by Stasia Black
“The whip,” he says, his voice certain.
I look back at him sharply and his cheeks color. His gaze immediately jumps back to the floor. “If it pleases Mistress.”
I bite my lip and feel bad for a second. Jackson said dominant-submissive relationships should be about mutual benefit. Dommes are supposed to care about their sub’s needs before their own but I came here only concerned with what I needed. Damn, I’m failing even before I begin at this. I reach out and touch Daniel’s cheek, urging his face back up.
“It’s not that I don’t want to give you what you need,” I say. “It’s just that I don’t know how to use those yet.”
His eyes brighten. “I could teach you. It’s easy and a quick lesson would be enough. Then we could play.”
He seems so earnest.
“The rubber whips are more like practice ones anyway,” he nods toward the wall. “Like that green one. Even if you screw up, they’ll barely sting. This is how a lot of mistresses learn. Their subs help them pick up new skills.”
I consider him a moment and then look up where he’s gesturing. It’s easy enough to see the neon green rubber whip. A practice whip. It would be good to learn.
And it’d be good for me if tonight turned into a session practicing my Domme skills, focusing on what Daniel needs rather than stewing in my own shit. Gentry’s smug face flashes in my eyes but I swallow hard and force the image out.
Yes. It would be far better to make tonight about Daniel rather than letting Gentry have any more space in my head.
I walk over and retrieve the key to Daniel’s handcuffs from the floor where he tossed it earlier. I come back to him and look at his cuffed hands.
His posture is deferent, but he’s still a big guy. I bypass his hands and go first to the ankle manacles that lie unused at the bottom of the pole. A heavy chain runs through an iron eyelet screwed into the pole. It’s long enough to give the person locked in some leeway to step away from the pole.
I heft the chain in my hands then inspect the ankle cuffs. Unlike at the club, these aren’t padded leather cuffs, just regular metal handcuffs like the police use. The ankle ones do look larger, but that seems to be the only consideration given.
Daniel doesn’t make a sound of objection as I attach the cuff to his ankle. It’s curiously satisfying to hear the small lock click into place and know he can’t go anywhere unless I allow it. The feeling only gets more intense as I lock the other ankle in.
I make sure to leave a lot of extra space so they don’t close too tightly and chafe. Though I don’t imagine the metal cuffs can be comfortable. Really, I’m surprised he doesn’t have the leather kind. Everything else in his ‘dungeon’ seems to be professional-grade equipment like at the club.
I’m slow to stand, taking in his corded legs, high, tight buttocks, narrow waist that leads up to his nicely shaped back. He’s not overly muscled. He has something of a jogger’s body. I run my hand up his thigh, skip his ass, and then continue up his back, cocking my head to the side as I observe him.
He shudders slightly under my touch and he bows his head. And God. The sight of a man chained and at my mercy—
My breath escapes in an erratic stutter and for a moment I feel lightheaded. Yeah. That high from Monday night? It’s back. Maybe not quite as good because it doesn’t have as much sexual edge without Jackson here, but the high is still present. I kick at the chains near Daniel’s ankles just to hear them rattle and it sends another sizzle running through my blood.
There’s a tiny bit of slack at his wrist cuffs. Grabbing the chain, I yank him forward just enough to topple his center of balance. His chest rams roughly into the smooth wood grain of the pole but he keeps his eyes on the floor. It pleases me even though I can’t describe why.
Whoa. So maybe this is what the rush is about for me. Everything that happened Monday was all kind of a jumbling flash of sensation. I couldn’t separate out what parts especially spoke to me and what was simply happening and exciting because it was the first time I was seeing it. From the reading I’ve been doing since then, dominants and subs usually have a preference in what they’re into. Which letter or letters of the BDSM acronym particularly call to them, or maybe a kink that’s even more specialized.
Daniel embraces masochism. And being humiliated.
So what will my thing be? Bondage obviously goes on my preferred kinks checklist. What else? I lick my lips, taking one more long second to enjoy the sight in front of me. I think about the other letters. Dominance. Sadism. Do I like inflicting pain?
