The Flogger - Sex Stories

The Flogger

She bent over before him, thrusting her rear out more than necessary. Her hair hung down in a fine curtain, hiding the half smile that may have been seen on her lips. Her hands gripped her slim ankles as she listened to his voice.

"Subs do not swat a Dom's behind with a crop!" She remembered with perfect clarity the shape and texture of his cheeks. The light on his tanned skin, the shadow between the two curves of muscle. He'd been naked when she walked in and the crop swung without thought behind it. She grinned under the hair as he moved to one side, grinned at those cheeks in her memory, grinned at her own impulse that flicked her wrist and brought a tiny cry from his lips and a blue flash to his eyes; brought her here: bending and awaiting her punishment.

She felt him take the waistband of her pants, heard a hiss as the razor-edge sliced through cloth and idly wondered what she would wear when she left this room. His fingers moved again, slipped under the elastic of her underwear, a soft sound and she shivered at her unexpected nakedness and the cool air on her warmest place.

He stared down, eyes tracing over her tiny hands wrapped tightly around her ankles, gliding over the satin sheen of her calves as the light bathed them, lingered over her thighs, stopped at the swell of her buttocks. His eyes caressed her, explored her shape, drank in her skin and strained to see the shadowy half-defined shape of her sex, clothed only in the dimness between her ...

... thighs.

He liked what he saw, knew before seeing that he would; he shivered at the thought of caressing with his long powerful fingers. He cleared his throat and swallowed. "subbies who swat a Dom's ass will be punished."

"You know this?"

He nodded at the affirmative from down near his feet and turned to the table, looking over the objects there.

He ignored the cane because he didn't want to mark her body, not today. He considered the whip, a beautiful masterpiece of leather - too harsh. Next, he pondered the merits of the crop. Fitting, he thought - but too light for his muscles. His gaze travelled on, over the crops and floggers and settled on the one that was pictured in his mind. It was a black leather-wrapped handle, half the length of his forearm, thirty millimetres in diameter, a splay of thick, soft leather strips, 15 millimetres wide.

He stood to her side and dropped the leather strips across the small of her back, watching the ripple of muscles under her skin as she shivered at the touch. Fine gooseflesh prickled across her skin as he took his time, feeling the distance, judging the angles and noting how she pushed her ass outwards, knowing why.

She shivered as the leather landed on her skin, her breath caught and released at the touch, knowing that the moment when she would know the man's intentions would come in the next touch of the leather on her skin. Her head turned as she glanced discreetly sideways through her cascade of hair, took in his legs, feet ...