The whip

I hear it in my dreams. My minds notwith me. In that beautiful fog.

The sound before the strike is what I long for, it means the pain is coming, it means I stop thinking, I only feel. I cum harder than ever before, every strike an orgasm.

I trust sir to know how much I can take because I don’t. Once I’m in this fog of a slave state every ounce of pain gets absorbed. I devour it, I scream for it, I beg for it.

Today I was a good girl. I always want to be his good girl. He says get the plug, I run for it, says I’m going to be allowed to cum. I bend over the slave station, tits pressed firmly down on the cold hard wood, on tip toes, all holes open, ass in the air. Fast and hard I put it in, the first pain moan, always the best that first hard thrust into my slave hole. I am complete.
Then he says wait. And I hear it. He has the whip I dream of, long for. I tense hard in the plug waiting for the stile, with every strike j cum. I know long cum from the hole that’s being used. I cum from deep inside of my soul. I hear the strike, cum, strike , cum, can never count this by strike 2 I have no brain for anything but obeying sir.

I’m such a good girl sir calls back, we just hung up.I’m sitting her plug still in, he says up down on the wood chair again over over , then sit hard, cum at one, counts back from 10. I cum hard, makes sir so happy. In that space I’m happy to, I pleased him. My orgasm is his not mine. My own orgasm is dull boring, meaningless.

Sir please bring the whip. Please let me cum for you? Please bring the tears, let the last bit of me go……..

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