Whip It

It's often the little things that change your life.

In the case of Erik Dyson, it was construction on I-94. The left two lanes were closed, which made rush hour a depressing ordeal...unless, of course, he abandoned the freeway and took a more roundabout way to work, cutting through the red-light district. Not that it was much of a red-light district, he mused as he drove along the first morning of his new commute...a few ragged-looking hookers here and there, an adult bookstore, and one shop called "Forbidden Desires" that, from the window display, sold lingerie and sex toys. The red light next to that one seemed particularly long to him...he waited for what seemed like five minutes at it while tapping his fingers, singing along with the radio, and trying to avoid the embarrassing tableau of two mannequins, one male and dressed in a leather bikini and face-concealing slave mask, and the other female and dressed in some sort of dominatrix's outfit, wielding a whip.

Honestly, he thought as the light finally changed and he pressed down hard on the gas, who would possibly be into getting beaten up like that?

The drive home was much the same as the drive back, with the exception of the angle he viewed the window display at "Forbidden Desires." It was the same display, submissive man and dominant woman, and he repressed a shiver. It wasn't that he thought men should be dominant and women submissive or anything, he mused; rather, he thought that the whole thing should be about equality. Mutual love. Not the caress of a leather whip...

The light turned green, and he accelerated again...this time, though, he watched the display in the rear view mirror for a while, still trying to figure out what would go through a man's head when a woman was whipping his ass.

And then he slept...

biting down on the leather strap in his mouth tasting the bitter tang of the leather feeling naked and exposed without his clothes but loving it loving the cool air on his nipples and on his back as his Mistress laughed (so musical!) and then the swish and CRACK! and he felt the sweet sting of the whip the sweet sweet sting of his Mistress's love for him and he did not cry out because a good slave never cried out Mistress would be so disappointed in him if he cried out he would be a good slave and take the CRACK! of the whip again and again as she showed him her love and her power and he obeyed her like a good good slave

The dream stayed with him the entire drive to work, haunting the back of his mind as he navigated automatically through traffic. That was what freaked him out about dreams, he thought as he once again hit that same red light, and found his eyes once again drawn to the repellently attractive window display. It was like there was some part of his mind that was holding him hostage, making him want something that he didn't want--that no normal person would want. He looked at the mannequin, trying to picture himself underneath that mask, accepting discipline...No. Nothing here that wants that. The idea of enjoying being whipped...the light turned green, and he pulled away quickly.

Work seemed too short, now; time whizzed by as he did his normal duties of filing and sorting, organizing and arranging...he even did an hour or two of overtime, hoping to delay the time before he left so that he would be able to take the freeway once again. But his thoughts drifted as he drove, and without even realizing it, he'd missed the turnoff for the freeway and was passing down the side streets, stopping once again at that red light (and why wasn't it ever green?)

The display was still there; he was hoping that perhaps they'd changed it, but the man was still wearing that mask, still down on his hands and knees as the woman lofted her whip possessively, ready to give him the punishment that he no doubt deserved... Erik sighed. Great, he thought. Now I'm giving them personalities. He decided that tomorrow, traffic or no traffic, he was taking the freeway to work.

And then he slept...

on his knees again no strap in his mouth now she wanted his tongue free to lick as she whipped him lacing stripe after stripe of redness on his back the welts like tiny little kisses love bites from the Mistress as he polished her leather boots with his good slave tongue tasting the leather again better than before because it was in the service of his Mistress not just enduring the pain like before but serving her with his tongue as she whipped him again and again each time the CRACK! of the whip and the musical laughter the only real sounds in the dream and the taste of leather in his mouth as he licked and licked like a good slave boy and an obedient slave boy

He woke up early, half expecting his back to be covered in whip marks; it was like the dream hadn't quite ended yet as he showered and staggered into his clothes (and a tiny part of his mind seemed to ask, "Why do we need clothes?" But he shut it up.) He was already a good portion of the way into his drive to work (his pledge to take the freeway already forgotten) when he realized that he'd woken up well before his alarm. He still had over an hour to kill. After thinking about it, he decided to simply pull over to the side of the road and try to wake up from his dream. He just wanted to collect his thoughts...

