//------------------------------//
// "Cutting Ties" 
// Story: Tactical Shorts By Request 
// by TacticalRainboom 
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I meant this as a joke entry to the /fic/ write-off. We had three days to write something based on the prompt "cutting ties." I wanted to write this, but it probably would have been rejected for content, and this little joke would have no business being more than a thousand words long.



To call your screams unrestrained would be to imply that you still had the ability to restrain yourself. No; the only restraints holding you at this point are the ones fastened to your wrists and ankles. You're still panting from your last outcry when you feel another lash against your bare abdomen, sudden and vicious. Your back arches as you cry to the ceiling, your back arching off of the soft bed.

"You're doing very well, darling," your Mistress croons, tossing the flogger aside and floating the crop to her side instead. "Just two more rotations until you get the reward you've been waiting for. Ready for the next round?"

You start to answer, but interrupt yourself with a gasp as she deals the first hit, the crop landing a clean thwack against your left inner thigh. The gasp turns into a shudder as she drags the crop gently across your leg. "You've been so patient," she sighs into your ear. "But I suppose time flies..." She suddenly draws back the crop and strikes, evoking a yelp of surprise. "...when you're having fun."

Snap. "Two." That angelic voice.

Snap. "Three." She's not a sadist; just a very good top. You can tell that this is all for you. Generosity and all.

By the time she gets to "twelve" you're panting heavily between shudders. The distinctive singing noise of unicorn magic sounds again as she tosses the crop aside, then again as she picks up the next implement. You crane your neck to try to see what she's levitating towards you next-- the bullwhip, the cane...?

The moment is broken, however, as she jumps on top of you, her perfectly maintained white fur dragging gently against you. "Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh!" she cries, sounding rather upset. "Oh my goodness, you should have told me if it was too tight! Tch. It's my own fault. Should have taken a round of double-checking these sorts of things."

She removes the cuff from your left wrist and kisses you where the metal had rested against your skin. It stings for some reason.

You look over and have to chuckle at her concern over the thin red marks on your wrist. It's just a scratch. Sometimes binds can cut into skin when you give a particularly good thrash...