“You need to be beaten?” he asked, slapping the other thigh harder than the first. Her hips jumped and her thighs rubbed one another. He slapped each fleshy leg twice more, watching the ripple move along her skin. It was satisfying, despite the obvious female curve to her hips. Again, he was sure this would be better with a man, but pain, he could take pleasure in that regardless of gender. He paused to twist each nipple hard and the whore cried out again.
The woman, he corrected himself. He couldn’t let his mind fall into the old path. It was one thing for him to treat her like a whore, but Lynn and Sophia had shown him how important his respect for himself and fellow slaves was. She had chosen him, unlike her owner. She had given him control; he hadn’t earned it, or deserved, it or paid for it. It was her gift, and in return, he had to remember she was not a whore, rather a woman with special needs and desires. Desires that were met by being treated like a whore, not being made a whore.
After switching his attack to her chest, he returned to her legs again. He knew he could continue to strike a spot if he gave enough time between lashes. Then he took hold of the hair between her legs and pulled hard on it.
The woman arched her back and murmured. She wasn’t in pain; she was about to climax. He could feel her skin vibrating with pent up pleasure. She ground into his coiled fingers.
He released her hair and kicked her legs farther apart. He slapped the inside of each thigh and she gyrated more. Gripping the dark, curly hair of her sex, he tugged and she cried out. Again, it wasn’t a plea to stop, rather a call to God. He pulled his hand back and slapped her sex.
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