Whipping Erotica
"Elemental Desire," a stormy Licorice Whips sex story by Jasmine Grimstead
Andrew had always felt about the elements the way I felt about poetry. Something would flood his chest when he heard thunder coming closer and his bones could predict the rain before it came. When the hurricanes would arrive in late summer, he’d stand transfixed outside in his boxers and let the wind tug at the naked skin of his face and chest while he watched the world fall to pieces around him. He had studied meteorology in college and could explain all the ins and outs of tropical storms and pressure fronts, but it was always what he didn’t know that excited him more. Mother Nature’s tendency to be a cruel dominatrix and bend you to her whims and her will just as soon as you thought you’d finished paying your last penance never failed to give him some kind of thrill I’d never understood.
Andrew’s apartment faced a wooded lake area that boasted a five-mile walking trail, and the copperheads and other manner of unsavory southern snakes out there kept indoor types like myself at bay. He had a screened in porch that was perfect for watching the storms he loved without either of us having to expose ourselves to the elements or the serpents of the lake. Our best conversations rolled in when the storm fronts did last summer. Out there on the porch with a bottle of wine, we would talk for hours, the hair around my face curling up in the humidity while we sprawled on the porch furniture and explored topics that seemed too taboo or dangerous anywhere else. When the rain and wind would die down, no longer forceful enough to occasionally get at us through the tight wiring of the porch screen, we would make our way back inside. The lovemaking that followed was always more intimate than usual, slow and sensual—infused by the effects of the wine and the sweltering heat outside, framed by the depth of the conversation we’d had and the flickering of the candles by the bed. Because of the electricity of his touch and intensity of his concentration—first on nature and then on our natural urges—I began to watch the forecast with as much interest as he did.
The night the last bad tropical storm of the summer came in had been a slow one. We spent the better part of the day at the pool before the drizzling threatened to turn into something else and we were annoyed when we had to move our barbeque inside. Once our friends dispersed to their own homes, our cheap beer and beach music lost their appeal inside the confines of the apartment. I had planned on going home myself, but the sky opened up more than we had anticipated it would and the rain came down violently, threatening to flood the streets. I tried to assess from the news just how bad the storm would be, and it didn’t take long to get my answer. Seconds after turning on the television, a loud crash outside sent me jumping before the power went out and Andrew and I were enveloped in darkness. When my eyes adjusted, I was able to see him fumbling in the dark for supplies, clearly displeased. Something about the way my damp clothes clung to the contours of my body made me realize I was wet in other ways and I knew exactly how to salvage our evening.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t have any more matches.”
“Baby, I don’t think we need them.” I felt my way to where he was, careful not to trip over anything. I took the candles from him and placed them on the coffee table. “I can think of plenty of things we can do in the dark to tide us over until the power comes back on,” I whispered. I took his hands and placed them so that they cupped my chest, where I knew he’d feel that my nipples were erect in my bikini top beneath my shirt. In the dark, I could see his eyes flash in recognition as he moved in to kiss me deeply on the mouth and his hands began to wander, one finally trailing down to my hand to lead me to his bedroom.
“I was thinking,“ I whispered in his ear, halting him, “that none of your other neighbors are probably crazy enough to be outside right now.” I bit his earlobe, licked and breathed hot air down his neck and back up again. “I think this is the perfect opportunity to finally break in your porch.”
As I kissed his neck, his hand found the extra fabric of my shirt and began clenching it in a ball at the small of my back. He used his grip as leverage to urge me forward toward the porch door. Once outside, he began peeling his clothing off, the process slowed by the added weight of the rain we’d been caught in. A hot stab of sudden light hit down over the lake, so close to us that I would have been legitimately concerned if I hadn’t been distracted by his illuminated body stripping down to nothing. His bare skin was something I never failed to marvel at: his body was hard and masculine but also welcoming—he emanated heat. My hands never lost the need to wander over him, memorizing his topography so that I could explore it in greater depth later on, the way a traveler studies his map before he sets out to conquer his terrain.
