She stomped around him in a half-circle, turning back and forth, examining him from every angle. His arms were tense, locked and holding him out from the wall. His legs spread wide, the thighs pulled tight as the muscles stretched to keep him in the unnatural position. His head was down as he watched her boots move from one side to the other.
She dragged the end of the flogger up his thigh, and held it just under his cock. He raised up on his toes, then sighed and lowered himself reluctantly, bracing himself against the wall. She pushed his cock from side to side with the leather end, and licked her lips. Her voice was a low, sultry whisper. “Tonight, your safeword is… I want to watch Antiques Roadshow with you.”
He groaned, and turned his head to look at her with a frown. “What if Antiques Roadshow isn’t on, oh Mistress of Mistresses?”
She put her free hand on her chest and thrust it towards him. Another deep throated whisper, Jessica Rabbit after a quart of whiskey and carton of cigarettes. “Oh my, then I guess you’re off the hook. My poor feminine brain couldn’t have possibly DVR-ed six hours worth last week.” She threw in an exaggerated flounce that ended in a pout and mauled her breasts with one hand while she tapped her temple with the crop. “Machines are hard, and I’m just a girl.”
He shook his head. “We’ve talked about the DVR co-topping before, it’s not cool.” Then finally nodded. “But I guess for tonight, although I’m not sure I can imagine a torture worse than that show.”
She laughed and shook her hands to limber them up. “Challenge accepted.” She stepped to one side and lined the crop up with his ass cheeks, then pulled it back. “Knock knock?”
He paused for a second, then slowly, softly asked, “Who’s there?”
“Please beat my ass with the crop.”
He closed his eyes so she couldn’t see them roll upward, and shifted his hips slightly. “Please beat my ass with the crop who?”
The leather slapped into his ass with a whack, leaving a small square of red skin behind that quickly faded. “Please beat my ass with the crop ma’am.”
Silence. She waited, while he breathed and waited for another stroke. Finally, she tapped the end of the crop against her leg. “You didn’t laugh. Wasn’t it funny? Maybe I told it wrong.”
He gave a weak, “Heh heh, very funny ma’am. I was laughing on the inside before.”
“And now you’re humoring me. Wait a minute, I did tell it wrong.” She walked over to the drawer and came back with the heavy wooden paddle. “Knock knock?”
He grimaced and took a deep breath. “Who’s there?”
“Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle.”
A heartbeat before he replied as he closed his eyes and exhaled. “Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle who?”
“Please beat my ass with the heavy wooden paddle ma’am.” It crashed into him, hard, on the last word and he jerked his hips, clenching his jaw and trying to figure out how to ask for warmup.
“You’re still not laughing. Guess I’m still not telling it right.”
He made laughing noises that he hoped sounded sincere as she walked back across the room, and came back with the single-tail.
She carefully judged the distance, and let the whip uncoil. “Knock knock.”
He took a few deep breaths, and fixed his gaze forward. “Who’s there?”
“Please single tail me.”
“Please single tail me who?”
“Please.” A crack and a splat punctuated each word, the leather end uncoiling towards him and hitting him across the shoulder blades. “Single.” Crack-splat. “Tail.” Crack-splat. “Me.” Crack-splat. “Ma’am.” She kept going this time, throwing the whip at him, leaving little scarlet traces of pain on his body.
He tried to breathe in time with her strokes, in as she aimed and threw, out as the pain seared across his flesh. He wondered how long it would go on, and considered his safeword then rejected it. His eyes rolled up into his head and he tried to think of something funny.
The pain built as his mind replayed scenes from The Three Stooges and The Marx Brothers, trying to build up a genuine laugh. Each one disappeared in a flash as the whip hit his body, flickering to another that also disappeared. He kept trying to laugh, and failing, as pain and her presence disrupted his thoughts.
Finally, his thoughts tripped over themselves and into a drive across town with her. A woman on the right running from her apartment building, arms pumping and legs flailing for no apparent reason. Her breasts heaving, looking for all the world like she was desperately chasing them down the sidewalk with the intensity of an Olympic sprinter. Something so totally unexpected that it had jolted both of them into sudden, hysterical, paralyzing laughter.
A snort escaped his lips, and he slumped a little as he started helplessly laughing. She paused, her eyes narrowed, then grinned and nodded. He couldn’t stop laughing, and she eventually chuckled along with him then put the whip down and walked over to hug him from behind. “Come on jerkface, I guess I can watch Roadshow tomorrow while you’re out.”
Preview: “Are you sure you’re qualified to do this?”
Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.
Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.