He pulled over, and almost immediately wished he hadn't. He was sitting right across from "Forbidden Desires", and the display was already lit (perhaps the store was open twenty-four hours a day? Only one way to find out, that tiny part teased, and he thought he heard musical laughter...) He stared at the display, watching the slight play of light on the whip as cars passed him by. It gave the whip the illusion of motion in the pre-dawn grayness, the impression that she was swishing it back and forth, preparing to give her slave a good hard lashing with it...he caught himself wondering what her name was, and that was when he decided to move on. He passed off his being late to work as oversleeping, and was frazzled-looking enough to pull it off. He didn't want to think about how long he'd been sitting there.

Work seemed to drag on endlessly, now. He sat in his desk, and every time he heard someone approach, he half-expected to hear musical laughter. The motion of the whip seemed to haunt him, and by the end of the day, he was more than ready to leave. His boss scowled at him, but said nothing.

The light was red again as he approached "Forbidden Desires", and he watched the display with a morbid fascination. The Mistress seemed to have a triumphant smirk on her face, now...with a groan, he pulled forward as the light turned green--then pulled into the small parking lot just past the shop.

This is stupid, he thought as he got out of his car. This is idiotic. You haven't had a steady girlfriend in months, even if you did, you wouldn't be asking her to whip you. You don't want to be whipped--it's just some weird fantasy your subconscious has whipped up (musical laughter again...) to pass the time on a long boring drive. You're just going to make an idiot of yourself. You don't want to go in there...

There was a tiny bell mounted just above the door, and it tinkled musically as he went into the shop. The lights were dimmed, creating the atmosphere of a boudoir, and the scent of leather, latex, and vinyl hung heavy in the air. He saw no counterperson...just the outfits, dozens of them, every fantasy imaginable...a shiver passed through him, and he could feel himself getting hard.

"Can I help you?" a woman said as she stepped through a beaded curtain at the rear of the store. She was tall--perhaps six feet, although the high heels she wore contributed to that a lot. Her hair was dark, and flowed down over the leather outfit she wore like twin waterfalls over her very prominent breasts. He was idly surprised to discover that he barely even noticed all that, though, next to her eyes--she had such striking eyes...

"I, um..." his words seemed frozen in his throat.

"I'm sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Melora; I am the Mistress of this shop. Was there anything...particular you were interested in?"

"I, I was interested in the whip I saw in the display."

She smiled. "Were you?"

He froze in her stare like a deer in the headlights, unable to do more than nod wordlessly. She chuckled (and her laughter was so close to the dream, so close to the Mistress, that he almost fell to his knees right there) and walked across to the storefront, removing the whip from the hand of the mannequin and taking it into her own. With a sure grip, she swished it idly through the air as though she was preparing to give her slave a good, hard lashing with it...

"Are you ready, then?" she asked.

Erik trembled...and finally, shaking his head, darted out of the store once again. He gunned the engine, racing home--thankfully, no cops stopped him to see where the fire was. He didn't know what had scared him. He didn't know why he ran. He only knew that Melora (Mistress Melora! his mind prompted him) had a hold on him...that staying any longer would have been staying too long...

And then he slept...

Mistress holds out the whip and he licks his way along the length showing her that he loves her loves her for the tender kisses and glorious pain that she bids him endure as his slave with each CRACK! she shows him that she loves him owns him the two words intermingle in his mind as she unzips the crotch of her leather panties and presses his face to her mound and he uses his tongue now for the utmost purpose a slave can pleasuring his Mistress licking her clit licking her cunt making her cum as she wraps her legs around him and swishes back the whip and CRACK! again and CRACK! again as she cums and cums and cums and he is so happy to be the slave between his Mistress's thighs and knows that this is his place pleasing Her and making her cum and taking her punishments like a good slave boy a good slave boy a good slave boy

The bell tinkled again as he stepped into the shop. He hadn't bothered calling work; they'd know soon enough that he'd never come there again. He had more important things on his mind.

Melora stepped out from behind the beaded curtain once again. This time, she was already holding the whip in her hands, caressing it with gloved fingers. "Ah," she said, smiling. "The boy from yesterday. You never did tell me your name...but it doesn't matter, does it?" He shook his head. "You wanted this, didn't you?" She gestured with the whip.

"...yes..."

"Yes?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Then there's something you must do first, isn't there?"

He nodded, and silently began to disrobe. Melora laughed musically as he stripped...

*****

Alan sighed, cursing the red light as he stopped once again on the same damned corner. Nothing on this corner to look at--at least the hookers provided a diversion. This was just a blank storefront now, ever since that kinky clothes store had shut down. He sighed. Guess the owner found something better to do...

THE END