Refocusing, I rid myself of my own clothing, feeling an entirely new kind of desire knowing that my lover wasn’t the only person that might see me.
Gusts of Tenderness, by Arthur Braginsky (prints available at ObsessionArt.com)
I knelt down on the wood floor before him, swiveling my tongue down over his cock so that I could get him wet before taking all of him inside. He was the perfect length and thickness, and pleasing him orally always seemed like the perfect way to show my appreciation for that—for what he offered me and how expertly he used it to wreck me. Whether he was forceful or sensual, my body was always a worthless heap when he was done. He knew exactly what I liked, which is why he let my enthusiasm drive my own pace until I was moaning, too, before he took over and began to fuck my face. He held my head in place while he worked himself in and out of my mouth, sometimes pushing as far back as my throat could take, and sometimes pushing his cock against the inside of my cheek so that it would stretch, slapping the side of my face with his hand so that his cock could feel the pressure from the other side. I looked up at him, filled with him, while he bucked inside me, and he looked out at the disturbance wreaking havoc behind my back. Since he wasn’t paying attention, I moved one of my hands from where it braced the back of his leg for balance down to my pussy. I wanted him inside me, badly, but I wasn’t ready for him to leave my mouth. I wanted him to simultaneously fill all of me, but my fingers would have to suffice until he was ready to claim my cunt.
Another flash of lightening came, and he looked down at me, my eyes connecting with his in the light. I slid my fingers out of my cunt, guiltily, working my tongue up and down his shaft now that he was standing still over me instead of pulling me by the hair. I liked Andrew when he was a gentleman, when he opened the door for me or walked me to my car when I’d leave his apartment. Occasionally, though, I liked Andrew more when he treated me like a slut. That night, I wanted to be railed. I wanted him to fuck me like he’d fuck a whore on a one night stand instead of the way he’d fuck the girlfriend that cooked him dinner on weeknights and rubbed his head before sleep. Being the nice girl gets just as old as it probably does fucking the nice girl. Correction—making love to the nice girl.
“You’re ready for me to fuck you, aren’t you?”
I replaced the movement of my mouth with the movement of my hand, firmly working it up to the head of his cock and back down to the base the way he’d demonstrated when I asked him to show me how he touched himself when I wasn’t there. “I’m more than ready.”
“You want my cock?” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me like he was reprimanding me.
“I need your cock.”
He stepped backwards towards the couch, slapping my hand away when I reached for his dick again. “That’s too bad. You can have anything you want,” he said, “except for my cock.”
On the floor, I looked up at him, pleading. Watching his body cut through the water of the pool all day had been agonizing foreplay in itself. I had wanted him for hours, and I still couldn’t have him? Being promised anything I wanted, though, was hard to turn down. I thought about how much enthusiasm he always put into eating me out, licking and sucking until I was gasping for air and clawing my own skin because I knew he didn’t like it when I clawed his. He was his own glorious natural disaster, sending my body off the edge until I was quaking and thundering inside my own flesh so that I couldn’t tell myself from my surroundings. I could have that, and did have that, almost every day, though.
I racked my brain for something different that I wanted and actually had the words to articulate. The whip I had put in his closet still hadn’t been used. I was both terrified and turned on by it. When Andrew would bend me over and slap my ass while he took me from behind, my body always reacted in a way that surprised me, my pussy clamping down over his cock as if begging him to do it again, always making me feel like I was this close to coming, like once I started I wouldn’t be able to stop. It made me want to be dominated, to take things to that next level. It was just that there was no apparently appropriate way to introduce the props.
Suddenly, I said it: “I want you to whip me.” I stood up. “I want you to take me any way that you want, but I want you to make it hurt. I want you to push my limits until I have to beg you to stop.”
He looked at me as if sizing me up, and then finally nodded. “Go get my rain jacket from the closet and put it on,” he said, beginning to pull his clothing back on. I was confused, but I did as I was told. I put the slicker on and went back to him with my whip in hand.
“Did I tell you to bring the whip?” he asked.
“No, but that’s what I asked you for…” I bit my lip, feeling foolish.
