Discipline
- 1 year ago
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Discipline free porn video
Picture, if you will... and I know you will, for you are there and you have no choice but to see this... picture, as I say, a room, a low-ceilinged room, paneled with dark wood where the paneling is visible, but more obviously richly hung about with thick curtains and tapestries, in such profusion that sounds are muffled and cry from the far side of this room reaches its audience's ears as just a whisper, while a whisper must be attended to very very closely indeed to be heard at all.
In the centre of this room is a bench or table, in some respects similar to the tables preferred by those who proffer services as masseurs and masseuses, so about 6 feet long, though a little broader perhaps, and certainly made sturdier of solid timbers held together with iron bolts, but like a massage table in that it has a hole at one end through which a person laying face down might breathe.
And yet dissimilar from the massage table in that at each corner and along its length are attached sturdy brass rings and hooks, and laid across the table are leather straps with brass buckles, and each corner are cuffs of such a diameter that a wrist or ankle might be passed into the cuff but when the with brass buckles are fastened then there would no possibility of escape.
And again similar to a massage table in that it has a cushioned top (for while the intention is discipline, it isn't discomfort), of a deep red leather, quilted and stitched and buttoned in a luxurious fashion, to an extent that causes even me to frown (though I dare not admit even to myself that on occasion, and only when I am absolutely assured of privacy, I too have lain down on this bench), as if designed to encourage an extended recumbency which would run somewhat counter to my immediate needs and intentions.
Picture too that this bench is built at such a height and in such a manner that there is space for another party to sit on a chair or stool at the side, quite comfortably, with one's legs under the table, and yet able to reach from end to end, and to the far side, with ease, and the designers have even cunningly added a low shelf to one side for placing of a glass of wine or other beverage of preference. And also where they might be readily accessible by this other party, are hooks from which depend a variety of... well... such a variety of miscellanea that I can only list them rather than categorise them: paddles, straps, a pair of leather gloves, a jar of ice, a candle, a feather,... and so on and on til one must wonder quite what their common purpose could be.
But now we do come to the common purpose, for since you refused bribery - which if I were to be honest, I knew you would not succumb to, and not having yet reached the point of attempting seduction - for in this immediate matter time is of the essence and so we must attempt the quickest methods first even if they are not the most certain, we now find ourselves in the relative positions that we do, viz. with you, my dear Kate (for that is how I now know you), laid face-down on the bench, and a cushion beneath your lower belly thus raising your behind into the air, and your arms stretched out straight in front of you and your legs behind, and with me sat beside you checking the security of the wrist and ankle cuffs that are holding you there.
Once I am thus assured, I take another moment to sit back and gaze on your form, naked as it is, and feast my eyes on the smoothness of your unblemished skin, and its milky-whiteness, and the length of your arms and legs and their proportions - so exactly perfect to each other and to your body, and on the fineness of your hair, and the curve of your breast, just visible where its fullness appears between your body and the red leather cushion.
And taking the gloves I carefully put them on, feeling the softness of the calf-skin leather (and again, noting to myself that the pleasure I feel in putting them on is somewhat more than one might expect). So with an effort - for the longer I look at you the more I find myself confused and doubting - and a whisper in your ear that this will hurt me more than it will hurt you, I raise my gloved hand and bring it down onto the roundness of your behind where it lands with a resounding slap!
And you jump at the fall of my hand, for I let it fall without any warning sign or indication to you that it was about to fall, and you let out a short cry, an "Ah", but in that cry I hear more surprise than any expression of what in the modern idiom might be called "negative feelings", so I let it fall again, slightly harder, to be rewarded this time with an "Ah!" and a slightly greater jump, but still no sign that you are not enjoying this. So I raise my hand higher and bring it down with some force, onto the right-most of those perfect globes and immediately afterwards down again onto the left-cheek. And again and again, left-right-left-right... my hand falls onto your behind and it quivers and trembles at each fall and you let out an "Ah!" "Ah!" "Ah!" "Ah!" with your face buried in the cushion and all the while the whiteness of your flesh is slowly turning red.
But I am myself now in a state of some turmoil, for while it is undeniably true that I adore the sight of you stretched out before me, and a curious sensation in my trousers is suggesting the activities in which we are currently engaged is inciting some unexpected reaction, yet it cannot be denied that I am in torment at having to inflict these punishments on you.
So now, seeking to emphasise more clearly the purpose of this procedure, I adjust the ankle cuffs such that your legs are now held further apart, and in so doing your more secret and private parts are revealed and exposed, and standing now to enable a proper view (and oh my Kate, this is such a view as a man might only dream of) I bring my hand down one more time but this time not aimed from the roundness of your behind but now aimed straight at your most sensitive places, though not so hard this time, hard enough that you will no doubt feel my hand but not so hard as to inflict injury.
