A quiet moment, my Boy and I alone together. He suggests I whip him later and I know, oh, how I know that I need to do just that.
Time passes slowly until we can, until other obligations met, he comes to me in frilly panties and I am waiting for him with my toys.
I pull his panties down and give him six strokes with a crop to warm us both up. Then I take up my flogger. It’s gentle enough that I know he can take it for as long as I can give. Then eventually I switch back to the crop. Harder now, this is meant to hurt.
It’s not enough. I don’t want to stop, I want to keep going. If I didn’t think he’d get bored I’d happily flog him for hours. I need to, I want to.
It’s my relaxation, my meditation. It’s our connection, our space, our time. It’s my way of saying I love him. I’m aching to pick up my flogger again soon.