By OKLASH
You crawl in bed with me upon my beckon and I lay you down on your stomach. Your sobs of anguish have subsided to free-flowing tears, and you tremble as I lay close to you. I run one fingernail across the angry welts on your back. “Relax,” you hear me say, “and let go. The hard part is behind you for now.”
This moment is unscripted if perhaps preordained by that part of your soul that still resides in your past, where “freedom” was another word for “lost.”
Your body is beautiful tonight, and I am proud of the work we have done. Your back is hot to my touch and the raised welts I traverse with my palm and fingers are a road map of the terrain we have traveled. This is your authentic self – naked apart from the steel cock cage that marks you as mine. The welts are severe this time, but there is much left to be done. My thought is that you are only complete in the aftermath of the hard work of the lash, and I resolve to ensure that before these marks fade, they will be replaced with others well laid on.
In that moment I snapped my fingers – that command you know so well to drop to your knees and pleasure me. Instead, you chose to hesitate with the faintest look of rebellion in your eyes, fleetingly brief, but distinct. Over these weeks I have keenly observed every movement, every facial expression, for indications of your embracing the identity you have chosen. In this moment you have reverted to old ways that never served you well.
Wordlessly one arm is wrenched up behind your back and your neck pushed down as you are hustled to the whipping frame. Wrenched arm twisted back around and locked into the long wrist cuff, followed by the other. You are winched up, your shoulders in an angry stretch as your whole body fights to give your toes purchase with the floor. Ankle cuffs pull your legs out wide and secure them to the base of the frame. Those long arm cuffs are intended for suspension with no damage to the hands and the agony of this position will break you long before the first lash strikes. I place my hands underneath your armpits and slide them tightly down your ribs and you hear my voice say, “don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.” I step in front of you, hanging the coiled whip in full view and turn to walk away.
Metal would like to thank the author, oklash, for this story!
