Whip It Goodbydweaver999©
The ringing of the telephone dragged Angela Larson out of her zone. She carefully put the saddle soap and the whip she was treating down and wiped the excess from her hands before picking up the cordless extension in her shop.
"Angela, this is Betsy. I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, but Malcolm called in sick; he caught that flu bug that's been going around. Can you fill in for him?"
"Damn!" she thought to herself. Angela preferred to have the Friday before an auction day off. Auction Saturdays were incredibly intense for Angela as she had to improvise numerous short scenes as she auctioned off the 25 slaves that volunteered to help raise money for the monthly charity. Out loud, however, she merely said, "Sure, I can come in. When do you need me?"
"Will 4:00 work for you?"
"Sure, I'll be there."
"Thanks, Angela, you're a life saver."
By the time she'd set the phone back down, she could feel it building; that rage she fell into whenever her life didn't go the way she wanted it to. Unless she could burn it off somehow, she'd be useless; worse than useless, really, at The Mephisto Club tonight. The one thing a floor person couldn't afford was to be out of control. Angela did the only thing she could think of. She retrieved the phone and dialed.
"Hello," came the oriental voice on the other end of the phone.
"Surmi, this is Angela. Are you free right now?"
"Yeah, I just got back from the graveyard shift. What do you need?"
"I'm pissed and I need to work it off before work."
The excitement in Surmi's voice was plain. "How mad are we talking about?"
"At least an hour, maybe two."
"Oh, that sounds lovely. I can be there in an hour. Will that be soon enough?"
"That would be great. I'll see you then."
Angela smiled. She knew she could count on Surmi. Surmi Yakomosha was a masochist and a pain slut. Unlike many submissives in the BDSM lifestyle, Surmi loved pain for its own sake. Just the thought of being in pain, suffering nearly unendurable agony, had Surmi soaked in her cunt and panting for breath. Even more, Surmi could climax from pain itself, even absent direct sexual stimulation. Her nervous system wouldn't turn the pain into pleasure, but would take pleasure from the pain. As far as Angela knew, Surmi had never safe worded from pain.
Angela returned to her whip, wanting to have it treated by the time her willing victim arrived. Knowing she had an outlet, she let her anger grow. By the time Surmi arrived, Angela was livid and Surmi was due for a wonderful time.
Fifty minutes later, Angela was laying several whips on the table in her play room. Her simmering anger would need a fair amount of violence to release. She knew many people who'd be appalled at her intention to take whip in hand to a sub while such a simmering rage lurked inside her. Truth was; she wouldn't do this with anyone. Surmi knew her anger issues and what the effects would be during the whipping.
In Angela's younger days, she had control issues; to the point where she was a danger to everyone about her. Anger she didn't know how to deal with would build and build until it exploded. When it did, there was collateral damage, lots of it (she'd had to buy two to three TVs a year back then). It was only when she discovered her enjoyment of BDSM play, and especially whip play, that she found a safe release for her anger.
When Angela played with a whip, she fell into an almost trance-like state where she and the whip were one. The whip became an extension of her body; she needed only to will the action and it happened. When the whip landed on skin or cracked, it was as if her own body released the stored energy. Every crack, every lash would ease the tension from her body and mind. Her anger, when she was mad, would travel down the whip to be flung out the cracker as an audible demonstration of her feelings (the cracks were always louder when she was mad).
Yet, during these very dangerous times, she couldn't lose control. The whip; it demanded control or it would turn on her. A small scar just under her left eye, usually covered by makeup, was her reminder to always be in control of the whip. So while she released her anger during a whipping, it was a controlled release; as opposed to the uncontrolled releases that cost her so many televisions in the past.
The doorbell broke Angela from her thoughts. She dashed upstairs to let Surmi in.
"Hi, Angela. You've let it build up, haven't you?"
"Yes, it was going to anyway, so I've been sinking into it."
"All the better for me. Let's see what you have for me."
The ladies went downstairs to the playroom and Surmi looked over the whips Angela had set out She hefted each one, letting it play out, swishing it to get a feel for what would be hitting her body. As she did, her smile grew. This impromptu scene was going to be a good one.
"Hood and collar?"
"Good idea. Blood okay?"
