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“You’re really sure about this?”
Brigitte’s voice was hesitant, asking for reassurance the nth time that night and they hadn’t even begun, even as Anran was presented perfectly before her. Her ass bared and waiting, back arched, knees tucked neatly underneath her, chest pressed obediently down to the floor in a picture of submission.
Anran mumbled annoyed, but affirmative, curses in Chinese, impatiently rocking her hips. Brigitte reacted instinctively by lightly swatting her ass with her free hand. She wouldn’t use the whip, yet. If Anran was sure about this, she would have to beg for it.
Anran’s gasp was practically sinful, hips jerking in surprise at the action. A spark of arousal shot through her spine, no matter how light the strike had actually been, it felt like a wildfire. Brigitte was always so damn gentle, even the slightest force felt like fire.
A strong hand grabbed hold of her haphazard ponytail, firmly tugging her head back and baring her throat to the air. Anran whimpered.
Brigitte leaned close to her ear, her grip still firm in its tangle of Anran’s ponytail, “What was that?”
“Please, pleasepleaseplease, just do it—“
Her voice sounded pathetically desperate to even her own ears. A flush rose to Brigitte’s cheeks, the concern in her gut morphing steadily to a feeling of warm satisfaction at reducing Anran to this state without hardly doing a thing. She only had the thought racing in her mind, the anticipation, the barely-there smack she had received against her ass.
It was an intoxicating feeling of power, and Brigitte let herself indulge a little.
“Do what?”
“Hit me,” She croaked, panting before she added in a soft whisper, “…hurt me, Brig.”
“Bra tjej, Anran,” Brigitte crooned, pressing a soft kiss to Anran’s temple. She let go of her grip on the black locks, trailing her hand down the length of her spine and settling on her hip. The meat of her palm caressed Anran’s ass, kneading the flesh and earning a breathy sigh.
Begrudgingly, she stepped back away from Anran, methodically unfurling the short whip that was neatly wrapped around her other hand. She thumbed over the smooth leather, expertly crafted like her own flail. Experimentally, she flicked it back and forth, before giving it a sharp crack through the air.
Though it hadn’t impacted Anran at all, she still shuddered as if it had before resetting her position to be perfect, leaking droplets onto the rug below her. A grin spread across Brigitte’s face.
“I want you to count, ja?” She readied the whip and her stance, waiting for Anran's clearance. Anran took a deep breath, air filling her lungs as she tried to quell her raging heartbeat in her ears.
With a thick swallow, Anran acquiesced, “I’m ready.”
For a few moments, it felt like forever before Brigitte’s whip met her skin. She waited in anticipation, nearly shaking as she tried to predict when it would strike and the moment she had longed for would finally start. As she began to grow comfortable, complacent, she heard Brigitte’s footsteps change slightly and barely had time to process before the leather cut through the air and against her ass. It was not lost on her that it was the very same spot that Brigitte had been caressing before.
“Ahn—Fuck!” Anran cried out, violently jerking in shock. It stung, it burned, it hurt, and it made arousal curl in her belly hotter than the flames she wielded. Dazed, she nearly forgot the command Brigitte had given her just moments prior.
“Yī,” She managed, after several hard breaths.
Her entire body throbbed as the crack of the whip against her ass reverberated through her lithe form. Her nerves were lit aflame, her cock twitching in arousal as if Brigitte hadn’t just whipped her like a bull.
Anran shivered when Brigitte’s hand caressed her ass again, a sweet apology as she asked softly, “Color?”
“Gr-green…so damn green now,” She panted, a warm dizziness fogging her mind as she slipped into a different headspace.
Brigitte chuckled softly, moving back again and readying her stance. She cracked her whip, hitting Anran’s other cheek with the same strength as the first. Though she still cried out, it quickly morphed into a throaty moan. She anticipated the pain, and she took it.
“Èr.”
An almost cocky, satisfied grin quirked Anran’s lips. The anticipation was nothing compared to the actual feeling she had been longing for and had taken months of talking with her lover to reach, leaving her drunken and wanting to beg for more.
The next two came in quick succession, wiping the smirk off of her face and replacing it with an open-mouthed moan and tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Pitifully, she mumbled a soft sān and sì, pressing her face against her arms as she tried to still her heart that was hard and loud thrumming against her ribcage. She shifted, the burn of her ass practically molten and her cock hard from where it throbbed and bounced against her belly with every minor movement she made.
The floorboards shifted underneath Brigitte again, and Anran’s abdomen reflexively tensed. The whip struck her, and the tears that had been barely there broke their seal and fell down her cheeks with a loud cry. It was likely the same force as the previous strikes, Brigitte was nothing if not methodical and measured, but it burned with the force of the sun when it connected with her skin against her thigh.
“Ahngh—Wǔ!”
It hurt. It felt so good and it hurt so much.
“You’re doing so good,” Brigitte crooned, and the praise fanned the flames of desire and pain and Anran sobbed, “One more, ja? You’ll do one more for me?”
It took several moments before the words processed in her mind, her focus lasered in on the cocktail of pleasure and pain she was steeped in, but she nodded frantically.
“I’ll be good for you, I’m good for you…” Anran whimpered.
Brigitte whispered, as she readied her whip again, “You are.”
The tension of the metaphorical spring in her belly reached an apex, heart beating harder and faster than any training session, and then leather finally met her skin again and it exploded. Searing pleasure shot through her body and she nearly believed she came with how her cock throbbed and leaked onto her knees.
