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Smell My Pain

By Jenny Mount

I drew the leather along the palm of my hand and stared down at Mike's peppermint-striped ass. He lay prone on my kitchen table, tied at the wrists and ankles.

With the buckskin ribbon plucked tight, I scraped the tip of his nose. "What do you smell?"

His blindfold held, but his head shook when he sniffed. "A whip?"

"No, you dildo. You've ignored me for months." I smacked him across the ass. "Hell, that's better than punching my pillow!"

"But I've been ... Oww!"

Smack!

"Sandy, would you like to finish that sentence for Mike?" I passed the whip to my best friend, who squatted beside him on the table top. She'd been my shoulder for the last few months. Mike, my boyfriend, had been too busy with the family business.

...

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