“And I’m going to give it to you, but I’m going to give it to you on my terms. I’m going to give you what you want, but not the way you expect it.” The look on his face was devilish. That look always meant that I was in for entirely too much fun.
He grabbed my hand, pulling me back through the apartment and out the front entrance. I walked barefoot behind him until we were just inside the shelter of the woods and off of the lake’s walking path, mud and stones and roughage sharp under my feet.
“Take off the rain coat,” he demanded. I slid it off of my shoulders and handed it to him, totally exposed to anyone that might look from their windows. The water drove down over my skin so hard it felt like needles pricking against me. He put on the coat and then dug in his pocket until he retrieved the pocketknife that had been left to him by his grandfather.
“Find a tree you can wrap your arms around,” he told me. At 5’3, my wingspan was not long, but I found a tree that worked while he circled the area, studying the ground. “Bend over so that your ass is sticking out and wrap your arms around the tree so that your face is pressed against the trunk.”
I followed his instructions. I trusted him completely and could feel my body burning, both with excitement and embarrassment, even as the rough bark of the tree trunk bit into my face. I watched him the best I could from my position. Finally, he knelt down, wiping the rain from his face, and flicked his pocketknife open. With it, he cut a long vine growing out of the ground and then stretched it out, examining it.
“I think this will work nicely for a restraint, don’t you?” he said, not really asking me. He pushed on my shoulder until I was on my knees. Then he pulled my hands together on the other side of the tree and tied my wrists with the expanse of vine so that I couldn’t move up or down easily. He moved out of sight and I spread my legs out wider, readying myself in case he was moving behind me. He wasn’t. From somewhere out of view, I heard a pulling and a tearing. Then, there he was again, crouched down in front of me. In his hand was a long, slender switch.
“You asked me to whip you,“ he said, “and I’m going to whip you with this.” He made a point of showing me the switch, and then used one hand to lightly run it over my back. “Is this what you want?”
“This is what I want.”
This was, in truth, so much more than what I’d wanted. I had never had the imagination or forethought for this, but he knew me so well that I wondered if I had whispered my subconscious desires to him while I was sleeping.
He kissed me on the mouth in a way that was passionate and slow burning and sensual more than it was sexual—a kiss to increase the build-up. He was not a man that jumped right in. Even his porn was painfully slow in the beginning, slow in a way that made you savor it while wanting to beg for it. He understood intimacy in a way I was only just learning. He stroked my face, looked into me, through me. “Tell me when you can’t handle it.”
I nodded, my cheek scraping the side of the tree. He stood up and moved behind me.
I felt like I was an extension of the woods—a wild thing trapped that could only be liberated by the hands that had tied me in place. All my senses were heightened, the wind lashing at me and sending my hair dancing, the nerves at the end of my skin burning from the onslaught of the incessant downpour. Andrew didn’t seem phased by it—he seemed more in his element than he ever had been—but the longer the rain fell, the more I felt my body reacting instead of numbing, like I’d expected.
Andrew ran the switch up and down my back again, and then a third time, teasing me with it. I felt one hand cup my ass, rise up, and then slap it. It stung worse than it usually did in bed, but still not like the rain stung. He rubbed his hand in circles over where he’d slapped it and then took his hand down to my pussy, where he worked a finger, and then two, into me. Finally having direct contact caused me to moan, and he brought his fingers out of me as quickly as he had inserted them.
“I didn’t say you could moan,“ he said. “You can only moan when the thunder is louder than you are. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” What I didn’t understand was how I could prevent it the next time.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt the switch make contact with my skin for the first time, and my body jumped as much as my restraints would let it. A sound I didn’t recognize came out of my mouth, a loud whimper.
“You just told me you understood you couldn’t make any noise, and what did you do?” He said sternly, caressing the place he’d brought the switch down.
“Made more noise,” I breathed, barely loud enough for him to hear me.
