Drummer Domme by Anonymous

Folding her arms,  a small, amused and proud smile adorns her lips.  Satisfied at her preparations, I, the subject, lie motionless and tautly bound before her. Elaborate rope-work keeps me in position, strung out, spread and exposed.

Slipping back into her comfortable chair, leaving me at knee height, she feels through her toys. Paddles, crops, floggers and whips of all shapes and sizes. My body, strung like her instrument. She, the composer.

With a wicked, fantastic little smile she makes a grandiose gesture, crop in hand. It begins, little taps and smacks scattered across my back, thighs and arse. Sharp sounds, soft sounds, the pitter-patter of percussion. Heavier hits start to land, causing me to soft squeak, gasp, moan and whimper. The heat builds like droplets of searing rain, but I know it is the start of a deluge.

Rhythmically the strikes land, little red welts of visual noise paint the music of her mind. Each stroke a beat in her bass-line, and I the unintentional vocalist. A chorus of cries fills the air. With composed gestures she conducts the scene, creating a kinky musical of my torments. My body bathes in tingling heat, hot wax-like spatters touch every exposed curve of flesh, painting me red with passion.

Intensely she focuses on my cheeks for a moment, drumming away to her deviant desires, making me squirm and writhe fruitlessly. A harmonic shift in the pitches of protest that I can make, when the pain presses upward in servility. Watery red eyes beg for mercy, as I know begging would be only sweet music to her ears.

A few scattered, firm strikes finish up her performance, and with a satisfied laying-on of her tools upon my back, she gives herself a brief round of applause. My reddened and tingling body is met with soft, adoring caresses and very gentle praise. I have been an adequate instrument for her musical outlet, though it will take quite some time to release me. Time which she is in no hurry to spend.

An amused gaze is what I get first; idle fingers twirl a small lock of my hair. My drummer domme catches her breath while admiring her handiwork, and her toy, for a little longer.