Page 7 of Submit
She’s ravenous with her touches, her fingers stroking over the ridges of my abs, then reaching down and cupping me through my jeans. She works fast, getting in everything she can before I grab her and flip us around, so she’s in front of me, her forearms in my hands, her hands held up towards her face and away from my body.
“Sir?”
“Enough, kitten.” I say, cocking my eyebrow at her, giving her the look that she knows begins my play time. Shoving her back a step I release my hold on her while peeling off her coat, leaving her bared to me. “Kneel at the foot of the bed, facing it, arms outstretched to the posts.”
With a quick glance at the antique clock on the wall that’s shaped like a classic pocket watch, I notice that we have plenty of time before I need to be looking out the windows. It’ll allow me to give her what I know she needs before I take what I want.
Strutting to my wardrobe, I pull out the tethers that I know she loves. Leather straps with soft, furry, red cuffs on the ends. She gasps when I come up behind her and wrap them around her wrists, fastening the Velcro securely. With a gentle tug on each wrist I make sure they’re tight enough but not too tight. Even the meanest of doms needs to make sure that he’s not going to cause actual harm to the submissive in his charge. That is, if he’s an actual dominant and not some punk pretending to be one just to get laid.
She’s already vibrating, her body swaying with the pounding of her heart. The excitement in her is palpable as I snap the tethers’ ends to the bed posts, restraining her arms out to her sides. With the tension she can’t bring her hands in, nor rise to her feet. She is effectively my prisoner now, to do with as I wish.
“Sir.” She breathes out all husky and deep.
“Easy kitten. I’ve got you.” I whisper, bending down so my lips brush her ear. “I know what you need.”
“Please.” She purrs, tilting her head to the side for the extra contact with me, and I lick her cheek before standing up straight and backing away from her.
The flogger I pull from the mahogany wardrobe slides through my palm all soft, but the leather tails will bite when handled and swung correctly. I watch the thin black strips cross my hand then dangle down, over and over again as I warm them with my body heat.
“You’re going to count with me. Got it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
It’s music to my ears when the first strike lands across her back, with the little whips cracking against her flesh, the sound of her sharp intake of breath, and the small moan that escapes on her exhale.
“One, Sir.” She says quickly.
“Good girl.”
I come down on her again and again, each time flogging her harder, until her back and shoulders are covered in angry red welts, and she’s rushing to count the hits without missing any.
“Two, three, four, five, six, Owww Sir, seven, eight, Sir.” She spits out, her body going rigid between each blow, then melting when it lands.
She loves the pain, even needs it. It helps to get her out of her head, and to calm down all the thoughts that plague her on the daily.
Physical pain has a way of doing that. It’s why cutters cut. The brain latches onto the body’s sensations, focusing on the discomfort instead of the shit that floats around in the subconscious. It’s what makes BDSM such a draw for many people, especially ones in powerful positions, or with careers that keep them mentally overloaded.
When the whip, cane, or whatever implement is being used strikes the skin and makes that burning pain, all thoughts except how it feels go away.
“You’re doing so well. Three more, kitten.” I coo to her, rubbing her reddened skin with my palm as I give her time to catch the breath that wants to flee from her in her submission.
“Yes, Sir.”
The way she breathes heavily, and her breasts rise and fall with each one is so fucking sexy. Her skin is flushed, and sweat beads on her nape, just under her braid. I can smell the pheromones in it, and it’s driving me to want to discard the whip and just fucking plow my hard cock into her, but a good dominant withholds himself until he knows their partner has gotten what they need. She needs the last three, like her life depends on it.
The way she hangs her head back and begs me with those bright, blue eyes tells me so much more than words ever could. I can feel the wanting, no, the need in her. She’s almost there, at the point where the final thoughts are teetering on the edge of her consciousness, and the pain will push them away.
“Please, Sir.”
“Yes. My good girl. Ready?”
“Yes.”
Pulling my arm back, I take aim for the space between her shoulders, making sure she’s raised her face away enough that I don’t risk catching her cheek or eye with one of the strips. She squeals in pain as the flogger connects with her flesh, pulling on her tethers, shaking, then growling at the snap of the leather.
The red and pink welts raise more, and the largest of them in the middle of her back weeps tiny little drops of her blood that smears across her skin as I bring my toy down on her the last two times to the wailing of her agape mouth.
It’s like watching a ghost float away as her form slumps forward, her body becoming like jelly, her face resting on the foot of my bed. She’s been released of her troubles, her stress, and everything else I throw at her on the daily at work.
