CW: Whipping, Extreme BDSM

I love whips. This isn’t news, I know, but being whipped has been a rare occurrence for me. There are only a few people on the scene who use them.

Hence my excitement when finding out H likes whips too. I took them our little  whip to check out before we spent 3 long weeks apart.

They checked it out, and chequered my back with pretty whip marks. I mention this trial mostly for one moment.

I was standing still, taking the hits and probably curling in on myself to hug me through the pain when H used Dom voice.

“Hands on your head.”

I obeyed immediately. Straightened up and felt a jolt of electric arousal shoot through my body, burying itself deep in my cunt.

I took several more strikes before they stopped and declared they needed one for themself.

And if you’realso in need check out Painful Pleasure online or at the Smut Market in February 2020.

I was very pleased to be able to fulfil that need with that exact whip when I saw them again. Especially when I was whipped with it.


As we lay in bed that night we made plans for the next day at Kage. H had floggers with them and their whip. They would use them on me.

“I’ll do an impact scene completely without using my hands.”

I looked at them askew.

“Okay, mostly without using my hands.”

When we play, we rarely use other things. Especially for impact. I bring out the primal in them.

Believe me, they need nothing more than their body to hurt me and mark me. Fuck, it’s so hot too, being beaten into submission with nothing more than their hands and feet and teeth.

But it’s nice to change it up and I do miss being hit with ALL THE THINGS sometimes.

Before we even got to the whipping H was mean to me. In a group conversation one guy mentioned it being a good job he wasn’t insecure as everyone else was taller than him.

So H dug into the pressure point on my shoulder and made me kneel. I stayed there quite a long while. It was surprisingly erotic to be quite literally put in my place in front of people.

When I was told I could move, I sat on the floor by H’s feet. I’m not naturally the most submissive soul, but I felt it, sitting there by their feet.

I felt content, safe and loved.

Then they looked at me, eyes wide with excitement.

“Do you want to get whipped?”

I went full Scooby Doo wanting a Scooby snack. I nodded my head enthusiastically.

“Yeah, yeah yeah!”

We grabbed H’s stuff and headed down to the dungeon where I very modestly stripped naked and got into position on the St Andrew’s cross.

I feel extra vulnerable when on a cross. I feel more open. Especially the one at Kage, it has little steps to stand on, and you can’t do that without parting your thighs. Also, not only do I have my back to H, they are quite a way back from me.  I’m used to having them close.

They checked I was ready before they started. I remember telling H once that floggers are nice but they kinda always just soothe me to sleep. With only a few exceptions (Blonde one’s Ramsey for example) they don’t hurt me. so of course they were out to prove me wrong. Even with the warm up flogger they put in so much energy that I could feel the impacts shaking through my body.

I love the sound of floggers as they impact. From the lighter, to the heaver one. The slap and thump after the hissing through the air is such a satisfying sound. I really enjoy the sensation too. Honestly, floggers for me are mostly sensation play. It rarely hurts in a way that grabs my attention.

H grabbed my attention a few times with the floggers, to the point where I could feel the burn on my butt and my back.

“Are you okay?” H checked in with me, their hand on my back a welcome reminder of our connection.

“Yeah,” I nodded.
“Ready for the whip?”
“Yeah,” I nodded again, all the more eagerly.

I love the sting of the whip. I love the sound of the whip cracking in the air.

I do not like the sound of the whip in the air when it’s meant to be impacting me. I think this is something H found out pretty quickly and used to their advantage.


Whip strikes hurt. I mean, that’s a given, but they hurt me. They really hurt me. I love the extreme sting but it takes me to the outer reaches of my tolerance from the out.

I squeaked, I moaned. I yelped. I clung tightly to the cross as lash after lash crossed my back and my butt.

Again, H stopped whipping, placed their hand on my back, leaned in and checked on me. I couldn’t vocalise, but I nodded when asked if I was okay and if I wanted more.

That moment to catch my breath, that caress of their hand on my back, grounded me. Gave me just the reassurance I needed to take more.

I was feeling the burn, deeply, I was writhing under every lash and then came one that felt like it split me in half. It hit and the pain continued to grow and expand and sank into me in such a way that I shouted

“No more!”

I realised later, when looking at photos, the lash in question intersected several others. No wonder it hurt so fucking much!

I got off the cross, feeling light headed.

“Do you need anything?” H asked.

“Hug,” I replied and buried myself in their ample bosom. I stayed there a while. They whispered lovely things to me. Told me I was a good girl, how they were proud of me. I felt so treasured, so loved. However, I really needed to sit down. We found a quiet room (I couldn’t cope with people) and lay together, chatting, snuggling. They checked my marks, checked in on me. Gave me all the aftercare I needed and more. We went for water, when I was more capable of words and movement.

