natural-looking. Rubber. “It’s good for making things more sting-y. If you like that kind of thing.”
“And what do you like?”
“I’m more of a thud girl myself, but depending on my mood or how skillful my partner is, I can enjoy some sting.”
“Well, then, Little Miss Know-It-All, what should I use?”
She drags a manicured hand through the floggers, her perfectly painted fingertips swishing through the falls. It looks so sensual I wish it was my skin she was caressing instead of some inanimate leather that’s not going to appreciate it. She picks out one from the rack, hefting it in her hand. I can’t help wrinkling my nose because it doesn’t look particularly badass. There’s some black, but mostly the falls are silver and bright blue. It looks like it could be a prop on the set of a Star Trek porno.
Apparently I don’t relax my features well enough before she turns around. “Don’t be a dick. This is a good length for you, it’s well-balanced, and it would be near-impossible to really hurt me with it. Besides, it matches my outfit.”
I have to laugh. Pressly the fashion plate. Of course she’d want the goddamn flogger to match her outfit. “Fair enough.”
She holds it out to me, and I take it, the handle heavier than I would’ve thought. But she’s right. It feels good in my hand, the braided leather lending it a good grip, and if I can ignore the sparkle, she’s made a good choice. Probably better than I would’ve made for myself. I flick it through the air experimentally, and yeah, I can imagine how the impact of the falls hitting flesh will feel through my hand and up my arm.
“What do you think?”
“Good choice, Sprite.”
She preens under my praise and curtsies, and fuck if that doesn’t make me hard.
“Then let’s get started. First, you’re going to give me a demo of what Rey’s taught you.” She leads me over to a wall and gestures at it. “Show me what you got, hotshot.”
I feel a little intimidated because I haven’t done this much and she clearly has not only been with a bunch of people who know what they’re doing, but is also well-schooled in her own right. But Pressly’s not like me; she’s nice. She might correct me if I’m screwing up, but she’s not going to be a dick about it.
So I draw my arm back and then bring it forward with a flick of my wrist to let the falls hit the painted surface. There’s a satisfying thwack and she nods. “Not bad for a newbie, Hale.”
I’m proud of her compliment, but I wish she wouldn’t call me Hale. That’s for people who don’t know any better, who I don’t want to know any better.
She urges me to give a few more strokes, so I do, getting more confident as I go. Finally, she tells me to stop. “Wouldn’t want you getting worn out before we get to the good part, would we?”
All I can do is shake my head. That’s when she turns around and says, “Could you help me with this?”
Help her with what?
A slightly exasperated Pressly looks over her shoulder. “I don’t seem to remember you having any problems taking my clothes off. Are you out of practice?”
I grunt my response as I reach for her corset strings because I don’t want to admit that, yeah, I’m out of practice. Taking the strings between my fingers, I tug, and it takes a little work to get them to unfurl in my hands. Then I work at loosening the laces. They’re not done tight, but Press still takes a deep breath when I’ve undone them and then shimmies it over her head.
My wife is topless. I want to spin her around, see her, and touch her, but that is so not allowed. All I can do is watch as her hands circle behind her back and unhitch the stiff tutu, sliding it off her hips and onto the floor, leaving her in a bright blue garter belt and panties with silver spangly garters that hold up her sheer black stockings.
The woman is clearly trying to kill me. Her hotness should be considered a lethal weapon.
“Don’t look at me like
“And what do you like?”
“I’m more of a thud girl myself, but depending on my mood or how skillful my partner is, I can enjoy some sting.”
“Well, then, Little Miss Know-It-All, what should I use?”
She drags a manicured hand through the floggers, her perfectly painted fingertips swishing through the falls. It looks so sensual I wish it was my skin she was caressing instead of some inanimate leather that’s not going to appreciate it. She picks out one from the rack, hefting it in her hand. I can’t help wrinkling my nose because it doesn’t look particularly badass. There’s some black, but mostly the falls are silver and bright blue. It looks like it could be a prop on the set of a Star Trek porno.
Apparently I don’t relax my features well enough before she turns around. “Don’t be a dick. This is a good length for you, it’s well-balanced, and it would be near-impossible to really hurt me with it. Besides, it matches my outfit.”
I have to laugh. Pressly the fashion plate. Of course she’d want the goddamn flogger to match her outfit. “Fair enough.”
She holds it out to me, and I take it, the handle heavier than I would’ve thought. But she’s right. It feels good in my hand, the braided leather lending it a good grip, and if I can ignore the sparkle, she’s made a good choice. Probably better than I would’ve made for myself. I flick it through the air experimentally, and yeah, I can imagine how the impact of the falls hitting flesh will feel through my hand and up my arm.
“What do you think?”
“Good choice, Sprite.”
She preens under my praise and curtsies, and fuck if that doesn’t make me hard.
“Then let’s get started. First, you’re going to give me a demo of what Rey’s taught you.” She leads me over to a wall and gestures at it. “Show me what you got, hotshot.”
I feel a little intimidated because I haven’t done this much and she clearly has not only been with a bunch of people who know what they’re doing, but is also well-schooled in her own right. But Pressly’s not like me; she’s nice. She might correct me if I’m screwing up, but she’s not going to be a dick about it.
So I draw my arm back and then bring it forward with a flick of my wrist to let the falls hit the painted surface. There’s a satisfying thwack and she nods. “Not bad for a newbie, Hale.”
I’m proud of her compliment, but I wish she wouldn’t call me Hale. That’s for people who don’t know any better, who I don’t want to know any better.
She urges me to give a few more strokes, so I do, getting more confident as I go. Finally, she tells me to stop. “Wouldn’t want you getting worn out before we get to the good part, would we?”
All I can do is shake my head. That’s when she turns around and says, “Could you help me with this?”
Help her with what?
A slightly exasperated Pressly looks over her shoulder. “I don’t seem to remember you having any problems taking my clothes off. Are you out of practice?”
I grunt my response as I reach for her corset strings because I don’t want to admit that, yeah, I’m out of practice. Taking the strings between my fingers, I tug, and it takes a little work to get them to unfurl in my hands. Then I work at loosening the laces. They’re not done tight, but Press still takes a deep breath when I’ve undone them and then shimmies it over her head.
My wife is topless. I want to spin her around, see her, and touch her, but that is so not allowed. All I can do is watch as her hands circle behind her back and unhitch the stiff tutu, sliding it off her hips and onto the floor, leaving her in a bright blue garter belt and panties with silver spangly garters that hold up her sheer black stockings.
The woman is clearly trying to kill me. Her hotness should be considered a lethal weapon.
“Don’t look at me like
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