tagBDSMThe Riding Crop Lesson

The Riding Crop Lesson


This is dedicated to those of you who have left me such awesome feedback. A special thank you to the one who helped me work out the kinks . Ella.

Last night after we made love and you left me, I replayed our conversation in my head. We've known each other for a long time, so I admit that it surprised me to hear you say that sometimes you have a hard time telling me your desires. It seems like you're embarrassed, or ashamed. I don't ever want you to feel that way. You can trust me, you know. But I get it...I trust you unconditionally, but sometimes I'm unsure how to tell you what I want, too. In fact, there is something I really want to do with you, and I'm not sure how you'll react. I have been fantasizing about it for so long, though, that I really want to tell you about it.

This is going to be hard for you to do, I know, and it's probably going to take some practice. You're such a gentleman -- kind, thoughtful, caring, tender. I need you to pack all that away and give it the night off. I want to see what you're like in your most primal, lustful form.

I want you to possess me. I want to be your whore. I want you to do things to me that will throw you right out of that little comfort zone where you spend all of your time. I want you to use me like a dirty slut. I want you to have complete control. I want you to make me do things to you that defy your imagination, and I want you to have confidence enough to punish me properly if I don't do what you tell me to do, exactly how you want me to do it. I want to see your raw power commanding me to do your bidding.

But there's one more thing. There is a particular toy I want you to use on me, and although I can't tell you every single detail, I can give you some idea of what I'd like. It's been hidden under my bed for awhile now, and I really would like to you to use it on me. It's a beautiful red and black leather riding crop, and it's just begging to teach me a lesson.

So here's what I want you to do. I want you to come over and play. It will be like a game. But remember, if you're going to play with me, you're going to have be in charge. I mean REALLY be in charge. You have to make me do what you want me to do. MAKE ME. You make the rules. If you say I can't touch you, or that I can't say a word, then I must comply. That's the way it is. You're in control.

Please understand that even though I write this as an example of what could happen, there's no way for me to know. I have to come to you when you call me, kneel if you tell me to kneel, succumb to any request, no matter how dirty or degrading. When you tell me to take off my clothes, I have to remove them however you tell me to do so: slowly, one button at a time, or quickly, just ripping them off. You make the choice, and I obey. (Except for the black high heels. They stay on. Because I know that's what you like.)

There might be a blindfold, too. Or even a stool. But not the bed. No, not yet. You want me to pose, standing there, on display for you. You might tell me to clasp my hands behind my neck, or behind my back, so I am standing before you, stripped and completely vulnerable. Or you might just tie my hands together. Or maybe you would tie my hands to the top of the four-poster bed frame, but not allow me enough room to sit or kneel. I am at your mercy.

This is where the riding crop comes in. I imagine you stroking my breasts with the tongue of the crop in a slow, up and down motion, then in circles, just lightly enough to make my skin tingle. Then, when you see how I respond to the light touch of the leather, you slap my nipples with the crop tongue. Oh, yes, you slap them, again and again, and alternately stroke them tenderly, until my nipples are rock hard; I cry out, and you tell me to be silent. But you aren't finished with my nipples. While they are still swollen and erect you lick them, and suck them, and bite them, oh, so hard, until I want to scream. (But you told me not to make a sound, so I won't. I moan until you tell me, again, to be quiet and still.)

You slap my nipples with the crop over and over, sometimes stopping to rub them with your fingers. My hands are tied loosely in front of me, but I am unable to protect myself from your ministrations as you have pushed my arms to my sides and told me to be still. Occasionally you put your fingers in my mouth and wipe the moisture on my nipple, and then blow on it to make it even harder. Then you bring the crop down on it again, making me wince with pain. When you think I've had enough, you back away. You have also chosen the blindfold, so I can't see what you're doing. I can hear the hardware of your belt buckle, so I know you must be getting undressed. I hear your clothing being tossed aside, and guess that you are now naked, as I am naked before you. Time stands still as I try to guess what you are going to do next. I am straining to hear you, but somehow I miss your steps moving behind me.

I hear the air moving for a split second before the crop slams into my ass, hard, and then repeats. I cry out, and then stop myself. Too late. You scold me a third time for making a noise, and this time you make me pay with a hard spanking. You strike the tongue of the crop onto my ass, and then you realize that if you use the shaft, it works even better. Something inside you begins to shift, and you realize your power over me. You become mesmerized by the red welts that appear on my backside, and you move the crop to change the pattern. I wonder if you are aroused, if your cock is hard, if it is throbbing as much as my ass.

