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The lash darts about my skin, licking the side of my thighs, running along the crack of my ass, teasingly stroking my shoulders. I shudder as the feelings move toward my crotch where a beautiful pulse of energy begins.
Heinrich snaps the leather hard, and I shudder as a bright burst of pain settles in me like a shower of sparks inside my body. Another and the sensation deepens. Another and I moan.
“I rather you were silent, Anna,” Heinrich’s voice cuts as keenly as his lash. This is not an opinion, but an order.
Thwack!
It splats across my raised ass and I struggle to get away. Heinrich makes me settle before he begins again, and then he doesn’t care whether I squirm or fight. He punishes me hard, letting his fury flow through his hand into the brutal leather. I fight this misery, and attempt to contain it, but it’s all so erratic. There’s little to delight in, though I know that when he’s finished my cunt will be on fire, clenching for something to fill the void. It would astound me if he gave me any physical release in the aftermath. I clench in hopes that this lash alone might bring me off, but I am so far away, shrieking—much to Heinrich’s dismay. He strikes harder.
And then I beg, “please no more, please.” This is a heartfelt cry, my soul trying to grab at his.
Suddenly he stops. I flinch; sure he’ll strike again. Sensing that he’s finished at least for now, my body collapses to the thick carpet beneath me, as though I could snuggle into it for comfort.
When he lifts me from the floor, he has a rope in hand. Wrapped about my wrists that rope tells me much. This scene will take some time and my punishment is not over for the day. Moving on me with an intensity I treasure, Heinrich draws me into the bedroom and thrusts me over the end of the bed, tying the rope to the headboard above. His hand begins to fondle my crotch. His fingers play at my pussy and my ass. He works them beyond my sphincter, and that backdoor spasms. I imagine his cock replacing those fingers. His mastery of my physical responses has me dreaming of climactic ends. I can already feel an orgasm about to crash within. This comes quickly, and I think I might have tricked my husband into giving me more than he planned, but with the swiftness of a wildfire crashing through a dry canyon, he backs off.
Thwack!
A slicing bamboo peals away my thoughts of cumming, replacing it with a pain that bites hard. I shriek, just once.
I writhe on the hard metal bedrail getting nowhere in this awkward pose. The sensation of each crack roars through me and I beg. But he doesn’t listen. What I say is only gibberish but it must communicate my agony. Pain supplants reason. Intense, sharp, burning pain. My ass is scorched, hotter each time the bamboo strikes my ass.
Suddenly the frenetic tempo changes as several cuts streak across my shoulders. I feel him subdue me. With these new rivers of sensation, another world of surrender opens. How can he manage to lay them precisely where he wants when I’m thrashing so violently? How does he know me this well, except that in these brief seconds we are so immersed in each other, we cannot help but think alike. The cuts to my shoulders tame my will to fight. I’m falling, growing smaller, tinier each second as another blow delivers me downward. On my ass, the cuts punish. On my shoulders, they make me humble. I could weep with this feeling of abdication. But it’s at this moment Heinrich stops.
The silence in killing—like dead weight descending around us. The air seems hot so we can hardly breathe, and for a moment—just seconds I suppose—I think of us as two images from a still life on canvas. He’s whipped the life from us both and we are nothing more than empty shells.
When my body begins to feel again, when a draft from the open window tickles the heat on my marred skin, I squirm ever so slightly on the bedrail and Heinrich speaks.
“I think this time your self-indulgence exceeds my own,” he tells me coldly. “I want you gone by morning. I trust you won’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you. Bernard will draw up the divorce papers and I’ll have them sent to the bookstore.”
With a quick sleight of hand, he unknots the rope. Leaving me lying over the end of the bed, I wait to hear the front door click before I struggle to my feet.
Chapter Two
“Shall we toast my freedom from the lying bitch?” I ask.
“Toast your separation?” Bernard asks back.
“No, my divorce,” I correct him quickly.
“Divorce Anna if you will, Heinrich. But I’d advise against it.”
“Why? She’s a slut.”
“And are you not the same? You screw other women.”
“Yes, but not so she doesn’t know. I don’t do it on the sly. I don’t hide my passions, and I’ve never wanted something from a submissive that I couldn’t get as easily from Anna. Besides, she loves this man.”
“Maybe she loves him, Heinrich, because you’re unlovable.”
“I haven’t changed a wit in four years of marriage.”
“And you should have,” he declares. “You should have developed something deeper than just your S&M.”
“It’s all we had.”
He stares at me with his big black eyes like he’s going to win me over to his cloying point of view. Bernard is a handsome black man with a heart like a lamb. Eyes that make women melt, and he’s usually sincere about it.
“Are you sure that’s all you had? Or were you both too lazy to see if there was anything else to make of your relationship?” he asks.
