Today’s Deeper Daily comes from “Like Riding a Bicycle,” a story in D&S Duos Volume 4 by Lisabet Sarai. FYI, this is a BDSM excerpt that includes whipping.
I enter the bedroom as quietly as I can, curious about what I’ll find. I didn’t give Mariah any instructions. What will she decide to do? I find her on the bed, with her face to the mattress, knees pulled to her belly and ass in the air, presented to me. One of my favorite positions.
The sight fills me with evil glee, but I make her wait. I approach the trunk where we hide our implements of torture and delight, tossing aside the pillows that disguise it as a window seat. The lock is stiff but eventually gives way. The lid squeaks a bit as I raise it. A choked exclamation comes from the figure on the bed. “Be still, Mariah,” I command, putting as much steel in my voice as I can.
Inside—oh, what bounty! The warm, complex smell of well-cured leather that rises from the interior has a Pavlovian effect. My cock surges and my balls tighten. I fight against the temptation to let go, to let the excitement carry me away. I’ve got to hold on, for Mariah’s sake as much as my own.
I trail my fingers over the cuffs, the clips, the chains and the neat coils of rope. Hoods, gags, dildos, paddles, crops, and floggers fill the chest like long-buried treasure. What shall I choose to torment and please my sweet, submissive wife?
I glance back at the motionless figure on the bed. The rose-colored lips of her pussy peek out between her spread thighs. Even from here, I can see them glistening with her juices.
“Any requests, slut?” I ask, mischief welling up to replace sentiment.
“No, sir. Whatever pleases you, sir.”
I’d love to suspend her. I glance up to the ceiling, verifying that the hook I installed two decades ago when we bought the house is still in place. But the spreader might put too much strain on her arthritic hip, and without it, she’d move around too much. I take out the violet wand, remembering the trails of sparks I used to coax from her moist skin, the way they lit the darkened bedroom as she jumped and writhed. Better, perhaps, to start with something more basic—to ease ourselves back into the game.
[bctt tweet=”I take out the violet wand, remembering the trails of sparks I used to coax from her moist skin…”]
Finally I select two pairs of plush-lined leather cuffs, a black velvet blindfold, a purple butt plug that looks like some obscene eggplant, and my favorite whip—the signal whip with the braided green-and-black handle, genuine kangaroo hide, Mariah’s gift on our tenth anniversary. I toss the mask, cuffs and plug onto the bed and sweep the whip through the air. It emits a whistle and a gratifying “crack” before it lands on the bed. Mariah tries unsuccessfully to stifle her moan.
“You just can’t be silent, can you?” The harshness in my voice surprises me and elicits a whimper from my cringing wife. “Do I need to gag you?”
“No—no, sir, please don’t do that. I’ll be quiet, I promise.” In fact gags are one of Mariah’s limits. They terrify her, as does anything related to suffocation. Still, it makes an effective threat.
“Never mind. I’m going to make you scream.” I’m brusque as I slip the blindfold over her tangled curls. I fasten a pair of cuffs around her ankles. “Hands down by your sides.” When she obeys, I cuff her wrists and clip her corresponding hands and feet together. “Too tight?”
“No, it’s fine, sir.”
I pinch her butt, leaving a pair of livid marks on her pale skin. “Fine? I think maybe you’re enjoying this too much.” When I dabble my fingers in her soaked cunt, her muscles clench around me. I smack her butt with my other hand and she actually giggles.
“Oh, you’re in trouble now, missy,” I tell her, trying hard not to laugh myself. She winces when she hears the drawer open and the burp of the lube spurting into my hand. “Yes, that’s right. I’m going to skewer your ass with a plug the size of Texas and then I’m going to whip you till you bleed. You won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
[bctt tweet=”Grabbing the singletail, I swing it once or twice, trying to get used to the heft.”]
I proceed to make good on the first part of my threat, slathering the bulging purple device with slippery gel. It’s about two inches in diameter at its widest point. I know that Mariah can take more—I buggered her with a bedpost once—but that was a long time ago. I rub the tapered end back and forth across her anus, working to relax her muscles. Then I push and twist at the same time.
“Aye!” she screams, as the fat bulb breaches her sphincter and settles into her rectum. “Ow!”
I don’t wait for her to get used to the sensation. Grabbing the singletail, I swing it once or twice, trying to get used to the heft. All at once I’m consumed with doubt. What if I really hurt her? An incompetent whipping could do serious damage.
I slash the thong through the air once more and slam it down on the bed next to her bare feet. Her toes curl as the force is transmitted through the mattress. I’m not sure I can really control where the stroke lands. The whip whistles and cracks above her head—threatening but ultimately harmless.
The pause becomes uncomfortable. I’ve lost the rhythm of the scene.
“Sir?” Mariah sounds tentative, questing. “Is something wrong?”
Anger and disappointment rise together. “What? Why do you ask, girl?” I growl. Tears actually prick my eyes, me, the big bad Dom. I should have known you can’t bring back the past. But it seemed, for a while, like it actually might be possible to recapture the magic. It felt so very right…
“Well, you said you were going to flog me, sir.” Mariah’s alto voice is strong and confident. She’s not afraid to tell me, in her sub code, what she wants. She at least has no doubts.
“Are you trying to tell me what to do?” I roar. “Are you topping from below?”
“Of course not, sir. It’s up to you. You should do whatever pleases you.” She sighs. The plug in her ass twitches. “I’m yours, sir—yours completely.”
It’s scene-speak, I know. Mariah would never talk like this in ordinary life. Still, it touches me, because I realize she means it. She trusts me—still—to do what’s right for us, to take her where she needs to go.
For more rebel erotica by Lana Fox and Jacob Louder, check out our books on Amazon.