Sweet is the sound
Sweet is the sound of your sigh as I take hold of your hair and pull it back. You shiver, waiting to see what comes next, all bound in protocol, clothed only in expectation of what is to come. Like a pack of wolves others prepare to dine upon your pain. Circling and wondering what you can handle the energy of your soul flares bright as the first spark jumps off your skin, helpless and blind to the onslaught of our assaults. Tethered to me like a bitch in heat, you are the meat served to the hungry pack. Onlookers gaze upon you like vultures awaiting scraps. Still more sparks jump from your erect nipples as the flogger strikes its blows upon your bare breasts. Skin turns a glowing pink then blushes red. Moans of pleasure mixed with cries of pain and laughter are heard around you. We bask in the sight as you squirm and jump at the protector's touch, as he dispatches shocks to your body. One of your tormenters wonders what you would do if your clit were touched and sparks flew. You whimper, half afraid they will and half afraid they won't.
Weak in the knees, you are pulled up, guided to the cross. Hands affixed above your head, you stand there, open. Tools are handed around, commented on behind you. Your mind is awash with the possibilities. Deviant minds make their plans. Then paddles strike their blows, floggers fly high amid low moans of pleasure, cries of unexpected pain as the pack feasts. The energy rises, circling like a hurricane building its strength. Soft and hard, pain and pleasure soon overwhelm and break the hardened filly.
But those who have done this change, becoming the tenderest of souls. They bring you down and hold you close. They are caring, nurturing you back. Words from the pack comfort you like a father's touch and a mother's caress. You are taken back, back to the mundane world. The scene is over, leaving only the wounds to heal.