A secondary rush hits when it starts to sink in: this isn’t just about the sex. I get to… discover myself. Find out what’s inside me. My fingers grip around the key in my palm. Do I want to know if a sadist lives inside me? What does that even mean if I do like it? Hurting people?
“If the Mistress frees my hands, I can begin the demonstration.” Daniel’s voice is soft. Deferent.
Still, he probably shouldn’t speak without being spoken to. But I appreciate being pulled out of my thoughts, so I don’t chide him. I do make my face stone, though, as I use the key to undo the handcuffs at his wrists. I do a quick inspection of the skin and see red lines from where the cuffs cut into his skin.
“You had them on too tight.” I glare at him. “They should have been secured one or two notches over.” I made sure to leave space for two fingers when I was tightening his ankle cuffs. He obviously pulled these as tight as he possibly could. And he should know better.
His eyes stay downcast. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“Don’t do it again.” My voice is cutting. I’m totally new to this whole deal and even I know he deserves a good spanking for that. Then I remember Jackson saying that for Daniel, that would be a treat. So maybe not.
“What am I going to do with you?”
Daniel dares to look up at me, that charming smile on his face. “Let me train you in the art of whipping a naughty sub?”
I give him a wallop on the ass for mouthing off. His face drops immediately to the floor, but I notice the smile remains. What a little—
Instead of giving him what he wants with another spanking, I order him to stand up straight. I put the key to his cuffs in my bra. He watches, which of course is part of the point. Look, but never touch.
Heading to the wall, I grab the green whip. “Which one do you want to demonstrate?”
Daniel’s head pops up and his eyes barely skirt the wall. “Brown braided leather, third to the right from the green.”
I locate the one he means and hold the two whips side-by-side. Though they are different materials, they have a similar shape and length. I head back toward Daniel and he gestures toward the far corner. “You see the mannequin bust over there? It’s what Dommes usually practice on.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “So I’m not the first you’ve had to teach these tricks to?”
He ducks his head. “I’m happy to educate when I can.”
I half laugh, half scoff. “I bet.”
The bust in the corner is heavy, but it’s on wheels. Unlike a regular mannequin, it’s not flesh-colored, but covered in black latex and when I touch the shoulders, I can feel that it’s more heavy-duty than just pieces of molded plastic. I assumed it was just a part of the decor when I first came in.
I roll the bust close to the pole where my—out of nowhere the word slave pops into my head—stands chained. Slave. My glance drops to the two whips where I let them fall just out of Daniel’s reach. My stomach flips with excitement.
Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. What the hell am I doing?
I notch my chin up higher. Fuck it, whatever I’m feeling, I’ve got to put on a brave face. My sub… slave… might be the one teaching me a new skill tonight, but I’m the one in control. It’s not just what’s expected. It’s what we both need. For the first time all day, I feel like I can really breathe. Inhale. Fill up my lungs with oxygen. And when I exhale, breathe out every toxic feeling.
Because in here, I am a Master and for this small, agreed-upon time, this man is my slave.
“How far away should it be placed, Slave?” Inside my head, my use of the word is tentative, but outwardly, I keep my voice like steel.
Daniel doesn’t seem to think I’ve said anything out of the ordinary. “For these whips, a distance of about eight feet is good. We’ll get an even better feel once we begin.”
I move back out of the strike zone and then toss Daniel his whip of choice.
“First, we’ll start with an easy one, the circle strike.” He crouches slightly and with his right hand, he whips the leather in an arcing horizontal circle. At the end of the circle, the tip of the whip strikes the mannequin’s upper back.
“It’s best to aim for the fleshier areas of the back, at least with new subs. An experienced sub like me can take it really anywhere. I just want to let you know the protocols for when you take your new skills elsewhere.”
He repeats the strike over and over several times. I watch the graceful movement of his arm. It’s really more about the wrist, though. My eyebrows furrow as I zero in on the way his wrist rotates to create the circular motion. I repeat it with my own whip in a smaller scale and without the intensity to make the whip fly.
