An out of body experience.
It’s the only way you can describe…this.
You bite down on your bottom lip, your teeth sinking into the swollen flesh as a smacking sound echoes in the room, signaling another lash to your ass.
“F-Four!” you spit angrily, even as you shake like a leaf in Fall. “I promise I’ll never be late for a session again.”
“You sure about that?” Frost smirks mockingly, the words somehow more antagonizing than the pain he just inflicted. And before you can even brace yourself, he swishes his stupid crop again.
“Ahhh!” The scream rips itself from your throat, the sting sharp and unexpected, erupting from your thigh this time. The motherfucker didn’t even give you any time to prepare for the next one.
You try to regain your composure—not that you have a whole lot of the stuff right now—balling your fists as you struggle to inhale like a normal person, because, for the life of you, it’s all you can do right now.
“Count!” Frost barks, the sudden loudness of his voice startling the fuck out of you, and your stomach drops to your feet like a stone.
“Fi-five!” you scream back involuntarily, your heart pulsing so fast it feels like you might vomit it right up, your lungs expanding and contracting so rapidly you can barely even speak. “I p-promise…promise I’ll never be late…for a session again.”
Frost touches the head of the crop to your thigh again, the same spot he just hit. Your eyes slam shut as you brace for the impact, holding your breath, but the blow doesn’t come like you expect.
Instead, you feel the crop trailing over your skin, curving over your outer thigh to your inner one. The unexpected contact makes your eyes fly open, your legs jerking impulsively, trying to get away from its invasive touch. You grit your teeth and tear your gaze away from him, unable to continue watching what he’s doing to you when you feel the crop settle mere inches from your naked core. It takes everything you have to keep your legs steady and your uncooperative feet on the damn numbers.
Your pussy pulses almost violently at the sensation…and you’re nothing short of horrified at its reaction. But you’re also confused as hell by it. Especially when you know you’re scared shitless. Utterly terrified out of your fucking mind. You’re barely managing to keep it together, desperation the invisible glue holding you together, keeping you from crumbling into a billion pieces and ending it all right here and now the way you so badly want to.
“Why were you late, Ramona?” Frost asks in a low voice, sounding more sinister and unnerving than when he yelled, the front of his body now touching yours.
Your head is still lowered, your eyes intentionally cast to the floor, completely avoiding his. “I thought all you wanted to hear from me during this glorious punishment was counting followed by everlasting promises to be punctual.” You try to sound confident, wishing your words came out in a more defiant tone, but the strain in your voice gives you away too easily.
You sense his lips inching closer to your ear, feeling rather than seeing him smirk.
You almost wish you could take back what you said. Almost.
Still, you just had to be a smartass about it, as if that’s done anything but get you in trouble so far. You guess you never learn.
“I’m glad you’re paying attention,” he almost whispers into your ear, not an ounce of sincerity in his tone. You shudder as you inhale, the feel of his hot breath and the weight of the crop on your inner thigh too much to bear, especially given his close proximity.
Your nipples brush against his shirt inadvertently, and your cheeks instantly go up in flames when you feel them harden and protrude like a pair of traitors, bunching up on themselves as they sit shamelessly atop each of your heaving breasts.
You dare not look up at him, into those blazing, soulless eyes that you can feel all over you, devouring every inch of your nakedness in spite of the darkness around you.
Without warning, another lash finds its way onto your other ass cheek, forcing a surprised yelp out of you. You jerk forward involuntarily, your cheeks clenching against this latest blast of pain. Before you can even get a chance to fully process the intensity, another follows.
And another one right after that.
And then another.
Precise, sharp blows coming one right after the other in quick successions, each one more intense than the last, maliciously descending on various parts of your ass and thighs. You don’t get any time to recover in between. Before you know it, you’re panting, your head swimming, and you actually think you’re seeing stars; little multi-colored balls appearing before your eyes as your vision begins to blur. Your chest heaves without restraint and you couldn’t stop it even if you tried, the labored action pushing your breasts against him, your nipples grazing his shirt involuntarily and tingling with a strange, diffused heat despite the coolness of the fabric.
“Why aren’t you counting, Ramona?” he whispers mockingly in your ear again, the pseudo-question laced with obvious amusement—the sadistic kind, no doubt. “Why aren’t you giving me your word that you’ll be punctual from now on, since you clearly know that’s what I want to hear?”
God, you just knew your smart mouth would come back to bite you in the ass. And, in this case, quite literally.
Another sharp smack rips through the still, silent night, resounding in your ears, the accompanying sting reverberating throughout your entire body. Your mouth parts in a silent ‘O’ this time, your brows furrowing in pain that you can’t even voice. In fear that you can no longer hide. That you have no desire to.
You can’t believe he would even consider going this far. And for what? You being a little late? Especially when it wasn’t even intentional?! This dude is fucking nuts!
You struggle to breathe, trying to remember how many lashes you got from last count. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long.
“Six!” you resume. “I promise I’ll never be late for another session. Seven. I promise I’ll never be late for another session. Eight. I promise I’ll never be late for another session…”
It sounds almost like a prayer; like you’re having some sick, twisted religious experience as you chant a promise that isn’t even yours over and over again, but every stroke to your ass seems to reinforce each word more and more, as if he’s burying the promise beneath your scorched skin.
It goes on and on like this. You go on and on like this. You feel your head spinning, your senses going from one to a thousand in mere seconds, and soon, you become an immobile pile of overcharged nerves and sensory organs. All you can focus on is the present; the immediate stimuli around you. The darkness engulfing you. Cold air on your naked body. The swish of the crop. Leather colliding with your flesh. The sharp, singular smack filling the entire room, cracking loudly against the backdrop of deafening silence.
Rinse and repeat.
Again and again.
You can barely even keep your head up, your arms aching as each labored breath puts more strain on them in their raised position, like two ropes stretched to their limit, the tension ripping through them becoming more and more unbearable by the minute.
This is, without a flicker of a doubt, the most surreal, unbelievable experience you’ve ever had. The craziest situation you’ve ever found yourself in. Put yourself in.
And in spite of everything you’ve been through in your twenty-four years, not in a million—no, billion—could you have ever imagined that you’d find yourself here, in this desperate, humiliating situation. At this kind of rock-bottom low.
Even though you pretty much saw it coming, nothing could have prepared you for this.
Nothing could have prepared you for him.