against her pussy. He held them silent, waiting as the music faded, and then yanked them free on the final note.

  Silence. With a single deep breath, a slow guttural growl rose from her throat, growing to the height of a banshee's scream. Passion's body strained against the leather manacles as the orgasm claimed her entire being in wave after wave of uncontrollable spasms, until she finally collapsed in limp exhaustion.

  "Amazing," Jamal called out, breaking the silence. He began a slow, rhythmic clap. "Absolutely amazing."

  The arena erupted into cheers as her flaccid body was gently removed from the frame and settled into Jamal's open arms. He pressed some ice to her lips and rocked her gently.

  "She's going to a little incoherent for a while this time, my friend," Dorian said to Jamal as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. "I hope I met your expectations."

  "You exceeded them. Look at these people. They are in awe of you. As am I. I've never seen anything so magnificent. I really must learn this skill."

  "You'll be here for a good amount of time for the baby's birth. I can teach you the basics then, if you like."

  "I will consider your offer. It is something that sh
e needs to stay happy," Jamal said seriously, rising to his feet with Passion still in his arms. "I am going to take her back to our rooms and clean her up. Will you be attending the races?"

  "Aye," Dorian said with a sigh. "Elias wants me to present as both judge and referee. You know how our pony-girls get a little feisty."

  "It does not help your cause that several of them are Insatiables, and that you withhold pleasure from them as a form of discipline."

  "Elias finds that forced abstinence makes them more eager to please, and they do respond well to him. That is one area of the Manor that I keep my nose out of."

  "I'm in agreement with him," a woman said from behind them. "I happen to like his nose and would not be happy if it were bitten off by some rabid pony-girl."

  "One! My darling, how is your day going?" Jamal asked, leaning forward to kiss the woman's cheek.

  "Not as well as Passion's. Why won't you blood me like this?" One asked with a pout.

  "Because I choose not to." Dorian puffed.

  "The real reason is that he doesn't want to have to wait for you to heal before he can play with you again. You know how responsible he is," Elias said, joining the group.

  "So shoot me. Did you need something, One? You seem to be disturbed about something."

  "I need to speak with you for a moment. Excuse us, please."

  "Uh oh," Elias remarked. "What did you do this time?"

  Chapter Seven

  One shook her finger at the red-headed man and then pulled Dorian out of hearing range. "I'm sorry to bother you, but there is trouble in the dorms."

  "What kind of trouble? And why didn't you call on Elias? That is his department."

  "It's Fifty. Apparently, she got into a scuffle with a few of the other maids."

  "A scuffle? With a few? What the hell happened?"

  One winced as he raised his voice. "I don't know the details but I thought it best that you handle it. They're in your study."