Apocalypse Still by Leah Whitcomb

Author:Leah Whitcomb [Leah Nicole Whitcomb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Starclay Publishing
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

Race Play

KIANA, 2015

When we met, the first thing Lucas asked was, “Do I know you? You seem familiar.” And I could say the same thing about him—all blond waves and blue eyes. I knew it was meant to be so I sought out an old seer, Simone. In a reading, she confirmed that Lucas was my twin flame—our souls were tied to each other in a past life. Soul ties were karmic lessons, cycles we're bound to repeat or complete. She hesitated to call it love, but it had to be. How could I meet the same man in two different lifetimes if it wasn’t a true love connection?

The only problem was that Lucas bored me every time we “made love.” He was too gentle, too worried about my feelings, about if I liked it. All his kissing and thrusting wasn’t enough to make me feel present, to make me feel much at all. I rarely craved violence, but with him it was necessary. I could only feel his love when pushed to its extreme.

We eased into it, progressing slowly. I initiated it by asking him to choke me during sex, first with his hands, then with a belt. When he felt comfortable enough with that, I asked him to handcuff me. The handcuffs were too loose so I bought rope and had him tie me to the headboard. Eventually we progressed to whips. We started with a leather flogger. It only tickled my back—barely enough to get off on. Next was the leather braided snake whip and finally a four foot bullwhip, the thread tightly interwoven to create the perfect sizzle once it hits flesh.

When Lucas cracked the bullwhip, my back reared up. The immediate sting reverberated throughout my body. My welts stood at attention.

“Harder,” I commanded. My eyes were covered, but I squeezed them shut anyway, delighting in the pain. If he hit me hard enough, I orgasmed.

He cracked the whip again, and it split the air. The birds silenced. Blood rose, its metallic odor filled my nose. Snot and tears stuck to my face, and my hands were bound in front of me but around a tree. Bark scratched my cheek and chest as I pushed into it. He hit me again, and I slumped. Piss and shit ran down my legs. He stopped.

“Cut her down! Clean her up!” he commanded.

Feet scurried to untie me, to lift me. Fear forced my lids closed. Teetering between pain and pleasure, my burning back was the sole reminder that I was alive. That Joseph hadn’t killed me yet. I was grateful.

In this lifetime I was a seventeen year old girl named Rachel in love with Joseph Miller.

They carried me up to my room. Hands hurry to apply warm water to my wounds. I hissed when the cloth stuck to the lifted edges of my back and whimpered when Ms. Harriet applied her salve and dressed the gashes. They cleaned the rest of my body and dressed me in loose linen before lifting me onto the bed.

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