She touches you, softly,
Her fingers feathers on your skin.
She always starts so slowly, so delicately,
As if she has not used your body countless times before,
As if she has to relearn every inch,
Prime the canvas of your skin before she can begin;
From lips to chin,
To that delicate flutter at your throat,
From left nipple to navel,
To that smooth pale inner thigh,
From calf to hamstring,
All the way up the beautiful curve of spine,
She marks her territory,
Maps the path she will travel later.
She comes up close behind you,
Her leather clad breasts press against your back,
The supple whip in her right hand dangles, close,
Brushing so deceptively soft against your leg.
A tender kiss placed at the base of your neck,
She rests there a moment,
Inhales your sweet scent,
That divine mixture of fear and anticipation.
She steps back,
Raises her whip,
And whispers gently:
“Let us begin my pet”.

The Erotic Confessor
“Erotic redemption and perverted punishment for the decadent penitent”