Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) (13 page)

My pussy is swollen and on fire. The flames shoot through my asshole. Swirl up to my clit. Cause me to break out into a chilled sweat. It’s a deliciously, sweet, stinging burn that has my clit engorged and my gooey nectar oozing out of my slit, clinging to my enflamed lips. The searing heat that screams through my cunt heightens the arousal of my senses, and my libido.

Legs spread, knees bent. I am hoisted up in my sex sling, blindfolded and donned in a pair of crotch-less black skintight leather pants, six-inch spiked books, and a black corset.

Usually, with the crack of a whip, then the flick of the tongue, I bring pleasure to women who desire, want, need…seek to release their inhibitions, to indulge their secret cravings, to feed their hunger for submission and control.

But then there are times, like now, when I want to be the one on the receiving end of a flogger, or a belt. Sometimes I want the
sting
that comes from the thinner width and length of the falls—the number of attached thongs. Sometimes I crave the
thuddy
feeling caused by a flogger no longer than the length of my forearm with wider, thicker falls made from heavier grades of leather.

Oh, yes, the flogger—my favorite whip.

My mind travels back to my first time bringing another woman this kind of deliciously painful pleasure. I was twenty-three. My new lover, at the time, Nicole, was twenty-eight. And less experienced
in matters of kink, and sexual freedom. We had been dating for almost six months before I broached the topic with her. We were lying in bed, spooning, after an afternoon of lovemaking.

“You ever had your pussy whipped?” I asked, my hand sliding over the curve of her naked hip.

She craned her neck over her shoulder and shot me an alarmed look, then scowled. “No. Why the hell would you ask me some crazy shit like that?”

I shrugged. “It’s not crazy. It’s a question.”

“Well, the answer is
no
. Ain’t no one smacking up, punching up, or whipping up
my
pussy.”

“It’s erotic,” I whispered.

She sucked her teeth. “It’s nasty.”

I kissed her bare shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I do. And I love you, too.”

I leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “I know you do.”

“But…?”

“Do you love me enough to be open to exploring new things, sexually?” She said she was open to some things. And asked her if she trusted me. She said she did. She wanted to know where this idea to flog her pussy came from. I told her how I had been fantasizing about it for over a year. That I had accidentally walked in on a friend and her lover in the throes of something sexual, and kinky. And it wasn’t the gleam of their nakedness that had turned me on that day. It was seeing her lover holding a flogger in her hand, wielding it with precision and skill, its leather straps popping against her flesh. It was the vision of seeing her inflict pain on her lover that had aroused me. The moaning that followed each time the whip crackled into her skin excited me. I could smell her pussy from where I stood.

I felt like I was prying into a secret world of debauchery as I
inched a hand up my blouse, pinched my nipples, then slid my other hand down into the elastic band of my cut-off sweatpants and eased my way into my panties. I inhaled, my breath catching in the back of my throat as I pressed on my clit. My panties were already soaked long before my hand or fingers even touched my insides. They didn’t see me standing there watching them. Or maybe they knew I was there all along. But it hadn’t mattered. Unbeknownst to them, standing there watching them—with my fingers slick in my own cum, they had ignited my curiosity.

I told Nicole how, a few weeks later, I had approached my friend about what I had seen between her and her lover. And how, the next day, she arranged for her lover to give me my first taste of being flogged. My breasts were first to experience it, then my cunt.

“It really turned me on,” I explained, taking in her. I gave pause to see if she had anything to say, if she wanted to ask anything. She didn’t. I continued, “I never knew experiencing pain could be so damn pleasurable. It’s like being on a rush. Once my endorphins kicked in, it still hurt like hell, but I didn’t want the feeling to stop. That night I had one of my greatest, most intense orgasms.”

She turned over to face me. “So you have some kinky fetish for me to whip your pussy?”

I shook my head. “No. I want—”

She shot up in the bed. Her eyes widened slightly with realization. “Ohmygod…you really…want to…whip…
my
pussy…?”

