We call it the cat-o-nine tails whip even though it only has 7 tails but don’t let that fool you and don’t be fooled by its good looks either. The red and black soft braided handle that end in 7 little tails will hand loosely from your hand when you pick it up, lulling you into a false sense of security, with its unthreatening posture. But in the right hands this limp little pretender comes to life, flying through the air and delivering its unique kiss upon your flesh .
A couple of weekends ago the tails got used at an event we attended. The scene above took place pretty much as described. I begged him not to the moment I saw what he was pulling from his bag of tricks and yet he carried on anyway. No, only means no when it isn’t actually ‘no’ that is being said. The absence of that word tells him everything and as a result he whispers into my ear
“But you want it really, you need this as much as I do”
Damn him for being so sure, so in control, so fucking right. I don’t know that I actively want it, but I do need it and I will endure it, because that endurance makes me strong, powerful and turns me on more than I can describe in just words.
At one point the tails wrap, casting their length around my arse and landing their vicious little stings across my hip and the top of my thigh. The resulting marks are bright red welts that stand raised on my flesh and it is this that really holds the key for me because no matter how much my body fights the sensation I will grit my teeth and brace myself for more in a quest to see his handy work tattooed across my skin.
Since then I have nursed those marks, lovingly trailing my fingers over them, cherishing their raised texture for the first day or so and then watching each day as they change from bright angry red to a deeper, more luscious purple. A constant reminder of how I got them, who gave them to me and why….
Because I need it….
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