“On the drive over my mind and heart were racing. I could not put out of my head what was to come. I knew that a whipping from him was unlikely to be a pleasurable experience for me. Though it was not supposed to be for me, it was for him alone. It was an act of submission on my part, a fulfilment of his need to dominate me.
In the short time I have known him, I realised that to him a submissive has only truly submitted if she has accepted that which makes her uncomfortable, done that which is not pleasurable for her and ultimately that which she does not want to do. Having thought this it suddenly struck me that this was going to be more a test of my submission to Sebastian than a sadistic indulgence for him.
The roads were quiet and I arrived at his at approximately six fifteen. I had stopped watching the clock, so I am not really sure what time I arrived. I was full of dread and sexual arousal, but I think that fear of what was to come consumed me the most. I walked up to the front door; I didn’t even get to press the doorbell as he had already unlocked it on my arrival. He opened the door and I looked up at his face, but I couldn’t read his thoughts.
He put his hands on my waist and I walked closer to him, his hands followed the curves of my body, across my breasts and his fingers rested around the nape of my neck. He entwined his fingers in my hair pulling my head backwards, his lips met mine and his tongue entered my mouth. After what seemed an age he broke away and whispered in to my ear, “The pleasure is having you dance to my every tune,” and he bit down on my ear lobe. I fell in to his arms, using his body to support me, I could feel the sparks flying inside me and he turned around ushering me in to the house.
Sebastian led me in to the lounge, guiding me to the sofa, leaving me to stand whilst he sat and ordered me to strip. I removed my long gypsy style skirt and let it drop to the floor, my legs were bare and close to needing a shave, though there was nothing I could do about it. My cardigan was already sitting on the car seat, so this left me with a short sleeved white top which came off easily. I unfastened my bra and he stared at my breasts as it slipped to the floor.”
He’s not a billionaire or even a millionaire, there is no mansion or super car and he has no international business. He doesn’t woo me with expensive gifts, but then I don’t need all these things, I’m not materialistic.
We are very different people, chalk and cheese, but we complement each other. I know many people say it’s easier if a couple shares similar views, interests and ultimately similar personality types, but that similarity can create clashes.
It is not one big gesture which defines how he feels for me, it is all the little things and it is these things which have drawn me to him. Just how many girlfriends can moan to their boyfriends about their periods and actually expect a conversation on this topic?
Sebastian stood me in front of the cross, stretched my arms up in the air and whilst my back faced him, he attached the cuffs to the rings on the cross. I made my choice as expected and selected the quirt, though it seemed far from ordinary. It had the burning sensations associated with a single tail and the first few strikes had me dancing around, in spite of being restrained to the cross.
Despite his assertions that the quirt landed softly, the pain was more severe than I had expected and my mindset was not attuned to accepting this intensity. Foolishly, I tried to protect my backside by turning away from him, only to be commanded to stand straight again. I obeyed, though inevitably I recoiled again as the quirt landed harder and I attempted to drop to the floor regardless of my bonds.
He had grown tired of my defiance and his voice no longer soft, it had a sharpness to it as he instructed me to stand up straight. He grabbed hold of my hair and pulled my head back, it became clear that this was a silent reprimand and perhaps my final warning. I took heed of his unspoken words and stood immobile, my backside exposed to his torments and the rhythm of pain continued, with my cries as the chorus.
Unconventional Desires 