Sa’afia lay across her bed, her arms and legs spreadeagled. I’d tied her wrists and ankles to the bed’s legs. I don’t think she’d been thinking about how easily she could be tied to it, when she’d bought her bed. Or perhaps she had thought about it, alone in the dark sometimes. The bed did well enough. She looked great.
When I’m introducing someone to submission, I don’t usually have much of a plan beforehand. I pretend there’s an agenda, but mostly I just have a few ideas to fall back on if I lose the flow. I try a direction and see what she responds to, and watch the responses carefully. Submissive responses are sexy and beautiful in their own right, and they show where I should go next.
The rod was one of our fixed points. I’d promised Sa’afia she’d get a thrashing with that polished wooden stick, and it had to happen. I thought it would lead to her being “made” to suck my cock while her ass burned. That would be a new experience for her, though not a new thought, full of new meanings, sensations and potentials.
I put a pillow under her ass and ran some cord over her hips and thighs, tying the cord to the sides of the bed. It wasn’t so much to restrict her movements, but so she could feel it against her skin when she moved. I wanted her to feel bound. I was being a good host, I hoped. A strange thing is that it would be hard to tell which would give me more pleasure, guiding Sa’afia into that new place, or feeling her mouth on my cock. Still, I didn’t have to choose.
Sa’afia made her little noises of pain and concentration while I striped her upper thighs with the rod. Her ass was already well striped, with some of the red lines raised a little into welts. Her skin was hot to the touch. It was time to re-visit those lines across her buttocks. I raised the rod, and the ante. Time to go harder: we were going to take her flogging up a couple of notches.
That’s the memory. It’s the moment when I was certain Sa’afia was flying, that we were in tune, and that I could take her further than we’d expected. It was wonderful that Sa’afia was tied, and that I was slowly building up the heat in her ass. But it was a psychological moment.
I’d paused at that moment. I knew she’d moan at the extra pain that the next stroke would impose, and that a second after the rod had landed across her buttocks the pain would turn to something floaty and sexual. I can only ever know that state of mind by imagination. I watched her, reading what I could of her sensations. I couldn’t go to that place myself, but it felt good to take her there.