I Need A Small Whip

I’ve been teasing Bethie for some months now by suggesting that we need a small single-tail whip. I’m in no hurry to actually get one — I’m sure to lash myself on the backstroke while learning the thing, and I’m not one of those “test the implements on myself first” boys — but it’s fun to have Bethie trying to distract me from my brainstorm and I really do think she’d learn to like it.

Patty’s latest tale is pretty much how I think it would go. Even though this is long, it’s actually an excerpt from a more detailed account:

We got back to the condo a little after 10AM, and we were both refreshed and feeling frisky.

Fred had a major surprise in store for me, but he waited until my wrists were cuffed and tied to the convenient latticework of the headboard in our room before showing it to me.

He bought a three foot whip!

“Oh Gawd! Honey!”

My whole body cringed with terror and surged with excitement at the same time.

Fred laughed at my horror and then set about to play with my spankee brain. He coiled the sinewy snake like leather toy just a few feet away from my face. I could smell the enticing freshly oiled new leather and appreciate the tight weave of the sturdy yet supple hide. It really was well made nice to look at. He left it there for me to contemplate while he started spanking my pillow perched bare backside with ouchie firm smacks of his hand.

I squirmed and tried to struggle against the warm up. “No way are you going to make me let you use that on me! No way! No way! No way!”

He just chuckled. “You sure about that brat? Who’s the boss of spanking in this house, you or me?”

“ME!”

Of course I was properly corrected for that bold and senseless comment.

I fixed on the whip, distracted and progressively aroused enough by the sensuality of the spanking I was getting, and the progressive build up of intensity produced by Fred’s hand, the tawse and then the bath brush that I actually began to question my fear. I did lose interest in the fascinating allure of the terrifying toy briefly when Fred pressed his arm and hand between me and the pillows and used his fingers to take me over the edge while he pummeled my needy bum with the bath brush.

When he stood up and lifted it into his hand, fondling its supple length, sniffing the alluring scent of fresh leather and oil with me my heart raced out of control.

“No honey!” came out of my mouth, and then a silent and desperate, ‘YES PLEASE! Don’t listen to my words!’ almost came out. The whole thing was a muddle rush. I had no idea which was audible and which was not.

“You’re curious though aren’t you brat?” Fred teased. “You want to know don’t you?”

“Nooooooo,” I lied and tried to burry my face in the sheets and blanket.

“Lying is going to get you some serious retribution now …”

“I’m not lying!” I lied. “I’m scared!” I told the truth. But the ‘Please try it on me, I’m desperate to know how it feels!’ never did come out.

“It’s the same weight as the school master strap. Remember how scared you were of it and now you like it?”

‘OK, that’s good. Tell me more, just like that.’ I shook my head no, and ground my face deeper into the sheets.

He whipped the mattress with a solid lash that didn’t just cut the air with a musical whirl, it tore away my façade of resistance.

’Oh FUCK!’ I lifted my head and looked up into his eyes. “Not like that though OK?”

He’d broken me, and we both knew he would do at least one like that, but first he would introduce me to it with as much care as was possible with a toy that has a mind of its own and a mastery curve that takes time and experience.

The first lash was not so bad at all, and neither were the next ten or twenty while Fred played with his aim and got the feel of his new toy. It stung a lot, some licks were harder than others to take, but mainly it was OK. It wrapped though, and a few times my right thigh or hip really took a hard thwap making me yelp and rear up in complaint.

Fred found a rhythm and his aim, and as he did, it began to really hurt. Thankfully his aim got better and the end mainly lashed the pillows. He’d discovered the range that exactly delivers the maximal searing burn of the impact of the last foot or so of leather while the agonizing ripping impact of the wrap around found the pillows. Amazingly, I easily slipped into head space where the rhythm of the searing burn started floating me off the bed.

Fred changed sides so my left cheek and the part of my brain connected to it was allowed to experience the same pain – agony – pleasure transformation that my right cheek had.

I reveled in transition as much as the initiation. It was amazing. Scary, flinchingly worrisome, and then eventually seductive. The cane has its searing deep tissue burning feel, the school master strap has it’s slightly more intense scald, but more superficial explosion of sensation. This whip was both in one. The wrap & tip scald with an intensity almost like, but 1,000 times more ouchie than the strap, while the thicker last foot or so sears and impacts with even more flying weight than the cane. White hot and ice cold is descriptive, but no where close. Mind numbing is tempting as a metaphoric level descriptor, but it’s just so wrong…. There’s nothing numbing about how this thing feels… The most punitively placed whip stroke cuts into you in a thin white hot line, and then a sudden explosive spread of sensation takes over your whole being with much more intensely than the narrow thick strap or the cane are able to illicit, which says a lot, since both are capable of delivering severe, intense and extreme experiences.

Fred placed the last two lashes carefully. Making each full force cuts, one from the right the other from the left, each placed so that the most intense wrap effect landed full on each cheek.

“OH! MY GAWD!”

I’d just had my first whipping with a whip! Some day, I will have to have a real one. Suspended, no pillows, all the wrap and whip….

Hmmm, she doesn’t seem too traumatized by the whole thing. Bethie, you want to help me pick out a whip?

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