The whip hung on the wall, a stark black circle against the gleaming white surface. Sharon cleaned it every week, methodically, nervously, almost afraid it could lash out at her suddenly, of its own volition, as though it didn't need his hands to inflict punishment. Thrilling a little, ashamedly, she would pull the whip off the wall and stretch it to its full length, massaging oil into the leather. The leather braid grew darker as she rubbed the oil in, making it more supple by her ministrations. Keeping it ready.
The master didn't use the whip often, which is why it required these weekly attentions. But regular attention had the dual purpose of also keeping her focused on the instrument of her punishment, should she choose to disobey. Disobedience was always a choice, he told her often. A choice she was free to make, knowing the consequences of her actions. A whipping was hers for the asking.
She had cried the first time he told her that, as he held the whip in his hands and waited for her to undress. She couldn't deny that he had warned her, that she had agreed to be punished if she were to disobey-had more than agreed, had begged to be disciplined if she should ever displease him. Secretly, though, she realized now, too late to back out of the agreement), she had thought she would always please him, that she would never give him cause to punish. Or if she did, the chastisement would be more gentle than what he had threatened.
She knew argument was useless, so she simply cried quietly, undressing slowly, a faint hope that seeing her nude body would tempt the master to other, more pleasurable, activities. A hope that blossomed rapidly when he touched her rounded soft breast, moving his roughened thumb in a circle around her nipple. "Very pretty, " he said, a slight smile on his face. His eyes, however, did not smile, but looked only stern. He motioned with his head for her to face the wall. She walked there slowly, her feet unwilling to take her to the destination. She stood meekly facing the wall as he gently raised her arms and fastened them to the hook where the whip stayed when not in use. He pushed her legs a little apart, so that her arms stretched further. He leaned into her ear and whispered, "If you're wise, you'll keep that pretty little ass pushed out for me-it'll be easier for you in the long run." And then he tilted her hips with his hands as he spoke, so that her ass was prominently displayed. She shook with cold and fear.
She heard him uncurling the whip, the small sound the tip made when it hit the floor. "This is for your own good, " he told her, his voice deep and gravelly.
The first blow landed across the very middle of her ass, unexpectedly strong, pushing her towards the wall. She felt her right knee buckle a little, and as she tried to straighten it the second fiery strips came, marking her at the crease where her thigh became ass. She cried out, and then louder still as the third striped her thighs. "Keep that ass out, " he growled, and she was dimly aware that she was flat against the wall, instead of in the position he had so carefully placed her. She struggled to reposition herself as the fourth blow struck, lower on her thighs, quickly followed by the sixth on her bottom. She was crying hard now, ashamed and equally of being naughty enough to deserve such a humiliating and painful correction, and her longing for that very punishment. As the seventh and eighth stripes came, overlapping each other on the roundness of her ass, she shook with arousal as much as from the force. Fiery pain from the whip was causing another kind of fire deep in her loins. The ninth blow landed low on her bottom, and the quality of her cries changed, to those of pain combined with those of near climax. The tenth landed, just barely below the last, and her screams grew louder and more desperate. He smiled a little, pleased that the session was turning out as he hoped. The master waited a moment, listening to her labored breathing, allowing her arousal to build. Then he drew his arm back and quickly dealt out the last two stripes with severity and accuracy. She screamed in pain and climax, followed by hard sobs of relief.
He tossed the whip to the floor, and went to her, holding her gently in one arm as he unfastened her wrists with the other. She buried her head in his chest, crying more softly now, as he stroked her soft hair.
"Are you going to be remember to be a good girl?, " he whispered in her ear. She nodded. He lifted her chin up with his fingers and looked into her eyes. "Answer me when I ask you a question, " he said sternly, noting how her eyes widened a little in fear as she whispered, "Yes, sir, I'll remember, oh, sir, I'm sorry, don't be angry." He knew she feared being turned towards the wall again. So that was exactly what he did, turning her back to her previous position as he said, "I'm not angry."
He pushed her legs apart and touched her pussy, unsurprised to find it wet, but a little surprised to discover that wetness running down her legs. He quickly stepped out of his pants and entered her from behind, feeling her slippery walls tightening around his throbbingly hard cock. "I'm not angry at all, " he said again as he thrusted into her and she began to give cries of pure pleasure.