Under the Lash

With a satisfying tug, Lacey tightens the final knot and steps away to admire her handiwork; me. She’s somewhere behind me so I can’t see her, but I can feel her eyes all over me, taking me in, relishing the moment. I arch my back to accentuate my curves.

I’m standing beneath the eye hook that we installed in the ceiling a few months ago. Normally, there’s a plant hanging from it in a macrame basket, but today, the green vines are discarded and I’m suspended from the hook. My hands are tied together above my head, silky rope fibers smooth against the sensitive skin of my wrists. Naked, I shiver in the cool air and goosebumps rise along my arms and shoulders.

I shift from foot to foot, breathe through my nose, and settle into the discomfort. There is nothing more for me to do but to be patient and wait. Wait for the game to start.

“Are you ready to begin?” my partner asks, her voice closer than I realized.

Arousal flickers in my core at her question. I swallow and nod.

Footsteps scuff against the floor and Lacey comes back into my view. I meet her gaze under my arm and catch my breath. She’s an inch shorter than I am with striking gray irises and close-cut brown hair. Her broad waist and thick arms are accentuated by the black tank top she wears, and I can’t control my eyes as they drop to the flog that she grips in her right hand.

It’s my favorite. A tapered wooden handle painted robin's egg blue with wide, draping strips of leather, dyed the same color, that swish with every motion of her wrist. I watch the fluttering tail knowing that it doesn’t feel as light as it looks, that her ease with the instrument contradicts its actual heft.

Taking me by the chin, firmly but without force, Lacey gets my attention again. “Until we’re done, you’ll call me ma’am. Do you remember our safe word?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, quick to follow her rules. My breath is already coming heavier. Anticipation makes my legs weak and if it weren’t for the restraints my knees might buckle right then and there.

“Good girl, Erika.”

Hearing her praise sends buzzing shooting out to my fingertips and toes, making my sex swell and my pulse crescendo. She steps away and I can hear the whispering strands of the flog.

“Let’s see how high you can count for me.” Her tone lowers, becomes firm, and the room feels like it grows darker. “Ask for one lash.”

I try to keep my voice from shaking as I repeat, “May I have one lash, ma’am?”

My question is answered with a whoosh of air, the snap of leather against bare skin, and red heat blossoming across my shoulders. Pain follows a heartbeat later, stinging and sharp. The breath hitches in my chest and I don't even feel the chilly air anymore.

Lacey’s voice is so low I can barely hear it over the rush of blood in my ears. “Would you like to ask for another?”

This time the request spills from my lips, clear and confident. “Please, ma’am, may I have a second lash?”

Her whip whistles as it hurdles, striking my back like a meteor crashing into the surface of a planet. The wetness between my thighs increases and I long for friction there. I sink and let the ropes hold my weight as a moan escapes from deep in my throat.

Unexpectedly, I feel the handle of the whip between my legs, pressing upwards against my sensitive, aching vulva. “No slouching,” Lacey warns.

I want to remain straddled on the handle, to grind against the smooth shaft and receive some relief from the shattering desire taking hold of me. I fight to stay focused and I put my weight back on my feet, knowing the rewards for obeying Lacey's commands are far more satisfying than any temporary indulgence.

The flog is withdrawn and I bite my bottom lip to stifle a disappointed whimper. Past lessons from Lacey have taught me that she doesn’t appreciate it when I’m impatient, so I remain silent and focus on the sweet throbbing of the welts raised across my back to return to the proper headspace.

A light touch, so delicate I think it must be an insect, crawls in lazy looping trails down my back. It's the tip of the whip handle that Lacey is dragging across my flesh.

She traces it down the length of my arm, tickling my rib cage before bringing it around to my breast. My nipples harden, I arch towards the grip as it circles my areola making the skin pucker and dimple. My lips are apart, gasping indulgently, loudly, as I tug against the ropes, desperate to beg for more, not wanting to break just yet.

