Bound to Please. Sarah K

it’s just that, as I said, it had been a while and my body had forgotten how intense the crop felt. I knew full well that if Adam could read me, if there was a gentle build-up, the lashes growing in intensity, stroke on stroke, then my body would flood with endorphins so heady and so intoxicating that they are almost addictive. I didn’t want it to be too intense too soon, so that I would feel the need to stop.

      The crop hit home again. I gasped and flexed instinctively against the chain.

      â€˜Four,’ I hissed on an outward breath. I could feel my body beginning to embrace the sensation – chasing it, losing myself in it. There is no pretence with pain, no way of hiding from its effects. With my eyes closed tight, each stroke is like an arc of white-hot sparks exploding through my mind, clear as a shooting star.

      I realised how much I had missed this, how much I’d missed Max, how much I had missed the ritual and games of BDSM, as well as the intense and heady sensations that the lifestyle brings, and that feeling of being part of something bigger, something special, something all-engulfing.

      The lightning struck again and I cried out.

      â€˜Five.’ I was trembling now. My voice was thick with emotion, not from pain but from a deep, deep longing.

      â€˜Six.’ The voice no longer sounded like mine.

      And then there was silence. My whole body tingled and throbbed. I opened my eyes to see that Adam was still standing behind me with the crop in his hand. He was watching me in the mirror. His eyes were bright with desire and pure animal excitement. His identity might be a mystery but his arousal was anything but hidden; he practically glowed with it. He began to kiss my back, his lips and tongue tracing what I guessed had to be the welts – the long raised pink stripes – made by the crop. His kisses were tender, his touch electrifying. I could feel my whole body responding to his caress, a low dull hunger already building deep inside.

      â€˜Do you want more?’ Adam asked. He paused and stood up, his gaze meeting mine as his hands circled me to cup and tease my breasts. Caught up in the moment, I nodded.

      He smiled wolfishly. ‘You have to ask.’

      I stared at him.

      He laughed. ‘Come on, you know the rules.’

      â€˜Please,’ I said, struggling to find my voice.

      â€˜Please what, Sarah?’

      â€˜Please may I have some more, Sir?’

      â€˜Good girl. How many more strokes do you want?’

      Oh sweet torture to be asked just how much pain you would like. ‘Four,’ I said. It would take it up to ten; ten would be enough, I thought.

      He didn’t ask me again. The next sound I heard was the shaft of the crop cutting through the still air. The stroke was harder still and lower, across the swell of my bottom. I bucked and shrieked, stamping my feet at how much it stung.

      â€˜Seven, seven,’ I gabbled.

      I heard him chuckle as he drew the crop back again. I closed my eyes, trying to remind myself that I had asked for this. I heard him change position for the next stroke. Eight caught me lower across the back of the thighs and made me gasp it stung so very much.

      Nine was higher, across my back, and ten was full-on, a great cracking stroke across the curve of my backside, and I counted them all, lost now in an abstracted sea of sensations.

      But finally Adam was done, and, dropping the crop, he gently unfastened my wrists and guided me over to the bed, his hands exploring my body as he pressed me back among the crush of cushions and pillows. The pain had stilled my racing mind, making me calm all the way through to my core. He slid his fingers under the sides of my G-string, and I lifted my hips to help him take it off. As he slipped it off he parted my legs, gently pushing his hand up between my thighs, opening me up, exposing me to his desire.

      And all the while Adam was kissing my breasts, sucking my nipples, while his fingers were eager to explore the moist folds of my sex. I gasped as he slipped a finger inside me, his thumb brushing my clitoris. I lifted my pelvis eagerly. He made a soft throaty noise of appreciation before his kisses moved lower and lower, his tongue tracing a path down between my breasts, over my ribs, kissing and licking my navel and the sensitive skin in the bowl of my belly beneath my hip bones and the inside of my thighs. His kisses were feather-light, delicate, exciting, like a scattering of petals across my body. He worked lower still, kissing the creamy-white flesh above my stocking tops before unfastening and peeling each one off, his fingers and tongue working their way down to my knees, my ankles. Then he was slipping off my shoes and licking and sucking my toes.