So it was, sometime mid-day on Thursday, he was walking me down the road, with nothing but a singletail looped over his shoulder.
It’s surreal actually. You’re walking past people who see you, cuffed, blindfolded, being led on a rope by a big guy carrying a whip, and they’re casually carrying on everyday conversations as you pass. Not a single hiccup in their goings on. As if it’s perfectly normal to be discussing what’s for dinner while your neighbor is about to get whipped.
Anyway. To the bondage frames we marched. To the bondage frames I was attached.
He didn’t start light. He never does. The concept of warm up is lost on him, honestly. I suspect that he *thinks* he’s doing warm up. But… no. Not so much. At least not from my perspective, which is the only one that matters since I’m on the receiving end of the non-warm-up warm-up.
He likes to target the nipples with the singletail. It amuses him I think. Actually I think he takes pride in being able to concentrate on such a small target with such accuracy.
I? Am not amused.
On the rest of the body I don’t think he even tries to aim. He has no reason to. It’s an open and large canvas and he can randomly and messily throw the whip, letting it land where it may. No part is really off limits, except for the face, and even then if a snap catches me on the lip (which it did) then it’s likely because I made the mistake of dropping my head in a futile attempt to shield my nipples with my tongue or something (which I did).
There’s no apology for a misplaced stroke because there ARE no misplaced strokes. That’s the beauty of nothing being off-limits, see.
The thing that gets me about how he uses the singletail is the speed and the circling. I’d bet he gets a stroke in at least one per second. Maybe more. It’s FAST. Or feels that way on my end anyway. And he circles me. Snapping. Over and over and over. Until I think I’m going to die.
At least until I scream. And beg. And kick.
I pulled out of one of the cuffs in a desperate attempt to cover my nipples after several minutes of targeting them.
I really just think I’m going to go crazy, you know? It’s not even that each stroke by itself is so painful that I can’t stand it. It’s the repetitive, fast barrage of them that drives me over the edge. I think I must cry out to “Slow down!” a million times during a whipping scene.
Which he finds amusing.
In fact, he’ll go faster if he can.
Fucker.
Sir.
