"Do you Submit?" he asked as calmly as if he was asking about the weather.
He slowly pulled a blindfold from his pocket. "Who am I?"
"You are my Master."
The world went black as smooth satin slid into place over my eyes. My scalp prickled where his knuckles brushed across my hair. The scent of him surrounds me now. God, why do I dissolve into a puddle when I smell his unique scent? Part good clean soap, fresh air and sunshine, it's intoxicating to me.
His hand is at my elbow indicating that I should rise, he walks me towards it and my skin prickled with awareness as he guided me into place. I faced the large wooden X, called a St. Andrews Cross, a Crux decussata. I knew from experience that this cross was smooth the wood was polished with the sweat and writhing of submissive's, both male and female, new or experienced, we all used its solid presence for a moments rest.
His fingers brush against the curve of my breasts as he drew the laces through the eyelets of my corset. The color matched my eyes but no one would know because they were covered now. The material finally loosened and fell away allowing me the freedom of a full breath. His fingers pulled and rolled my nipples as he cupped the full mounds in his hand he whispered in my ear. "They are so beautiful full and firm." One hand moved away and I heard the tiny bell as he pulled the nipple clamps from his pocket.
I would know the sound of those bells anywhere, and I shivered at the sound alone. My back bowed as the clamp bit at my right nipple.
"Shush baby wait for it... yea you feel the bite easing into a throb you once told me. You feel that throb all the way to your clit, do you still feel it there?" He cupped my sex as he asked.
I did not have time to process an answer before the sharp teeth bit into the left nipple taking all thought away. By the time I could reason again my hands were bound to the cross. His hand slid to my stomach his large palm covered my belly, and held me for a moment against his hard cock. My tiny pleated skirt barely covered my ass, which was exactly the way he liked it. Large fingers slipped the button loose. A quick tug of my zipper and the skirt fell to the floor.
Kneeling, he slid my panties slowly down my legs. He tapped the inside of my knee with his and spread my legs wide, then cuffed each ankle with the soft leather straps. A chill rolled over my back as he traced his fingers over the silky expanse.
"Are you ready?" He whispered in my ear.
I nodded my head, afraid that my voice would crack.
He chuckled. "That won't work baby I need the words."
The air moved over my super sensitive skin. I sensed him stepping back and heard the drag of the whip across the floor. In my mind's eye, I could see him coiling the whip, the muscles in his back rolling and tightening. His movements would be careful and meticulous, as he would need all his concentration. His role was demanding and required the utmost care.
The trust I placed in his hands absolute and unwavering. The whip struck, deathly silent until the crack against skin bloomed hot and sharp. The first few were always the worst, not that the pain was intense it was dull and it bloomed hot, spreading to a throbbing ache. One after the next, the cracks sounded followed by the twinkling of the bell as my body danced against the wood of the cross. The cracks registered one after the other my body becoming lighter freer, floating above the stage.
I watched from above as her back pressed outwards instead of flinching away from the bite of the lash she craved it, danced for it, so beautiful the couple was that it brought tears, which I realized were rolling down my face wetting my skin. I had no idea for how long they flowed. Then as suddenly as it started, the whip no longer skipped across the room. He stood there, his chest rising and falling with exertion. He dropped the whip, strode across the stage and uncuffed her with trembling hands. Then he lifted her into his arms and strode across the stage. The crowd parted for them silently and they watched as he closed the door marked private.