When I use the heavy bullwhip, I throw everything I have into it. Twirling once overhead to power vicious swings, I lash the bare back without keeping anything in reserve. This is ancient whip-to- prison torture, revived in the play world of the dominance dungeon. I wonder if this man can handle it—and I’m going to find out. Already he’s sweating, groaning and struggling for breath.
I go behind again and resume the lashes, each full strength. Were his wrists not linked to the ceiling, I think he would collapse to the floor. Somehow, I find the fortitude to swing harder and increase the frequency of the lashes. I pause only to wrap the bullwhip around his throat—and slap his face. Whipping again, I slash the skin off his worthless back.