After a good thirty seconds, I slowly released him. My teeth marks were white in contrast to the purple bruise. A moment later, they disappeared.God, I wish I could take a picture.I had a digital folder under several layers of encryption—photos taken with the full permission and active participation of the bottoms. Never so they could be identified. Quite a few of Mickey. He was, at heart, an exhibitionist.
I moved to Jack’s other cheek and bit again.
“Oh dear Lord.”
Yep. Perfect.Aware that time was passing, though, I stood and moved back to the bed.Whip. The implement most people associated with BDSM. The one I’d spent the most time learning—and then perfecting.
I took the proper stance behind Jack, double-checked the distance, then let the first throw go. I snapped it just beside his ear—but not touching him.
His sharp intake of breath assured me he’d figured out what I was doing.
I repeated the process with the other ear.
He shifted again.
When he didn’t speak—or object—I let go the first strike.
It perfectly hit his left shoulder.
Undoubtedly, he’d be confused.
The strike was a whisper. Barely a touch. And I continued with those gentle caresses as I hit so many places—shoulder, back, thigh, ass. Those hits had him squirming because, truthfully, even a light touch against those sore bruises would be a unique sensation. A sort of stinging.
Again, with precision and care, I increased the intensity of my strikes. Harder and harder. The goal was not to draw blood—because we hadn’t negotiated that—but welts were just fine.
Welts wereperfect.
He shifted repeatedly. Which amused me greatly because he couldn’t predict where the next strike would land.
I let the final two strikes—the hardest—land exactly where I’d bitten him.
He howled.
Pleasure surged through me, and my cock thickened.
“Step toward the window, turn around, and place your back and ass against the glass.”
He scrambled to obey. His gaze shot to mine as the cold hit his welts and bruises. Ice was always recommended—I was just being creative.
I held up the whip. “Close your eyes and fucking keep them closed, okay? Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Nope, I need to hear you say it.”
“I understand.” A little breathless. A lot turned on.
His cock bobbed.
He closed his eyes.
I did several strikes on his very lovely stomach. He wasn’t washboard ripped, but he was still stunning. Slowly, I eased my way up. Then, with a precision that would make my whip master proud, I struck first his right nipple. His left was an easy shot as well.
A tear ran down his cheek.
I hadn’t done more than a caress on his nipples—so potential pain from that wasn’t the cause.
These certainly weren’t the first tears I’d ever witnessed in a scene.