“Please, Master.”
“Please what?” His voice cracked with command.
“Please flog my pussy.”
“Again. Louder.”
“Please flog my pussy, Master.”
The handle disappeared and she opened her eyes, wanting to watch. He stepped back, angling his body just so. Then he brought the flogger up in an underhand swing. Cessie tensed but didn’t close her legs. She stayed open for him.
The first strike was gentle, a light tap that mostly landed on her inner thighs though a few tails touched the tender lips of her pussy. She gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound.
Then she spread her legs wider, reveling in the pleased noise he made.
Another, slightly harder strike, the tails landing with a softthwapagainst her slick folds. The impact sent shudders through her, pleasure and pain tangling until she couldn’t tell one from the other.
Leon didn’t rush. He measured every movement, watching her, reading her. He struck again—gentle, precise—and Cessie’s tears returned. She was relieved, overwhelmed, and desperate for more.
Between strokes, he touched her, fingers stroking lightly over the heated skin of her inner thighs, grazing the sensitive flesh he’d just flogged.
"Please," she whispered.
“What do you need?”
“Pain.”
“Look at me.” He gripped her chin, forcing her face up. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had that.”
“Please, Master.”
Leon turned and kissed her softly. “Tonight is about giving you what you need so you can submit. But tomorrow you can beg all you want but it won’t change anything.”
She relaxed, totally content with the idea of having no control. “Yes, Master.”
He stepped back and surprised her with a quick, hard strike to her pussy. She cried out, her legs nearly buckling, but Leon was there, steadying her with a hand at her hip.
The room around them disappeared. The watching eyes, the low murmurs, the scent of leather and arousal—all faded. There was only the fire in her skin and the sound of his voice.
Cessie surrendered completely, the tears still slipping silently down her cheeks as her mouth curved into a soft, blissful smile.
“You’re sure you want this, Cessie?”
She opened her eyes to see he’d swapped out the flogger for a narrow slapper paddle. Made of black silicone, it looked almost like the thin straight-sided spatula though was much longer than the one she used to get all the almond butter out of the jar.
She whimpered, the sight of the slapper bringing up visceral memories of pain.
“Where are you?”
“Green.”
He studied her, as if assessing the truth of her words.
“Turn. Ass first.”
