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?