Iced Lightning

I am bent over a table, legs spread far apart. I wear the house collar. Its rings jangle with every blow of the strap.

Maintenance counts are always in fives. Today, I count down or up to five, as it pleases Sir. Sometimes he has me count in other languages, or come up with words in a category. Those days are fun, if nerve-wracking.

He switches his blows; five for the sweet spot where my ass slopes into my thigh on the left, and five for the right. From side to side he moves, snapping the leather against my skin.

One gets through. A jolt of pain so intense that it feels like iced lightning screams up from my cunt. Sir has come dangerously close to hitting my clitoris with the strap, unintentionally. He caught the labia up near wear my hood piercing is.

A noise, somewhere between a grunt and a shriek, escapes.

“Caught your labia, eh?” Sir says. “That was unintentional. … Keep counting.”

“Three!”

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