A New Whip Is the Perfect Reward for Her Faultless Slave

It wasn’t our usual play night, so I was excited for a chance to surprise my husband, Robert, with the new whip I’d had shipped to my office. He’d been such a good slave lately that I felt he deserved a reward. And what better way to do it than with a good lashing? Though you might think of that more as a punishment, I knew he’d be ecstatic. I was excited about it myself. The crotch of my panties was already thoroughly soaked after an afternoon spent thinking of ways he could return the favor. But first, I’d have to maintain my composure long enough to appear to be the imperious dominatrix.

Robert met me at the door and, after kissing my proffered cheek, took my things, giving the gift bag tied shut with ribbon a quizzical glance. His eyes lit up when I urged him to peek inside it, and they opened wide when he pulled out its contents. Holding the cat-o’-nine-tails reverently, he ran his trembling fingers through its leather tendrils. “Hand it over,” I commanded, and with a look of almost shameful guilt, he quickly obeyed.

I looked it over, making a big show of my examination because every moment that passed made Robert more anxious—and excited. As more honey leaked from my cunt, I hoped he didn’t notice the musky scent of my arousal because I wanted to appear unaffected by all this. He’d discover my secret later, when I’d allow him to go down on me.

Although it was clear that Robert was turned on, he was mindful that there were things that needed to be taken care of first. Following me to the master bedroom, he drew my bath, and as I soaked in the perfumed water, he laid out my clothes. Although it wasn’t our normal night for a session, my alert slave intuited that the new whip called for a special ensemble.

After I’d dried off, I slipped on the black merry widow and sheer peignoir, grabbed the lash, and called Robert back to the room. He came running, but I didn’t know if his shortness of breath was from that or from arousal. There was a bulge in his black latex shorts—his usual uniform—that made him look shamefacedly at the floor when he saw me noticing it.

The whip’s hilt warmed in my grasp as I slowly circled my slave. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch, or quiver, having achieved perfect self-discipline during his years in my service. I felt proud of how well I’d trained him. The only indication that he was aware of my presence was when I’d pause behind him and hear a sucked-in breath. He was obviously primed for the sting of the lash on his vulnerable flesh, and though I eventually planned on giving him what he longed for, I wanted to tease him more.

Two noises filled the room: the clacking of my heels on the hardwood floor and the sound of Robert’s heavy breathing. I stopped in front of him, taking note of his downcast eyes and the protuberance in his shorts. Though he was trying to hide his excitement, there was nothing he could do about his erection, at least not without touching himself, which wasn’t allowed. I was about to reprimand him but held my tongue because all the other aspects of his behavior were perfect.

I took one more half turn before stopping behind him and hoisting my arm to send the lash’s wicked tendrils across his broad shoulders. The sound of the whip swishing through the air was followed by Robert’s gasp as he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. He remained noiseless besides that, not daring to let out a peep, though I knew he’d been affected because his skin changed color where the whip had kissed it. Pink stripes spanned his back, and I created a crisscross pattern when I splashed the leather tendrils across his flesh in the opposite direction.

Admiring my handiwork, I reared back to send the whip flying through the air again, this time hard enough to jolt my husband’s body forward. I was ready to strike him again, but he grunted loudly with the impact of that blow, so I stopped short, letting the numerous tails fall ineffectually to the floor.

“I’m so sorry, Mistress,” Robert whispered, and because I was really turned on, I accepted his apology. I was tempted to have him get me off right away, but I didn’t want anything—like his raging hard-on—distracting him from my pleasure. So, without warning, I yanked down his shorts from behind and laughed at his shocked gasp. Then I walked around for a look at his erect penis as it bobbed above the latex that was banding his thighs.

His denuded balls dangled over the stretchy black material, so I tickled them with my fingernails and watched him struggle to hold back a shudder. His attempt was a success, so I praised him and said he was free to ejaculate whenever he was ready. His eyes lit up at this unexpected treat even though he knew that it was more for my benefit than for his.

I reclaimed my position behind him, smiling at the sight of his ass, bare and vulnerable. Then I reared back my arm once more and flicked the cat forward, bouncing the lashes off his buttocks. He balled his hands at the sound of the crack, and I could tell that he was squelching the urge to touch himself. Not that masturbation would be necessary. He’d inevitably come just from the kiss of the whip, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it wouldn’t be much longer.

Increasing my force and velocity, I rained blows on his shoulders, back, and derriere. His hips pumped slightly as though he was fucking the air, and his skin went from white to pink to crimson, flushing darkest wherever the strips of leather landed. However, he didn’t reach climax, and I began to wonder how long it would take before he broke. I didn’t want this to take all night, so I yelled, “Come for me, slave,” whenever I cracked the whip, but it wasn’t until I shouted, “Do it now!” that he moved a hand from his side and cupped it in front of him. He gasped loudly when his balls finally exploded and filled his palm with cream, which he was careful not to spill on the carpeting.

“Clean up your mess,” I demanded when his body ceased jerking, and he crab-walked to the bathroom with his shorts still binding his thighs and his hand full of his load. When he returned, with his cock totally flaccid, he was still bared so that I could scrutinize it for any stray semen. He passed my inspection, so I put aside the cat-o’-nine-tails, yanked up his shorts, and got undressed before taking a seat in a large, throne-like armchair.

He picked my clothes up off the floor, folded them neatly, and looked to me for his next command. Spreading my legs as wide as possible, I glanced down and then back at him, knowing that what I wanted would be clear to the well-trained slave. He dropped right where he was standing to crawl forward on his knees until he was eye level with my splayed cunt lips. With both arms at his sides, he leaned forward, opened his mouth, and stretched out his tongue; the “no hands” rule was a firm one, and one I was confident he would heed unless told otherwise.

When his mouth touched my clit, I couldn’t hold back a shiver; after all the buildup, the contact felt so good. Then he started drawing a series of lazy circles around my turgid button because I usually like starting slowly, but that night I wasn’t in the mood for dillydallying. “Harder!” I commanded, and to drive my point home, I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his face forward to mash his mouth against my dripping pussy.

I held him there as he set about making me come with only his lips and tongue. He lashed my clit as best he could and then, when that proved difficult, he sucked it until I quivered. He spared no effort, and at no point did I release my grip, my fingers digging into his scalp as I held him against me as tightly as possible. Not that it was likely that he’d attempt an escape: pleasing me was his raison d’être, and he’d never pass up the chance.

As he huffed and puffed, Robert’s breath felt hot against my cunt, similar to the heat flowing through my midsection. Then my thighs snapped shut against his ears as my ass rose and fell on my brocade seat cushion. Soon my hips were bucking so wildly that my pussy collided repeatedly with my submissive’s face. As my grip on his head grew stronger, I pinched my nipples and urged him to tongue-fuck me even harder. Eventually, a warm rush welled up inside me, so I held my breath, concentrated on it, and cried out when it spilled over.

My body jerked violently through my climax. My knees were still pressed against Robert’s ears, so he had no choice but to eat me through orgasm after orgasm, just like a good slave should. His tongue continued flicking at my labia and clit, and I didn’t tell him he could stop until I was too sensitive for further contact. There was a big smile on his face when I granted his release, so I knew that he was proud of himself for his accomplishment. And he should be, having more than earned the reward of an unexpected whipping.

—Ms. Janet H., Richmond, Virginia