A lecherous grin spread across my lips. “Yes. I want to whip you. I want to lie you on your back, yank off your panties, spread open them sexy thighs and whip your beautiful pussy until it spurts wet heat.”

She blinked. Blinked again. Then swallowed. “Hard?”

“No,” I whispered, stroking her right nipple. “Gently, lovingly, at first…until your pussy glows red. Then harder as your cunt
heats up. I want it to hurt so good that you beg for it.” I reached between her legs, cupped her pussy. “I will stroke your pussy with each lash and make you wet, like now, so wet your juices are pooling into your asshole.” She gasped as I slid two fingers into her dampness. “Can I spank your pussy, baby?” She grunted as I strummed on her clit. “Look at you, all slippery. Just the thought has your pussy heated, doesn’t it?”

She gasped again. “Oh, god. You’re into some real kinky shit.”

I pulled her nipple into my mouth, nipped it, sucked it, then pulled back. “No, I’m into being sexually liberated. There’s something very freeing about embracing pain, giving and receiving it. I wanna be free with you, Nicky.” I slid another finger into her pussy. “Mmm. Your pussy’s so wet. I know you wanna try it. Say it.” She bent her knees, spread her legs wider, meeting my fingers and hand with hungry thrusts.

“Uhhh…mmmm…so…if…aaah…I let you…”

“Let me what, baby…? Go ’head, say it.”

“W-w-whip my pussy,” she stammered breathlessly. “W-w-will you fuck me with a strap-on afterward?”

“Maybe.” I plunged my fingers into her deeper, worked them faster. She bucked and thrashed as I hit her G-spot. I kept talking in her ear, kept planting the seed, while I finger-fucked her. Then I removed my fingers from her gushy snatch and popped her clit, then smacked the front of her pussy. She let out a loud moan. I did it again. “We can come up with a safe word that you can use whenever it becomes too much for you.” I slapped her pussy again. And that time…she came, hard.

After two weeks of coaxing and smacking her pussy with my hand, she’d allowed me to paddle her pussy. I’d paddled her sex until it was clenching and creaming. And then I would nestle between her thighs and cool her torrid cunt with slow, wet strokes
of my tongue, slowly dipping it into her drenched slit. It took me another two weeks before I had her comfortable enough to accept her first flogging. But not without, first, explaining to her the different types of floggers there were. She needed, wanted, to understand their purpose. Wanted to wrap her mind around the sweet torture I had finally convinced her—after weeks and weeks of prodding and preparing—to endure.

And that first time…the night I delivered swift, yet gentle, lashes to her waiting pussy, she screamed out and cried, giving in to the sensation and the waves caused by each lick. Eyes wide, pussy puckered, her vibrating groin and buzzing clit built the pressure within her to dizzying heights. She barely had time to gather her senses before her orgasm slammed through her, cracking open her insides, and spilling out in rushed spurts.

She gasped and wriggled and thrashed as she came, her back arching, her breasts swinging. Her opened eyes brimmed with tears as the thumping in her clit slowly subsided. The pain had made her feel helpless and powerful at the same time. Made her feel alive, every nerve ending tingling through her entire body—sensitive and on high alert—had her body overheating.

“Do you still trust me?” I asked, dropping the soft suede mini-mop with its burgundy tails as I knelt between her legs, my own pussy aching and drenched in its juices.

She nodded. Then tossed her head back and loudly moaned as I flicked her clit, then slurped the front of her pussy into my mouth. Another climax built, and she came over and over and over—welcoming its freedom.

“Are you ready?” the silky voice asks, lightly sweeping the flogger’s tails over my sex, cutting through my reverie. I blink behind the blindfold, swallow back drool while adjusting my thoughts back to the present. The feeling of the flogger’s tails brings out
a Pavlovian response: my pussy juices, excitement rushes to my clit, and my long, thick nipples swell. A thick sexual energy surges from my breasts to my nipples, causing them to become erect.

I can’t take it anymore. The need is excruciating. The want is unbearable. I ache for the stinging burn. I arch my back. “Yes. Give it to me. Make my naughty pussy weep.”

