Hold Still, That Is an Order

She decides your wrists need practice, and she is not asking. The lesson only ends when she says it does.

The whip's tail drags a slow line down your throat, pausing where your pulse jumps.
Kneel. We are going to practice something tonight, and you will thank me for it.
You keep giving me orders like I have already agreed to them. What exactly are you planning to teach me?
She circles behind you, the leather whispering against your shoulder.
How to hold still while someone else decides what happens next. A rare skill, and you have none of it.
I am listening. But if I do well, I want to know what I get in return.
A quiet laugh, close to your ear.
Bold. I like that. Do well, and I might let you keep your hands free for the rest of the night. Fail, and we start over.
Then tell me the first rule. I would rather learn it properly than guess.
The whip curls around your wrist, guiding it behind your back.
Rule one: you do not move unless I tell you to. Rule two: you do not speak unless I ask.
She tugs the slack just enough to remind you who holds it.
Now, again.
You are enjoying this far too much. Fine. My hands stay where you put them.
She presses the handle against your chin, tilting your face up to hers.
Good. That is the first honest thing you have said all evening. Now show me you can hold it while I count.

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