I mentioned how I thought I’d been noisy, they said they thought I’d been quiet. I think I must have been muffled by the cross and the distance between us.

We talked about the disadvantages of the cross and how I can take more on a spanking bench…so they asked me if I wanted to be flogged and whipped on the bench and once again, I nodded eagerly and headed down to the dungeon.

Glutton for punishment, me? Yes.

On the Bench, I didn’t regret my decision. Not once. But fuck, I hurt.

H, loves to talk to me when they torture me. So they told me how they were going to make the strikes really hurt. They’d tell me then do it. I was a bundle of anticipatory fear.

I loved hearing their voice though. Again, on the bench I felt a little bit apart from them. When we play usually we’re really close. To have 2 impact scenes where we were so separated felt strange. But having their voice, a companion to the crack and thwack of the floggers was wonderful.

They illustrated how they could change how the floggers felt. I was pelted with deep, hard, shuddering impacts. It hurt. Some of the strikes really fucking hurt. H really showed me how fucking brutal floggers can be.

Note to self. Don’t say anything that could constitute a challenge to my Kitty. Because they will prove me wrong.

And just to finish off, they whipped me a little more. God, I love whips so much.

Again, after the scene we snuggled together, they got me water and made sure I was okay.

“So, there’s just the front then you’re finished off.” They stated, mid conversation.

And I happily agreed.

So when they asked me if I wanted to go have my tits whipped, well, you know how I answered, right?

I stood in the dungeon, on a slightly raised, spongy platform. People had been using it for ropework, earlier.

And I watched them cracking their whip.

I was scared. It’s one thing to hear the whip behind you. It’s quite another being able to see it right in front of you.

Especially when you can see your sadist stood with such a wicked grin on their face, wielding said whip.

My thighs were also soaked. Whips make me wet. Very, very wet.

They could see the fear written on me. I knew they could. The lust too, no doubt.  They could see my hands clenching and releasing at my side. Me screwing up my eyes tight and then having to take a peep because not being able to see was almost more terrifying than being able to watch them so confidently, so sexily wield that whip.

“Look at me.” They commanded. I did.
“Stick your tongue out.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard them right, my eyes widened with shock.
“Stick.Your. Tongue. Out.” they repeated.

I was petrified. Every fibre of my being wanted me to run. I didn’t though. I stuck my tongue out and waited.

I think it was the first terrifyingly loud crack of the whip that made me close my eyes. I remember quaking in fear, eyes tightly screwed closed, tongue out. Telling myself over and over, mantra like.

They’re not going to whip my tongue.
They’re not going to whip my tongue.
They’re not going to—

“Look at me.” H said, in their voice that brooks no nonsense.

I opened my eyes hesitantly and looked at them, as they kept the whip cracking from one side of my head to the other. I could see the concentrated sadism on their face. They were drinking up my fear.

I couldn’t help my eyelids snapping shut but each time I peeled them back open, because H had asked me to look at them.

It was a relief when they told me to put my tongue away and the whip started to lick at my chest again. It was still scary, that whip was still close to my face but nowhere near as terrifying as standing there, not being hit, with my tongue out.

And it hurt. It really hurt. I danced away from the whip a few times. Each time, H checked I was okay to continue but the last one, the last brutal strike, they called it before I even did.

They hugged me and kissed me and told me again how proud they were of me, how much they loved me.

My predominant emotion was contentment. Later, as we walked round the club, it became pride as people commented on my beautifully brutal marks. My cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

I can’t remember when they told me, but they said they love whipping me because when they do I show real fear. And they loved to see my face when they asked me to put my tongue out. They said to me

“I’d never, ever, ever whip your tongue, but the psychological effect of sticking your tongue out was just…unfgh.” Their face lit up with that sweet sadistic smile of theirs.

And once more I felt content. I love to see that smile on their face.

A week later, I arrived at their house. We hugged, kissed and the very next thing they did was pull the front of my top so they could look down at my cleavage. My whip marked cleavage.

“So, whip marks never last,” They said, with a smirk.
“Alright, alright, they usually don’t last.” I replied with a smile.

Maybe I enjoy setting challenges for my Kitty. Especially as 2 weeks later I’m still enjoying their whip marks on my body.



If you want to see photos of the marks left by these whippings, scroll down. They are pretty extreme, so I’m giving a little warning. These photos were taken on the day. I still carry a few faded marks 3 weeks later.





Whipping Marks, I fucking love these marks sooooooooooooooooooooooooo much.