Welcome back for another taste of darkness! Back today is the lovely Crymsyn Hart with a short story for your wicked pleasure.
The Fifth Stroke of Midnight
With the thwack, Collette jumped in her velvet restraints as the tip of the whip grazed her right shoulder leaving its faint sting. A black satin mask was the only article of clothing she wore. The cool air caressed her nakedness raising the fine hairs along her nubile flesh. Everything about her was alert, waiting for the Mistress to punish her for all her bad behavior. And she had been wicked.
Roxanne examined Collette’s body with experienced eyes, watching for the subtle beating of the heart to increase, for the skin to take on the first blush of unfilled pleasure from only the sound of the whip. Her slave was beginning to tremble in the velvet fetters, from fear, from the anticipation of what she was going to do to her. Was she going to be merciful and punish her captive with only the sound of the crop? Or zebra stripes showing the others how insubordinate she’d been? Roxanne draped the bullwhip around her shoulders, running her hand slowly up and down the leather handle. Her eyes drank in every curve of the supple flesh before her. The alabaster-smooth texture of the flesh was virgin pure except for the long scar that ran from her right shoulder, down the arc of her spine, and onto her left ass cheek. The mark was old, white and raised. Roxanne had first run her fingers over the imperfection, knowing it was the mark of one master. One that had been hers eons ago. Everything laid on Collette hadn’t fazed her until she brought out the bullwhip. It was the first time she’d seen Collette tremble with expectation. Her nipples pink and hard.
Now her hand wandered over the whip’s hard shaft as she flicked the other end like an impatient cat’s tail. The tip hit her thigh-high latex boots. She could brand her poppit with a sister trophy, but Roxanne didn’t want to break the girl just yet. She desired Collette begging, crying out for the whip to never stop licking her skin. The sharp pain would penetrate the flesh, zinging to all the pleasure centers of the body. Even Roxanne’s tits wanted the leather to fondle them as she strained in her latex corset. A bead of sweat formed on her upper lip. Her tongue caressed it slowly and she shifted her weight as her sex moistened at the thought of the bullwhip. But she mustn’t get too carried away; she was the Mistress now, no longer the slave to her own whims.
Roxanne tested the whip’s weight finding the right grip on the handle.
She snapped the empty air. Collette jumped and moaned at the sudden sound. Roxanne saw the insubordination and grabbed the puppet’s mahogany hair and wrenched her head back.
“Is that what you want, my lustful bitch? Do you want its searing hand on your flesh? Or do you want it in your cunt? Tell me or you get nothing.”
“The pain, please,” her slave moaned.
Roxanne smiled and released Collette, running the whip under her nose. The perfume of leather and oil mingled as the smoothness ran over her lips, and she remembered the first time the whip nicked her; the first time her master let her handle the implement. Oh, so many wonderful memories. Many times had she been under the wanton ecstasy of the leather, had the aroma of the oil on her skin, and like her petite slave, she had her own trophy, a twin to the mark on her own back, given to her by the same master.
She let the whip trail between her fingers, letting her own memories slip away as the candles flickered.
One flick and the tip licked her slave’s skin. A drop of crimson appeared and a thin line dimpled across the small of Collette’s backside. The quick bite sent spasms throughout the victim’s body. Collette felt the warmth between her trembling thighs with her pussy growing wetter and wetter. She’d waited so long she would burst at one more painful lash. An eternal string of nights had passed her by without feeling the lick of the whip, the tempting pain that bought her to ecstasy in one, long, never ending strike.
As the leather formed like a second flesh and ripped open her body, too long had she been left without the bliss of the connection and then the sweet burst of air that left her breathless. Her body was slick with sweat. Her cunt was moist from its touch. Now as it connected again, she welcomed the pain. Her hands clenched and unclenched in the velvet restraints. Blood welled in her mouth as she tried to tame her swelling pleasure. Her legs wobbled as her muscles tensed from the orgasm about to rip through her body.
An evil smiled caressed Roxanne’s lips. Collette was coming, trying to hold back from the pleasure of the flogging. All her nerves were hot and alive. So close to midnight and with one more stroke she’d be hers. Crimson rivers meandered down the alabaster landscape as the wounds sealed and dried in seconds. It was what she loved about Collette’s kind. They understood pain and pleasure. They knew how to embrace their bodies’ biology and revel in punishment. The only drawback was she lost them to their animal selves once a month. But right before their change was when they were prime.
Just like Collette.
The whip caressed her slave and her legs buckled. Moans escaped her lips even though she tried to suppress them, but it was too much. Collette’s wanting crashed over her, consuming every thought. Body glistening with sweat, hair in her face, and the smell of her sex filled her nose. Another lash was all she wanted, was all she needed to be tamed.
“Please. Oh please,” she whimpered.
Her mistress stared at the drying blood, capturing her insides. Her own need rose and caressed her. The whip slipped from her fingers. Roxanne wrapped her hand in Collette’s hair and pulled her slave’s neck back. One hand glided over sweat shimmering tits, kneading them while her tongue stroked her throat letting the beat of life intoxicate her more than any memory of lashings, of the fiery sweetness of the whip. Her hand found Collette’s naked cunt. Her gloved hand slid into the depths as her poppit gasped at the cool latex, but Roxanne yanked her hair back hard building the pressure again for her captive to come. Lips parted reveling ivory fangs that separated flesh and gave her the elixir of life as her bitch moved against her, coming, changing.
The restraints ripped and the slave’s moans became howls, but Roxanne held on as Collette’s spine cracked and bowed. Blood ran hot in Roxanne’s cold body, jump-starting her heart as she released the wolf that fell to fours.
Rubbing against Roxanne’s thigh, Collette gazed up at her mistress with the whip in her teeth, careful not to bruise the leather. Roxanne wiped her glove across her mouth, getting rid of blood that stained her lips.
“Good bitch.” She patted the wolf’s head.
She ran her hand the length of the whip, feeling its warmth and the suppleness. Her grin widened and her teeth flashed in the candlelight.
A thunder crack split the silence and a howl pierced the night as a clock struck midnight.