Page 74 of The Naughty List

He starts with gentle crop slaps on my thighs to warm them up, the speed of his slaps increasing into a barrage that spreads up and down, giving a blissful burn. He begins the sharper lashes amongst the taps, HARD, soft, soft, HARD, unpredictable. He uses the full length of my thighs, but stays just shy of my pussy, which has me reeling, because I want the tap of a crop on my clit so bad, I could scream.

I’m not at all prepared when he strikes my stomach and works his way up my rib cage. There are less taps now as he uses my flesh – just pure solid swipes with the crop. My hands are in tight fists as I try to enjoy the pain, but I’m struggling, crying out with every strike.

It’s like he can read me as he looks into my eyes.

He nudges my nipple clamps with the end of the crop and I moan fresh, squirming. He presses the tip against one of my swollen tits for aim and then raises it high to strike me. Fuck, how I flinch, knowing it will hurt like hell – but he’s only playing with me.

“Good,” he says. “Always be ready to expect the unexpected.”

He does slap my tits with the crop, but not with a belter. Each strike is carefully positioned, just hard enough to leave a stripe of white amidst the deep pink swelling. His taps are so much more intense on sensitive flesh, and I suck in deeper breaths, clenching my bruising thighs together.

I have no choice, because it’s so tender, it’s just too fucking good.

“NO!” he barks, and then rains punishment down on me. Heavy hard blows across my thighs until I’m crying out, shuffling them back apart for him. My heart is pounding right through my head.

“You will never take pleasure without my permission, is that understood?”

I nod. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I don’t give many chances. Next time your punishment will be significantly worse.”

“I understand, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Time to get you moved,” he says, and unclips the cuffs above my head. My wrists are aching, and time is already lost to me. I have no idea how long we’ve been playing, but I’m already dazed.

“Have a drink,” he says, and offers me water direct from a glass. I take several sips with athank you, Sir.It’s a welcome relief.

“On your front, please,” he says and pats the flogging bench.

I climb up gingerly, the clamps burning my nipples and pussy lips as he buckles my wrists and ankles to the frame. My tits fit perfectly over the front ledge, and every bounce will be magnificent in its wonder, setting me on fire with the pain.

Or so I think, until he lands the first heavy smack of a paddle against my ass cheeks with no warning whatsoever. I jolt forward, with a curse, but he doesn’t hold back, keeping up a heavy stream of blows that have me gritting my teeth, trying to stay quiet.

I’m fighting it. The natural response.

My arms are tense in my bonds, and my legs are straining against the cuffs, but he doesn’t slow down, or ease up, just smacks the same smarting flesh over and over, until my self-restraint loses its power.

My first whimper of pain sounds like a mewl, it’s so pathetic, but it opens the floodgates for more. Tiny whimpers turn to yelps, but my squirming makes no difference, he pelts me right the way across my ass and down my thighs without mercy, so fucking steady I’m fearing every strike.

“Don’t fight it,” he says. “Accept your submission.”

I nod amongst the yelps, but I can’t accept it without struggling. My body just isn’t there yet. My heart is thumping, and my bruising tits are bouncing back against the flogging bench and I’m sure I’m shaking all over, but he still keeps going. Keeps hitting me to the rhythm. And every time I think I’m coming to accept it, he changes position, or hits me harder, driving me closer and closer to an imaginary brink. The cliff keeps moving. The adrenaline keeps spiking.

“I’m not going to stop until you accept your submission,” he tells me.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, but it’s brain over body, holding onto the fight, even though I don’t want to. Giving up isn’t easy. My body doesn’t want to comply.

I flinch when he rubs his palm over my ass cheeks, and that simple touch makes me whimper.

“Your ass is so fucking red,” he tells me, and I hear the lust in his voice. “You’re quite a fighter, aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t lying, Sir. I’m a pain slut with high limits.”

“Yes, I can see that. And we’re going to break them.”

He resumes with the paddle, and there is no mercy whatsoever, only pain. My burning flesh is too sore to tense against it anymore, and flailing against my bonds does nothing. I’m powerless, and beginning to feel it.

My yelps get louder, curses interspersed, and those curses become screams, but it doesn’t hold him back. He uses me like an expert until I can feel the breakpoint coming. My screams are quietening, sucked in between hitched breaths as the tears start to come.

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