[Curtains open on Gregory, sitting on his trademark stool, on an otherwise blank stage.]
Yes, it's me again... gosh, it's been... well, too damn long since I've been out here... but there's a reason for that. I just found out that my funding from the NEA is being cut... apparently, someone from the Jessie Helms camp snuck in here for the performance of Dragonlove that I did some months ago, and I'm just finding out about it now. So I've been out pounding the pavement, looking for a way to beat the system... and yes, I have already thought of using a flogger, thank you very much.
Anyhow, I've also been keeping busy working on some more of my writing... whereas Dragonlove was pretty much entirely fantasy (I based it on a headspace that I put someone in once...), this story is only half-fantasy... ok, well, the story as such is not real, but it *can* be...
So, without much further ado... enjoy!
[Gregory rises, and walks off stage right.]
[Fade to story]
The party crowd is getting a little stifling, so I step out onto the patio for a breath of fresh air. I look at my pocket watch, musing for a moment how much it reminds me of the one that Jack the Ripper carried in that movie... and I note that it is getting close to the time we had arranged.
I slip back inside, and weave my way through the crowd into the playroom, where I find an open stretch of wall. I lean up against it, setting my toy bag down beside me. I open it, and remove one of my lighter floggers. I close my eyes, examining the handle of the cat by touch only, while the pair in the scene space close their scene with what sounds like a two-by-four. *THUD* *THUD* *THUD*, and the bottom grunting, then yelling, then screaming an almost unintelligible safe word. I open my eyes to see the bottom taken down from the frame and wrapped in blankets, then moved to a space on a couch.
Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock strikes the hour. The time has come.
You enter the room, nodding a silent greeting to a small group of acquaintences by the doorway, then approach me. You stand before me for a moment, then kneel, resting your head on my thigh. I use the handle of my flogger to lift your chin, raising your eyes to meet mine.
A raised eyebrow.
You take my offered hand, and I help you stand. Hand in hand, we approach the frame, and I lean you forward to rest your body against it. I raise your hands, and slip them into the cuffs that were left attached to the frame. I run my fingers down your arm, then across the bodice of your dress, feeling you tremble as you wait for something... anything... more visceral to occur.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see me reach into my pocket and pull out a flash of silver. As you close your eyes, you feel a sharp point pressing into the side of your leg... then the sound of material tearing. You look down to see the side seam of your skirt split about six inches up from the hem... and me holding a seam ripper. You watch over your shoulder as I tear out the seams holding the back panel of the dress, and toss the material aside, leaving your ass and thighs nicely framed by the remaining material.
I step back to admire the tableau, then I remember the flogger that I was carrying. You watch as I pick it up, giving the air around you a few strokes to warm up, then I step behind you, out of your line of sight. Then silence...
And more silence... one minute... two... five...
*SMACK* You feel my hand across your ass, and you jump in surprise.
*SMACK* again, and this time a quiet squeal escapes your lips.
*SMACK* a third time my hand falls, and this time you tense your ass muscles in anticipation, before my hand lands.
*swish CRACK* Half a dozen lines of fire slash their way across your ass, *swish CRACK* across your thighs, *swish CRACK* and criss-crossing your ass again. The third stroke managed to elicit the scream I was looking for, so I stop there, and tuck my "emergency" whip into my back pocket again.
"That was for anticipating too much. Next time it will be 10."
You shudder, then look over your shoulder to meet my eyes with yours. I flash a Roger Moore smile at you, then just as quickly, I drop my smile, and my gaze hardens. I take out the seam ripper again, and start removing the panel covering your back. This time, I am a bit less concerned with being careful, and several times, you feel the point of the ripper scratching angry red lines along your sides and shoulders.
Eventually, your back is bared along with your ass. I am inwardly pleased to note that you took my advice, and decided against wearing a bra. I run my fingers across your shoulder blades, enjoying the feel of you twitching like my hands were charged with electricity.
I pick up the flogger I was playing with originally, and slide the tails up over your ass cheeks, then up your spine. I receive a shiver and a moan in response, so naturally, I assume that I have chosen the proper instrument to use...
I start lazily swinging the tails at your ass, pretty much letting gravity do most of the work for now... after a dozen or so swings, I quickly snap the tails at your ass like a beach towel, hearing the CRACK of the leather on your skin, then your squeal as the sting travels from your ass to your brain to your mouth.
I switch to a slightly heaver whip... one with more thud to it. Then I unleash it on your naked back. The first few blows don't elicit much of a response, then I aim a strong stroke downward along your spine... before it lands, my consciousness begins walking the line between life space and headspace...
[The stroke seems to fall in slow motion as my arm sweeps downward, the tails flying comet-like off the end of the flogger's handle. As leather makes contact with flesh, I can hear each tail land, then watch the skin tinge with red, one millimeter at a time, until a seven-inch strip of warm, pink skin forms...]
I'm yanked back into real-time by your rather loud confirmation that I indeed hit you with the flogger: an interesting combination of grunt and yell. I like it so much that I strike you again in the same fashion, but to one side of the first blow. Then the other. Then up higher on your shoulder. Then across your ass. Then down the sides of your thighs. Then under your armpits. Then down your spine again to complete the circle... each blow giving me a satisfying grunt/yell, and some squirming, which makes it easier to hit a larger number of targets.
I take a moment to approach you, and run my fingers across your pink zebra flesh. I half-jokingly ask you if you're ready to begin now, and somewhere, outside the sphere, I hear someone laugh. You don't answer me, so I grab a handful of your hair and turn your head to make sure that you are still in *some* plane of being, if not mine... your eyes are closed, but as I tighten my grip on your hair, they open. Again, I ask you, in a whisper, if you are ready to begin. You mouth a "yes", then close your eyes again...
