Although I already know what the answer to my question will be, because I can see it with my own two eyes, I ask anyway. “This one you just gave me is nastier than the floggers you’ve used on me so far, isn’t it?”
“Much.”
My hand trembles when I caress the handle and the silver-tipped cords. He has several cat-o-nine-tailed whips; one of them is large and heavy and has a plethora of wide strands made of soft black suede, and looks intimidating, but it isn’t all that bad. It’s more for deep tissue massage than anything else. A “thud toy,” he calls it. The others, however, aren’t so innocuous. The one that gets the most frequent use is the one with thin leather braids that he used to work me over during my initiation ritual, and just thinking about it makes me want to squirm. This one is “
