back—her beautiful, unscarred back—I grinned as goose bumps rose on her skin. I swept her hair over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck.
“Do you want me to flog you on your knees or the Saint Andrew’s Cross?” I whispered into her hair.
“Whichever you prefer, Master,” she murmured.
“Good girl.” I took my hand off her shoulder and took a step back. “Stand facing the cross.”
She did so without hesitation. In her early days as a sub, she was apprehensive about bondage, but that apprehension was long gone. She surrendered one hand, then the other, passively allowing me to bring them up and fasten them into the leather restraints. No held breath, no straightening of her spine, no stiffness in her wrists. Nothing but total, relaxed surrender.
Once her hands were bound, she flexed her fingers and wrists, fidgeting a little as she got comfortable.
“Is anything too tight?” I asked.
“No, Master.”
I knelt beside her, running my hand down her thigh, over her knee, and along her calf. She pulled in a breath as I wound the thick leather restraint around her ankle. Holding it together, not yet buckling it, I looked up at her. She’d closed her eyes, though not tightly, and curled her fingers into loose fists. It had been a long time since she’d panicked from being bound, but I was cautious nonetheless.
“Doing okay?”
“Yes, Master.” The hint of a slur in her voice brought a grin to my lips. I hadn’t even brought out the flogger, and she was already slipping into the very earliest stages of subspace. The endorphins from the pain would drive her all the way there, but she’d done this so many times, her mind and body were conditioned to react just to this routine of undressing and being bound.
Resting my hands on her hips, I dropped a light kiss on her back, just above her tattoo. She gasped. Another kiss, another gasp. I trailed featherlight kisses up the length of her spine, my own breath threatening to catch whenever hers did. By the time I reached her neck, she squirmed against her restraints, but her immobility didn’t make her panic. Good. Very good.
I warmed her up with a soft flogger. All thud, no sting, just to get her started. When her skin had just begun to turn a faint shade of pink, I switched to her favorite flogger. This one had shorter, thinner tails than the other, and I could give her that perfect balance between thud and sting, just the way she liked it.
I swung it in a steady figure-eight pattern, bringing the tails down on her right side, then her left, then right again. The rhythmic movements and percussive strikes mesmerized me as much as her soft moans aroused me. The first few hits made her jump a little. Something resembling a flinch, but it was merely an instinctive response. Once mind and body got used to my rhythm, she barely moved except swaying to either side as if dancing to the beat of leather on skin.
After a few minutes, I stopped and tucked the flogger under my arm as I stepped toward her. I reached up and touched one hand, then the other. Her fingers were still warm, so her circulation was still okay.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
She didn’t even open her eyes. She licked her lips, then murmured, “I’m fine, Master.”
I kissed between her shoulder blades, grinning when she shivered. “Do you want me to continue?”
“If that’s what you want, Master.”
“Good girl.”
I stepped back and started again. As I flogged her, she shifted a little, and leather creaked in protest. I continued with my steady strokes; she hadn’t panicked, she was only adjusting her position as much as the bindings allowed. I watched for signs of even the slightest hesitation or an impending freak-out, but those signs didn’t come.
There was a time when this scared her. Panic had once driven her to her knees in tears at the foot of the Saint Andrew’s Cross. With time, though, she’d faced the Cross again and overcome the claustrophobia that
“Do you want me to flog you on your knees or the Saint Andrew’s Cross?” I whispered into her hair.
“Whichever you prefer, Master,” she murmured.
“Good girl.” I took my hand off her shoulder and took a step back. “Stand facing the cross.”
She did so without hesitation. In her early days as a sub, she was apprehensive about bondage, but that apprehension was long gone. She surrendered one hand, then the other, passively allowing me to bring them up and fasten them into the leather restraints. No held breath, no straightening of her spine, no stiffness in her wrists. Nothing but total, relaxed surrender.
Once her hands were bound, she flexed her fingers and wrists, fidgeting a little as she got comfortable.
“Is anything too tight?” I asked.
“No, Master.”
I knelt beside her, running my hand down her thigh, over her knee, and along her calf. She pulled in a breath as I wound the thick leather restraint around her ankle. Holding it together, not yet buckling it, I looked up at her. She’d closed her eyes, though not tightly, and curled her fingers into loose fists. It had been a long time since she’d panicked from being bound, but I was cautious nonetheless.
“Doing okay?”
“Yes, Master.” The hint of a slur in her voice brought a grin to my lips. I hadn’t even brought out the flogger, and she was already slipping into the very earliest stages of subspace. The endorphins from the pain would drive her all the way there, but she’d done this so many times, her mind and body were conditioned to react just to this routine of undressing and being bound.
Resting my hands on her hips, I dropped a light kiss on her back, just above her tattoo. She gasped. Another kiss, another gasp. I trailed featherlight kisses up the length of her spine, my own breath threatening to catch whenever hers did. By the time I reached her neck, she squirmed against her restraints, but her immobility didn’t make her panic. Good. Very good.
I warmed her up with a soft flogger. All thud, no sting, just to get her started. When her skin had just begun to turn a faint shade of pink, I switched to her favorite flogger. This one had shorter, thinner tails than the other, and I could give her that perfect balance between thud and sting, just the way she liked it.
I swung it in a steady figure-eight pattern, bringing the tails down on her right side, then her left, then right again. The rhythmic movements and percussive strikes mesmerized me as much as her soft moans aroused me. The first few hits made her jump a little. Something resembling a flinch, but it was merely an instinctive response. Once mind and body got used to my rhythm, she barely moved except swaying to either side as if dancing to the beat of leather on skin.
After a few minutes, I stopped and tucked the flogger under my arm as I stepped toward her. I reached up and touched one hand, then the other. Her fingers were still warm, so her circulation was still okay.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
She didn’t even open her eyes. She licked her lips, then murmured, “I’m fine, Master.”
I kissed between her shoulder blades, grinning when she shivered. “Do you want me to continue?”
“If that’s what you want, Master.”
“Good girl.”
I stepped back and started again. As I flogged her, she shifted a little, and leather creaked in protest. I continued with my steady strokes; she hadn’t panicked, she was only adjusting her position as much as the bindings allowed. I watched for signs of even the slightest hesitation or an impending freak-out, but those signs didn’t come.
There was a time when this scared her. Panic had once driven her to her knees in tears at the foot of the Saint Andrew’s Cross. With time, though, she’d faced the Cross again and overcome the claustrophobia that
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