Whips And Chains Novels & Stories

“High Priestess if you please may we begin to heal them.” She laughed loud and cackling as the witch she was. “There is no healing them! This is going to be where this ends!” I saw her go for something else and that is when I saw her reach for the whipping chain, a large chain made of complete silver possibly with rings over three inches in diameter easily. Because she was a wolf and her strength was full it was nothing for her to take it and swing it into action at me. I felt the large sting and felt my skin rip off with the one whip. “But High Priestess you did not tell us that. We would not have agreed to hurt them without healing them.”

I returned my focus to the chain post and continued exhaling deep breaths. “Now, pet, if you look carefully, you will notice that this is not a normal whip. You see, each string has itty bitty tiny hooks that will sink into your skin and rip it once I pull back.” He pulled on the collar of my chemise and scowled when he peeked. “We might need to get a couple in before you notice something since you have thick scars on your back. Naughty girl. These last ten years haven’t been nice to you. It doesn’t matter, really. It will save you some time before you experience real pain but don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get some in on the sides, too; that skin is much more delicate.” Shrike winked and mo

Nick shout-whispered in front of her face, his expression deadly "Me and Director Firth?" She repeated echo tensely “No!” her breathing increase as she stared at him. here is it, she really doesn't want it when her work is combined with her privacy, especially if people consider her work to be obtained from dirty work that she doesn't do at all

“You have no-one. You deserve no-one. What man? What father does what you did to their little girl?” “She no li’le girl!” “She was when you started whipping her.” Marc stepped back one step, allowing the silver tip to chink against the floor. “How old was she?” He felt the weight of the tipped whip he had in his hand, ironically the handle designed for comfort. “I don’ know wha’ you talk’in’ ‘bout.” The whip swung through the air, slashing over the Alpha’s arm, he hissed. “Maybe I can jog your memory?” Marc swung again, and again until the Alpha was slumped on the cot. “I ne’er whip ‘er.”

"What's that? And why does it have chains hanging from it?" Grumpy's laugh trailed over my skin like rough velvet. "That's the X-cross. It has chains so I can keep your arms and legs still while I use toys on you." My sex filled with wet heat. "Wh-what kind of toys?" I asked after I licked my lips. Honestly, I didn't really care what kind of toys he used on me, as long as it was Grumpy, Tove, or Thane who did it.

I leave the last one so that she can't kick at me, though, and once she stops fidgeting I pick the whip back up again. One of the crucial rules when using whips is to stay away from any joints and most importantly the face, but because it's her first time altogether I take it easy on her in general. Her ass and thighs bear the brunt of it over the next minutes as I slowly increase the speed of my throws, soon leaving marks that don't fade faster than they appear. The will to fight leaves her gradually as her mind slips into the sensation, soon craving the pain as much as I know she dreads it. The low moans I pick up from her

"You're nothing. You've always been nothing." When the rod failed to break her spirit, I tossed it aside in frustration. My eyes fell on the Ancestral Pack Whip hanging on the wall—a brutal instrument reserved for the most severe transgressions against pack law. No one had used it in decades. Its nine leather tails, each embedded with moonstone fragments, were designed to cause maximum pain without leaving permanent scars. I grabbed it, feeling its weight in my hand. The servants' eyes widened, but they dared not question me.

🌑 Chains of Eternity The gate pulsed like a living wound, bleeding light into the endless dark. Each heartbeat it gave off seemed to drag them closer, as though invisible strings tugged at their bones. But instead of stepping through, the group lingered at the threshold, their breaths heavy, the silence unbearable. Kael stood still, shoulders tight. The chains around his arms shifted against his skin, restless, as if eager to be unleashed. The whispers were louder now, threading through his thoughts until he could barely tell which were his and which were theirs.

Chris said, his tone calm but commanding. “It’s… grounding,” I admitted after a moment, the words coming slowly as I processed the sensations. “Like it pulls me back here.” “Exactly,” he said softly. “That’s the point.” Chains and cuffs were perhaps the most symbolic tools in our repertoire. Made of polished steel, they were both beautiful and functional. When Chris fastened them around my wrists, it was not about restriction but about liberation. “Too tight?” he asked, his fingers pausing on the clasp.

“Whatever happens or doesn’t happen, when it happens you will be able to take it, whatever it is. I’m not going to throw you down and scar you. I’m not an animal.” She looked back at the tray of canes. “What made your scars?” “A bull whip.” “W-which one is that?” Clint pointed to a large, single-tailed whip on the wall. “I want to change my list. Make that one the worst one, and then the canes underneath it.” He chuckled but scribbled in his book. “Noted.” “What kind of whip is this?” she asked, pointing to a smaller whip that had several strips of leather instead of one. Amazingly, talking about the