My back feels alive with the lashes it has taken. A burning, stinging sensation sings out a song of vibrant joy all up and down its surface. I stand mute, suspended by my restraints, waiting, waiting, always waiting. My master has shown no mercy and for this, I am grateful. The skin along my spine feels raw and if I had the luxury of a mirror, I know it would reveal deep red welts, each one delicious testimony for my master’s love and care. See, it’s not the pain of the lash, or the way my skin feels flayed and raw that’s so precious to me. It’s the attention that thrills me, that, as the song says, sends me. My master lavishes his gifts upon me and only me.
Blind and mute, I wait for our next journey into pain and pleasure. I hear my master behind me, hear the hiss of a match being lit…a