“That’s right.” He brought the switch down, a little harder now, on the other side of my ass. I closed my eyes and sucked air in. I heard the switch drop to the ground, and both of his hands were working over my ass now, slapping me. Then I felt him kiss the skin where I knew it was probably an angry red, kissing me where he never had before. Only seconds after his mouth pulled away, I felt his cock, throbbing and fully erect, push inside me. He was fully in control, both of his hands around my hips pulling me snug to him, pulling my ass so that I was stretched between him and the tree.
He moved in and out slowly so that pleasure gradually worked itself through me, traveling up my spine until it put me in a different mental state all together. I didn’t want to be treated like a slut anymore. No—I just wanted to experience all aspects of pain and pleasure with someone who wasn’t afraid to present them to me. No man would work this hard to give a woman he just thought was a slut what she wanted.
The thunder came, loud and obtrusive, as I felt Andrew break pace and pound into me. I screamed out, feeling as though I’d reel forward, though I was still held tightly in place. If it wasn’t for the rumbling around us, the neighbors surely would have heard. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, and pulled my head back as far as it would go, penetrating me as deeply as he could while my back was arched. He let up on the degree of force and speed—he knew my limits and could both test and respect them at once, walking that careful edge with each swivel of his hips. I was truly at his mercy, and as the storm went on, I prayed for thunder so I could call out again. The silence I endured made the impact of each thrust feel so much more powerful that the rain and the wind seemed to fall away.
He began to pull out of me, his cock just barely teasing my lips. “Do you want my cock, or the whip?” he asked. I wanted neither. I wanted both. I didn’t want him to stop but I didn’t know how much more I could take.
“I want them both,” I said, “I want them both at the same time.” I closed my eyes and braced myself for whatever was going to follow.
He walked around to me, grabbed my chin with one hand to open my mouth, and shoved his cock in between my lips so that he could fuck my face. He went easier, this time, knowing I couldn’t move my head if couldn’t handle him. I wasn’t able to look up at his face, exactly, so I concentrated on his slippery wet cock. I was so fully focused on making him come that I had forgotten about the switch until it was coming down on me again. He was leaning forward while he thrusted so that he could reach my ass from a different angle with the branch. I moaned with his dick in me, sucking more urgently so that I wouldn’t accidentally bite down. I felt him shudder and then finally explode inside my mouth as I realized my own sex was rapidly contracting, coming from the last jolt of pain inflicted on me.
He leaned against the tree for support while he recovered from his orgasm, and then straightened himself up to pull up his boxers before retrieving his pocket knife again. Carefully, he crouched down in front of me and very delicately cut the vines away from where they had broken into the skin of my wrist. I had struggled more than I had realized, having been focused on all the other sensations. Even after being let loose, my body seemed glued in place, and I clung to the trunk.
Andrew wrapped an arm around me and gently pulled me up, my limbs slowly coming back into commission as I unfolded. He stood behind me and helped me into his rain jacket before picking me up and cradling me in his arms. He carried me back to the path, up the stairs, and inside the apartment. He laid me down on the couch out on the porch and disappeared back into the other rooms before returning with two towels and what looked like my massage oil.
“Baby, I’d love to rub you down, but I think I need a little while to just… be here with you before I can come back to functioning, you know what I mean?” I said. He perched beside me on the couch and gently began toweling the muddy rivulets of moisture off of my skin.
“This isn’t for me, this time. This is for you.”
I looked at him, confused. He’d just spent the last hour fulfilling my fantasy. It seemed like he had already done more than enough in the taking-care-of-me department. “Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because you just weathered your first storm with me, and there’s no one else that would have allowed me to experience that.”
My body cooperated long enough to let me sit up and kiss him in response.
Outside the elements stayed faithful to their crash course, but safely inside, we had both found and escaped the perfect storm. I fell asleep that night to an orchestra of devastation under the hands of a man that was devastatingly beautiful, and awoke to a world whose downed trees and power lines made travel near impossible, meaning there was only one thing we could do: spend the day in bed. And so we did, but that is an entirely different story. It turns out Pandora’s Box has a lot more than just wind and rain. Wind and rain, however, are the perfect place to start.
~
Copyright November 2011, Jasmine Grimstead.
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
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