Yes, yes I did.
The play of the whip resumed as the man backed away from me. All across my upper shoulders, across my back and my ass and the back of my thighs, the painful strikes scorched my skin. It hurt, just as I desired it to and I screamed. Still I wanted more, something meaner and more ruthless, to absolve me of my guilt. To balance some internal scale by which I judged myself a worthy woman or a contemptible slut.
Hurt me harder! I felt my soul yearning from its depths. I wanted to feel the pain, hard, vicious, agonizing pain.
Yet as the pain came on me, as the torment of my body became almost too much to bear, my endorphins suddenly kicked in and took me flying to that magical place where pain morphed into pleasure and the ghastly whipping became pure joy.
When the whipping
