Chocolate Whore

It's a nickname she chose for herself.

She has very smooth pale white skin, very dark straight hair, and a ready smile, spiced with touches of acerbic wit.

I met her a a bowling alley, of all places.

Weekly, a bunch of weirdo hipsters gets together to go bowling. We aren't very serious, don't worry at all about team or league scores, and have a lot of silly fun.

A coworker of hers brought her, as part of a fumbling effort to get into her pants.

After a couple of weeks, I invited her to a games party at my house.

As the party wound down, the survivors ended up in the hot tub. And when that wound down, it was just her and me, gently teasing and flirting. I invited her to stay the night.

She thought for a moment, and then said yes.

Nude, body was made of the same firm gentle curves and pale flesh as her face. Our coupling was slow and powerful, her desire hungry and shameless.

Some time later, as we were resting, she was on top of me, our bodies still joined.

"How old do you think I am?" she askes, with a wicked smile.

"Um, 25?"

She laughs. "Twenty-two. Fuck me again!"

So I did.

A flogging, an odd reaction, and a date made.

I was at Burning Man this year.

Despite it's reputation for whirlwind relationships, easy and promiscuous ravers, and hot dirty Burner sex, I did not fuck anyone there.

I did do something outside my usual envelope: I got flogged by a pro-domme.

I hooked up with a cluster of my friends, at a wine bar on the Esplanade by the name of "Spikes". There I was subjected to what was, I am not making this up, the worst wine I have ever had in my entire life. It was all harsh bitter dry sourness. While swallowing this swill at my friends' urging, I joined them in flirting with a rather dirty and very sexy burner woman, chattering with many of the other burrners around, and watching the people taking turns
poledancing and flogging on the stage over the bar.

I eventually found myself on that stage, shirtless, head down and on my knees, while a very nice prodomme flogged my shoulders and back.

My internal reaction was somewhat idiosyncratic, in that the pain and mild humiliation did not make me hot. Instead I found myself getting enraged, wanting to seize the flogger from her, and start beating people with it. That made me hot.

I think I scared her a couple of times, because twice she cut it short, and asked me if I needed to stop. Most people taking a flogging like this either moan and wiggle, or go off in an trance.
Usually not growl through clenched teeth. Each time she stopped and checked in, I told her to keep going.

When it was over, my back was covered with nice hot welts, and I had learned something new about myself.

Later, when I told a friend about it, a wonderfully twisted and
perverse friend, her immediate reaction was an eager "When you come
visit, can I flog you?"

"You heard what I said? If you do that, I'll try to take it away from
you, and beat you to your knees with it?"

"I heard you. (giggle)"

Ok then. This will be fun...