Everything I touch.

Skin as delicate as satin. Warm and smooth. Slick with sweat. A blank canvas ready for colour.

Muscles bulge and strain against the bonds. But you will not be going anywhere. Even if leather and steel were to fail; I would not.

The scent; A drug. Hot and begging. Speaking volumes without saying anything. A taste of divine emotion and base instinct.

Haggard breaths. A pulse of discordant melodies. The drum beat echos in my ears so sweetly.

You wait in anticipation for that touch. My touch. A caress to put the devil to shame. A rapture stronger than ecstasy.

A gentle raking of the skin to begin, but intensity will increase. Talons poising to maul.

Then pointed teeth pressing into exposed flesh. A bite sharper than a thousand blades.

By tooth and by claw, blood will flow. The hunger must be sated.

For despite casual appearance; I am built to savage.

And everything I touch turns to red.

Feeling the eyes.

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

Time tends to slow down when you are in the moment. Everything seems to be in high definition and the only things that matter are the sensations. The sound and wind created by the dual floggers cutting through the air, the scent of sweat and leather, the feel of every impact sending vibrations through the body and the burn that penetrates every muscle from the exertion.

You can feel the eyes on you. The excitement in the air is like a drug. Addictive for an extrovert like myself.

With the beat of the music pumping through the club and influencing motion and impact, it swiftly turns into a dance. Erotic and sensual. This in turn attracts more eyes and the play becomes heavier. More visual. A performance to feed the spectators who are in turn feeding the extroverted desires.

By this point, the only way to stop the cycle is for the music to end. I am having too much fun.

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

With his arms raised and restrained to a Shibari ring that dangled from the ceiling, his back and shoulders are taking the majority of the beatings. Florentine style to be exact. Rash reddened and sore, he will bruise. But he too is being emotionally fed. Everyone is.

He raises his index fingers to the sky. Our prearranged signal that I am pushing beyond his threshold. I am oblivious to it. I know him and what he can take. The music had not stopped yet. He could endure. He ‘would’ endure. Limits are always best when at their extremities.

Now the thuds are louder than the music.

Whump… whump… whump… whump…

As the beat slows, so do the impacts. Breath is heavy. Sweat sheens the skin. The heat is comfortably uncomfortable as the world around phases back.

And then the music ends. I twirl the floggers to untangle them before clipping them to my waist. A spinning motion like a carousel. An elegant way to end. Aesthetically pleasing.

With a sure foot and gentle hip sway, I close the distance towards him to inspect the damage more closely. The skin looks tender. Tempting. Inviting. I gently run my claws down his neck and back. He shivers and groans at the sensation. A perfect finale.

With a short motion, I unclip his wrists and he slumps forward slightly. Drained. He turns, rests his head on my breast and I gently stroke the back of his neck. He had taken more punishment than originally intended. He deserved my gentler touch and aftercare. He had done exceedingly well.

Nothing needed to be said. Actions always speak far louder than any word. He attentively kissed my cheek. A “thank you”.

After a cigarette and a drink, maybe we would go at it again with a new song.

I do so love an audience.

Anything.

His voice wavered and the sweat glistened over his body in the dull candlelight. He was leaned over a whipping bench with his backside exposed, the welts from previous strikes could be seen perfectly.
“Please Mistress, no more!”
Ignoring his pleas, I pulled the cane back swiftly for another strike.
I love the whooshing sound my smoked dragon cane (Sasha) makes as it cuts through the air.
He reeled, slightly arching his back as I held the cane in place where it had landed. It was another good impact.
“Please Mistress, I will do anything! Just no more, I beg you.” he said through slightly gritted teeth.
“Anything?” I questioned while pausing briefly. “And what could you possibly do to make me stop?”
I savoured the silence that followed and grinned.
He had taken 6 strokes and was due for a short break. I was relishing the scent of fear oozing from his every pore.
I decided to take the opportunity to run my freshly sharpened claws over his welts before asking again.
“What could you possibly do? name a single thing that could still my hand.”
He grunted a little and jerked with the sensitivity of his fresh wounds.
“Nothing, Mistress.”
I stepped back to arms length and placed the tip of my cane gently over his rump in preparation for another aimed strike.
“Absolutely nothing.” I said as I pulled the cane back quickly and another whoosh cut through the air.