The sun was getting low on the horizon, visible as an orange-red half-circle sitting on the darkening blue of the Pacific. He reached his hand out to her and she smiled and she took it. "Come," he said, "this way."
They walked slowly and in silence, barefoot in the fine, white sand of O'ahu's North Shore, hand-in-hand. The warmth of the setting sun radiated against their bodies as the trade winds provided a cool and welcome counterbalance, a pleasant yin and yang that added a lovely sensation to the passionately-charged atmosphere between them.
He led her to the makai side of the beach, away from the water by the treeline, in the shade of a particularly graceful coconut palm where they could continue to watch the sun as it disappeared into the ocean, its resting place for the night. She squinted into the shade, her eyes adjusting from the bright setting sun. There was a blanket already spread under the tree, and a picnic basket. Behind the blanket were three tiki torches, plunged into the sand. "Sit," he said simply, and she giddily dropped onto the blanket as he lit the torches one by one. She closed her eyes to listen to the sound of the waves pounding the shore, turning her face toward the warmth of the lit torches.
He smiled as he turned and joined her on the blanket "God I love the way your face glows in this light." Her face felt hot, blushing at his attention, and she shyly looked down at the blanket. He reached into the basket and pulled out a bottle of wine; after uncorking and pouring into two glasses a deep, gem-colored red, he offered a toast: "You've slipped under my skin, invaded my blood, and seized my heart. I am as much yours as you are mine." They clinked glasses and her head swam, taking in his words as she sipped from her glass. Could this man really be hers? She knew she belonged to him, heart, soul, and mind. He was the man worthy of her utter devotion, and she gave it to him gladly. Her deepest desire was to possess his heart in return, and she could scarcely believe the words she was hearing. Her reverie was interrupted by his question: "Do you remember your safe word?"
She nodded, "Pineapple."
"Good girl," he replied as he stood and offered her his hand. Startled by the apparent change in atmosphere, she wondered what he could possibly have in mind.
He pulled her to a stand, used his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face away from him, and gently guided her up against the trunk of the coconut palm. "Do you trust me, baby girl?" She nodded as she felt his breath on the back of her neck. "Good. I will always keep you safe. Understood?" Again she nodded. "Strip for me, I want to inspect what's mine." She slowly and shyly untied her bikini top, hoping the beach remained as deserted as it had been since they arrived, then removed the rest of her clothing, still facing the tree trunk. She trembled as she wondered what was coming next, but didn't have to wait long.
He took her right wrist and bound it with rope, the type found on sailboat riggings so common on the island, then repeated on her left wrist. He then pulled her arms over her head and secured them tightly to the tree trunk with the rope, high enough that she could barely keep her heels on the ground. It was uncomfortable but she remained silent, trusting him to keep his property safe and undamaged. He paced back and forth behind her; she could feel his eyes examining every inch of her, and heard a satisfied grunt before once again feeling his hot breath on her neck. "I'm going to mark my beautiful back," he whispered, "and you will not cry out. Understood? You will feel my whip on your skin, but it will feel pleasant to you. Arouse you. It will make your pussy wet, and you will beg me to let you come. Is that clear, my girl?"
"Yes Daddy," she said quietly, already straining against her tight ropes.
"Good." She loved it when he whispered wicked things into her ear, the thoughts it conjured in her mind sent gooseflesh down her arms and legs as she continued to tremble.
It was now fully dark as he stepped back from her to gather his implements. The only light, the flickering of the tiki torches from a few feet away.
The first blow came as a shock; the only warning a high-pitched whistle a split second before she felt the sting of his single-tail whip. It landed squarely on her right shoulder blade and she flinched, and before she had a second to recover, the next landed in the middle of her back, and the next on her left shoulder, blows landing one after another, about two every second, tiny stings marked only by the air whistling past the whip and the sharpness each time it landed. Within seconds, she barely felt each individual blow, the sensation replaced by a spreading warmth across her back.
