Whip Me Harder
By Astrid Cherry
Copyright 2012 Astrid Cherry
“Please,” I begged him, not even knowing his name, “Please, whip me harder.”
How did I find myself there, on my hands and knees, begging for more? There I was, crouched submissively atop the glass coffee table, my ass in the air, my head bowed down. My short black velvet dress was hiked up, exposing the reddened cheeks. My tiny lace panties were knotted around my fine boned ankles, and if I cared to look, I could see my firm, ripe breasts were hanging free of the low cut in front. And I was begging. How did it come to that?
It had happened as these things always happened, slowly and then all at once.
I first saw him at the grocery store. He buying cereal. His hair was jet black with little white streaks at the temples, that’s what I noticed first. And he was tall. His eyes looked kind, a deep hazel. I turned around in the aisle and came back, behind him. He was looking at the box, and I slipped up as close as I could and smelled him. Woodsy, with a hint of smoke. I liked that. It made me want to lick his hand.
I spent the rest of my time in the store following him, discretely. Watching him move, so self assured, so blind to me. When he went to the check out, I got in the line next to him. I mouthed things to him silently, wishing he’d catch me. We paid for our purchases, and I went out the door before he did. I waited, pretending to talk on my phone. He passed by, and I watched him get in his sleek gray BMW and slip put of the parking lot. But not out of my life, no, not that.