Stories
AN HOUR OF CARNAL DELIGHT
The penis gag muffled her squeals quite effectively. That was indeed very good, since we were in a hotel room in Alabama.
Using an around-the-mattress restraining system, my slave was spread-eagle on the bed, her limbs cuffed into position. She was wonderfully naked save for the blindfold, penis gag, and collar. A sheen of sweat coated her body. Her chest had been marked rather nicely by the earlier flogging, and her breasts still bore slight indentations from the clothespins that had surrounded her nipples before the flogging.
Throughout the evening, a pair of vibrating bullets had been churning slowly inside her—just enough to keep her aroused and counteract some of the pain but clearly not enough to give her the pleasure she craved. But at last it was time to grant her that pleasure, for she had truly earned it.
Reaching between her parted thighs, I picked up the control box and slowly increased the power for one of the vibrating bullets. She sighed happily, a sound I just barely heard because of the penis gag. Then I increased the power of the second egg to match, and she whimpered around the fake phallus invading her petite mouth.
Setting the control box back to its former position, I sat on the edge of the bed, a hand gently gliding up the sweat-slickened, well-toned stomach, coming to rest on a visibly dented, well-reddened breast. I both heard and felt her slight gasp as my hand reinvigorated the latent ache of the feminine protrusion, yet the proud nipple boring into my palm clearly indicated how much she was enjoying this treatment.
“So beautiful,” I whispered to her, my hand tightening the grip on her breast.
She squirmed beneath my hand, her squeals simultaneously pleading for me to release her breast and to squeeze even harder. The penis gag muffled her whines as my grip tightened to a point that I knew would hurt her even without the previously inflicted pain from the flogging and the clothespins. This was always an interesting time, watching her attempt not to breathe so that the usually instinctive subtle movement of her breasts would be negated, thus lessening the pain (or, at least, I assumed that to be her rationale) as I squeezed harder still. Yet she soon came to the point where she had to groan aloud, the sound muffled by the gag as she exhaled, her breast shifting subtly within my hand. Only then did I release my grip, noting the redness my latest action had left on her curved flesh.
I reached for the control box again and increased the power of the two vibrating bullets a little more. As expected, my loving slave moaned anew at the increased rumbling within her. Without question, despite (because of?) the pain she had endured, she was extremely aroused—that much was quite evident from the liquid desire emerging from the base of her torso.
“Calm your breathing,” I instructed as I stood. I knew this would be a difficult task for her after the pain she had received, especially with the pair of bullets churning inside her, and I purposely waited until her breathing was as normal and regular as possible before moving to the foot of the bed and crawling up between her spread legs. I could hear the metal bullets vibrating inside her, constantly knocking against each other, churning softly, enticing more desire to seep from her beautiful sex.
My slave moaned aloud (albeit a muffled sound) and lurched a bit as my tongue stroked her feminine folds. Her taste was tangy, sweet, exquisite. Closing my eyes, I inhaled her scent, devoured her with my nostrils. Softly, I exhaled onto her moistened sex, the action greeted with a muffled whimper, bringing a smile to my lips.
“Do you like having the fake cock in your mouth?” I asked, and she nodded. “Do you like having the bullets banging around inside you?” I queried as I picked up the control box once more, and she nodded vigorously.
Without warning, I increased the power for both vibrating bullets, giving her the maximum amount possible. Her muffled voice suddenly did not seem quite as muffled as she cried out in reaction to the increase in pleasure.
“The slave has definitely earned a good come,” I said, slipping off the bed. “Enjoy.”
I made my way to the door of the hotel room. Even at that distance, I could hear the perpetual buzzing emanating from within her constantly writhing body. Purposely, I opened and closed the door to make it sound like I had left her alone, mercilessly exposed and unable to free herself … although I was quite certain that she would not even attempt to flee the power of the two bullets churning inside her.
The better part of an hour passed as I leaned against the wall, my arms folded across my chest, admiring her delightful show. The sight, sound, and scent of her performance were powerful, provocative. And when I at last returned to the bed and reached over her thigh to slowly turn down the power, she actually seemed thankful, as if such a lengthy period of carnal delight had nearly been too much for her.
