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Girl in a Zorro Mask

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Yeah, well, there are times I wanna get slapped during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask, that don’t make it a good idea. – Dean Winchester


Candlelight illuminated the suburban bedroom. It was a fairly nondescript room, twin night tables each with a lamp and one with a digital radio alarm clock. Bob Seager played softly in the background. Light crept out from under the door to the master bath. Directly across the room from the door, moonlight spilled from the bay window, the wispy curtains doing little to block out the glow. Under the window sat a small bench, on which rested three implements, a chocolate bar and a bottle of water. The walls were painted cream and in the middle of the room stood a queen size bed with cream and tan bedspread. In the middle of the bed knelt a man.

This man was the complete and full opposite of nondescript. He was tall, and while he was kneeling it was clear he was at least six feet. From the way his sun kissed skin rippled across his back it was clear that powerful muscles had been created by manual labor and not in a gym. If his body was strapping, his face was textbook golden ratio. Shortly cropped brown sugar hair, verdant eyes framed by thick, dark lashes, straight white teeth, and soft, plump lips. The Adonis was also naked except for one item. A tiny pair of pink satin panties. In short, the man was extraordinary.

The door to the master bath opened and white light flooded the room. The man’s breath caught, as the women sauntered forth. Exquisite, tawny, golden skin was barely covered by a vinyl and mesh bra connected by a thin strap to vinyl and mesh bikini panties. Like the man, she was tall and strong, sleek muscles formed from years of yoga. Dark, chestnut, brown hair cascaded down her smooth shoulders and rested over the swell of her round and delicious breasts.  A lacy black domino mask perfectly framed her face, causing glossy, Russian red lips and pearly white teeth to stand out and draw the man’s eye. The women strutted forward and crossed the room towards the window. Her hips swayed gently, and the man whimpered as she left his eye sight. There was no doubt who was to be obeyed and who was to submit.

“Aren’t you just the loveliest little treat wrapped up in pretty pink satin,” the woman cooed as she slipped her hands around his firm buttocks and under the line of the panties. The man trembled but did not speak. With a slight shove, the man fell forward onto his hands and knees. The women picked up one of the implements from the bench behind her and snapped a loud crack on the bed next to him. She snapped again, the flogger whistling through the air. Third time and the tails of the flogger landed next to the man, sweeping the bed and creating a satisfying thud sound.

“What’s your color, baby,” the woman all but purred.

“Green. Green, so very green,” the man babbled back. He wanted this so very much and she was just taking her own sweet time. But time belonged to her and she could set whatever pace she wanted. Feather light fingers traced over his pert ass and down his powerful thighs.

She picked up a remote from the nightstand and Warrant’s Cherry Pie started to play. She smiled as he hardened to the cliqued song and she swung her hips and flogger to the beat. Thud! Thud! Thud!, the leather cut through the air and caused the sub jerked at each sound, primed and ready to feel the first hit. When it finally came biting into his flesh, a cry escaped his lips. The Domme smiled darkly behind her mask and started swinging vigorously. Her arms drew taunt with each potent blow. There was no slow build up or easing into the blows she rained down on his thighs, shoulder blades and satin covered bottom, while completely avoiding danger zones like the kidneys and tailbone. The thin strips of leather wrapped around his cheeks, stinging his flesh. His Domme used the flogger to keep the beat though the entire song. As the song ended she stretched out to her tippy toes and leaned forward, resting her chest to his back. She darted her tongue out to lick his ear.

“Color, baby?” the powerful Domme purred. It wasn’t until Warrant yelled “Swing it!” one last time that the sub pulled himself together enough to answer.

“Green, ma’am. Still green.” The Domme snaked her body down his length and hooked her fingers on his silk panties pulling them down to his thighs, as the distinct guitar thumbing of the next song started.

The Domme grabbed the split leather strap just in time to land on her sub’s ass with the first crash cymbal. The sub jerked even though he knew it was coming. She kept meeting the cymbal beat until Dave Bickler started to wail out “Raising up, back on the street, did my time took my chances”, when she picked up her pace to match the beat of the drum, varying only the intensity of each hit. She played her sub’s ass like a finely tuned instrument, his screams and sobs their own melody. Just when he thought he had enough, couldn’t go any farther, she lightened the hits, the leather turning into a caress. Still without the satin to cushion the blows, his ass had become a cross-road of red welts and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking and twitching. To give him some reprieve in the four-minute song she reached up to slap his shoulder blades. The shoulders are bonier than the ass so the strap bit harder but at least the area was not as well used. This time when the song was winding down she dropped the strap and grabbed her pet by his hair, yanking his head up.

“Color, baby?” she asked.

“AHHHH,” her pet cried, his eyes wild and so very far away.

“Color!” she demanded. The sub blinked and leaned into the pressure on his scalp to tether him to reality.  “Gree-Green,” he sobbed. The Domme gave a crimson smile and dropped his head. The sub’s hands were fisted into the comforter and her feather light touches on his welts dropped him back into the right head space.

“Good because it’s time for the grand finally,” she murmured as she grabbed a heavy silicone paddle for each hand. The beat of this song was fast, so she had to double fist it. The paddles were flexible and heavy. Out of all her tools, they stung the most.

The rocking beat started up as the Domme did with her paddles. Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song burst through the speakers. The tempo was fast, but years of yoga had prepared the Domme for pushing her arms farther than she thought she could go. Her strikes were true and forceful. Lucky the song was only two and half minutes. Her sub was screaming into the mattress, sobbing at the pain she was causing. Try as he might, he couldn’t completely hold still. Welts were raised over welts up and down his ass, shoulders and thighs. With the paddles she focused on the ass. Over and over again she struck until her sub was in tempo with the song, his cries matched the “AAAAHHHHAAAAA”. As the “Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh” finally played out the paddling died down.

Clapton started strumming up Knocking on Heaven’s door, and Lisa started soothing her lover. She grabbed the cooling lotion squirted it on her hands, then gently rubbed over the raised welts. Some of them were even broken and oozing. Lisa hissed at the damage. Once the lotion was on she helped him roll onto this side, wraps him in a fuzzy blanket and simply held him for the rest of the song.

As Shake It Off starts up, Dean came back to himself. He sat up and sips the water that Lisa is pressing into his lips. After that she shoves chocolate into him as well. She is wrapping him up like a burrito before he knows what is going on.

“Lisa, sweetie, it’s okay,” he tries to reassure his girlfriend. She is still wearing the mask and vinyl bikini. He pulls the mask off. “It’s okay”

“I broke skin,” she confesses.

Dean grins, that big perfect grin that seems to encompass the entire world. “And I loved every minute of it. You were fantastic baby.” Dean tried to feed Lisa a piece of chocolate and share the fuzzy blanket.

“No that’s for you!” she tried to explain.

“I told you Lis it’s kink drop, not sub drop. The loss of adrenaline and endorphins from a scene cause drop along with pushing outside of comfort zone. I know you don’t like violence, I don’t want you to drop either. Please let me take care of you.” How could Lisa argue with him. She let him wrap her up in his strong arms and hold her tight, the blanket covering both of them.

“I am going to have to take off my makeup.”

“I know. Just let me hold you a minute more. Thank you so much Lisa. For doing this, for letting me share Ben and your life. You are an amazing woman and I am so lucky to have you.” Dean kissed her hair and pressed her face into his chest. Lisa knew better then to argue. Instead she simply wrapped her arms around his back and let Bob Segar’s Beautiful Loser wash over them.