Caress of the Whip

You hang there, nothing but the chains at your wrists supporting your weight. Your head is down, your frightened eyes gaze up at me through a veil of damp hair. The remains of your red velvet dress droop limply from your shoulders, your torn corset doing little to conceal you from my wandering eyes. I take a step towards you and your legs suddenly find their strength. You scurry away as far as the length of your chains will allow. As I draw closer, I see the traces of dried blood streaking your wrists and hands. The proof of your many hours of resistance. Circling around you, my fingertips graze the random pattern of angry red welts on your bare back. Your sharp intake of breath betrays the pain the gentle touch causes you. You shiver as I trace one particularly vicious stripe from your shoulder down to the small of your back. I know this reaction is not caused by pain alone. I retreat to the far corner of the room, deep in shadows. My hand lovingly touches each item hanging from the wall before making my selection. As I step back into the torch light, the knotted tips of the many tails brush the floor. You hear the dry slithery sound of leather on stone and glance back over your shoulder at me, seeing the familiar whip in my hands. Your eyes widen in a mixture of fear and anticipation. You know the pain will be great, but 'tis a small price to pay. I come up behind you, gripping the back of your tattered dress in my fist. With a single wrenching motion I tear it completely away. The last few laces are pulled from your corset and it too falls to the floor. The few remaining shreds of your chemise and petticoats soon follow and now you are standing there in your stockings. Your smooth white skin is exposed to my every desire. I reach up and pull the ivory combs and pins from your tangled hair, letting the thick golden mass fall down your back.

I come around to face you, and tilt your chin up to study you. Your forehead is already beaded with sweat, your cheeks flushed. I can smell you, terror and arousal mixing with the sweat on your skin. My gaze wanders slightly downwards and I see a sight that beckons my attention. I reach into my waistcoat pocket and pull out a long thin chain with small metal clamps at both ends. I apply a clamp to each of the swollen pink tips of your breasts, and you arch your back, crying out as the metal digs into your tender flesh.

I hold the whip up in front of your face before I begin brushing the tails gently over your body, letting the long thin strands caress your skin. You close your eyes, letting your head fall back, relaxing under the soothing sensation. I suddenly draw the whip back over my shoulder and bring it whistling down on your defenseless body. Your eyes fly open in shock and pain. The sound of your screams echo off the stone blocks of the walls around us, but we are deep underground and I know you will not be heard.

I bring the whip down again, cracking against your flesh, the red lines already flaring up on your breasts and belly. After several more strokes with the whip you are begging me to stop, screaming for mercy, but the moisture glistening on your thighs in the firelight tells me a different story. Your tearful eyes and hoarse screams are all part of the game, but all the same they distract me.

I pause to wrap a black velvet scarf around your head, obscuring your vision and then a wide leather strap, pressing it between your lips and securing it tightly behind your head. You toss your head slightly, rebelling at the added bondage. I walk around you, watching you as you listen silently for my every movement. Your breathing is labored and I can see your muscles trembling. The scent of you fills the large stone chamber; fear, blood, sweat, and musk.

I turn my attention to your back, it's whiteness reflecting the light of the nearby torch. One sharp stroke of the whip, then I pause, watching as you shiver rather then scream. I bring the whip back again, this time letting the lashing strands flick up between your slightly spread thighs. You let out a muffled groan and your legs almost give out from under you. I bring the whip back again, aiming a serious of rapid stinging blows to that most sensitive part of you. You finally collapse, body convulsing, a string of ecstatic moans flowing around the gag between your lips.

You fall silent and hang there on the brink of unconsciousness. I look down at your spent and useless form. You may rest now. I take my leave, with the promise to return soon....