On the Stroke Of...

Does it begin when I misbehave, or he decides I need it? Or when I strip, doing it slowly as he watches, eyes cool, or fast, baring body and desire to his indulgent smile?

Or with the creak of the door closing behind us, or the soft sound he makes when he tells me to tug hard at the cuffs and prove that yes, I’m held, ready and waiting, and I do?

Maybe. But I like to think a whipping starts with a kiss; my lips to the crop if I deserve it, his mouth brushing mine if I don’t.

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