On my way there I dropped in on Antarctica, where – according to their profiles – the hottest submissive girls live. It must be the penguin down and the hot pools. I met up with a girl I’ll call Gretel. This was something we’d arranged, me on my mountain and her on the towering gloom of Erebus.
Gretel’s a bit of a name on the internet, much more so than I am, and she’s a quick, sharp, smart girl. She lives on her wits, though she has more than her wits to offer and entice a suitor.
For example the excellence of her breasts is matched only by the legendary cuteness of her ass and the inviting plain of her belly. She is pale, which I like, and when she smiles there are indeed dimples.
Annnnyway, that ass, though cute as mentioned, had been substantially under-spanked and generally lacked a history of pleasing mistreatment. We both thought that was regrettable. So one of our understandings was that after we’d explored the forests, rum joints, decaying buildings and corrupt police, secret and otherwise, of Cuba, we’d explore some more personal matters in our hotel room.
And so, one day, which wasn’t the first day because an undressed Gretel is more shy, in some ways, than a fluffy bunny who wants you to just go on as if she wasn’t really there, I undressed her. I put some gruff into my voice so she knew why, and made her bend over the bed.
And I smacked her bottom.
The sound, and the resilience and sweet round tactility of her ass was pretty well perfect, and so was her reaction. That is, she moved in response to the smack, so that I knew she’d felt it, but she stayed in place. So I counted that as an invitation, and gave her a long spanking, not at all hard, but setting out to build up some heat and colour.
And wetness. I had a wet girl on my hands. Under my hands, to be literal about it.
At a later time I put her down so that she was lying on the bed, face down and bottom up, and brought out my flogger. The lashes are made of soft leather, so although I can make it land hard enough to make a fairly whip-hardened girl cry out, it can also be used purely for pleasure.
Used at medium strength it’s practically a massage tool. It lands heavily, but the thud isn’t the sort of impact that has to hurt. It’s the dom’s choice whether the flogger’s contact with her flesh is a caress or a whip-stroke.
So I flogged her, in a series of very quick, light blows, that you get by swinging the handle so that the lashes spin in a circle, and land, at their lowest point, on her upper thighs and bottom. Gretel made no sound. She was smiling slightly, and it seemed that she might have found sub-space, and moved into it. Not all the way in. She stayed just inside the border, where details and events get a little vague, but you can come out if you need to.
Occasionally I added a little extra force to the swing, and made her flinch. I did that to make sure she was still reacting, and hadn’t drifted completely away from her flogging and from me. And because I wanted it to be a sexy experience, it has to have a little bite to it or it becomes merely mellow and pleasant. There needed to be the odd moment that had an edge, that woke her skin and hurt a little, so that the next, softer strokes of the flogger were actually soothing.
It was a good introduction, I thought. I’d done okay at teaching Getting Flogged 101, but I was especially pleased with Gretel. Intelligence is one of the keys to sexiness: sharp wits, wet bits.
Note: Writing about very recent events is against one of my rules, but I made an exception in this case for reasons I won’t explain. It probably goes without saying, but I do have Gretel’s consent both for writing about her flogging, and to run that pic of her excellent ass.