The Lash 2

As you come in I force you to look me in the eye. I want you to see the animal heat that lives there. That heat that you bring from a deep place. All through dinner I keep my hand just above your knee. Occasionally I will drag my fingernails, just to keep your attention. I stare at you. I let off waves of lust and need as I watch the pulse flutter in your throat and around the corner of your eyes. I can smell your desire. I can feel the heat from your center on the backs of my knuckles.

Once the meal is finished I move to my big comfy chair. I tell you to stand so that I can take you all in. I run through my mental checklist to make sure you wore what I told you. To make sure your hair is just right the way I like it. I order you to strip down to your bra and panties. Slowly I don't want to rush my anticipation.

I tell you to fold your clothes and set them on the couch. We are going to need uncluttered work space. I stand up slowly. I allow my need to be made plain in my face. I let my authority surround you like a warm safe cloud. I circle you as you stand there trembling. I follow the tremble from your neck to your breasts and down your belly to your thighs. I smile wolfishly.

With surprising quickness I have a hand on your shoulder firmly, my knee slightly moving into the back of yours. My grin broadens as I see you brought to your knees. I slowly remove my shirt. I reach behind me onto a small table and grab a soft tailed flogger. I rest it on your shoulder as I circle to the front of you. I look down at you.

I allow you to make eye contact. You blush. I can feel your need to worship, the need to let it all go, the need to give it all away. I order you to remove your bra. My eyes glued to you as I see your breasts freed from their confinement. My hand reaching down slowly, I grip your left nipple between my fingers and slowly twist and pull.

I see you shiver and grit against the pain. It makes me chuckle to see you this way. A deep throaty chuckle. I order you to tell me what you have done wrong today and to beg for punishment. I listen as the tears begin to stream down your face from fear of my disappointment in your actions. I move to the back of you. I lift the flogger from your shoulder.

I rare back my arm and let fly. A soft thud almost makes me lose my composure. I hold it back. I revel in it. I strike again from a slightly different angle. A random warm up pattern that prepares your back for your actual punishment, I hear your litany of confession interspersed with soft moans and the sucking in of your breath. I growl, a low threatening predatory growl. I hold it back. You are not ready. I reach down with my hands. Quietly they travel over the slight red skin, the softest touch so as not to interrupt the heat. Your litany is unbroken although I can see your thighs beginning to squirm and shake. I set the doe flogger down and reach for the next.

I order you to kiss the thick bull hide, to tell me this is what you need. This is the only way for you to be absolved. I am the priest of your penance. The righteous punishment you beg for. This is devotion. This is your offering to me. I move behind you. I lift my arm. I strike.

CRACK

The thick red lines accompanied by the loud thud cause you to arch your back.

Your litany stopped for just a second. That thick shell you wear around like armor almost ready to weaken. I hold it back. I revel in it. I watch as you return to your position. I quickly move my arm and let fly.

CRACK

The thick red lines are exactly next to the first. Right where I want them.

I can hear the tears beginning. your litany becoming a begging rant for forgiveness. I continue to methodically create a maze along your spine. each thud and crack given with love. Your litany begins to wind down. I can feel you trying to float out of your shell. I stop. I offer you a glass of water.

I sit in my chair and watch you. The tears running down your cheeks causing me to become enraged in my arousal. The heat coursing through my body. I can't tell if your panties are sodden with your wetness or the tears. I find either option suits me. I watch as your hands shake while you drink. Your eyes looking at me with adoration even while you try not to make eye contact. This is devotion. This is worship. Every line of your body cries out your service. Every moan is a hymn. This is devotion...