I walked into my favorite club last night. I could hear him long before my eyes adjusted to the dim lights. It's so hard to describe the sound of a whip cracking... but it's a sound that truly tugs at my soul. I forget about everyone around me and simply move, as if in a trance, toward that lovely sound.
In the middle of the room stood my friend Jeff, bullwhip in hand, a big smile on his face.
"And there she is!", he announced to the room. "I'm definitely in a *whip Ms. Jo* mood tonight". Then he laughed that wonderful sadistic laugh of his, and cracked his whip again.
It wasn't long before I found myself standing on the little platform in the middle of the room, my skirt pulled up and tucked into my belt, my panties around my ankles, holding on to the padded wooden bar at the top of the platform, waiting for that first rush of pain to explode in my brain.
He cracked the whip next to me, the sound almost deafening. I jumped as if it had hit me. He laughed again.
How to describe it?... the sound of the whip, Jeff's joyous sadistic laugh, the white-hot burn of the whip's touch, knowing everyone is watching and not wanting to disappoint them by having to stop, the little dance I do each time that whip strikes... The fleeting moment of terror I feel when he announces he's done with the bull whip; and changing to the two smaller single tails that will dance across my backside, one in each hand, slashing out a fast paced seemingly endless rhythm of pain done in time to the music blaring from the speakers in the walls. I sink into the rhythm of it, disappearing into that place in my head where I can fly.
Then, finally, or is it too soon? he is done. He helps me down from the platform because my knees are shaking so much that I can't seem to move on my own. We hug and I bury my face in his shirt, inhaling the wondrous smell of the leather, drifting off again and wanting never to come back to reality.
He begins to rub my bottom and legs as we stand there... and reality comes screaming back in a rush, as even his gentle touches bring back the burning pain. He laughs again at my complaining and tells me I have lovely marks.