I love my piercings and studs. Fond memories of pain when I got them. I caress myself and close my eyes. I let my mind drift into a world where pain causes pleasure. I pinch my pierced nipple until it hurts. While the pain subsides I rub the front of my panties. My juices start to flow. I fantasize and masturbate. It goes like this: The gaslight flickers just bright enough over the front door of the mansion. The brass plate reads: 'House of Whips'. The name of the place makes my heart pound. My hand is shaking but I do ring the bell. I have to. Jonathan opens. His open leather vest leaves his chest completely bare. But it is his left hand that I stare at. The slick end of a rolled-up leather whip dangles in midair. I hand him an envelope with a letter that explains why and how I need to be punished. He reads it quickly and nods. "Follow me," he says. I stare at his tight ass in tight black leather pants while I follow him upstairs. There he tells me to strip down to my panties. Those I am to keep on. My leopard print silk panties. The cold leather makes me shiver the moment I bend over the whipping bench, my tummy and tits flush on the leather. There is no turning back after Jonathan secured the straps over my back, the wrist and ankle cuffs and all. The strap over my waist he tightens twice so that my bottom arches up in the back. My backside begs for attention.

At this point I have to interrupt my fantasy to take a deep breath. Almost. Not yet. Holding still I concentrate to prevent the climax. My panties are really soaked, but in front, and not from water. I'm sopping wet and wide open. I pinch my inner thighs, the spot that is so sensitive. The rush of pain calms me down and I pinch my tits again for good measure. Then I slide two fingers into my pussy and resume my fantasy:

Jonathan stands to my left, about five feet away, the length of the whip. The sound of a pistol shot stuns me for a split second. But the unbelievable pain makes it clear it wasn't a pistol. It was the first lash of the whip cracking across my wet ass. I'm screaming with my mouth wide open, but I'm also sucking for air. My screams won't be heard by anybody. Here I am free to scream. Another pistol shot echoes from the walls and I am tearing at my chains. The pain does not subside. Like a stripe of fire burning on my bottom. I beg for mercy now.

Jonathan is methodical. After each lash he pulls back the whip and prepares for the next swing. About every ten seconds the slick tail of leather explodes on my bottom. Again and again and again. When it does finally stop he unties me and helps me up. He holds me because I can't stand on my own. He walks me to the mirror wall and turns me around. I'm truly shocked by what I see as I'm looking over my shoulder: My entire bottom is  criss-crossed with looping stripes, whip prints and welts. My panties have been whipped to shreds. Exactly like I asked for.

The thought of how much my bottom would burn at that moment pushed me over the brink. I pinch myself, but too late: the orgasm starts to rush through my body. I hold perfectly still while it lasts, enjoying every moment of it. Then it is over. I'm tired now. Time for a bath. But first I write myself a note and put it in an envelope. For my next trip to the House of Whips.