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By the time they’d set up at their station, practically the whole club had gathered around to watch. Since it was a bullwhip, everyone was standing back a requisite ten feet radius, and as an added precaution, the room monitors roped off the area as well. Dean secured Michiko’s hands to a ring above her head while Kimberly knelt at her feet and attached the restraints to her ankles to keep her legs spread wide. Once they had Michiko secured, Kimberly took her time running her hands seductively over the other woman’s leather covered limbs, her own plush figure a vibrant contrast to Michiko’s slim one. They represented the yin and yang of feminine beauty, the perfection at each end of the spectrum, and Sam felt his breath catch at the sight. Kimberly had her multihued honey hair in a riot of fat curls tonight that she’d left bouncing all over her head. She’d wrapped herself up in a floor-length red sequined dress that was more see-through than not and slit up to her hip with a train that she carried draped in the crook of her elbow. The way the material swooped and draped over her curves and gathered in just the right places made it both demure and provocative as hell. The two of them were enough to bring a man to his knees.
Finally, Kimberly stood and moved away. Michiko was restrained and waiting. The air in the room hung heavy with anticipation.
Sam let the whip uncoil at his side. He felt it unfurl down his leg like a snake slithering to the floor, a living thing waiting—wanting—to strike.
“Safe word, sub,” Sam ordered.
“No.” Michiko said, and Sam wanted to strangle her for her stubbornness. “No safe word. Just go.”
“Not gonna happen, Kitty Cat,” Sam told her sternly. “Either you pick one or I pick one for you.”
“Fine,” Michiko said with strained patience. She eyed Kimberly and Dean for a few humming seconds then smirked and said, “Kimbo. My safe word is Kimbo.”
Sam had to bite his inner cheek to keep from smiling. He checked Kimberly for her reaction and saw she, too, was having a hard time keeping her face straight.
“Fine,” he told her warmly. “Kimbo it is.” Then Sam let his focus narrow until it became nothing but her, the whip, and the space between them. Because the area separating them was just as much a part of their play as the whip—the air itself held power here. In this dance, every motion, every breath, every millimeter counted.
Sam cracked his neck and loosened his shoulders, saw Michiko take a deep breath and brace herself in response. First, Sam doubled the whip and stepped close. He warmed her back by thudding her with it, hitting her harder than he would’ve Kimberly when she sneered at his first strikes. He worked his way over her whole form, brought blood to the surface of her skin everywhere, despite that fact that she seemed a bit bored by his pretreatment. Tough shit. Sam wasn’t going to rush just because she was a hard-ass.
When he stepped back and let the tail drop to the floor, her heard her let out a sound of need and it awoke an answering hunger in him—for Kimberly. Michiko was a stunning and incredibly desirable woman, but she wasn’t Kimberly. What was happening right now was waking him the fuck up, but his hunger was all for the blonde in red watching from the sidelines.
The first swing of the whip landed soft across Michiko’s shoulder. So did the second and the third. Then the fourth. He moved lower, worked over her buttocks and thighs, then moved his way to the fronts of them, the crack of the whip no more than a gentle swish.
“Harder,” Michiko finally panted. “God, please, harder.”
So, Sam went harder. The next lash landed with a slash and Michiko sighed like she’d just eased an itch. The next brought an even bigger sigh. Her body arched into the third strike, and she begged louder this time.
“More. Please, harder. Please, God, go harder!”
He did. Sam put his wrist into the next one, added a fling to his strike. That put a snap to it, and Michiko’s sighs hitched now, the sting seeping in a little deeper. She fought her bonds even more and stretched into each swing, clamoring for greater impact.
“More!” she begged. “More!” And Sam cracked the whip right by her face. The sound barrier broke there and the shock, the force of the air and the noise so close had her crying out. Then he followed up with two hard strikes, one after another to each of her ass cheeks, which had her hopping up to her toes. Then he was cracking the sound barrier again with six-shooter speed right over her spine. Not touching, just above the surface, so the air broke right above her thinly covered skin so she would feel the impact as well as hear it. The mind fuck was almost as bad as getting hit. Sam started moving then, wielding that whip like Zorro, over his head in a never ceasing loop or crazy eight. It whirled and lashed out at intervals she couldn’t anticipate, so Michiko cried out in shocked pleasure every time a blow landed. He slashed harder and harder at her as she begged for more. In the back of Sam’s mind, Kato’s warning flashed like a danger sign. Her cries were in sharp contrast to her beautiful pleas as she did her best to make it impossible to keep her safe.
“More, God damnit!” she screamed. “More!”
Sam gave her more. The crack of the whip came with every blow now. He kept his distance, so the impact wasn’t full, but enough that in two places, he split the leather wide open. Michiko had stopped screaming for more and was now screaming, “Yes!” so Sam worked his way back around her front, listening as her cries became more frantic, watching her body as her hips began to churn rhythmically and he knew she was close. He struck hard on her thighs, laying the whip high across the tops, and she arched back in a bend with a sharp cry of pleasure.
Sam faced her and started a rapid-fire tattoo of stinging snaps on her breasts with the very tip of the whip. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat like an old-fashioned telegraph, and Michiko’s eyes and mouth popped wide. Before she had more than a chance to breathe, he’d moved that hyper speed down her tender belly, not sparing the sensitive flesh and causing her to gasp and cry out even more. When her got to her thighs, he gave each one of the large muscles a good lashing. Michiko was screaming and trying to pull herself up with the ceiling restraint by time he’d finished, and he could clearly see how wet she was through her clothes. He gave her five silent humming seconds where they eyed each other, and she knew what was coming.
“No,” she told him, shaking her head in fear.
“Yes,” he told her, nodding in determination. Then he drew back his arm, brought it forward, and nailed her right on her open and weeping cunt. The only thing louder than the crack of the whip was the sound of her scream as she came.
Sam dropped the whip and picked up one of his softer floggers. The falls of this one were thick, buttery leather, and he circled her quaking form to land a barrage of thudding blows over her from knees to shoulders front and back. He kept the blows moderate, like the brush of a car wash as he helped Michiko ride the waves down. Her screams faded to delicate breathy whimpers that caught in her throat as she tried to rein in what had been released. Sam kept going until he saw the focus return to her eyes.
But when Sam came to release her, she screamed again. “Get away from me!”
Sam stopped immediately. Everyone in the room came to an abrupt halt; all the talking had come to a stop as well. “Not you,” she said more quietly. “Not you.”
Sam nodded and motioned for Kimberly to come forward and take her down. As she did, Sam walked to stand next to Dean and watch. Kimberly released her ankles first, then her wrists. As soon as her arms were free, Michiko wilted into Kimberly’s embrace, and they made their way to a couch up against a wall.
“Smart,” Dean told him quietly, “not letting you touch her after like that.”
“Yeah, it was,” Sam admitted. “Kills me, though. I feel like a heel not taking care of her after that.” Kimberly was poking around the two spots where Michiko’s suit had split. There were welts visible from where the whip had blistered her skin. “Kimberly’s going to have to put some salve on those.”
“She’ll take care of them,” Dean told him confidently. “She’s in good hands, man, don’t worry.”
And she was. Even as they watched, Kimberly reached into her duffle and pulled out a jar. As she opened it and began to dab, the miracle they’d been hoping for happened. Rachel Bradshaw wandered over.
