Zion tipped his head aside, his core flexing in preparation of a potential fight—a reflex he had honed over the years. But his eyes remained closed.
Stopping near the bed, I commanded, “Come closer.”
He moved with ease and precision, as if he could sense my exact position. Mute, he sat down on his heels, placing his palms on his spread thighs.
Exposing yourself, submitting, particularly when your instincts screamed the opposite, was not an easy feat. It could cause trepidation to curdle in your stomach and unease to lock your joints.
Yielding, relinquishing yourself to another, required you to relent, to exist in a state of vulnerability and find serenity in being deprived of decisions and choices.
So I took a pause to admire Zion. How he patiently waited for my next instructions. The trust he placed in me was something I valued above everything else.
With the ends of the silky scarf, I skimmed Zion’s inner thighs in an upward motion, and a sharp inhale escorted his shiver.
Something in being able to elicit such reactions always made me unravel right along with the person I controlled.
Yet my past experiences held nothing in comparison to…simply havinghim.
After securing the blindfold, I brought Zion’s hand to the knot at the back of his head. “Pull this, and it will come undone. Do you understand?”
He fiddled with the loose ends. “Yes.”
“You are also not allowed to take it off for any reason apart from ending this,” I stated the first rule. Striding back to the dresser, I purposefully ensured my boots thundered across the room. “Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” A quick search of the bottom drawer’s contents turned out to be fruitful, and I picked out two matching floggers. The strips of rough leather were on the thinner side, around the length of my arm. Testing one flogger and then the other revealed identical balance points on their rubber handles, confirming my choice.
Leaning against the dresser, I crossed my ankles. “Crawl to me.”
Zion lowered his bare soles to the dark hardwood floor, his toes curling before he dropped to his knees. On all fours, he kept his head up, the blindfold’s dark fabric shining in the glow rising from the streetlights.
His right palm made the first step, and his leg followed, his shoulder dipping, hips swaying, and the sight of him crawling to me…
A heady rush enshrouded me like a fog, invading my mind, dissolving my thoughts.
Zion stilled a foot before me, chin held high, no doubt sensing where I was.
I pushed off the dresser. “Stand up.”
He rose, pliant in my grasp as I manipulated him to place his hands atop the wooden piece of furniture. It forced him to bend over.
I nudged his ankles apart. “Do not move.” Picking up my chosen floggers from the windowsill, I almost missed his tiny nod. “I need your verbal confirmation, Zion.”
“I won’t move,” he said, surprisingly steady.
“You know the safe word,” I warned before landing the first strike on his upper back.
The blow was weak, easy for him to take, the impact far from considerable enough for welts to appear or for a flush to bloom.
He dropped his head, yet not a sound escaped him, even though he had to have realized what I was wielding by now.
I knew he liked pain, and flogging was a type he had experienced before. Now was not the time to experiment or push his limits.
Merely tease them a bit. Beckon them to stretch.
I doubted he had ever been flogged in a double pattern before. From the rumors I had heard and the shows I had seen take place on stage at Vice, he was usually in my role.
But he showed no signs of discomfort during the first minutes I spent warming him up with gentle, repetitive strikes on his upper back, his toned ass and upper thighs, coaxing his sensitivity levels to rise and preparing his flesh for more significant impacts.