“Liù!” Anran cried out, “Liù—liù, lìu…fuck…”
Brigitte coiled the whip up to put to rest, setting it out of reach before kneeling to tend to Anran. She was shivering, crying, mewling, and still presenting in spite of all she had endured. Gentle kisses, whispered praise, firm but tender hands grounding her back to the present.
“Let go, bird, it’s okay.”
Anran practically fell into her arms, relenting from the strained position and pawing at thick cords of muscle, “Please fuck me, fix me…”
With only a wordless hum of affirmation, Brigitte kissed the nape of her neck before she went to retrieve the dildo and lube that lay out of sight. She slotted the toy easily into the ring at the front of the harness secured to her sturdy hips, kneeling behind Anran.
Apologetically, she kissed each of the brilliant red welts left on bare skin that she had left. Even covered in marks of agony, Anran was beautiful.
Anran sighed, soft but throaty moans escaping with every brush of lips against her. She sucked in a sharp breath at the tease of cold, wet fingers against her hole, but tried to relax to allow Brigitte in. It never took long. Anran would do anything to be good, to earn the praise she needed and Brigitte was so ready to give. Thick, calloused fingers worked their way inside her, massaging every inch to make her see stars behind her eyes and nearly collapse as they brushed against a certain spot.
“Found it?” Brigitte offered with a chuckle, making Anran snort softly in dopey laughter.
“Yeah. Definitely right there.”
She relaxed, letting Brigitte’s fingers scissor and spear her open with ludicrously wet noises that she didn’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed by.
“I’m ready,” She admitted with a clear throat, a particularly heavy throb jolting through her at the prolonged teasing of her walls.
She pulled her fingers out with a hum, and Anran fought down a whimper at the loss. Her cheeks were spread, her glistening hole exposed to the air and she felt the silicone of the toy press against her.
“Such a good girl,” Brigitte murmured against her ear, leaned over her back.
Anran didn’t have a moment to reply before the toy slid into her, down until Brigitte was hilted inside of her in one stroke. She mewled.
Finally.
She grunted softly when she pushed her hips back against the harness and was met with heavy burns from the welts, but it was a delicious pain. Every thrust a reminder of what Brigitte could give her, a reminder of how good she was. The thrusts were slow, firm, and still gentle because it was Brigitte.
The ridges of the toy stroked and massaged every inch of her, less dexterous than fingers but so much fuller. She moaned, higher and higher, drool slipping out of the corners of her mouth as she was carried to bliss. With a shaky hand, Anran reached back to grab one of Brigitte’s resting at her hip, pulling it closer to her cock.
“Touch me?” She begged.
Brigitte obliged, wrapping her fingers around her length, “Always, bird.”
Expert hands stroked her from base to tip, firm and purposeful and arousing and exactly what she needed. The sounds she drew out of Anran were pornographic to Brigitte, sending jolts of live pleasure down her spine with every meeting of her hips against a beautifully bruised ass. Touching herself didn’t matter. In this moment, even just the thought of Anran falling over the edge was enough to get herself close.
Brigitte could feel every drip and throb of her cock, Anran’s body reacting on its own accord without input from her. She needed to give up control. She needed to let go.
The coil of arousal pulled taut in them both, Brigitte’s hips slamming against Anran’s while they panted and moaned. Anran shook beneath her, hands curling in fists as the pressure grew too tight to bear and she began tearfully babbling.
“I’m gonna—“
“Do it. Cum for me, please,” Brigitte was the one begging now, burying her nose in the juncture of Anran’s neck and shoulder, animalistically toying her teeth around the skin as she kept pumping her hips and stroking Anran’s cock.
With a pitiful mewl and a cry of Brigitte’s name, Anran crested over the edge she had been dancing on. Pressure raced up her shaft, and she came hard. Pearly ropes sprayed onto her stomach and the sheets, over Brigitte’s knuckles, feeling as if it lasted a lifetime and she couldn’t stop. Brigitte kept thrusting, albeit slowly, reaching her own peak as Anran broke. She heaved harsh breaths against sweat-slicked skin, clenching around nothing and creating her own puddle underneath herself.
The two of them stayed like that for a long moment. Anran was boneless, nudging her face against her arms to wipe away the tears streaming down her face and they mixed with the hot sweat rolling in rivulets down her reddened arms. The thin, raised, white lines of scars on her arms mocked her. A hysterical, watery laugh bubbled up in her throat, breaking out in a sob as she slumped. A whine broke the sobs as Brigitte gently eased the toy out of her and the leather harness fell to the floor.
She couldn’t stop crying.
Wordlessly, Brigitte had grabbed a fluffy blanket and wrapped it around Anran, picking her up easily and moving the both of them to the bed. Through the long minutes of sobbing, she simply held Anran in her lap and wrapped strong arms around her. She whispered soft praises, some in English and some in Swedish, reminding Anran of how good she was. She was worthy. She wasn’t broken. Her parents were wrong.
“Jag älskar dig, Ye Anran.”
She was loved.
It was okay she needed to hurt.
Anran still shook and shivered, though her sobs evened out to sniffles. Her eyes fluttered shut as Brigitte grabbed a small container of a soothing cream, spreading it over the searing welts on her skin to cook them down. A warm feeling spread through her, a feeling of dazed happiness sprouting from the broken sobs. She smiled softly through the tears, peering up at Brigitte who returned the expression.
“Better?”
Anran’s voice failed her, so she merely nodded, nuzzling further into her girlfriend. She nudged their comforter with her foot, and Brigitte took the hint to pull it up over the both of them and lay down.
Again and again, Brigitte would whisper she loved Anran as the moon bathed them in light and the night ticked on. Her lips never left her skin or hair, holding on tightly to her bird as if she would fly away.
Never would she.