My gift.

“Merry Christmas, my babygirlslut.”

She giggled, at once happy and nervous and shy. I knew what that word did to her. “Thank you, Sir,” she breathed.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

“I got you something,” I told her. “Would you like to see my gift for you?”

She gasped. “Sir! I didn’t know—”

“How could I not?” She heard there sincere fondness in my voice, and warmed to it — yet underneath that was a note of amusement. It stirred up something inside her and left her wanting more.

I produced a box, neatly wrapped.

“Go on, baby girl,” I said. “Unwrap it.”

She undid its bow carefully, and peeled open the wrapping paper. Inside was a flogger, of black and silver leather. “Sir! Is this for m—”

“It’s all yours.”

“Thank you so much. It’s beautiful. I’ll learn t…”

She trailed off. Something didn’t seem quite right.

“Sir?”

“It’s all yours,” I said again, and suddenly she realised what he meant. She gasped—or possibly she panted.

“Sir…”

“On your hands and knees. Now” I snapped at her, and she did as she was told before she realised what she was doing.

“Lean over.”


She was suddenly acutely aware of her exposed ass, of the minimal protection her Christmas-gift outfit offered her.

The first few strokes made her shiver with anticipation. The fourth made her cry out.

“Good girl,” he said, and she gasped at that too, even though his lashes were again teasing and gentle.

“Do you know how beautiful you sound when you’re taking pain for me? Here, let me show you.”

I made her cry out again. She blushed at the sound of her own voice. She felt exposed. She felt like he had put her on display.

“Do you like this, my sweet slut?” He lashed at her again, catching her halfway through her whimpered assent, turning it into a plea.

“Yes,” she whimpered again, when I gave her room to speak. “Yes, Sir.”

“Again,” he said coldly, striking her before she could speak.

“Y-yes Sir.”

“Are you wet?”

“Yes, Sir…”

“Look at you, you little painslut. You can’t help yourself when I hurt you, can you?”

“No, Sir…”

“Let me feel you,” I said.

She trembled as my fingers rubbed over her pussy. I fondled her longer than she expected. Her whimper became a long, drawn-out whine of pleasure and need.

Eventually, I said: “Not wet enough.”

She shuddered.

“I’ll have to fix that for you.”

“Please, Sir.”

I flogged her again, viciously and abruptly and without mercy. Each blow caught her in a different place. I flogged her left cheek so many times she felt she would collapse in a scream, and then my first mark on her right cheek made it clear I had been gentle on the left. She shrieked. “Sir!” 

She wasn’t sure if she was begging. She wasn’t sure, if so, what she was begging for.

“Tell me you’re my dirty slut.”

“I’m your little slut. F-f-fuck me pleaaaseee”

“Wrong.” I flogged her again for that, and she gasped at the injustice. “Try again.”

“I’m…” She gulped. “I’m Sir’s dirty slut.”

“Good girl.” I flogged her again as a reward. “Tell me that it makes you wet when I flog you.”

“It makes me wet when Sir flogs me,” she whispered, her voice quavering.

“Tell me you’re a slut for my punishment.”

“I’m a slut for Sir’s punishments.” I flogged her again even harder, and she cried out so hard she thought she might collapse.

“Let me feel you again.”

This time my hands on her were rough and brutal.

“Oh…” I breathed, and she could not help but thrill to hear the hunger in his voice. “Oh, that’s much better.”

“Thank you, Sir…” she whispered.

“Slide your g-string off.”

She began to rise, and I forced her back down. “Don’t get up.”

She whimpered, and undressed, and kept herself low.

“You’re such a dirty fucking slut.” There was a sense cruelty and satisfaction and longing in my voice.

She gasped when I entered her. She hadn’t expected me to be so hard so quickly. I forced my way into her, using my hand around her throat for balance. Then I fucked her off her knees, onto her chest, until she lay prone and felt me cover her, holding her head up with my hand on her throat, and with his other hand pulling back her hair.

“Tell me you belong to me,” I growled, thrusting myself deeper.

“I belong to you.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“I belong to Sir.”

“Whose toy are you?”

“I’m Sir’s.”

“Whose gift are you?”

“I’m your gift, Sir.”

“Will you cum when I tell you to?”

Please, Sir. Pleeaasseee.”

“I’m going to hurt you.”

“Yes!”

“You’re so soft and wet for me.”

Yes, Sir!”

“Desperate to be mine.”

“Yes!”

“Desperate to be hurt.”

“Yes!”

“Desperate to be fucked and used like the little dirtyslut you are.”

Pleeaassee…!”

“Cum for me, NOW” I snarled. “Cum for me, baby”

She came and screamed until she lost her voice, and felt mycock twitching and opening into her in response.

“Good girl,” I said again, what felt like an hour later. She was in my arms by then, wrapped and held close, trembling against my chest. “Hey babygirl,” he murmured, softly brushing her hair.

“Thank you for your gift, Sir.” Her voice felt so small.

“My gift? Well, you certainly were that. I got you as a gift for
me.”

“No, Sir,” she said, and smiled a small, shivering smile. “You gave me something too. Something special. Something sooo precious. And I hope you know how much it means to me.”

“I’m grateful I can give it to you” I said.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.

“It’s a beautiful flogger.”

My lips were soft and sweet on hers as I melted the smile off her mouth.

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