The Final Chore

Belial didn't wait long before striking her again, the crop cracking against her backside, leaving a crisp, bright mark across her skin.

The tips of his fingers slid over the bright marks, caressing them for a moment before his nails scraped against them, reawakening the stinging flesh.

He slipped the leather between her legs and rubbed her softly with it, grinding the crop against her womanhood.

The tip slid up, pressing against her piercing before cracking against her backside again.

She jerked again when she was struck so soon, giving a louder moan.

A purr sounded as his fingers stroked over her skin, eyes sliding shut and a small smile curving her lips.

Asher gasped loudly when his nails scraped over her stinging flesh, pressing back against his hand, gripping tightly onto the covers of the bed.

Her thighs trembled slightly as she shifted to part her legs further, pressing down against the crop slightly and giving a shaky breath as it moved upwards.

She was expecting the next blow. This was a very common approach to finding out what a Slave liked and didn't like. Something Hendrika used often in the start of their relationship. Pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure. Whipping, stroking, whipping, grinding. Next would be pain again.

A soft groan passed her lips when the crop cracked against her backside.