Please understand that even though I write this as an example of what could happen, there's no way for me to know. I have to come to you when you call me, kneel if you tell me to kneel, succumb to any request, no matter how dirty or degrading. When you tell me to take off my clothes, I have to remove them however you tell me to do so: slowly, one button at a time, or quickly, just ripping them off. You make the choice, and I obey. (Except for the black high heels. They stay on. Because I know that's what you like.)
There might be a blindfold, too. Or even a stool. But not the bed. No, not yet. You want me to pose, standing there, on display for you. You might tell me to clasp my hands behind my neck, or behind my back, so I am standing before you, stripped and completely vulnerable. Or you might just tie my hands together. Or maybe you would tie my hands to the top of the four-poster bed frame, but not allow me enough room to sit or kneel. I am at your mercy.
This is where the riding crop comes in. I imagine you stroking my breasts with the tongue of the crop in a slow, up and down motion, then in circles, just lightly enough to make my skin tingle. Then, when you see how I respond to the light touch of the leather, you slap my nipples with the crop tongue. Oh, yes, you slap them, again and again, and alternately stroke them tenderly, until my nipples are rock hard; I cry out, and you tell me to be silent. But you aren't finished with my nipples. While they are still swollen and erect you lick them, and suck them, and bite them, oh, so hard, until I want to scream. (But you told me not to make a sound, so I won't. I moan until you tell me, again, to be quiet and still.)
You slap my nipples with the crop over and over, sometimes stopping to rub them with your fingers. My hands are tied loosely in front of me, but I am unable to protect myself from your ministrations as you have pushed my arms to my sides and told me to be still. Occasionally you put your fingers in my mouth and wipe the moisture on my nipple, and then blow on it to make it even harder. Then you bring the crop down on it again, making me wince with pain. When you think I've had enough, you back away. You have also chosen the blindfold, so I can't see what you're doing. I can hear the hardware of your belt buckle, so I know you must be getting undressed. I hear your clothing being tossed aside, and guess that you are now naked, as I am naked before you. Time stands still as I try to guess what you are going to do next. I am straining to hear you, but somehow I miss your steps moving behind me.
I hear the air moving for a split second before the crop slams into my ass, hard, and then repeats. I cry out, and then stop myself. Too late. You scold me a third time for making a noise, and this time you make me pay with a hard spanking. You strike the tongue of the crop onto my ass, and then you realize that if you use the shaft, it works even better. Something inside you begins to shift, and you realize your power over me. You become mesmerized by the red welts that appear on my backside, and you move the crop to change the pattern. I wonder if you are aroused, if your cock is hard, if it is throbbing as much as my ass.
When you stop the spanking, you put your hand on my ass, feeling the heat from the marks you left there. You slowly move in front of me and trace the crop from my shoulder, to my cleavage, then down to my stomach -- oh, so very slowly, teasing me. And then you tell me to spread my legs. My body breaks out in gooseflesh with the anticipation of your crop play. I move my stiletto-heeled feet slightly apart, and you slide the crop between my legs and whisper for me to open them farther. You use the shaft to push my thighs apart, and before you pull it away, you grind the braided leather over my clit, making me gasp. When you are finally satisfied that you can easily reach my cunt, you tell me what a good girl I am. You lightly trace the crop up and down my inner thighs, while I struggle to stay standing, because I am absolutely quivering in eagerness. You draw the crop away from my thighs, and with precision, you slap it, hard, on the lips of my pussy. Once, twice, three times, inflicting my clit with intense pain, then abruptly stop. You stroke the inside of my thighs with it once more, teasing and playing. And then you slap the crop into me again. You repeat this process until my breathing becomes ragged and I am whimpering. I am wondering if the sound of my weakness is adding to the intensity of your arousal. I am imagining you, your naked body glistening with sweat, your breathing shallow with excitement, your cock stiff and hard as you reduce me a trembling and willing receptacle.