Even after I had removed the dormant bullets and freed her from the bonds, she remained in the same position, barely moving even after I had removed the penis gag and the blindfold. Only then did I truly leave the room, getting bottled water from the vending machine in the corridor and ultimately rehydrating her.
In the morning, she was asleep in the passenger seat even before the car had reached the highway. She was so thoroughly sated and exhausted from nearly an hour of carnal delight that she was still tired some nine hours later. I looked at her for a moment and smiled, thinking to myself that I would need to exhaust her with carnal delight more often.
A COLLECTOR
Jeremy pulled just past the open parking place and turned on his blinker. Putting the car in reverse, he carefully backed into the space, swinging the wheel as he cleared the car in front of him. He then put the car into drive and, straightening the wheel, pulled forward. It was quite rare to score a parking spot close to the Laundromat. He then walked around the car, opened the back door, and pulled out a bin of clothes.
Once inside, he saw that he was the only one there, so he quickly dumped his clothes into the dryer and then set his bin up on a table near it. All he had to do now was wait for the Saturday morning washers to appear. He lived about eighteen blocks away from this Laundromat, and there were probably a dozen others he could have gone to that were more convenient, but he chose this one.
There was an upscale apartment complex just across the street, one that catered to the “urban professional woman,” or so the advertising said, so he figured he might enjoy the clientele at this place. Sure enough, after about a thirty-minute wait, two very attractive women walked in the door, carrying their bins of laundry. Jeremy jumped up and opened the dryer and pulled out his clothes, stacking them on the table next to his bin. He then started folding.
As the women were setting down their laundry and getting their change and detergent together, Jeremy decided he wanted a cold drink, so he headed over to the vending machine. He had to walk past both women as he went to get the drink. After putting his change in the machine and getting the drink, he slowly walked back to his clothes and dropped two items onto his stack.
Before anyone could notice, he folded a pair of his jeans and then picked up the pairs of panties he had slipped out of each woman’s laundry and hid them under his pants. He continued folding, pausing only once to take out his phone, dial someone, and then hang up without talking. He fiddled with the phone a bit and then finished folding his clothes.
He walked out to his car, opened the back door, dropped the bin inside, and then walked around the car and got in. He started the engine, carefully worked his way out of the parking space, and then pulled out into the street. The drive home took about fifteen minutes with all the traffic—much too long!—but he finally made it.
Once back at his apartment, he lifted up the blue jeans and took out the two pairs of panties. He looked them over, congratulating himself for his double score today. This wasn’t an easy task because the secret was to get the panties before they were washed. He could get clean panties at any time during the washing, drying, and folding the women went through, but to get the panties before washing, he had to move quickly.
He picked up his cell phone, e-mailed the two photos he had taken to himself, and then went to his computer. Pulling up the photos, he printed out a nice picture of each of the two women, and, remembering that the light pink panties went with the short Latino woman with a tight ass and small breasts and the white panties went with the blond white woman with nice big tits, he placed the photos with the matching panties.
Taking a clothespin, he attached each photo to its respective panties and then opened the top drawer of his dresser. He carefully arranged the latest items with the ten or so other pairs of panties and photos. Pausing for a moment, he grabbed the one he had gotten today from the Latino woman and then closed the drawer.
Gazing at the photo, he quickly undressed and then went into the bathroom, returning with a towel. Spreading the towel on the bed, he climbed up and leaned back against the pillows. Propping up the picture so he could look at it, he pulled the panties over his head. He looked at the picture through the leg opening of the panties and took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the woman in the photo.
Reaching down, he grabbed his cock and began stroking, all along sniffing and breathing in her scent. As his cock began to feel good from the stroking, he stuck his tongue out and, finding the bit of crusty residue left from her juices, touched his tongue to it, letting the flavor roll down his tongue. As he continued stroking and looking at the picture, he sucked the crotch of the panties into his mouth. His saliva wetted the crusted substance, and as it liquefied, he sucked it into his mouth.
The woman’s flavor flooded his mouth as he stroked his cock faster and faster, finally arching his back and coming, spurting onto the towel he had spread on the bed. After milking the last drops from his cock and drying it on the towel, he pulled the panties off his head. Once again using a clothespin, he attached the panties to the picture of the Latino woman and then opened another drawer, this one containing the panties he had worn while masturbating. He dropped the panties in and slowly closed the drawer. He wondered what he was going to do for lunch.
“I think I’ll try some Mexican food today,” he said to himself as he picked up the towel and tossed it into the laundry hamper. “Yeah, Mexican food for sure,” he repeated.
BACK TO WORK
Going back to work after a long weekend with my mistress is a hard thing to do. After taking four days off with the holidays, this time it was even harder. At home all I have to do is put on my dress, apron, hose, and high heels and follow my mistress’s instructions. Sure it hurts a bit, her slapping my balls if I fail to be ladylike, and it often is difficult to keep my bad boy under control around her, but the rewards are wonderful.
From the time I get home from work until I back out of the driveway, my life is completely in her hands. If I am good, she will reward me; if I am not good, she will punish me, which, to be perfectly honest, is also rewarding. To feel her crop redden my ass turns me on so much that I can barely keep from coming as she hits me. As she squeezes my balls, my cock gets so hard that I nearly double over with the pain, yet knowing that sensation pleases her makes me happy.
Sadly, today was the day after Christmas, and while I had the wonderful memory of bathing her last night, I had to go off to work and face running the company, directing managers and VPs on how to do their jobs, making crucial decisions on contracts and pricing, and fighting with the accountants to try to get straight answers out of their bean-counting minds.
After shaving, I went in and selected my clothes: pinstripe, blue shirt, black belt, several ties. I was planning to let my mistress select the tie. Dark socks and black shoes would complete the uniform for the day. How I miss those high heels and that garter belt while I am sitting in endless meetings, yet in the end, it all balances out.
Walking into my mistress’s room before getting dressed, I asked, “Mistress, I am about to dress for work, but can I do anything for you?”
“Well, my back is a little sore. Do you think you could give me a massage?”
“What kind of a massage do you want, mistress?”
“I’d like one of your special ones,” she said, turning over and looking playfully into my eyes.
“Yes, mistress. Let me go call work and tell them I’ll be late.”
“Don’t take too long. My back is hurting.”
I slipped out of the room, grabbed my cell phone, and called my secretary. “Hey Danielle. Look, I’m going to be an hour late or so. And tell accounting to work up a draft on that Sarbanes-Oxley thing and I’ll go over it with them when I get there. Okay, see you then.”
Tossing the cell phone onto the bed, I removed my clothes and paused a moment, thinking about my mistress’s body, and then walked into her room, my bad boy fully hard. “Are you ready, mistress?” I asked.
“Ready and waiting,” she replied.
I moved over to the bed, where she was on her stomach. Grabbing the lotion, I carefully straddled her, and though I was kneeling, I was also sitting on her lower back with my cock pressing into her rolls of skin. Pouring the lotion into my hands, I let it warm up and then began running my hands first along her shoulders and then over to her backbone and down to her ass, pressing against the muscle striations buried deep in her tissue. I continued adding lotion and rubbing her all over her back and then down her buttocks and thighs.
Working back up, I let my bad boy slide over her now slippery skin. As my hands moved over her back, pressing deep to reach the muscle, I moved my hips so my cock slid up and down the furrow between her buttocks at the base of her back. I continued the massage as I could feel the pressure building in my balls. Pleasure shot through my bad boy, and then it spurted out onto her back.
I then quickly licked it up, grabbed a towel, and wiped down her back, cleaning any excess come and lotion from it. I slid over beside her on the bed, where she gave me a kiss on the lips and said, “Be careful.” I kissed her forehead and headed back into my room, quickly getting dressed.
Once dressed, I headed out to my car, started it up, and backed out of the driveway. Traffic was light since it was so close to Christmas, so I got to work faster than I had expected. I pulled into the parking lot, drove up to the space nearest the front door, the one marked CEO, and pulled in. I stepped out of my car, locked it, took a deep breath, and then walked into the building.
I walked back to my office amid a hail of “Good mornings,” “How was your Christmases?” and “Boss, I think we have a problem here.” I was back at work and completely in charge once again.
AN EARLY STROLL
The sun had just come up over the ocean, making the waves sparkle breathtakingly as they broke on the sandy shore. It was low tide, and there weren’t many people on the beach yet, mostly joggers and people with dogs, but it was already getting hot.