Surmi started undressing while Angela went to one of the storage cases and retrieved a leather hood and a thick, leather, posture collar. The hood and collar together would protect Surmi's face and neck from injury. In a matter of minutes, the oriental submissive's body was bare and unprotected from the violence about to be done to it, while her head was encased in impenetrable armor. Blind now, Surmi extended her hands so Angela could tie them with rope. The bound hands were tied to a hook that was lifted to the ceiling.
Angela picked up her first instrument, a short, thin whip that gave a pronounced swish when she wielded it. Short controlled movements of her arm sent the end towards Surmi's back. Each time the cracker of the whip landed, it left a small, red welt. Each welt was accompanied by a grunt from Surmi as she absorbed the pain, reveling in it. The line of welts slowly descended until Angela reached Surmi's ass.
At that point, Angela changed whips, picking up a longer whip with an angled handle, sometimes called a buggy whip. With a strong flick of her wrist, she cracked the tip just as it reached Surmi's ass. Surmi squealed and jumped at the explosion of pain in her ass. The whip cracked again, leaving a bright red mark on the helpless woman's other ass cheek. This red mark started to run down Surmi's butt, a drop of blood that made Angela smile. The whip reached out repeatedly, leaving those bright red marks, some of which trickled down the submissive's butt. Accompanying each mark was a squeak from Surmi from the pain of the impact.
As the lashes from the whip kept coming, Surmi's sounds became less those of pain and more those of pleasure. The pain response never fully left, but more and more of the pleasure she was experiencing as a result of the pain was bleeding through. When Angela sensed that Surmi was hovering on a pleasure plateau, she stopped and changed to her third and last instrument for the scene, an eight foot bull whip. A deft arm movement brought the whip forward where the cracker broke the sound barrier just beside Surmi's hooded face. The resulting crack had Surmi flinching and moaning simultaneously.
Several more cracks of the whip served to heighten Surmi's fear to maximum levels (even a pain slut fears the crack of a bull whip). The motion of Angela's arm changed and the whip started to lay stripes across Surmi's back. She was careful to only let the three feet of fall and cracker land on her victim's flesh, knowing they could be replaced fairly easily; far more easy than replacing the entire whip. Each blow had Surmi tensing in pain, feeling for the pleasure in this new sensation.
As she continued with her whipping, Angela moved around Surmi's suspended body, letting the lash marks spread across her entire canvas. Breasts, belly, legs; all were soon covered with the long red stripes the whip left as it caressed Surmi's flesh. Soon, each blow had Surmi's head back, moaning into her hood, as the twinned feelings of pain and pleasure coursed through her nerves.
Angela's anger had faded by now; now she was watching to make sure Surmi received her reward. Though they'd never been touched by any of the whips, Surmi's pussy lips were engorged and protruding, as if to accept anything that might be passing by to enter her cunt. They glistened with juice that was running down her legs to mix with the sweat and blood. Angela's last stroke wrapped around Surmi's hips and landed the end of the cracker against Surmi's clit.
That last violent caress was all it took and Surmi screamed as her long awaiting climax overtook her. Her body shook the loop of whip loose and continued to shake as ecstasy washed over her. Angela carefully set the bull whip aside and looked over Surmi for any signs of permanent injury as the suspended woman shook through the last throes of her orgasm. When the climax passed, Surmi hung loose from the hook, too exhausted to continue standing on her own
Angela lowered Surmi to the floor where the submissive rested a few minutes, regaining enough strength to move on her own. While she did, Angela donned a traditional lab coat to protect her own clothes from bloodstains. Angela had a small shower stall in her playroom, with a shower bench for those too tired to stand properly. She helped Surmi to it and let her clean her body of the accumulated fluids. Once clean, the last few persistent bleeders were closed with a styptic.
"How are you feeling, Surmi?"
"Fantastic. You did me good today. All that anger is gone?"
"Yes, very much so."
"You know, Angela, I just don't get it. How can you whip me so well and not show any signs of arousal?"
"It's not about sex for me, Surmi. It's exciting and fun to whip someone like this. I guess I'm a sadist, not a sexual sadist. My sex life is very vanilla, actually."
"Well, you certainly turn me on. Charles is the only other person good enough with the bull to do this, and he won't."
"I know. He has his reasons."
"Whatever they are, it's why I left him. I have needs, and one of them is to be whipped like this on occasion."
"Well, it's my pleasure. You take care of yourself, okay?"
"I will. Thanks again, Angela."
Thanks to Dani for another nice editing job. I hope you enjoy this little diversion as I try to throw off writer's block on Death of a Master.