But this time your reaction was not the sharp jump and "Ah!" that I had anticipated, but instead a shudder that spread through your whole body and a moan, an "Uhhhhhh...", a cry as a kitten might make, and I am sure, despite the d****ry and curtains and cushions in the room, and the way all sound was muffled, that you also cried out "More..."
Now finally in frustration that all my efforts haven't yet made you reveal your purpose or collaborators or precisely why you were so heavily armed with one of Dr Grordbort's infamous, and infernal, devices, and particularly where there are more lady-like alternatives available, even though those too would have aroused suspicion. And my frustration is added to and born of an arousal at seeing you so helpless and exposed, as any gentleman (or perhaps not so much of a gentleman, but maybe any red-blooded male) would be transfixed. (And there is too yet another frustration that a hidden part of me wonders what it feels like to be in your position, helpless and defenceless).
So I move to adjust the ropes and ties and bolts and cuffs that hold you to this bench and I bring the wrist cuffs back so your arms and wrists are now held backwards, along the sides of the bench, towards your feet, and bring the ankle cuffs forwards so your knees are now bent under your body.
In fact your ankles and your wrists are almost at the same place along the side of the bench and I note that the cuffs on both your ankles and wrists have hooks and clasps and fastenings that would allow them to be fastened to each other, so that the wearer of those cuffs might be restrained in a similar position to that in which you are now placed, but without the need for the use of the bench and its attachment points. And the overall effect of this is that your behind is raised further into the air, while with your arms now pulled backwards you are restricted in your movements forwards and backwards along the bench.
Hastily I remove my own clothes and even I am surprised and though I might claim to be a naturally modest man, even yet I could not in all good conscience deny that effect you have on me has rendered my member in such a state as its size must truly be described as prodigious!
And with this monstrous protuberance in front of me I mount the bench so I am kneeling directly behind you and between your legs which are still spread from my earlier attempts to force your submission, and I take a moment (and if truth be told, I take somewhat more than moment, for the sight is such as any man would be mesmerised) to feast my eyes on the sight before me.
But finally I break the spell and place the head of my hardness at the softest wettest most pleasureable opening presented to me and I can feel its welcome even without applying any pressure, even without entering you in the slightest.
(I realise now, at the time of writing this account though not at time of the events themselves, that I should have taken more notice of the state in which I found you, for that wetness and warmth was not the state in which one might expect to find a victim who is not anticipating enjoying the experience to come, but rather the state of one who is anticipating quite the opposite, who is looking forward to what might happen next.)
And now with my hands on your hips I slide slowly into you and feel you engulfing me, swallowing me, taking me into you, drawing me into you and with ease, and despite your tightness, I slide all the way into you, as far as I am able, and I begin an in-and-out rhythm, taking the opportunity to enjoy the sight of you helpless in front of me, and the sensations travelling along the hardness of my member, and the wet sounds from where we are joined, and the soft sounds of your moans and sighs.
But this opportunity seems not to last long, or perhaps it does last long but just seems to pass quickly, for suddenly, or so it appears, my movements start to become urgent, become quicker, my thrusts become harder, driving deeper into you. And what is more, I can feel you thrusting backwards against me, to the maximum extent that your bindings permit such a movement, as I drive forwards, matching me in time and rhythm and speed and energy and from your movements and your sounds it seems to me that you are getting quite as much pleasure from the experience as I am.
And also I have the sense that it is you, as bound and restrained as you are and as incapable of much movement, as I say, that it you not me who is in charge of this moment, who is driving the pace of these actions and driving them towards their conclusion.
... until that conclusion IS reached and I can no longer restrain the feeling rising inside me and my hands grasp your hips and I thrust deep into you one last time and you thrust back against me also one last time and I can feel your body shuddering and hear your gasping breath and with the last action over which I have any control I withdraw from you an instant before it is too late and submit to those feelings and release over you, ejaculate over your behind and your back, ribbons of thick rich salty cream stretching down your back and almost to your hair.
And now as I watch, panting, exhausted, sated, heart racing, trembling, I can see that cream running along your spine to the back of your neck and from there trickling round to under your chin and to pool on the soft red leather surface of the bench.
And now I am sure my approach is flawed for as I watch you I can see your eyelids not quite closed and see your mouth slowly open and I can see... oh yes... I can see your tongue flicking out and lapping at the creamy pool.
In the centre of this room is a bench or table, in some respects similar to the tables preferred by those who proffer services as masseurs and masseuses, so about 6 feet long, though a little broader perhaps, and certainly made sturdier of solid timbers held together with iron bolts, but like a massage table in that it has a hole at one end through which a person laying face down might breathe.
And yet dissimilar from the massage table in that at each corner and along its length are attached sturdy brass rings and hooks, and laid across the table are leather straps with brass buckles, and each corner are cuffs of such a diameter that a wrist or ankle might be passed into the cuff but when the with brass buckles are fastened then there would no possibility of escape.