I release you, then search in my toy bag for the one implement that you've not met yet... in fact, you will be the first to feel it. I shake the tails out, and d**** them over your shoulder. You turn your head to feel the leather caressing your cheek, and I chuckle inwardly when you jerk your head away from what you find sliding over your skin: leather and knotted cords combined. I pull the flogger away, and swing it hard through the air, listening to the tails whistling.
You start squealing... "Please please please please *stop*!"
I am a little surprised to hear this, especially since I had not yet landed a blow with the flogger... still, you must have a reason for being so vocal all of a sudden.
"Yes? What is the problem?"
"I... I can't do it. I'm not ready yet... please don't... please, it's going to hurt... I'll do anything, just don't..."
"But you said that this is what you wanted. You told me that you wanted me to hurt you... that you *needed* for me to hurt you. Catharsis and all that... remember that conversation?" I crack the whip against my leg for emphasis.
"Yes. I remember it and I still want it and I want you to hurt me but I'm scared I'm scared I'm scared..." Your voice keeps ramping up in pitch, and I'm afraid that soon it will be out of my range of hearing, so I cover your mouth with my hand to stop you.
"You don't have anything to be afraid of. If you safeword, I'll stop. If you pass out, I'll stop."
You shake your head, so I assume you want to speak, and pull my hand away. "I'm not safe wording... I'm just telling you..."
"You're not safe wording? So, this is until you pass out... hmmmmm... maybe I should call someone over to let me know when that happens..."
You shake your head violently, then close your eyes and try to calm yourself down. "I didn't mean that. I'm not safe wording *now*... not yet..."
"Ahh... my mistake then. I apologize."
You remain quiet for a minute, then open your eyes again and look into mine. "Ok... I'm ready now, I think... but..."
"Um... kiss me? Please? Before you start again?" I could swear I see a tear in your eye...
Softly, I stroke the side of your face with the back of my hand, smiling. "Of course I will, my dear..."
You shiver at my touch, but manage a smile. "Thank you."
I mouth a "you're welcome", then lean forward to kiss your forehead, then your lips. You make no effort to either increase or decrease the intensity of the kiss, so I simply let you feel my lips on yours for a moment. Then I kiss your earlobe, and whisper into your ear... "I love you. Remember that..."
You shiver again, and nod a little, before turning your head away.
Obviously, the discussion is over. I step back to my position behind you, and raise the flogger over my head...
"It is done."
My arm arcs downward, and the leather and cord brand new trails of fire across your back, turning the already-pink skin a little closer to purple. I am almost too busy admiring the color changes to realize that you screamed... I quickly replay the sound in my mind, but safe word wasn't anywhere in it... so I continue.
I aim the next shot at your ass, whipping the tails over my head before striking at you. You squeal before the blow lands, and I watch you tense your ass cheeks up again before they are marked by the lashes. The side of your right buttock starts to show the first signs of a lovely bruise, but instead of continuing to use this new toy, I remind myself of my earlier warning to you.
I switch the flogger to my other hand, and take the small whip out of my pocket again. "You were anticipating again. What did I tell you about that?"
You mumble something that I can't quite hear, so I lash your ass with the small whip. "What did you say?"
"Um... 10 with the small whip?"
"Correct. Don't bother counting them, it will only take longer..."
I administer the strokes, each one causing you to squirm a bit more, and whimper a little louder... until the last: I swing the cat upward between your legs, catching the tails on the lips of your sex. As you shriek and rise up on your tiptoes, I drop the small whip, and use the leather and cord monster to give you a strong two-handed strike down your back, then across your ass again, before you can catch your breath.
I wait a moment, until you manage to gasp a breath, then the tails lash out again, catching you across your thighs. Again you scream, and again it is not safe word, so I start criss-crossing your upper back. Each stroke causes you to press against the frame, trying to pass through the frame to get it between yourself and my toy. I pause, then start whipping up the backs of your thighs and the bottom curve of your ass. Again you rise on your toes, not screaming now... just sobbing and whimpering.
I alternately stop and start this whipping, letting you relax a moment before I drive you up on your toes again. Occasionally, I let the tails fall on your back, causing even more purple-and-red speckling to counterpoint the mottling on your ass.
Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock strikes the hour. The time has passed.
I pause a moment, letting my arm recover for the final stroke. You are slumped on the frame now, panting, mewling, shaking. I shake my muscles out, and give a couple lazy wind-up strokes that just brush the insides of your thighs, before I snap the flogger up, sending the tails between your legs to assault your pubes. As you gasp and prepare to scream, I finish the stroke by yanking backwards on the handle, pulling the leather and knotted cords across your cunt lips...
Somewhere, in the back of my head, I am reminded of a line from Steve Martin's short story, "Cruel Shoes"...
The screams were incredible.
As were the sobs, and the whimpers, and the shaking, and the gasping, and the panting, and everything else that you do as you come back down from that last stroke. Finally, you manage between shivering attacks to say "Mercy."
The flogger drops from my hand, and I come up behind you. I unhook the cuffs, and let you slump against me a moment, before I sweep your legs up and cradle your still-shaking body in my arms. I carry you to the couch, and gently lay you down on it, before kneeling by your side. Someone... one of the hosts, I think... hands me two glasses of ice water. I down one in one swallow, then fish an ice cube out to let melt against your lips. You suck on the cube, then motion dazedly for a drink from the other glass, which I give you.
Once you finish drinking your fill, you close your eyes and take my hand, pulling it to your mouth to kiss my palm. I mimic your action, then hold your hand tightly in mine. I close my eyes, rest my head on your shoulder, and let the rest of the world fade away...