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“Benson, you’re not a monster.” The words were almost a plea.
“Enough.” He didn’t want to talk or think about this anymore. “It’s time to begin.”
Moving to the foot of the platform, he once more flipped her skirt out of the way, exposing her from the waist down.
She’d closed her legs a little, which was to be expected. Expected or not, he would help her be both obedient and submissive. Sandwiching the flogger between his thigh and the end of the platform, Benson then had both hands free to grip her knees and force her thighs apart.
He watched as her labia spread too, exposing the smaller inner lips, her clit hood, and her clit itself, which was peeking out. She really did have a pretty pussy.
Turning away from her, he rolled his shoulders and tipped his head side to side, mentally and physically centering himself before he started the flogging. He would be striking delicate skin which meant precision and care.
When he was ready, Benson positioned himself and finally raised his arm.
The first strike was gentle, the motion coming from his wrist only. Even so, he was striking down, so gravity added its force.
The two dozen deerskin tails struck her pussy, landing primarily on the fleshy apex of her vulva, but her labia took their share of the impact.
Mal’s body arched up, a shriek that sounded more like surprise than pain echoing against the stone walls.
Instinctively, her thighs snapped together, and he waited for a count of thirty, wanting to give her a chance to get back into position before he stepped in and forced her.
When she didn’t spread her legs, he rested the flogger on the platform between her feet, then gripped her knees and forced them wide. He pushed them open even further than they’d been a moment ago in a silent warning.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Mal?”
“Are we really starting with pussy whipping?”
Benson raised the flogger. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 7
The flogger slapped down on her spread and vulnerable sex. Mal arched up, pleasure and a gentle pain throbbing through her.
Obediently she kept her legs spread after the second strike, and Benson murmured, “Good girl.”
Her initial reaction had been shock more than pain. He wasn’t flogging her hard by any means. The soft tails fell as one, creating a soft thudding sensation. He raised the flogger, slapping it down on her pussy once more. It hurt far less than a hand spanking of the same area.
Occasionally one strand would hit just right, and she’d feel a more sharp and distinct point of sensation.
After the fifth strike, she raised her head, watching him.
Benson stood with his body at a slight angle to hers, the flogger held in his right hand. He was using a minute motion of his wrist, letting the weight of the tails do most of the work.
Benson’s face was set with concentration. One thing she realized early on about why she liked BDSM was that in order to do it correctly and safely, the top had to pay attention. They had to make plans, had to research what they were going to do, had to acquire any tools or implements they needed.
That right there was a stark contrast to the way both Mal’s own relationships and those of the other women in her life seemed to work. Mal had no problem being a decision-maker, and she enjoyed making and executing plans. But many of the men and women she’d dated—and to be perfectly honest her boyfriends had been the bigger culprits with this issue—had been far too willing to let her make every decision, plan every aspect of their life, and handle the implementation.
If she told her boyfriend that she wanted him to try flogging her pussy, she would have had to not only bring up the subject, but if they were interested, she would have had to do all the work for it. She would have to find and forward the how-to articles. Purchase the correct type of flogger. Decide what night they’d try it, and where in the house they’d be.
And the whole time it was happening, she’d be too nervous to enjoy it, because even if she sent her partner articles on exactly what they should do and how to do it safely, she had no guarantee that they actually paid any attention or would have the skill to implement the things they learned. Pussy whipping wasn’t fun if you were worried about it ending in an ER visit.
“Get out of your head, Mal.”
Those words accompanied a slightly more forceful strike. Her pussy throbbed, the plump skin at the top of her slit throbbing.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she gasped.
