The ringing of the telephone dragged Angela Larson out of her zone. She carefully put the saddle soap and the whip she was treating down and wiped the excess from her hands before picking up the cordless extension in her shop.
"Angela, this is Betsy. I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, but Malcolm called in sick; he caught that flu bug that's been going around. Can you fill in for him?"
"Damn!" she thought to herself. Angela preferred to have the Friday before an auction day off. Auction Saturdays were incredibly intense for Angela as she had to improvise numerous short scenes as she auctioned off the 25 slaves that volunteered to help raise money for the monthly charity. Out loud, however, she merely said, "Sure, I can come in. When do you need me?"
"Will 4:00 work for you?"
"Sure, I'll be there."
"Thanks, Angela, you're a life saver."
By the time she'd set the phone back down, she could feel it building; that rage she fell into whenever her life didn't go the way she wanted it to. Unless she could burn it off somehow, she'd be useless; worse than useless, really, at The Mephisto Club tonight. The one thing a floor person couldn't afford was to be out of control. Angela did the only thing she could think of. She retrieved the phone and dialed.
"Hello," came the oriental voice on the other end of the phone.
"Surmi, this is Angela. Are you free right now?"
"Yeah, I just got back from the graveyard shift. What do you need?"
"I'm pissed and I need to work it off before work."
The excitement in Surmi's voice was plain. "How mad are we talking about?"
"At least an hour, maybe two."
"Oh, that sounds lovely. I can be there in an hour. Will that be soon enough?"
"That would be great. I'll see you then."
Angela smiled. She knew she could count on Surmi. Surmi Yakomosha was a masochist and a pain slut. Unlike many submissives in the BDSM lifestyle, Surmi loved pain for its own sake. Just the thought of being in pain, suffering nearly unendurable agony, had Surmi soaked in her cunt and panting for breath. Even more, Surmi could climax from pain itself, even absent direct sexual stimulation. Her nervous system wouldn't turn the pain into pleasure, but would take pleasure from the pain. As far as Angela knew, Surmi had never safe worded from pain.
Angela returned to her whip, wanting to have it treated by the time her willing victim arrived. Knowing she had an outlet, she let her anger grow. By the time Surmi arrived, Angela was livid and Surmi was due for a wonderful time.
Fifty minutes later, Angela was laying several whips on the table in her play room. Her simmering anger would need a fair amount of violence to release. She knew many people who'd be appalled at her intention to take whip in hand to a sub while such a simmering rage lurked inside her. Truth was; she wouldn't do this with anyone. Surmi knew her anger issues and what the effects would be during the whipping.
In Angela's younger days, she had control issues; to the point where she was a danger to everyone about her. Anger she didn't know how to deal with would build and build until it exploded. When it did, there was collateral damage, lots of it (she'd had to buy two to three TVs a year back then). It was only when she discovered her enjoyment of BDSM play, and especially whip play, that she found a safe release for her anger.
When Angela played with a whip, she fell into an almost trance-like state where she and the whip were one. The whip became an extension of her body; she needed only to will the action and it happened. When the whip landed on skin or cracked, it was as if her own body released the stored energy. Every crack, every lash would ease the tension from her body and mind. Her anger, when she was mad, would travel down the whip to be flung out the cracker as an audible demonstration of her feelings (the cracks were always louder when she was mad).
Yet, during these very dangerous times, she couldn't lose control. The whip; it demanded control or it would turn on her. A small scar just under her left eye, usually covered by makeup, was her reminder to always be in control of the whip. So while she released her anger during a whipping, it was a controlled release; as opposed to the uncontrolled releases that cost her so many televisions in the past.
The doorbell broke Angela from her thoughts. She dashed upstairs to let Surmi in.
"Hi, Angela. You've let it build up, haven't you?"
"Yes, it was going to anyway, so I've been sinking into it."
"All the better for me. Let's see what you have for me."
The ladies went downstairs to the playroom and Surmi looked over the whips Angela had set out She hefted each one, letting it play out, swishing it to get a feel for what would be hitting her body. As she did, her smile grew. This impromptu scene was going to be a good one.
"Hood and collar?"
"Good idea. Blood okay?"
.... There is more of this story ...