This morning was the usual flurry of running late, getting ready for work, breakfasts, lunches and the Thursday morning flogging. We used to have a ritual daily flogging that we both enjoyed... not sure what happened to that, but it was probably life... and the great thing about ritualistic beatings is that they don’t hurt as much as weekly ones. As one hopped up on the punishment box, He selected the nice flogger. It might make a non-masochistic girl twitch, but there are some horrid ones that could have been selected that hurt like the blazes.
So one was suitably grateful... a state that extended through the fifteen strokes, even though He was putting a bit more into it than last week. The gratitude even made it through the rather brutal arse fucking that He finished with, and one thanked him profusely when He was done with one small slave. In fact the gratitude survived right up until one was in the bathroom and He said turn around, I want to see the marks. There were only faint pink lines that appeared to give Him no pleasure at all.
What’s up with that? Well the day is warmer and one did have a shower just before you reminded one, strange how you can forget some things without any trouble whatsoever, that it was Thursday. Hmmm, was the dissatisfied sounding reply. It was at that moment that gratitude turned a little sour... it felt a lot like worry in fact. See the trouble with a voyeur is that they like to see a result and when they don’t get it, you can be damn sure they are going to try harder next time. That little voice is going this is going to hurt...
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