The beautiful woman with the rich, deep Hershey chocolate skin standing before me—my lover, Sasha, holds a suede flogger with pink suede tails and angled tips in her slender, manicured hand. My pussy clenches, watching her grip its wooden handle. Oh, how I love the feel of suede. The way it snaps into the skin with just the right amount of thud and sting.

That’s the beauty of floggers. Used properly, they can create many delicious sensations that bring about a steamy session of scintillating discovery.

Swoosh!

I gasp. The sting is followed by an exquisite burn that singes into my sex, its heat dancing over my skin. My clit starts to throb.

“Whip my pussy, again,” I whimper.

In my mind’s eye, behind the blackness of the silk, I see her raising the flogger up over her head, bringing it down over and around. Its fluid movement etched in my memory. Its lashes embedded into my skin.

Swoosh!

Another wave of heat vibrates through me and my pussy goes up in flames. It’s so fucking hot. So hot, it feels like melted wax is being poured over my clit.

“Oh, yesssss! Again! Give my pussy more!”

Swoosh!

The flogger bites into my clit. Gnaws at the lips of my cunt. I ride the pleasurable pain, screaming myself hoarse as I cum, each spasm harder and sweeter than the one before.

The stinging lashes, my cunt’s burning need, my wetness all amplified by the intoxicating sensations floating around me. I breathe it all in.

The scent of my lover’s excited pussy and my own.

The sound of my moans and whimpers echoing throughout the loft.

The sizzle of the lashes.

My senses are ablaze. I am melting in hot fire.

“Again,” I demand in almost a whisper.

Swoosh!

Her strikes caress my naked cunt. The suede ribbons slapping into my sex, causing the stinging fingers to pinch at my skin. I arch my back into the flicks, loving the sweet agony of pleasure and pain. My hands are not tied, or cuffed. They never are. I have mastered holding on to the reins or the ropes or the chains without removing my hands.

Swoosh!

Passion boils up into the pit of my pussy, then bursts out the tip of my clit. A huge tsunami of erotic heat crashes through me. My breath hitches. I am being swept up in another orgasm, my cunt spasming as I tremble and shake. When my climax finally subsides to gentle throbs, I reach in back of my head and untie the blindfold.

Our eyes meet.

I motion Sasha toward me with a finger.

“Now come lick my pussy.”

She slowly licks her lips, dropping to her knees. She eases herself between my opened legs, her breasts brushing against my inner thigh as she settles herself in position, then slowly laps over my juicy, cum-drenched sex.

A wave of white heat smashes against the walls of my cunt as her lips circle my burning clit and she suckles on it. I bite my lip
as she kisses the mouth of my pussy, then laves it. Her cat-like tongue strokes become an extinguisher, and a soothing balm all in one. I give into the sensation, eagerly letting her tongue caress my pussy, my clit, and asshole. I come in her mouth.

When the flames subside and finally flicker into a smoldering heat, tender pussy exposed and still soaked from the lashings and her spit, I reach for the flogger in her hand, ease myself onto my heeled feet, then wait for her to take her place in the sling until her thighs spread and her bare pussy opens. I cuff her hands. Then grip the smooth, wooden handle. I twirl it over my head. Sasha will now become the floggee; the one being flogged. And I will now become the wielder, the one doing the flogging.

She has a very low pain tolerance, so it is important for me to warm her up, first. The more I warm her, the easier it is for her body to turn the feel of the flogger from a painful sensation to one that is pleasurable. The more physically aroused she is, the higher her pain tolerance. The endorphins pumping through her body will keep her from feeling a lot of pain.

Her safe word—a simple word that alerts me that our play exceeds her tolerance for pain signaling me to stop—is
Pink Panther
. We’ve been together for close to three years and, so far, she’s never had to use it. The hope is, she never will. The objective for me, for us, is always mutual gratification. Not to whip the dog shit out of anyone. Flogging isn’t meant to cripple or maim. And it should never be done in anger. It should be approached with empathy, understanding, patience, and compassion.