I enjoy whips. In moments like this, I’m often toying absentmindedly with My whip. I enjoy the smoothness of the plaited leather sliding gently between My fingers, warm and supple after the punishment I have just inflicted upon My slave. While I contemplate with indifference My slave’s pathetic attempts at controlling his trembling and recomposing himself, My lovely whip is playing deviously in My hands like a pet rather than a mere instrument of punishment. There is a peaceful complicity between us. It senses My satisfaction under My caresses and takes obvious pride in it. I love how it knows to remain obediently curled up, so tame and soft in My hand. Having said that, one would be foolhardy to think it ever sleeps. In the blink of an eye, it will jump mercilessly at My slaves if I unleash it. With vicious lightening speed it will strike with such implacable cruelty, biting into their trembling flesh to imprint My wrath, branding it with the beautiful marks of My ownership. Yes, My whip is a faithful companion – a loyal friend. We become one in beauty and grace whenever I make it sting My vile creatures into frantic obedience, breaking them, spurring them ruthlessly and ingraining the salutary fear of their Goddess into them.