He is naked, tied to the cross and a riding crop is in my hand.
The riding crop is my favorite tool. He twists and flinches on the cross as the leather whistles through the air and stings his ass. We dance together like this for a long, lovely slice of time. I pull his head back with his hair and kiss him passionately, stroking his hot red cheeks as we kiss. We search for the optimum intersection between his limits and my skills…his pain and my pleasure. We are new to each other…still discovering how we fit together. So he lets me know when it doesn’t push his limits…and later he lets me know when it does.
I can feel that my strokes have an edge behind them that I’m controlling…because it’s a reaction to a wrong step he made a few days ago. We’ve already talked it through, but the last vestiges of my hurt and anger want so badly to come through that crop. I control it because anger and a riding crop are not two things to be combined lightly.
I relish a few last hard snaps against the beautiful curves of his reddened ass, each one elicits a soft cry of pain. Then I lean into him, saying, “Are we finished?” His eyes are closed, head resting against the wood.
“I think that I deserve a few more, actually…after what I did.” His voice is low but sure in his offer.
His words loosen the reins on that small angry part of me and offer a way to vent…to release it. He is asking to be punished. He is offering his ass in apology, as a gift to do with as I please…if it will help me to feel better.
A very fine gift, indeed.