EXTRACT FOR
Bad BDSM Etiquette
(Daisy Rose)

The first lash of the whip hits her right across her tail and she cries out, hands moving back instinctively to cover her ass with both hands.



He tsk'ed. "Do you remember what we said?"



There's no 'we' in his decisions. She shakes her head. "Hurts," she whispers.



"It'll hurt at first. And then it'll start to feel good. Why don't I tie your wrists up? It'll make it harder to move."



She doesn't want him to tie her up. She doesn't even want him to hit her again. But then, she also doesn't want a lot of thing and she's not sure what he would do if she says no to this. She nods, feeling entirely out of her depth as he takes the straps from the cross and tugs it to her wrists. He ties it taut enough to hurt. "It's too tight," she whines, feeling embarrassed for voicing out the second she does.



"It's meant to be tight," he tells her and does the same thing with her left wrist, wrapping the leather strap so hard around her wrist that she can barely move. She supposes that's the whole point?



Satisfied by how she's unable to move, he rolls the handle of the flogger in his hand for a moment and then strikes again, hitting her ass this time.



The second hit is light, not as painful as the first time. She wonders, briefly, if he had done it deliberately so he could have an excuse to tie her up. The third hit banishes the thought. The tail hits her right below her ass, spreading a light wash of pain over her thigh. Her breath hitches a little, but she doesn't respond otherwise.



He aims the fourth hit on her back, right above her tail. The fifth, sixth, and seventh cover her upper back with a flush. He stops and inspects his handiwork with his palm, his hand warm against skin that feels like it's burning.



"Beautiful," he says.



She doesn't think the pain is beautiful, but it's calming in a way too, to not be the one in charge. She closes her eyes. All she has to do is stand there and take it. She can do that.



"More then," he says, not really asking permission.



She answers regardless. "Yes, sir."



She loses count as he continues hitting her across her back. The pain is jolting and surprising, each one no more or less painful than the previous. She finds herself tensing more as he continues. Her back feels like it's on fire, every lash forcing her to hiss out through clenched teeth. She is pulling at the straps holding her up when each lash connect against her flesh, the pain so visceral that she can't help but react.



Her wrists are beginning to ache from the combination of how tightly he had her strapped up and how much she's struggling.



Her eyes close and she feels herself growing wet in spite of the pain. Or is it because of the pain? She can't really tell anymore. Five more hits, evenly spaced so that she can count an interval of five seconds in between each lash. There's a quiver on her muscles and when he presses his palm to her back, she makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat.