A Bath After a Beating SeXStoRY

He loosens the wrist cuffs and slides her hand down to her side, then the other. Unbuckling the restraints on her ankles he closes her legs gently and puts both pairs of cuffs off to the side. He drops the many feet of rope next to the cuffs on the floor in a neat pile and turns to her; lying naked on the floor now, turned slightly on her side, just enough to keep her back from brushing the carpet. He starts a tepid bath, void of irritating bath salts or bubbles. He scoops her off the floor and supports her weight with a softhearted hand to her waist. They walk quietly to the bath, he admiring the red marks on her back, even the one or two that have bled. He holds her hand and helps her into the tub, holding her by the waist while she eases into the water. He lathers the washcloth and washes her arms and breasts, tummy and legs. Her back is last, carefully soothing the welts and gingerly fingering them. He hushes her soft moans with a supple kiss on her damp hair while he cleans the broken skin. He lingers on those a bit longer recalling her twisting on the floor in her restraints. "Tilt back little one" he whispers softly close to her ear and pours the warm water over her hair and shampoos it quietly, massaging her temples. He lifts her chin and pours more water to rinse away the shampoo, the softest kiss on her forehead. His hand under her chin again, he turns her face to him and smiles at her quiet face. Her glassy eyes and slow, deep breathing confirming she is still in subspace – her mental happy place, focused, and clear of anything but the passionate beating he’d graced her with and the sublime bath, now. She was completely present in the moment, taking in every scent and touch. He passes the washcloth over her cheeks and forehead, her chin and mouth, carefully tracing her lips with the damp cloth; and lastly her eyes. His smile broadens proudly, he leans to kiss her mouth softly and lingers there a moment, deeply breathing in her clean skin. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her forehead and finally her nose. She moans softly at his last kiss, her favorite, and opens her eyes again. "Up" he whispers, and pulls her to her feet, out onto the plush mat. He dries her quickly and tossles her hair playfully in the towel, making her sigh with a giggle. They return to the bedroom and continue the aftercare that follows all evenings of play. He dresses her cuts with ointment and band-aids from the nightstand, a carefully prepared and hidden in plain sight set of drawers, complete with emergency scissors for bondage play, alcohol and swabs for electrical play, extra bottles of water, and a host of other necessary items for safe play . This evening she will relish the sting and ache of the beating, and in the morning muse in the cuts he’d left. He took his place in bed, and motioned with a pat to her pillow. She lays out against him, draping her leg over his, and becomes a second skin; letting out a deep contented sigh. They lay together in the dark of their bed, breathing in unison. “Sweet dreams, slave.” “Sweet dreams, Master.”