Joel listened to the radio as he was getting dressed, feeling the sun warming his skin through the jalousie window before he saw it. He ran a comb through his dark blond hair and picked up his toothbrush.
“It’s going to be another August scorcher today, folks. Temps in the high eighties, with about 70 percent humidity. Call in sick from work if you’re not already on vacation—the only place to be is on the beach to get that breeze off the ocean,” the deejay enthused. Joel was glad he didn’t have to work until evening. It was a perfect morning for a stroll along the tide line.
He brushed his teeth as he looked in the full-length mirror and admired himself: a lightweight T-shirt, long board shorts with a button fly, and flip-flops, which he would take off as soon as he got onto the sand. He thought about bringing his iPod and then decided he didn’t need it. The walk would be entertaining enough, he thought, unbuttoning his fly and heading outside.
Joel walked the three blocks to the beach quickly, excited to try out this new plan he’d worked out in the dressing room when he tried on the board shorts. As he walked up over the dunes and got his first glimpse of the dazzling ocean, his breath caught in his throat. Beautiful. Even better was that it was just as he’d expected: not too many people here so early, just a few die-hard exercise freaks, a fisherman or two, and a chair dotting the shoreline here and there. Perfect. Even an hour later in the day and it would be too crowded to pull this off.
He slipped off his flip-flops, left them by the dunes, and slowed his walk, feet digging into the soft hot sand at every step, until he got down to the hard sand in the shallow surf. He put his hands in his pockets, looked down at the crotch of his shorts, moved his hands slightly, and sure enough, there was the soft sea breeze on his cock. Ahhhhh, what a feeling. He felt the familiar stirring as he began to harden, and he shifted his hands again to close the fly of his shorts, saving himself.
He walked a block or two, feeling the cool salt water wash over his feet and the sun gathering its heat as it shone down on the nearly deserted beach. With every step, he felt his penis stiffen a little more as he eagerly anticipated what was to come. He began to walk a little more quickly, making some seagulls fly away, squawking. Their chatter broke him out of his reverie for a moment, reminding him to slow down.
Then he saw her: a girl, sitting alone. He couldn’t tell how old she was from this far away, but she was wearing a one-piece bathing suit and sunglasses, and she was sitting in the hard sand, right near the water. She was writing something, it looked like, furiously scribbling in a notebook and shaking her head. As long as she wasn’t too young, Joel thought, she’d be just right for him to try out the new shorts.
As he got closer, he could see the mature, feminine swell of her breasts, but still, she was young, probably in college—eighteen? Nineteen? She’d do just fine, he thought to himself as he slowed his walk even more and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
“Hi,” he said as he approached the young woman. She jumped, clearly startled at being interrupted on the beach so early, when she was obviously in the middle of something.
“Hi,” she said, not overly annoyed but not welcoming either.
“Beautiful morning, huh?” he replied, thinking that if she softened to him even just a tiny bit, he’d be home free.
“It is, isn’t it?” she said, allowing a little smile right at the corners of her lips.
“Mmm,” Joel said, trying not to jump up and down in his excitement, remaining in control and calm, at least for the moment. “What’s that you’re writing so furiously? The great American novel?”
She laughed. “Hardly. It’s just my journal. I like to come down here early and just be by myself with my thoughts.”
“Oh, yeah?” he said, shifting his hands ever so slightly and feeling the fly open just a hair. “Seems like you’re getting some aggression out on those pages today, though.”
She squinted. “Yeah, I guess a little. I’m just ready to go back to school, that’s all.”
He moved his fists out a wee bit more and felt the breeze on his cock, which was just about busting out of his shorts by now. “Are you in college?” he asked her, trying to keep his voice steady. She hasn’t noticed yet, he thought, but that’s because it’s still inside the shorts. One more movement and it’ll pop out. What will she do?
“Yeah,” she said, pushing her sunglasses up on her head. “Home for the summer, staying with my parents for the first time in a while. It’s not easy to go back, you know?”
He chuckled and then moved his hands one final time. “Yeah,” he said, “I know. I’ve only been out of school a few years. I remember what that’s like.”
