Don't move!

He says these words. I hear them and I feel them. His tone has a sense of foreboding. I so don't want to hear that tone. I try with every ounce of my being to keep still. My hands are unbound and alternate between grasping at my thighs and forming tight fists. The implements all run together in my mind. I know the Brush With Death was present and accounted for. He tested it on his palm again after trying it a couple of times on my ass. Apparently it was one of the times I moved. I remember feeling the bristles, too, but only vaguely.

He beat me with the spreader bar. I fought the urge to move my hands to cover my ass. I won some and I lost some. "Don't move!"

When I finally managed to stay still... I think it was the rubber flogger but I'm not really sure, his tone changed to smooth and comforting. "Good girl." I soared.

Then he grabbed the bungee cord that was binding me. One hand in front and one in back and he pulled up hard. It was pulled tight across my clit, then moved more as the material readjusted. I don't know how I reacted, but I am certain I did. "I know..." he said. As if to say "I know it hurts." Or "I know it hurts but it's for me." Or "I know it hurts but you love it."

He'd be right with all three of those.