It felt odd. I hadn’t asked Diane for consent before I’d told her I was going to whip her. It was hotter that way. But I did feel I had to ask, before I called her ‘good girl’.
But it’s not so odd really. Whipping may be more formal and controlled than a bite, or a lovers’ scratch, but like them it’s about sensation. It’s literally skin deep. But if I give orders and Diane gives obedience, that’s inescapably personal. We can pretend we haven’t noticed what we’re doing, what’s happening between us, but “good girl” destroys that pretence. If I praise her for her obedience and she likes that praise, then we both now that she’s not just being a vampire girl any more.
“Good girl” means she accepts that I judge her actions and she wants my approval. That’s more intimate, and takes more power from her, than any whipping. “Good girl” may be silly, it may be cliched, but it’s currency. Once we think it’s real, it’s real. And it has power.
Sometimes instinct leads you right and true. I leaned down for another kiss, and Diane was starry at the eyes and her smile beaming.
I slipped my fingers out of her again, and pinched her lips until she squealed.
“Here, little good girl”, I said. I undid the tails of her shirt and flicked the material a couple of times, so she was covered again, a few inches of modesty at the tops of her thighs.
Diane smiled. “Thank you.”
“Now get me ten more switches like that. You’ve got five minutes. If you take longer, you’ll be walking home with that shirt right up over your head. With your arms in it. That’s if you’re wearing anything at all. Understood?”
“Good girl.” I smacked her bottom again, since smacking her felt good, and to demonstrate that she didn’t get asked for permission for that. I’d help myself. “So get moving.”