Whips And Chains Novels & Stories

The whips. The knives. The chains. The ropes. He saw everything, the memories putting him, a big man in the space of a seven year old child. The fear he felt back then, he could feel it now, the tears he had shred it felt as they were running down his face now and the pain, he could feel it. The whip tearing into his skin, the chains squeezing his ankles, his wrist. He could hear them rattle, hear the slashing sound of the wind as the whip connected with his skin.

for now. He strode to the weapon table. His fingers hovered over blades, picks, and knives until they closed around the whip. It wasn’t just any whip. It was one of Silvio’s special creations. A whip laced with thorned steel. He grabbed it, turned then struck them without warning.

Trista draped his jacket over her arm and turned slightly away, casting her gaze downward. Seconds later, the first muffled thud of the whip echoed through the room. The tip of the whip cut through the air with a short whistle, but the impact was heavy—the sound didn't crack; it vibrated between the floorboards and bone. The handle was inlaid with antique silver and obsidian, and the lash was infused with just enough aura to suppress a wolf's healing factor, making the "endurance" a mandatory part of the discipline. Cassian stayed pinned to the floor.

Before I knew it, the heavy sound of approaching boots reached my ears. I turned my head in time to see a group of guards arrive at once, each carrying massive chains made of thick, gleaming silver. But these weren’t ordinary chains. Barbed thorns jutted out from the links, designed to dig into flesh, pierce deep and draw blood. Along with them, they brought a large contraption, an iron collar lined with wolfsbane spikes on the inside, connected to a set of wrist and ankle cuffs by heavy locks and rods meant to keep their victim in a rigid stance.

"She can tell him I stole the key." I was delusional to assume I knew what was in the room. Lucy's breath caught in her throat, just like mine, as we stared at the countless varieties of floggers, chains, and whips. The shackles were made of so many different materials, some were even padded. The wrist and ankle cuffs were also padded.

Her eyes tell me she has never had these ones on, that is a shame, these are real cuffs, you would find in old dungeons, a chain going under her feet stopping her from standing perfectly. She watches as I grab the whip. “Feet witch, I am giving you four whips on your feet.” She nods, without arguing, raising the whip I swing it down, watching it hit her feet and her body jumping and wobbling, “One.” Her word quiet, Jackson holding her up as I swing the whip down harder, her scream loud as she struggles to balance on the chains. “Two.” Her voice is quiet, I swing the whip again harder, watching as the tears build in her eyes.

I could barely focus on the next voice; I didn't hear what number it was. "...hanging from the ceiling by your tit rings. Chained to the walls by your cunt piercings. Then I'm going to bull whip you until there are stripes all over your body. I'm going to whip your feet. Your tits. I'm going to wrap that cracker around your throat. I'm so precise with a snake whip I can whip your lips and not touch anything else. You're going to be on fire."

I swing the whip chain and use it to block the second round of bullets that spray the air and I sprint at full speed toward the men. Sliding across the floor, I spin the chain above my head, slicing it through the air like a helicopter rotor blade. I flick my wrist, hooking the chain around two men's necks, and I yank hard, forcing them to kiss the ground. I sense the presence of another man and raise my left arm. I deflect a flying punch that threatens to collide with the side of my face. With my other hand, I wrap the whip chain over my knuckles and thrust it forward deep into the sorry son of a bitches baby-making jewels.

“It all went to hell on Tuesday. Damn. Seems longer than that.” “Time to cool off is rarely a bad thing.” When Ben retreated, Chase looked around. That’s when he noticed two items on the far edge of the bar. A short-handled whip and a collar with a chain attached. What the fuck did Ben use those for? Did he even want to know? Hell yes he wanted to know. So when Ben returned, Chase said, “What’s up with the whip and collar?” “What?” Chase pointed. “Over there. Did you forget to put away your bondage toys when you finished with them?”

He groaned, and I lifted the whip again. 'Talk Maxim and this will all be over much quicker.' 'No more. Please Killian. No more.' He begged, and I sneered down at him. 'Talk.' The whip was primitive; it consisted of nine thin pieces of leather, each of which had three razor-sharp barbs attached, that flayed the skin off anything they touched. Maxim's back looked like raw meat, and when I lowered the chains, he lay in a pool of his own blood.