Dearly Earned

originally posted June 12, 2005

She begged.

I warned her, “Do not beg for this.”

She begged.

I beat another, three perfunctory strokes across the backside of a new slave, and compelled her to watch. I sent her to her room with the kurt when it was done. She would tend to the blades, oiling them that they remain supple and wicked for the correction of women. I confronted her when she returned it to me.

“Were you eager to lick and kiss the whip?”

She was. She admitted that she was eager and, when pressed, admitted further than she had licked and kissed the whip. It was not difficult to imagine her alone in her room, relenting to her desire; lips pressing, teeth nipping, tongue licking. She was thrilled to have done so. I could see it. I could see, too, unfortunately for her, it was not enough.

“Please, Master,” she cried. “Please.”

To reactions that ranged from mild surprise to fear to utter befuddlement, she continued to beg. Her chain sisters, red door whores, girls of Anbar’s Boarding House were witness to her descent. Indulged, pampered, beautiful Nirah begged to be low. She was the only girl yet to feel the lash and she begged to be shown her place. She was ordered to strip and sent from the room to wait. She would not wait long. Out of the sight of others, I beat her ruthlessly and long. I continued to lash her until she could not, would not, dare not lift her belly from the carpet. She screamed and cried, writhed and twisted in agony. And when it was done, I forced the handle of the whip into her mouth. The discipline did not stop there. She took no pleasure in what I did to her next, but would not forget it, barely able to look at me through the constant stream of her tears. I was unmoved. She begged. She received precisely what she asked for. Wordlessly, I left her there to suffer.