A Flogging Fantasy

by Ravenna Tate

“Very strict upbringing plus twelve years of Catholic school equaled one very curious and horny girl who also felt horribly guilty every time she fantasized about sex and being flogged.”

  He nods imperceptibly, and his expression encourages me to keep going.

  “I didn’t date in high school. Not once. I didn’t go to dances, or to my prom. Every time I thought I was close, I’d end up listening to the guy say something derogatory about my weight, or make a judgmental comment about something I was eating. It got so I expected it. Even when someone did compliment me, I didn’t believe it.”

  “Self-fulfilling prophecy?”

  “I suppose so, yes. My parents never pushed me to lose weight. They always told me I was so pretty, and so smart, and that one day the right man would come along.”

  I readjust my body so I’m facing him. I want to watch his face as I speak. “They were always trying to fix me up with sons of family friends. It was horribly awkward. The entire family would come over for dinner, or to watch a game on TV. It was clear the boy they thought was perfect for me wanted no part of it, either.”

  “Were they boys you found attractive?”

  “Sometimes. Don’t misunderstand me. I was always polite, but it was so uncomfortable sitting there, forced to make small talk, knowing the entire time that both sets of parents were trying to push you into dating.”

  “I didn’t think people did things like that anymore.”

  I snort. “In my family they did. They wanted me to find a good Catholic boy, get married, and pop out a bunch of kids.”

  “What do you want?”

  Someone like you. “This fantasy. And someone who wants me just the way I am.”

  “You still find it difficult to accept compliments.”

  It’s not a question, so I say nothing.

  “Do you want to get married one day?”

  “I don’t know. And I’m not just saying that. It’s the truth. It’s difficult enough to picture myself dating anyone for long enough to reach that stage, let alone to picture being there.”

  “You’re not a virgin. You must have reached a point where you had sexual encounters. Tell me about those.”

  “There’s not much to tell. A couple of awkward experiences in college, during which I couldn’t relax enough to even enjoy it.”

  “Did those men comment on your body?”

  Shit. I really don’t want to tell him this, but I have to. It’s only fair.

  “Yeah. One comment really got to me more than anything. It was after we’d had sex, which made it even worse.”

  “What did he say to you?” he asked gently.

  “He asked me if I had ever considered going on a diet. And it wasn’t only the question itself. It was the tone he used. He tried to tell me he’d only asked for my health, but I assume he knew from the look on my face that I didn’t believe that for a second.”

  “That’s really shitty. Were there other comments about your weight or about dieting?”

  “No, but both did comment on my inexperience, and both used that as an excuse not to see me again.”

  “Fucking idiots.”

  I nearly laugh at the tone in his voice and the expression on his face. “Thank you.”

  “I have never understood that. Why make a woman feel worse about her inexperience by commenting on it, or worse, by using it as a weapon against her?”

  “You’re one of the true gentlemen left on the planet, Asa.”

  The corners of his mouth lift. “You might not think me a gentleman once I use those other floggers on you.”

  “But that’s different. You can be both kind and polite to people, as well as Dominant.”

  His head tilts slightly. “You know more about this lifestyle than I expected. Is that from your reading, or have you spoken to others in it before tonight?”

  “I don’t know a lot about it at all. Reading about it and living it are two entirely different animals. The rest is merely my own observations of people in general.”

  “You must be trained to do that as a teacher.”

  “I definitely have to stay observant, yes.”

  “Why history? And why high school?”

  “Glynis is from the Welsh word glyn, meaning valley. My parents each have Irish and Welsh ancestry, and both were born in Dublin. The two families were close growing up, and came here to America at the same time in the early 1960s. So my parents essentially grew up together. It was a foregone conclusion they would marry.”

  “Ah. It makes sense, then, why your family tried to arrange a marriage for you.”

  “Yes. As to your question why I chose to major in history, I grew up listening to both sets of grandparents tell stories filled with vivid historical details. I became fascinated with all history, not only Irish history. Teaching was something I fell into during my junior year of undergrad.”

  “Do you also have a master’s degree?”

  “Yes, in education. When I was a junior in college, I had the opportunity to participate in a workshop geared toward engaging grade school kids in subjects like math and history. I enjoyed it so much I decided I wanted to teach.”

  “That’s a fabulous story.”

  “Thank you.” I want to ask him more about how he became a Dom, and what else he does, but I’m not able to form words when his gaze turns lustful again. Why does this man have such power over me? I’ve just met him.

  “Are you ready to continue with your fantasy, Glynis?”

  I nod because my mouth still won’t work. He smiles, takes my hand, and leads me toward a different piece of bondage furniture than the bench I was on before. This one is a simple X made out of wood and covered with leather. He positions me facing it, and the name of it pops into my head. It’s a St. Andrew’s Cross.

  “Will you find it uncomfortable to stand with your arms extended overhead like this?”

  “No, but thank you for asking.”

  He stands directly behind me, and that bulge in his pants brushes up against my ass. I try to stifle the moan, but it escapes anyway. “It’s about pain and pleasure, Glynis. Are you ready?”

