Le Marquis Noir orders me to stand in front of Nawa-Kin, holding her hands while he whips her.
///
"Délicieuse morsure," she whispers, eyes closed, as the first lick of the whip touches her flesh, knowing how far this voyage will take her.
She holds my hands, my fingers so tightly that I don't know if my palms are sweaty or if it's hers ... all fingers so slippery, and yet so intensely held.
I'm fascinated by the whip & I wish the music was off so I could hear the whistle of the invisible whip thru the air & the sound of its lash on naked flesh. I'm fascinated, longing for it to be mine, yet wincing with every blow.
All elements : water, earth, wind & fire ...
At first, like loving caresses all over her back and buttocks. The first harsh lash ripples thru her & I see the vibrations mount, the pain reverberating, like an electric current moving thru her arms into mine. I'm struck by her absolute sensuality & desire. We are sisters in this moment.
I look over her shoulder to watch our Master expertly whip — the exactitude of his aim, the exquisite mastery of his touch, his graceful agility.
I watch him over her shoulder, or in the mirror, seeing how he spins the tail & cringing with every blow.
He sees my look & a smile crosses his face as he shakes his head in slight amusement at my fears.
Throwing one smack in between her shoulder blades, another in a lasso twirl licking the same spot over & over. I watch & I feel the invisible strikes, and cringe with Nawa-Kin on the particularly harsh ones, moaning aloud.
Her arms reach back in supplication & I take them back to her breasts. I want to console her, to hold her & I brace her as she leans more heavily towards me. Her hands move towards her tears & I caress them away, softly caressing her face.
When she can take no more, she turns towards him in supplication & the whip is stilled.
"Je travaille la colère de ma mère", she confesses... and then he's there, holding her in his arms as she tearfully says "merci". He kisses her, consoles her — she's still holding my hand — and he includes me in the embrace, then tells me to get some ice-cubes to rub on her body.
She kneels against a chair, and I slide the ice over the welts and the lacerations. The heat melts the ice quickly. I wonder how it would feel then to sleep, or to take a shower with the burning sensation all over the back.
"How long do the marks last ?", I ask her.
"2-3 weeks, depending."
I think I would need to be consoled for a very long time, to be in a quiet space to come down from the endormorphins. A quiet dark space, like after a massage — after this very different massage, whiplashed.
///
"Délicieuse morsure," she whispers, eyes closed, as the first lick of the whip touches her flesh, knowing how far this voyage will take her.
She holds my hands, my fingers so tightly that I don't know if my palms are sweaty or if it's hers ... all fingers so slippery, and yet so intensely held.
I'm fascinated by the whip & I wish the music was off so I could hear the whistle of the invisible whip thru the air & the sound of its lash on naked flesh. I'm fascinated, longing for it to be mine, yet wincing with every blow.
All elements : water, earth, wind & fire ...
At first, like loving caresses all over her back and buttocks. The first harsh lash ripples thru her & I see the vibrations mount, the pain reverberating, like an electric current moving thru her arms into mine. I'm struck by her absolute sensuality & desire. We are sisters in this moment.
I look over her shoulder to watch our Master expertly whip — the exactitude of his aim, the exquisite mastery of his touch, his graceful agility.
I watch him over her shoulder, or in the mirror, seeing how he spins the tail & cringing with every blow.
He sees my look & a smile crosses his face as he shakes his head in slight amusement at my fears.
Throwing one smack in between her shoulder blades, another in a lasso twirl licking the same spot over & over. I watch & I feel the invisible strikes, and cringe with Nawa-Kin on the particularly harsh ones, moaning aloud.
Her arms reach back in supplication & I take them back to her breasts. I want to console her, to hold her & I brace her as she leans more heavily towards me. Her hands move towards her tears & I caress them away, softly caressing her face.
When she can take no more, she turns towards him in supplication & the whip is stilled.
"Je travaille la colère de ma mère", she confesses... and then he's there, holding her in his arms as she tearfully says "merci". He kisses her, consoles her — she's still holding my hand — and he includes me in the embrace, then tells me to get some ice-cubes to rub on her body.
She kneels against a chair, and I slide the ice over the welts and the lacerations. The heat melts the ice quickly. I wonder how it would feel then to sleep, or to take a shower with the burning sensation all over the back.
"How long do the marks last ?", I ask her.
"2-3 weeks, depending."
I think I would need to be consoled for a very long time, to be in a quiet space to come down from the endormorphins. A quiet dark space, like after a massage — after this very different massage, whiplashed.
2 comments:
Dear PrincessX, Thank you for being there when I was re-discovering my friend bullwhip after a very long separation.
I look forward to the day I will hold your hands while your back is offered to the whip ... You and I shall be even closer sisters, then.
Kisses
Nawa-kin
Thank you Nawa-kin for sharing your emotion.
...one day, perhaps ;)
kisses,
*X*
Post a Comment