Sex & Mischief: Mahogany Flogger

Stroke after exhilarating stroke, the flogger was brought down upon my yearning and receptive flesh.  At times there was almost a musical rhythm to the frenzy, but it seemed every time I had figured out the pattern, the cadence was changed; sometimes very slightly, other times, maddeningly so. Nevertheless, regardless of the unrelenting crack of the whip, I never asked for it to stop.  We both knew our parts, and thank heavens, we both relished in our roles.