  “Oh, yes.” For more than you’re going to give me, apparently.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  It’s tempting to turn around, but it turns out I don’t have to. He places the thin, black flogger on a hook at the top left X of the cross, and carries the metal one across the room. Underneath a countertop, he opens a door to reveal a small refrigerator. I am clueless as to why he places the metal flogger inside.

  As he strolls back toward me, he winks, which immediately sends more wetness to my pussy. “That metal flogger feels amazing when it’s cold.”

  “Oh…” As in oh my goodness. I may have bitten off more than I can chew, but I’m not about to stop him now. This is indeed turning out to be the most erotic experience, and the most fun, I’ve ever had.

  Chapter Five

  His gaze is on my face as he lifts the thin flogger from the hook where he placed it seconds ago. I shiver as he runs his fingers through the falls. “You sure about this? It’s going to sting like crazy.”

  “Yes. Please.” My body trembles when he steps behind me. I tense, but again, as before, he merely brushes the strands over my skin. Up and down my back, my ass, and across the backs of my thighs. I decide he must be able to read minds, because just at the point where I’m ready to lose mine from need, he finally snaps the flogger across my nipples. I cry out as tiny jolts of electricity rush straight to my throbbing clit.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t forget to safeword if you need to.”

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  More lazy brushes with the strands, and the next time he snaps it against my skin it’s from behind as it curls underneath to strike my pussy. “Oh my God…” That is fucking exquisite. I try very hard to stand still, but it’s so damn tempting to get off this cross, throw myself at him, and beg him to fuck me. Hard.

  “I
nteresting.” He purrs the word, sending shivers up and down my spine. Now the falls strike other parts of my body with the same intensity he used on my breasts and pussy. He’s right. It stings like fucking crazy. It also sends me into ecstasy. He alternates the areas and varies the pattern so I never know where it will land next.

  Every happy thought I’ve ever had races through my mind, and tears roll down my face. But they’re not tears of pain. They’re joyful tears. My fantasy has finally come true. I’m gasping for air as I cry harder. My arms slide on the leather pads, so I readjust my feet to keep my balance because there is no way I want him to stop.

  The falls brush my skin lightly now. He’s playing with me, ramping up the intensity and then pulling back. Giving me time to rest, or some other reason? Does it matter? All I’m able to process for certain is that I adore this.

  As the swats increase again in intensity and frequency, I hear him breathing hard like he did earlier. My skin is on fire, but it’s a sweet pain because with it comes the most incredible exhilaration I’ve ever felt. No religious experience has even come close to this. That thought is likely heretical, but right now, I refuse to allow it to mar this. Instead, I concentrate on the delicious fog I’m slipping into.

  I don’t care about anything or anyone else except Asa and this sharp flogger. When he stops, I listen to him pant as he walks over to the fridge and removes the metal flogger. He winks at me again as he nears the cross. “Are you enjoying this, Glynis?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “I am so proud of you right now.”

  “Thank you.” Those words mean more to me than he will ever understand. If I was asked to put my happiness into words, I’m not sure I could adequately do so. I have no frame of reference for this. There are so many emotions bubbling up that I’m not able to deal with any of them.

  “Do you need a break?”

  “No. I love this.” That’s not even close to verbalizing what I feel, but I have no better words for it.

  He kisses me gently. It’s quick, but I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat because the gesture is also sweet and spontaneous. Why couldn’t I have met this man in high school or college? “You are doing wonderfully.”

  “This is better than I ever imagined.”

  “I’m so pleased you’re enjoying it.”

  I close my eyes as he moves around the room. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing or where he’s going. I’ve never been this happy. He steps behind me again. I know this because I sense his presence. When he brushes something across my skin, I yelp a bit.

  “Oh! You weren’t kidding about the cold I didn’t know you’d taken it out of the fridge.”

  “Safeword if you need to. This is an advanced toy, and it’s not for everyone.”

  His voice is so soothing. It reassures me and gives me confidence. The strikes with this flogger aren’t even close to the intensity he reached with the previous two, and it doesn’t take long to figure out why. This one bites. It could easily cut my skin if he wasn’t careful.

  Once the coldness wears off the metal, I still enjoy the sensation of it gliding against my skin, or lightly flicking it. I’m so relaxed it’s becoming difficult to stand. All I want to do is sleep.

  Each time the chain mail brushes against a wound the thin flogger made, tiny jolts of electricity race through my body. The pain is intense now, but so is my arousal. I’m certain my pussy juices are dripping onto the floor. My body is soaked in sweat, and I have to keep gripping the pads with my fingertips so my arms don’t slide down.

  The joyful emotions coursing through me are overwhelming. They taunt me with erotic images that flash inside my head, like one of those commercials that are a series of split-second pictures, so all you get is a tease with each one. The overall effect leaves you wanting more. And I do want more.

  I want someone who will play with me this way, all the time. Someone who will love me, just as I am right now. Why can’t I find that person? Does he even exist? Is Asa that man? The one I’ve been dreaming of?

  As soon as that thought enters my head, the spell is broken because I have to fight back the urge to laugh. As if he would want me for anything other than a survey participant.

