I know tonight will be serious, even as Salome snaps the cuffs tight about my wrists, binding me to the ceiling. I watch as she heads to the rack to choose what item's kiss I will know. I always feel fear as she goes there, wondering what flavor of pain or pleasure I shall know. I am afraid, but my cunt is not. It tingles and moistens, making me a liar for my fears.
Mistress Salome chooses the crop, lean and white. She whips it in the air, striking nothing, but the whistling sound as the device breaks the air, brings back my fear, and makes my cunt contract. Then she steps close, very close, and lets the long cane slowly, gently glide along the small of the back, down over my bottom and thighs where the welts will be. Her tongue glides along my jaw and she tells me I am beautiful. I feel the heat of her body. She whispers, “Ready?”
I nod, afraid to speak.
With a flick of her wrist, she taps the cane to my ass. I feel it sting, and I scream, my buttocks rebounding from the gentlest of strikes.
Her free palm covers my mound, pressing back. “Can't have you getting away, can I?” Flick.
I scream again, less loudly, oh it hurts, it hurts! But Mistress Salome is patient, she lets each blow bloom, so the pain morphs into heat, heat that spreads down my thighs, my bottom, my belly and most of all to my cunt. My cunt does not fear, it seeps, and Salome's fingers cover it.
Tap, this time lower, on my thighs. It aches, I ache and know others will see the marks when we go to the pool, but I will be with her, and I do not care, I care for nothing but the heat of my body and the touch of her fingers upon my cunt. She takes two and pushes them into me, palm flat on my mound, and taps again, driving me down upon her fingers as I cry out from the pain. “I'm going to make you do the work this morning,” she whispers. And taps again.