He could barely keep a straight face as he felt his cock bounce out into the early morning air. He was standing in front of her, and she was sitting there, looking out at the ocean, but if she shifted her gaze a little to the left, she’d see. She’d see, and then what would she do? He was positively giddy with the thrill of it.
And then she looked over. And she saw. He noticed her eyes go wide for just a second, then she looked away for an instant, then back again. Then she looked down. “But … but, you know. I mean, well, uh … it could be worse, right? I mean, uh, at least they have a house at the beach.”
Oh, God, Joel thought, oh, you wonderful girl. She was pretending she didn’t see. She must think I’m just a careless dresser, not a pervert. Thank God, he silently prayed. So perfect. I knew she would be. He didn’t want to blow it, so he scrambled in his brain for more pleasantries, more small talk. “That’s true, that’s true.… Uh, um, when do you go back to school?”
“Oh, just a couple more weeks, actually. I’m ready,” she replied, keeping it together now. She glanced back over to his crotch, saw his erection once more, and averted her gaze again, her cheeks getting pink in the ever-brightening sunlight.
She must be so embarrassed! She must be worried about being impolite! It was all Joel could do not to giggle with delight and tell her … tell her what? How perfectly she was playing into his scenario? How he had no intention of hurting her or even touching her? What could he possibly say? Shit, he needed to say something. He’d been silent too long.
“That’s good. Oh. Well. Oh! Where do you go to school?” Brilliant. Good question. He moved his hands to open his fly a little wider, feeling the humid air on his stiff member, feeling like he could just about come from this alone.
“Oh, uh, just a little school out in the country. You’ve probably never heard of it; it’s really small,” she said, looking everywhere except at his face or his cock.
Damn! Too many questions, he thought. It’s too much. Now she’s nervous and thinks I’m a maniac, and there’s not really anyone around … not even a dog walker or a speed-walking old lady. Time to wrap it up. “Well, I won’t bother you anymore,” Joel said, feeling his dick twitch a little, begging to be touched by more than the salty air. “You get back to your writing. I was just curious. Good luck at school.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” she muttered, already looking back down at her notebook. “Have a nice walk.”
“Oh, I will. Enjoy the sun,” Joel said, trying to remain collected as he strolled away.
Oh man, oh damn, that was so, so good, he thought. As soon as he was far enough away from her, he started running up to the lifeguard stand that was a few hundred yards up the beach. Thank God it was still too early for the beach patrol to be on duty! “Goddamn!” he shouted aloud as he reached the wooden boxlike structure. He sat down quickly behind it. “Goddamn!” he shouted again.
He knew he didn’t have much time now, though, so he grasped his erection quickly, not even bothering to undo the top button, just stroking himself through the hole the button fly made. The hole that made my morning, he thought. But she was pretty great, too, pretty perfect, actually. Just trying to pretend it wasn’t there. Just trying …
“Oh, uh, uh,” he grunted, pulling hard on his cock, not caring that he had some sand on his hands and no lubrication, just thinking of her face as she tried not to let on, as she got more and more embarrassed.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh,” he whimpered, feeling that familiar feeling deep inside his balls. He thought of her face again, her cheeks getting pink as she stumbled over her words, and then he was coming all over his hand, spurt after spurt of sticky fluid. It flowed over his hand and down into the sand. “Ohhh,” he moaned as the final drops leaked from his dick.
So good, he thought, making sure he didn’t stain his new shorts. Great investment, these shorts, he thought as he buttoned up. He stood then, just a little shaky, and made his way back up to the dunes and his shoes and his day. It had been a very refreshing morning stroll.
PLEASE HURT ME
We had become close friends in high school and had dated for about a year in college until we decided to set our relationship aside to focus more fully on our studies. Even after the relationship had ended, we would occasionally engage in the lovemaking or the kinky play we had discovered in college—always spontaneously, always without any strings attached. We had become, indeed, not just friends with benefits but best friends with benefits.
Our kinky play tended to focus on BDSM, almost always with me dominating her. She thoroughly enjoyed being restrained to a bed, a table, a chair, a fallen log, stakes in the ground, or anything else—any means to restrict her movement, to allow her to flail against the bonds, to struggle for freedom yet be completely unable to flee whatever I decided to bestow upon her. Although I enjoyed giving her pleasure, I especially enjoyed hurting her and over time had purchased various tools destined for her pain: several floggers, a single-tail, a large paddle, a crop, even a thin cane. I had also picked up some “everyday” items I could use to hurt her with, such as clothespins and bag clips.
