She kneels upon the bed, head down, ass up, waiting. I stand behind her, flogger in one hand, eyes burning the sight of her ass to memory. I draw back, and the song begins. The 'thwap' of the multi-whip rings out, mingling quickly with the sound of her whimper. Forehand, then backhand. Forehand, then backhand. It is slow enough to cause enticement
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