I’ve never called Red in a scene, ever. That isn’t a boast, it’s just not something I’ve ever done. It’s not the word that leaps to mind. When I play with someone new I make sure they know that If I yell ‘No!’ I will mean it and I need to be checked in with. With people I know, my no can be ignored, because it can be part of the play. However, I will make it abundantly clear when I’ve had enough. Today’s post shows this. It also illustrates why it’s very important that you communicate with your play partner. H checks in with me constantly, sometimes not with words but in a look, to make sure I’m alright to continue. They give me space to say no or stop or I’ve had enough if I want or need to. I’ve never called Red but I have brought scenes to an end in many different ways. Spinning is one of the more unusual ones…
Sometimes it’s not all lust and romance. Sometimes it’s more practical than that.
“I’m just gonna nip to the loo and get some water.” I said. I was dehydrated. There had been orgasm denial, cock sucking and kink crying. Then there was growling and purring and happy tears. I was definitely in need of hydration.
I got up off the bed, bent to pick something up and suddenly, there was a hiss and a crack and a whip stroke across my butt.
Okay, so I wasn’t going to get down to the practicalities, it was right back to the sadism and lust.
I squealed and looked beside me. H was lying casually propped up on an elbow, their whip in their other hand, held over their shoulder. They were grinning. Of course, I didn’t move. I love being whipped. So they used my pointing out arse as a target. Until it all got a bit much and I danced about and straightened up.
So they whipped my back instead.
Of course they did.
I tried my best to hold still, when the whip was in flight. I knew I needed to keep still. It’s not that easy though. My feet danced, I clenched my fists and threw my hands up in the air to process the pain.
I love the sting of a whip but it is a pain that takes a lot of bearing especially when going in cold. Sometimes the sting is just too much. I got to a point where I think they lashed across several existing marks and I felt like the whip was burning right through my skin and flesh and bones and I had to call stop. I spun around and around trying to cope with the overwhelming but fucking hot, sharp pain settling through my back.
Of course, I didn’t escape for long. I didn’t want to. H sat up on the edge of the bed and I pressed my butt out towards them. They spanked me. Hard. Several times. I had to hold onto the cupboard in front of me to steady myself and then they gripped my hips and pulled me back into their lap.
It was so good to feel them under me, behind me and around me. I moaned obscenely as they held the whip taut against my shoulders and ran the straining leather down my back and back up again over the stinging whip marks. It was so fucking hot. They pushed me up off their lap again and they began to thrust the wooden pommel of the whip into my butt. Using it like a mini battering ram, jamming the round end into the flesh of my arse over and over.
The vibrations ran deep. I was completely absorbed in the deep, throbbing impact until I felt their teeth sink into my buttock in a vicious and whimper inducing bite that had me melting. I love the feel of their teeth in my flesh.
When H released me I turned to face them. They were grinning, the whip around their neck. It must have been written on my face that I wasn’t ready to stop because soon that whip was being wielded against my belly and my breasts.
It’s pretty fucking scary being whipped. What is more fucking scary is watching it happen. Seeing the intent sadism in H’s eye, hearing the pop and the crack of the whip, not knowing quite where it will land.
I was coping fairly well until they got my nipple. I howled and spun around and around and around. When I stopped our gazes met. I know if I’d have told them I’d had enough, they’d stop. But I hadn’t, so I stayed quiet and they continued. Stinging marks across my chest and my belly.
More and more landing on the left breast.
The fucker was aiming for my stiffened left nipple (my right one is far more sensible and was hiding away) and eventually got it. I squealed again, spun again and they laughed.
I garbled something about my right nipple being shy. I really should learn to keep my mouth shut because of course H then aimed for the right and in the end they coaxed my right nipple out and caught it with the tip of the whip.
More screaming, cursing and spinning.
And yet I still stood defiant. It was a few strikes later when they hit my left nipple again, right on the very tip that I screamed and called enough as I again spun like a spinning top. Why I do that I don’t know. It doesn’t ease the pain. It makes me dizzy.
“So,” I panted, when finally I came to a standstill. “Can I go to the loo and get some water now?”
H laughed and nodded as I walked out of the room.
They are so terribly distracting. Especially with a whip in their hand.