  Asa has stopped flogging me. It takes a few seconds to realize it. The flashing images inside my head stop, too, which is great because I no longer want to feel so many emotions at once. It’s exhausting. I lean against the pads of the cross, keeping my eyes closed. Maybe if just take a short nap, I’ll feel better?

  “Let’s get you someplace more comfortable.”

  What? Asa has picked me up in his arms and is carrying me toward the bed. Carrying me. In his arms. How in the world does he have the strength to do that, especially after he’s worked so hard?

  He places me on the bed, up against the headboard so I’m supported, and drapes a soft blanket around me. “Drink this.”

  I take the bottle of water he’s holding toward me, and drain it without stopping. The fog lifts a bit. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

  He sits next to me. “It’s called subspace, and it’s not unusual. Have one more, please.” I take the second bottle he’s offered and drain that, too. He finishes two of his own, watching me carefully between sips. He’s worried. Did I look that bad leaning up against the cross?

  “Was I about to faint?” I recall heavy emotions and intense longing, but I swear I was still awake through it.

  “No, I don’t believe so, but you had reached your limits.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your body language changed, and you stopped moaning.”

  To say I’m impressed is an understatement. “How did you learn all this?”

  “Years of practice, staying observant, an instinct for subtle cues in people.”

  His words bring back my ridiculous thoughts of him being the man I’ve been searching for, and I’m embarrassed. At least he doesn’t know what I was thinking. “I thought it must have been something serious for you to pick me up and carry me. Are you hurt?”

  Oh, if only I could take back those words and instead, say the things that had me embarrassed before I slipped into my tried and true self-deprecation mode. His entire aura changes again, and I’ve already opened my mouth to apologize but he cuts me off.

  “I wish you could see yourself as I do.”

  No one has ever said that to me before. “How do you see me?” As soon as I say it, I realize it comes across as fishing for compliments, but if he interpreted it that way, there’s no sign of that on his face.

  “An articulate, intelligent, beautiful woman who has been denying her true self.”

  I swallow hard, and stare into his dark eyes. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Yes, but I reserve the right not to answer it.”

  My smile can’t be helped. He’s so charming, even when he’s being a smart ass. “All right. Fair enough.” I’ll never know unless I ask. “Why aren’t you married or otherwise attached? You’re gorgeous, you’re sexy, and any woman who wouldn’t fall under your spell when you flog her must be brain dead.”

  He averts his gaze for a split second, but it’s enough to realize I’ve struck a nerve. Now I wish I hadn’t asked.

  “You might be surprised how difficult it is to find a woman who accepts this lifestyle as part of me. This is who I am. I can’t turn it off, any more than someone who is gay can simply stop being gay.”

  “I am surprised to hear that. From all my reading, I had the impression there are many people attracted to this lifestyle.”

  “Attracted to it, yes, but for the wrong reasons.” He shifts his weight so he’s facing me. “I’ve met so many women who come to the club, or take the classes we offer, looking for a sugar daddy. Someone to rescue them from their lives. They want an escape. A way out of a situation they created, but that they don’t want to work to extricate themselves from. They view a Dom as someone who will step in, take them away from their problems, and fix their l
ives.”

  “That’s ridiculous, and it’s not what this is.”

  He nods. “I know that, and you know that, but a lot of people don’t. They’re interested enough in kinky sex to come here and see what it’s all about, but they don’t truly understand who we are inside.” He taps his chest, and I’m distracted by his chest hair, now slightly damp and matted.

  “They don’t understand that this isn’t an emotional windfall for them. It’s a way of life for us. It’s who we have always been. I have zero interest in rescuing anyone from their lives, and I really don’t want to play sugar daddy to a person who refuses to deal in any with the issues she created.”

  “Bravo!”

  His brows rise in surprise.

  “I mean it. I wish more people thought that way.”

  “I’m not talking about people who fall on hard times through no fault of their own. I’m talking about people who can’t or won’t manage their own lives, and then want others to fix everything for them, without them putting in any of the work themselves.”

  “Yes, I know exactly what you mean, and I agree. We make choices every single day, and the tradeoff for that gift of free will is having to live with the consequences of those choices, good or bad.”

  I’m too warm with the blanket on, but too shy to simply remove it, so I reposition it further down my shoulders. “You said earlier that I’ve been denying my true self, and you’re right. I have been. Thank you for saying that. Thank you for the truth of that statement. I needed to hear it.”

  Our gazes lock for long moments while I summon up the courage to keep going. “Will you help me find the courage to stop doing that? Because I no longer want to. I want to be the person that I am inside. That I’ve always been. How do I do that, Asa? Where do I start? How do I start?”

  “I’ll help you.”

  What? “But isn’t that exactly what you just said you don’t want to do?” I ask because I truly am confused by his statement, not because I’m fishing for compliments again. I hope he understands that.

  “There’s a huge difference between what you just asked me, and the women I’ve met who expect me to simply step in and change their lives. The difference here is that you want to change, and you want to put in the work yourself. You’ve asked me where and how to start. You did not ask me to do it for you.”