When you stop the spanking, you put your hand on my ass, feeling the heat from the marks you left there. You slowly move in front of me and trace the crop from my shoulder, to my cleavage, then down to my stomach -- oh, so very slowly, teasing me. And then you tell me to spread my legs. My body breaks out in gooseflesh with the anticipation of your crop play. I move my stiletto-heeled feet slightly apart, and you slide the crop between my legs and whisper for me to open them farther. You use the shaft to push my thighs apart, and before you pull it away, you grind the braided leather over my clit, making me gasp. When you are finally satisfied that you can easily reach my cunt, you tell me what a good girl I am. You lightly trace the crop up and down my inner thighs, while I struggle to stay standing, because I am absolutely quivering in eagerness. You draw the crop away from my thighs, and with precision, you slap it, hard, on the lips of my pussy. Once, twice, three times, inflicting my clit with intense pain, then abruptly stop. You stroke the inside of my thighs with it once more, teasing and playing. And then you slap the crop into me again. You repeat this process until my breathing becomes ragged and I am whimpering. I am wondering if the sound of my weakness is adding to the intensity of your arousal. I am imagining you, your naked body glistening with sweat, your breathing shallow with excitement, your cock stiff and hard as you reduce me a trembling and willing receptacle.

By now I am so wet that I can barely stand. My knees have buckled slightly from the assault on my clit, which makes your access to my pussy even easier, and you press the advantage by rubbing my engorged nub with the shaft of the crop before you pull back and slam the tongue of it against my dripping pussy again.

I am in agony from the pleasure and the pain. I am so slick and ready for you that I want to beg you to fuck me, but I am afraid that if I say anything, you'll stop. And I don't want you to stop. But you already know that. So I silently beg you: "Please, fuck me. Fuck me!"

But you aren't finished toying with me yet. You turn the crop over and tease my pussy with the grip. I suddenly realize that you're going to violate me with the handle of the crop, and I hold my breath. You move the handle up to my mouth and tell me to suck on it. I can already taste myself on the warm leather as I lick it tentatively. I open my mouth and you plunge the handle into me until it is wet with my saliva. You pull it out of my mouth and you spread the lips of my pussy with your fingers, and then you gently slide in the crop grip. I am being fucked by the warm braided leather in your hand. You slide it into me past the hilt of the grip and then pull it back out, slowly, before you slide it back in again. You are whispering perversions to me, but I can't hear you. All I can hear is the blood rushing through my body. You move away from me, so that you must be kneeling in front of me, and you position the crop so that as you fuck me with it, you can play with my clit, too. Everything is moving faster and faster, your fingers, the crop, until I can no longer control myself. My hips thrust forward and back, desperate for release. You tell me not to cum, and I freeze and hold my breath again, hoping that it will be enough to keep me from cumming all over the crop handle. You laugh as you watch me trying to hold back. You pull the crop from my body and slap my clit with the crop tongue a few more times, watching me jump and buck.

You tell me that I need to learn to be patient as you stand up and rip off my blindfold. You finally can't ignore your arousal any longer. Your thick cock is hard and throbbing, and you need to possess me. I look into your eyes and see the raw need, the power, and I am overwhelmed by your strength. You let the crop fall to the floor and you roughly turn me around, so my back is to you. Your fingers grab my long hair and pull it, hard, with one hand, while the other hand fondles my breast, all the while kissing and biting my neck. You whisper in my ear how much you love to play with your naughty slut. I want you so badly that I feel faint. You move your hands down and grip my hips, pressing into me so I can feel your swollen cock in the crack of my ass. You stroke your cock up and down in the crevice until I can feel your pre cum dripping onto my back. The welts on my ass are tingling every time you move your cock over me. You reach your hands around me and plunge your fingers into my cunt. You fuck me brutally with your fingers while you whisper into my ear about what a filthy, dirty whore I am, and you feel my body tense and tighten as my pussy clenches your fingers, my orgasm washing over me without warning.

You kiss my neck, and then you abruptly release me. When you pull away, the air on my back is so cold it's almost a shock. But I don't have time to think about it, because you are bending me over, spreading my soaking wet pussy lips and driving your cock into me. Oh, god, how you fill me! You whisper through gritted teeth how much you love to fuck me. You call me your dirty little girl. My body responds to your words as I feel myself getting close to a second orgasm. You grasp onto my hips and you ride me from behind, hard, hot and fast. You draw back your hand and slap my ass, and the sensation on my already raw flesh reels through my body. You lean over me and reach for my hair, and you wrap your fingers through it and pull as you slam your cock as deeply into me as you can. You cry out with a primitive grunt as you unleash your cum into me. When I feel you lose yourself inside me, the spasms of your orgasm drive me over the edge again and I cum, milking your cock with my pussy, and then I can scream. Oh, god. Oh, my fucking god.

When you are finished with me, you pull out and untie my hands. You turn me around and gently hold my jaw as you kiss me soundly, and then you scoop me up into your arms and carry me to the bed. We settle in under the covers, and you look into my eyes. You see that there is no pain or shame or regret there, just deep satisfaction. You kiss my forehead before we both drift off to sleep, with all the evidence from your first riding crop lesson drying on to our skin. I wonder, as I leave consciousness, whether or not I have opened Pandora's Box.

Have I shocked you, my love? Or does this appeal to you in some primitive way? I am hoping that you will step outside of the box and accept my invitation to play. I am also hoping that maybe this will make it easier for you to tell me how to please you. Trust me, please. You have nothing to lose but your inhibitions.

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