You kneel at my feet. Your eyes are blindfolded. Your arms are bound behind your back. Your only thought is for my pleasure. You cringe and quiver. I gently brush the tassel of the riding crop along your spine. You whine, reflexively, knowing what’s coming. You tense your entire body, as if you could prepare.
CRACK! Tears fill your eyes and your gasp is loid, though you’ve determined to give me no such satisfaction. You need only say the word, and you are freed, yet you won’t.
I stroke and kiss the welt on your flank, calming you, reassuring you. CRACK! Your breathing is ragged now, and I feel your pussy through your thong, as warm and moist as if I’d prepared you with my cunning linguistics.
CRACK! And you moan. How can I know you better than yourself? You are mine, every inch of you, body and soul.
Brief, but biting, like a crack of the crop.
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Brisk and brusque!
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