Her laughter rang out as the whip sliced through the air with an audible hiss. A threat, or promise, of its deadly intent to strike. Eyes a pale shade of death stared down at the naked man, writhing on the floor in agony. Truth be told, every touch of braided leather on his flesh made his cock grow. Already he was painfully hard but could do nothing to stop her steady blows. She was perfection with a whip, knowing exactly how to flick her delicate wrist so that each snap of leather found its exact target. John’s golden skin now glowed with sweat, the pristine canvas of his flesh ruined by the angry red welts. Phedra marked him the way an artist does his first sketch, with great care and patience. Each strike fed his lustful desires for pain and punishment. Only when John lay panting, unable or unwilling to move, did she stop her assault. She nudged him in the exposed curve of his rib cage with the toe of her booted foot. His chest expanded with a deep breath, revealing his sated appetite for this punishment.
A cruel smile twisted the generous contours of her lips, turning the delicate features of her face into a nefarious mask. Her hunger was far from fed. Circling his body, she admired the evidence of her work with the whip. It was true that practice made perfect. Though every touch of the braided leather had left its mark, she had not once broken the skin. The length of leather snaked around behind her as she allowed it to drag upon the floor like a tail. Her full lips pressed together with contempt as she watched him, the lines of his face declaring just how pleased he was to have made it through today’s procession without having uttered the safe word. He failed to realize that it wasn’t over.
“Belly,” she commanded, indicating for him to roll onto his stomach.
Her voice was warm and rich, like aged bourbon for the ears. She was intoxicating. Addicting. Wordlessly, he rolled from his back. He pressed his forehead to the floor, the moist warm air of his breath reflected back into his face as he exhaled. The room seemed to spin. While trapped in that sublime state of euphoria he could feel the very earth spinning upon its axis. The press of the cold, wood floor felt good against him, cooling his skin as he tried to catch his breath. John was vaguely aware of the stinging sensation buzzing along his skin as the rivulets of sweat began to make their slow descent along the curve of his back.
She stepped close to him, trailing the tail end of the whip along his spine towards the small of his back. He couldn’t help the slight arch of his back, the instinctive lifting of his hips from the floor as the braided tip teased over his damp flesh. It hurt and felt good all at once. Still experiencing sensory overload, John’s mind could easily misinterpret the signals his body gave him. The stiff cord of leather traveled along the swell of his ass, teasing between the rounded globes of his cheeks. The softest of moans escaped his lips. Phedra continued to taunt him this way. Allowing the whip’s length to venture further down until it teased the delicate skin of his sac. John’s legs opened almost immediately, his thighs splayed out widely giving her complete access to his most vulnerable parts. He craned his ass upwards, into the air, a beacon of invitation.
“Please, ” he spoke lowly, “I need release, please.”
She drew her arm back, flicking the whip with a quick jerk of her hand so the braided tip bit into the ripe curve of his ass. His entire body jerked with the unexpected connection, the air hissed from his lungs forcefully.
“You were not given permission to speak,” she spat. Her words rang with authority. Pleased that she could feed her passion to inflict pain on him once more with yet another burning kiss.