The smooth, polished finish of the wood is cool in contrast to the sweat beading on my body and the smarting skin of my back. I close my eyes and see only robin’s egg blue; imagining ice caves and a crisp, spring, morning sky. The whip handle leaves a trail of comfort and attentiveness in winding, wandering paths.

“Are you through with our game already?”

With the heady proximity of Lacey's voice in my ear, I slip back into reality, an urgent need filling me from head to toe once again. “No, ma'am,” I say. “I can count higher.”

“What comes after two?”

Her question is enough to make me teeter at the edge again. My response is half words, half groan, “Please ma’am, may I have a third lash?”

I brace, awaiting the lash’s contact, but Lacey doesn’t fulfill my request right away. She pauses the space of a few seconds, savoring my tensed and ready body. When she does strike, the sting of the leather is even more intense than before and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out. Tears build at the corners of my eyes as I squeeze them shut, my hands ball into fists overhead, and I love every moment of it.

“I think that's enough pain for now,” Lacey says. “Good behavior deserves a reward.”

I hear a muted click and the whirr of a vibrator erupts. Squirming with anticipation and longing, desperate for more stimulation, I can’t stop myself from moaning, “Oh, god yes.”

Lacey laughs, unable to help breaking character at my anguish. She stands directly behind me, spooning my ass against her body and cupping one of my breasts with her hand. Slowly, she rolls the tip of my nipple between her fingers and holds the vibrator out where I can see it. Hot pink silicone trembling in the air.

“Is this what you want, Erika?”

“Yes please, ma’am.”

She tenderly kisses the welts across my shoulder, blowing to cool my hot skin. “Then feel free to cum whenever you’re ready.” Lacey murmurs in my ear. “Spread your legs for me.”

I hurry to do as she asks and step out wide. She drops her hand from my breast and uses her first two fingers to pull back the lips of my labia, exposing my throbbing clit. Placing the vibrator against my sternum, she drags it along my body with a slowness that is more excruciating than any of the blows she dealt me earlier. Down my stomach, over my navel, tracing the outward curve of my lower abdomen.

The second it touches my sex I go rigid. I hang on to the rope around my wrists, lifting up onto my tiptoes, overwhelmed with waves of pleasure rippling out from my core. All efforts to remain calm and composed are gone. I cry out, gasp, and groan, tumbling towards the edge of orgasm.

Just when I feel myself about to release, the vibrator inches away, leaving me unsatisfied. I thrust my hips forward, fighting my restraints to try and attain the trembling tip once again, but the toy stays just beyond my reach. My partner is teasing me.

I swallow the curse that rises to my lips, the words demanding that she let me finish. Instead, I remember my manners, I keep playing the game. Otherwise, Lacey is the type who would make me start all over.

“Please…ma’am…” I say in between gasps, “I’m ready now.”

The next moment, the vibrator is back where I want it, buried deep just below my clitoris. I cum instantly. My eyes close, stars exploding behind my lids, and my mouth opens wide for one last scream of ecstasy. Twisting my hips, I buck and shake with sweet relief, finding every angle to satisfy my arousal.

When I’m done, I feel exhausted and elated all at once. I take deep breaths and open my eyes. Lacey takes her hand away from between my legs, switches off the vibrator, and steps in front of me. Before she unties my wrists, she leans in and kisses my lips, long and gratefully. The kiss would have excited me all over again if I hadn’t just spent myself so fully a few moments before.

“Well done,” she praises.

Reaching up, she pulls the knot free and my arms drop to my sides. Lacey reaches for me again, this time taking my hands and kissing the deep indents left by the ropes. “Let’s get you into a warm bath,” she says.

We walk side-by-side towards the bathroom where I know candles, wine, and lavender scented bubbles await us. “When am I going to get to take care of you?” I ask. “Before or after our bath?”

Lacey looks back at me with a smile on her lips and a hunger, barely masked by the twinkle in her eyes, and says, “Why not during?”