When she had come by recently so that we could watch a favorite Japanese film together, the evening had begun innocently enough. Yet as the end credits for 2LDK began to roll, she turned to me in the darkness and whispered a request:
“Please hurt me.”
I was a bit surprised, especially since my mind was still filled with the unusual ending of the film. But I turned to her, using the light from the screen to gaze deep into her eyes, and found that she was sincere. She truly wanted me to hurt her, and not for the first time.
“It would be my pleasure,” I responded softly, leaning toward her.
Our lips met in a gentle kiss, a counterpoint to the pain to soon be rendered and received.
In the candlelit bedroom, she stood before me, naked save for her small earrings and a slave bracelet, fully exposed to my gaze. It had been several weeks since we had last been intimate, and I still bore a slight remembrance over my left shoulder blade from where her broken fingernail has scarred me during her intense release. Yet each time I looked upon her bare body, it always felt like the first time: full of wonder, admiration, joy, desire, and trust.
“Please hurt me,” she requested, her eyes expressive. “Tie me up and hurt me.”
During our time as lovers, when we were first exploring BDSM, I had bought a set of foam-padded cuffs with lengthy tethers, designed to mimic those which might be found in a psychiatric hospital. After first pulling the bed away from the wall, I had her sit, her back near the headboard, cushioned by the pillows. Taking my time, I applied a cuff to each wrist, then used the tethers to secure them to the posts on either end of the headboard, giving her just enough slack to pull at her bonds without pulling her shoulders out of their sockets.
Her thighs were next, although I did not have cuffs to fit her thighs. Instead, I produced some of my old backpacking straps, intended for securing tents and sleeping bags to the backpack frame. After looping a strap around her left thigh, I ran the slack through the plastic snap closure and then tied off the end on a headboard bedpost. I performed the same feat with her right thigh; the result was a mechanism for keeping her legs spread for me as she leaned back against the pillows.
The final two padded cuffs were applied to her ankles. They had extra-long tethers, fortunately, so I was able to reach and tie the tethers around the posts at the foot of the bed. The result thwarted any attempts she might make to close her legs.
I rounded the bed several times, inspecting the security of her bonds, admiring her vulnerable position, and finally decided something more was needed. Having her lean forward as much as possible, I used two more backpacking straps, wrapping them firmly around her torso, above and below her breasts, and tying the tails together behind her. Then she leaned back against the pillows, resting comfortably.
I rounded the bed again, this time purely to admire her. She was indeed a beautiful vision of vulnerability. With her arms stretched wide and her legs parted in an unladylike manner, she was on full display for me, yet the trust was clear in her expressive eyes. Judging by the hardened points of her nipples, she was already aroused simply from being restrained.
I was already aroused just from having restrained her. I noticed her gaze drop to my jeans and her eyes sparkle appreciatively as the edges of her dainty lips curled upward.
She would soon no longer be smiling. I would make certain of that.
I moved to stand behind her, gathering her hair together and centering it so that I could massage her shoulders. Despite the somewhat taut position of her arms, I could feel her already beginning to relax.
“Please hurt me.”
“Not quite yet.”
“Okay.”
I spent a long time massaging her shoulders, moving out along her arms to the foam-lined cuffs and returning to her shoulders again. My arousal was further steeled by these touches, by the soft sighs of contentment. How many times had I massaged her before? Yet every time still felt like the first time.
In time, I stepped away, leaving her bound on the bed. I felt her eyes upon me as I went to the closet and selected the heavy leather flogger from its hook. The many lengthy tails were indeed weighty in my hands as I hefted the source of my companion’s impending pain.
I returned to the bed, holding the flogger to her lips. With the grace of an angel, she kissed the handle, then kissed each individual tail as it was held before her. As I retracted the flogger, she looked up at me expectantly, imploring me with her eyes.
