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something. For what? I’m unsure, but the thought gives me enough gumption to keep my mouth shut despite the ever increasing ache.
    His hands on my right wrist snap me from my daze of thoughts. The building ache is momentarily doused as he works at my restraint. Is he releasing me? My mind processes possible scenarios at a rapid pace as I hold my breath and don’t say a word trying to figure how to play this. My joints are relieved of the restraint’s unending tension momentarily before his hand is like a vice grip around my wrist. Even if I wanted to try something, my strength would be no match against his.
    “Don’t even think about it,” he says, the quiet warning from somewhere at my side as he forces my arm across my body and to the headboard opposite where it was originally. My hands are now near each other and my legs still spread apart on the bed when he starts working on the opposite wrist. And then I realize what he is doing. He’s turning me over.
    A thrill shoots through me, followed by trepidation because if I felt vulnerable before, I feel even more so now when he finishes. He has loosened my restraints somehow so I’m able to be on my hands and knees on the bed. In this position, I can feel the cool air of the room against the now heated flesh between my thighs. My breasts hang heavily and the weight of them stretching against my swollen nipples is like a livewire to my core. The blindfold remains in place, and yet I can’t help but dart my eyes against the blackness as the floorboards creak toward the end of the bed where my backside is on display.
    He groans out in satisfaction and I flinch when the palm of his hand smooths ever so gently over the curve of my ass. “Ah, Lilly. This ass is perfection. I want it pink from your punishment. I want it violated by my fingers. I want it filled while I fuck you long and deep with my cock in that willing pussy of yours.” My body trembles and sex moistens from his words, fear and desire a potent combination that is impossible to deny regardless of how hard I’m trying to fight it.
    In the silence, my only focus is on the gentle movement of his hand caressing gently over my hips, my inner thighs, over my sex. I moan at the gentleness of his touch as he continuously strokes me, not quite hard enough to add the needed friction to my clit but just enough to have the blood engorging it to that fine edge of being painful.
    The strike across my ass takes me by surprise, fooled naively by the gentle nature of his caress. I cry out, back arching, breasts jostling, pussy clenching as the flogger whips little bits of pain into my bare flesh. And as I’m trying to process and absorb the sudden assault—the forewarned punishment—he pushes into me in one slick thrust. My clenched walls give under his invasion but grip his dick so tight that his large crest hits every single attuned nerve within. This time the sound that falls from my lips is a strangled moan mixed with protest.
    If I thought he had warmed me up to accept his girth, I was far off base. My vulnerable flesh protests against the stretch with an intense burn.
    Pleasure and pain.
    I don’t think I ever quite understood the magnitude of that phrase until now. Until he starts to move his iron hard erection within me, filling me, stretching me, taking me without asking. And then when he’s buried to the hilt, one hand gripping the flesh of my hips, the flogger strikes me again. The difference is this time when my body tenses from the tiny splinters of pain and when my pussy convulses around him, he pulls out so that his broad head drags against my tightened walls. Sparks of pleasure ignite from his unexpected withdrawal.
    “Oh god,” slips from my lips as my body welcomes the contrast of sensations. And he doesn’t stop but rather keeps up a distinct rhythm, his hips slapping against mine while the flogger—what feels like leather with rounded tips—trails slowly over my back. He removes it and my body