Sabbatical in Slave Land: Finale - A Damn Good Whipping (and not 'Funishment') Part 3

(Start)
"Hmmm," muses Xena. "Which whip?"

I frantically pump my muscles, trying to summon up a protective hardness in my chastity cage.

Years ago, Xena gave me a gloriously vicious whipping that had me close to tears.

It's her. She's not wearing anything special,
not pretending, just beating me.

We'd been together a few months, and in that sexperimentation stage, and I was being slave to her mistress. I think I was on my knees, wrists chained to ankles, and she beat me with that angry look of hers. But I spoiled it by doing that whole "communicate communicate" thing, by trying to turn her from a novice sadist to a service top.

Now here we are again, years of marriage later. Xena has a whip in her hand, fire in her eyes. It's her. She's not wearing anything special, not pretending, just beating me.

For my benefit or hers?

"Let's see what this one does..."

WHACK! Pain sears my shoulders. "One."

It's the solid riding whip, really just a nylon cane.

WHACK! "Two...!"

I jerk and writhe against my bonds. I've stop worrying about whether she'll follow through, or what's in her mind. I'm in the now, and I want it to stop.

"Five!" She stops. "Let's see what this one does."

The sensation fades and I want it back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pick up the Fred Norman flogger. Damn. It's a wonderful piece of workmanship, but it's wide soft leather makes for erotic impact, not pain.

Xena starts counting out the blows, and the sensation is... pleasant. She gets to ten then announces, "This is tiring." She puts aside the flogger and leaves me alone in the room.

I kneel there feeling disappointed, worrying about the whether, not the what. When she returns an age later and picks up the flogger again, I hiss, "That one doesn't do anything. It's just pleasant."

 Suddenly she's swinging the thing
like a tennis pro. 

"Really?" She flies into a rage. Simulated? Irritation behind pretend anger, then blending it? I don't know. It feels real. Suddenly she's swinging the thing like a tennis pro. "Does this hurt!" WHUMP! "Or this?"WHUMP!

I don't even writhe. I just kneel their moaning, wishing the pain would stop, yet unable to even contemplate unclipping my bonds. That loss of power, sense of being owned - it's satisfying in ways that are impossible to describe.

Xena stops. "Well?"

"Jesus that hurt!"

She laughs. "Too bad. Since you complained, none of these counted. We'll start again when I get back."

And that's how the next hour goes. Random breaks and angry whippings.

At last, she takes her break by getting into bed - remember, I'm chained across the foot of our kingsize. She starts to read, utterly ignoring me while I kneel there throbbing from head to toe.

Great, I'll get to go down on her.

But I hear this moist scratching sound, and the pages turn faster and Xena gives a little sigh. Sated, Xena gets up, gives me a final beating then tells me to clean up.

Soon we're tucked up in bed. She's asleep and I'm lying there, still locked in my chastity cage. My life is a success.

* * *

So, nearly a month later, I still don't know what happened that night. Was it for me? Or her? Did she pretend to herself she was doing me a favor, then get lost in it. I haven't asked.

I do know that next time, I shall approach my whipping with considerable fear, and so I am content.

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