Daniel’s whip falls to his side and with a nod of his head, he indicates it’s my turn.
“Toss me yours.” It’s a command and I hold up my arm. This situation might seem on the up and up, but there’s no way I’m letting him keep anything that can even remotely be used as a weapon near me. He’s the only one that, for whatever reason, has agreed to trust me that far. I never said I’d do the same.
He gathers the whip without comment or expression and tosses it in my direction. I let it drop near my feet because me and coordination skills are not best friends. Somehow I think butter-fingering a simple catch wouldn’t do great for establishing my dominance. I leave the coil of leather on the floor and walk forward to reposition the bust so the back faces me. Then I step back again and try out the circle-strike.
My first few tries, I’m not close enough and I miss the target completely. I step nearer but the circle I try to make is wobbly and oblong.
“If you lower your stance slightly, you’ll get better results,” Daniel says.
I do as he instructs, lowering my center of gravity. The first time I get a satisfying thwack, a jolt of electricity seems to travel from the impact back through the whip, up my arm and into my chest where it reverberates. Oh yes. That’s quite satisfying. I do it again and three out of five times get a satisfying whack.
“Now reverse the direction of the circle so you can strike at the other side of the back.”
I do is he instructs. It’s a little trickier at first to go counterclockwise, but after ten repetitions, I’m getting the hang of it. I practice switching back and forth for another quarter hour. Daniel also shows me a diagonal technique where I flip my wrist to create an X pattern in the air to deliver equal blows on the upper shoulders similar to what I saw Jackson do.
After half an hour of practice, I feel comfortable with both strike patterns.
Jackson.
Shit. Why does thinking about him make me feel a rush of guilt? Like being here alone with Daniel is somehow wrong? God, I’m not even here to have sex with Daniel. This is just a skill- gaining session. What the fuck?
“Mistress is a natural,” Daniel says, bringing my focus back to him. I don’t know if he’s bullshitting me or not, but when I look over at him, his eyes are focused with intensity on the whip in my hand. “Would Mistress like to practice on her slave now?”
My gaze bounces between the bust and Daniel’s back. Am I ready? I fight the urge to bite my lip. That’s not what a Mistress would do.
Damn, if I overthink this, I could put it off forever. I have a feeling it’s like diving headfirst into a pool for the first time. No matter how much you stare at the water, there’s no way to get a feel for it other than just doing it.
With a decisive nod, I turn toward Daniel. “Yes.” I turn my back to him and bend over at the waist, stretching my hands to my toes. Giving him a perfect view of what he’ll never have. His intake of breath brings a wicked smile to my face.
“Did I hear the slave say something?” I roll back to standing, then stalk with sure, confident strides toward Daniel. He follows me with his eyes.
“No, Mistress.” He swallows hard.
I grab his chin roughly with one of my hands, squeezing his cheeks. “Good.” I make my voice menacing. “Keep it that way.”
But then I remember another important part of play. “Unless it’s your safe word. What is your safe word? Say it now.”
“Red.”
“Say it again,” I command.
“Red.” His voice is confident. Okay. He gets the idea.
“Other than that, I don’t want to hear a single word out of you. My slave is to stay silent. Is that understood?”
He opens his mouth but then closes it again when I arch an eyebrow. Instead, he nods.
“Good boy,” I croon.
I grab one of his unbounded wrists and jerk it back toward the cuffs. Reattaching them, one after the other, I make sure that they aren’t cutting off his circulation this time. They are tight enough to make sure he’s not going anywhere, but he still has good blood flow.
Satisfied, I step back to examine my work. And God does he looked pretty. So, so pretty, bound and chained there for me to do whatever I want to. He peeks up at me.