I moved to stand behind her once again and placed the flogger beside her. My hands returned to the previous task of massaging her shoulders, and I felt her relax anew. After a few minutes, my hands began a slow descent down the front of her body, my fingers ultimately curling over the swell of each breast, squeezing gently, lifting each lobe and balancing its gentle weight. I continued until she was whimpering nicely, her body beginning to move sensuously against the bonds, and then retracted my hands.
Slowly, I reached for the heavy flogger. I picked it up, attuning myself to its weight in my hand, its texture against my palm and my curled fingers. I then slowly began to drag the many tails across her body, up and down her torso, along her thighs, around her neck, along her arms. She was breathing softly but a little faster, and I could easily imagine her heart rate increasing in anticipation of the impending pain.
For my part, standing behind the headboard, I was fully erect, pressing myself against the headboard for a slight relief from the growing pressure within me. Yet though I wanted to bury myself in her vulnerable body, I knew that that was not the point of the night, that I needed to fulfill my role as her caring tormenter, the one to master her.
Without warning, I spun my wrist, the tails of the flogger standing on end and splitting the air in the process. The first kiss of the leather was applied to her chest, an initial bite of light pain to her right breast. She hissed softly, stiffening, pulling slightly against her bonds.
“I like hurting you,” I admitted, dragging the tails across the just-whipped swell. “I like watching you struggle and listening to your gasps and cries.”
“I know,” she replied quietly, relaxing into the pillows again, “and I like the pain.”
Lifting the flogger away, I squeezed her right breast briefly with my left hand, slowly pulling outward until only the erect nipple was trapped between my pinching fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as I hurt her with my hand. As the flogger suddenly landed viciously between her thighs, her breath escaped as a staccato burst of sound, her body again stiffening as she instinctively pulled harder against her bonds, vainly struggling to close her thighs and protect her precious sex.
For a few seconds, flogger and hand were retracted, giving her time to drink in the pain, to revel in the experience. The flogger then befell her again, this time across both breasts, the hardest strike yet, a painful kiss that caused a painful groan to pass between her lips.
“Please hurt me,” she pleaded again even as she still writhed from the latest bite of the leather.
“I will,” I confirmed. “I will.”
It was indeed beautiful, both visually and aurally. As I moved around the bed to various positions, the flogger tore into her, and my hands occasionally groped her violently. She was indeed a vision to behold: her eyes wild and unseeing, her mouth open wide, her hair becoming more and more disheveled, her body flailing uselessly in her bondage, her battered skin reddening in the dim candlelight. Through it all, her voice was a beautiful symphony of moans and grunts and cries and occasionally even a sharp scream.
Yet even more beautiful was the trust she had in me: trust that I would not stray beyond the boundaries within which we had played for such a long time, trust that I would not give her more pain than she could truly handle, trust that I would put her safety first and foremost no matter how outrageous our activities might become.
Standing behind her once again, I wrapped my left hand around her cheek, nudging her head over the headboard and against my chest. Tears were trickling from her eyes, and she was still whimpering from the last strike across her upper thighs. I kissed her forehead, noting the thin layer of sweat that had formed near her bangs.
“One final salvo?”
She nodded, looking up at me with tearful, unfocused eyes and a wavering smile. “Hurt me bad,” she mouthed slowly to me.
In the dim candlelight, I pussy-whipped her long and hard, putting all my strength, all my desire, into each powerful strike, battering her ruthlessly, showing her no mercy. I had never seen her struggle so violently before, her entire body bucking and twisting and lurching as much as the bonds would allow. The bed protested loudly from her mindless movements, yet those sounds were greatly muted by her screams, her vocalizations of pain, of agony, of trust.
I continued to pummel her unprotected sex until I sensed she was about to use her safeword, then suddenly threw the flogger aside and leaned over the headboard, hugging her from my awkward position, caressing her, comforting her as she was consumed by the intense pain. She sobbed long and loudly, wailing her physical distress even long after she had relaxed in my hold.
Eventually, I moved around the bed, taking my time in releasing her from her all-too-willing captivity. Her body was still prominently red, especially her chest and her lower torso. Her face was still flushed and wet with her tears. Yet she was smiling weakly, thanking me with her eyes because her voice was too hoarse to speak.
I should have also thanked her, for while she had clearly needed to feel pain, I had definitely needed to grant pain, and our needs had been sated because of the solid bond of trust that linked us.