It’s been a while since we had any sort of serious play (did I mention we’re busy with DIY) and I’d got to really wanting some. On Saturday morning I expressed this feeling to Perrin, and he told me I was getting a seriously whipped bottom that evening!
As part of this discussion he picked up a piece of gripper rod (the stuff that holds carpets down, I did mention the DIY right?) and told me to roll over onto my front. He then proceeded to tap my bottom with it, ever so gently, starting my imagination going. I have to admit I’d looked at it before speculatively (it had been lying around for a week), but actually feeling the spikes gently pressing into my bottom left me visualising a little row of red punctures, and wondering how badly it would hurt.
A month ago if he’d done that, I would have been standing, back to the wall, saying “No”. Making holes in me was definitely a limit, and I would have tensed right up and refused to let him near me while I thought he might breach that. How much more pleasurable simply to submit, to let that decision be his, to allow the possibility. In fact, more than accepting, I would have welcomed those pinpricks if it had been his desire to inflict them.
As it turned out, it wasn’t. Curled up that evening we talked, and then he positioned me on my front. Spreading the duvet over me, covering my head, my body, my legs, leaving only my bottom and feet exposed. I lay warm and comfortable, cocooned in softness. He fetched the horsehair flogger, and began to whip me. First the soles of my feet. There’s a word for that, “bastinado” and it echoed through my head, as I breathed in the pain, and the comfort. Then Perrin’s attention moved to my bottom. I was enjoying this immensely, each stroke was thudding into me, but then in the spaces between there was warmth and softness. I pushed my bottom up, offering myself to him, to the pain. As he whipped me then, the strokes fell on my pussy lips, until I flattened out again, frustrated at my own weakness.
Perrin must have alternated between my bottom and my feet for a while, as I drifted in timeless surrender. He paused at one point, and when he returned he had brought a new weapon with him, the saw! It made the most wonderful noise, and was an altogether different sensation, flat and flexible, with the added frisson of knowing it had teeth. As I started to feel the pain might become too much, Perrin’s hands were on me, moving my knees apart and raising my bottom in the air, and I knew what must follow.
To my intense relief, he switched back to the flogger at this point, as he whipped my pussy. I tried to hold position, but found myself writhing with each stroke, until he had to reposition me. He continued to whip me, until I felt myself on the edge of tears. He paused again here, and I allowed my hand to curl over my sore pussy to comfort it briefly. He returned then, ordering my hand out of the way, but this time so he could mount me. He pounded into me then, his hands stroking where he had whipped me. Then finally, he ordered me to turn over, and I could stretch out beneath him, and joy of joys, orgasm with him inside me, before he came too.
I drifted into sleep after this, blissfully happy, and awoke in the morning still glowing with happiness (and still with a very sore bottom). I’m such a lucky girl.