“Eyes on the floor,” I command roughly. I don’t know where the Domme voice comes from, if it’s a role I’m playing at or if it’s a real part of me. Hell, maybe it’s a mixture of the two here at the beginning while I’m still figuring everything out. Maybe I’ll become Mistress the more and more I play. And some day I can be this badass version of myself all the time. Queen over all her domain. Never bowing under the heel of anyone, man or woman.
The high is so high I want to stand here, feeling it forever. But like all highs, it’s unsustainable without continuing to feed it. So I walk back to the whip. What could be more thrilling than knowing I have the little key to someone else’s pain and pleasure?
It’s without much ceremony that I swing the whip in the circle movement and bring it down on Daniel’s back.
In spite of my determination to inhabit this role, it’s a less-than-decisive strike. Okay, let’s call it what it was. Weak. The whip barely has the energy to complete the circle and Daniel has no reaction to the impact whatsoever. It might as well have been a fly landing on his skin. I remember his body jolting from the flogger when Jackson applied it last Monday.
Then again, Daniel did say this was just a practice whip. Which is good. I don’t need to be marking up anyone’s back. But still, a little redness isn’t going to do anyone any harm. I make the circle again and strike with a more satisfying hit. Daniel still doesn’t move, but the noise that echoes throughout the room is rewarding. A mid-pitched thwack. Very, very nice.
I land a few more blows in that direction before alternating counterclockwise for five more. Then I switch back to the other and continue, back and forth until I land twenty more. I pause to examine my work and can’t help grinning at the reddened canvas of his upper back.
I step forward and gently rub my hands over his skin. It’s warm to the touch. I trail my fingers across his shoulders and down his shoulder blades. When I glance around to his face, I’m expecting to see some of the pleasure like I saw in our last session.
Instead, I only find consternation. I feel my eyebrows draw together.
“What’s wrong?”
He’s quiet, even going so far as to bite his lip.
“You can speak now. I’ve asked you a direct question.”
His eyes flick up to meet mine. “It’s nothing.”
I grab his jaw again. “Never lie to your Mistress. It’s not nothing.”
I feel him swallow but only tighten my grip.
“It’s just that, I’m
a dirty, nasty, stupid slave. And filthy slave boys require heavier correction. We need to really feel it if we’re ever going to do any better. We’re stinking, hideous little bitch boys.” He strains against his restraints. Not because he wants out of them, I realize. He just wants to feel the pain of the metal handcuffs digging into his skin.
He didn’t just accidentally pull the wrist cuffs too tight earlier. It was on purpose. He’ll do anything he can to get to the pain.
Which is why he needs me. And I’ve been neglecting the other half of his psyche. The part that needs to be humiliated.
I toss his chin I’ve been gripping so hard to the side roughly. “Why am I even bothering with such a pathetic excuse for a slave?”
“Please, Mistress, I’ll do whatever you ask—”
“Back to no speaking, you fucking idiot,” I force myself to sneer. “You’re right about one thing, you are my little bitch for the night.” I walk back to the whip and test its weight in my palm. It feels good.
“Is my whiny little bitch boy going to complain about a little pain?” This time when I land the circle strike, it’s a thud. Oh yeah. That one landed. Fuck’s sake, did it land. Daniel’s body finally jerks just the tiniest bit and I smile.
“I bet you loved that, you little slut. You’re a slut, you know that right? You let me in your house, almost a complete stranger, because you’re so hard up for this, aren’t you?” Another hard strike.
“Yes,” Daniel cries out. “I’m a bitch slut for whoever will give it to me.”
“I told you not to say a word.” I move to counterclockwise strikes. “Not.” Whip swing and strike. “A.” Swing and thud. “Word.”
I change up my swings and try out the X pattern. I’m a little rough at first, but eventually get the rhythm of it. These land more on the inner part of the back and I try to distribute the blows so they don’t all land in the same place.
“Twisted pain slut,” my heart races as I continue shaming him. I didn’t think I’d find this part so thrilling, but damn if I don’t. “If you could speak, I know you’d be begging for it. But you are my slave and you can’t say a damn thing. You’re a helpless little bitch.”
