Wednesday, November 28, 2012


Author's Note: Please see the post labels if you would like to know what triggers this piece might contain before reading it. If you notice something else in the piece that seems like a common trigger that I have not marked, please leave a comment to let me know. I would like the sharing of my work to be as safe as I can make it for my readers.

On her knees, she waits.

She can hear him moving behind her, choosing. The slide of leather on wood, rubber on metal, as he moves things out of a toy box whose contents she knows like the back of her hand, except for the occasions on which there is a surprise. Then, he’ll instruct her to retrieve something from the box, letting her open the lid and discover a new item for pleasure and torment and sensation.

Sometimes when he is moving things, she can tell what is in his hands. The drag of heavy falls that means a flogger with its heavy thud. The light clink of nail tips on their ring. The whisper of rope slipping coil against coil.

Now, she hears a slithering glide of coiled leather. And then the shuffling stops, and she knows what is coming. The crack and burning sting that should not be so amazing and compelling to someone who strongly prefers a heavier thudding pain, but always intensely, inexplicably pulls on some deeper desire within her.

He comes to stand before her. She bends her head and presses a kiss to the whip.

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