Fear and pleasure

Sinead arrives at her mistress's door carrying both dread and need. She knows bruises will bloom across her skin before the night ends, yet she rings the bell anyway. Inside, the leather wraps around her wrists without ceremony. Her mistress studies her, eyes cool, then picks up the single-tail. The first stroke lands hot across Sinead's shoulders; she jerks, but the second and third come before she catches her breath. By the tenth she is screaming through the bit gag jammed between her teeth, thighs shaking as each lash feeds the ache between her legs. Her mistress paces behind her, striking wherever bare flesh still shows. Sweat runs under the straps that hold her open and exposed. The pain sharpens until her cries collapse into raw, rhythmic moans, every lash dragging another pulse of wet need from her cunt. Nothing verbal passes between them. Only the snap of leather, the wet sound of an overworked mouth around the gag, and the low, hungry gasps Sinead makes when her climax finally rips through her, forced loose by pain instead of pleasure.