I’m lying naked, face down on the bed.
My legs are spread, my hands are above my head.
No restraints. But I cannot move.
He told me to remain perfectly still.
I’m not sure what exactly is keeping me here.
Fear? The overwhelming urge to not disappoint?
The smell of clean linen is the only thing that is invading my senses.
My eyes are closed and the room is deathly silent.
He told me to wait.
For how long?
The sound of movement in the room interrupts my thoughts.
The adrenaline is already seeping its way into my veins.
My heartbeat quickens. My breathing hitches imperceptibly.
Still, I don’t move.
I hear the crack before I feel the sting.
Pain rips through my body like a lightning bolt.
Then fades to latent heat.
I begin to move.
Subconsciously squirming against the combination of pain and arousal.
His tone is even, yet threatening.
Harder than the last.
I cry out and beat my wrists against imaginary shackles.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming as the next blow lands.
More likely it’s the only thing I allow myself to do so that I keep still and stay silent.
The lightest touch travels along my leg.
From my ankle to the highest point at the inside of my thigh.
Searching for something when it reaches its destination.
A symptom of my body’s own betrayal.
Exquisite pleasure begins to wash over the shadows of the pain.
Dampening the lingering sting of the implement I chose not to ask about.
My heart rate quickens again.
But to a different tune.
Before I can reach that peak, it’s gone.
And I wait for the next lash.