Cake and Whipping

He took every bit of it until he was shaking.

He wanted a session for his birthday, his girl right there to watch and participate. They weren't new to the scene, but they were new to the D/s between them. He was a big, queer fellow, all smiles and happy energy; she was a tiny, radiant spark. A cute situation.

I asked for a mood board, a map of their shared hunger: mouth work, bondage, shibari, strange 'egg' shapes, and faces twisted by ropes and tools. At the center, a big pink image of fingers shoved in a mouth. We talked about whipping; he was so keen to try.

I tied him into a gagged human tray to hold our drinks. This gave her and me a chance to look at some toys. 'This is your department,' I told her. 'Toys for mouth, throat, and these Clockwork Orange eye-bits... Pick what you like.'

We played with his face and his throat for a while, then shibari. I was inspired to make it fast and tight. I put him into an agura, flipped his butt up, partial suspension, and we both went to work on his butt with the whip. He kept giggling; restless ADHD energy. I didn't mind. I knew the silence would hit eventually; I just had to keep going, increase intensity, and reduce the noise in his head.

Eventually, I tied his hands to the bamboo overhead, zip-tied some cloth into his mouth, and handed her the whip. I clamped him between my legs, watching his face, using my hands to signal to her the rhythm and the weight of her strikes. No talking, just gestures. I was the director of his emotions; she was a silent and jolly sadist wielding a whip, and he was finally letting go.

Then, I took over. He was ready for the heavy stuff, the kind of marks that stay for weeks. He took every bit of it until he was shaking. The aftermath was simple: cake and wine. I really do love a good whipping.