And again similar to a massage table in that it has a cushioned top (for while the intention is discipline, it isn't discomfort), of a deep red leather, quilted and stitched and buttoned in a luxurious fashion, to an extent that causes even me to frown (though I dare not admit even to myself that on occasion, and only when I am absolutely assured of privacy, I too have lain down on this bench), as if designed to encourage an extended recumbency which would run somewhat counter to my immediate needs and intentions.
Picture too that this bench is built at such a height and in such a manner that there is space for another party to sit on a chair or stool at the side, quite comfortably, with one's legs under the table, and yet able to reach from end to end, and to the far side, with ease, and the designers have even cunningly added a low shelf to one side for placing of a glass of wine or other beverage of preference. And also where they might be readily accessible by this other party, are hooks from which depend a variety of... well... such a variety of miscellanea that I can only list them rather than categorise them: paddles, straps, a pair of leather gloves, a jar of ice, a candle, a feather,... and so on and on til one must wonder quite what their common purpose could be.
But now we do come to the common purpose, for since you refused bribery - which if I were to be honest, I knew you would not succumb to, and not having yet reached the point of attempting seduction - for in this immediate matter time is of the essence and so we must attempt the quickest methods first even if they are not the most certain, we now find ourselves in the relative positions that we do, viz. with you, my dear Kate (for that is how I now know you), laid face-down on the bench, and a cushion beneath your lower belly thus raising your behind into the air, and your arms stretched out straight in front of you and your legs behind, and with me sat beside you checking the security of the wrist and ankle cuffs that are holding you there.
Once I am thus assured, I take another moment to sit back and gaze on your form, naked as it is, and feast my eyes on the smoothness of your unblemished skin, and its milky-whiteness, and the length of your arms and legs and their proportions - so exactly perfect to each other and to your body, and on the fineness of your hair, and the curve of your breast, just visible where its fullness appears between your body and the red leather cushion.
And taking the gloves I carefully put them on, feeling the softness of the calf-skin leather (and again, noting to myself that the pleasure I feel in putting them on is somewhat more than one might expect). So with an effort - for the longer I look at you the more I find myself confused and doubting - and a whisper in your ear that this will hurt me more than it will hurt you, I raise my gloved hand and bring it down onto the roundness of your behind where it lands with a resounding slap!
And you jump at the fall of my hand, for I let it fall without any warning sign or indication to you that it was about to fall, and you let out a short cry, an "Ah", but in that cry I hear more surprise than any expression of what in the modern idiom might be called "negative feelings", so I let it fall again, slightly harder, to be rewarded this time with an "Ah!" and a slightly greater jump, but still no sign that you are not enjoying this. So I raise my hand higher and bring it down with some force, onto the right-most of those perfect globes and immediately afterwards down again onto the left-cheek. And again and again, left-right-left-right... my hand falls onto your behind and it quivers and trembles at each fall and you let out an "Ah!" "Ah!" "Ah!" "Ah!" with your face buried in the cushion and all the while the whiteness of your flesh is slowly turning red.
But I am myself now in a state of some turmoil, for while it is undeniably true that I adore the sight of you stretched out before me, and a curious sensation in my trousers is suggesting the activities in which we are currently engaged is inciting some unexpected reaction, yet it cannot be denied that I am in torment at having to inflict these punishments on you.
So now, seeking to emphasise more clearly the purpose of this procedure, I adjust the ankle cuffs such that your legs are now held further apart, and in so doing your more secret and private parts are revealed and exposed, and standing now to enable a proper view (and oh my Kate, this is such a view as a man might only dream of) I bring my hand down one more time but this time not aimed from the roundness of your behind but now aimed straight at your most sensitive places, though not so hard this time, hard enough that you will no doubt feel my hand but not so hard as to inflict injury.
But this time your reaction was not the sharp jump and "Ah!" that I had anticipated, but instead a shudder that spread through your whole body and a moan, an "Uhhhhhh...", a cry as a kitten might make, and I am sure, despite the d****ry and curtains and cushions in the room, and the way all sound was muffled, that you also cried out "More..."
Now finally in frustration that all my efforts haven't yet made you reveal your purpose or collaborators or precisely why you were so heavily armed with one of Dr Grordbort's infamous, and infernal, devices, and particularly where there are more lady-like alternatives available, even though those too would have aroused suspicion. And my frustration is added to and born of an arousal at seeing you so helpless and exposed, as any gentleman (or perhaps not so much of a gentleman, but maybe any red-blooded male) would be transfixed. (And there is too yet another frustration that a hidden part of me wonders what it feels like to be in your position, helpless and defenceless).
So I move to adjust the ropes and ties and bolts and cuffs that hold you to this bench and I bring the wrist cuffs back so your arms and wrists are now held backwards, along the sides of the bench, towards your feet, and bring the ankle cuffs forwards so your knees are now bent under your body.
In fact your ankles and your wrists are almost at the same place along the side of the bench and I note that the cuffs on both your ankles and wrists have hooks and clasps and fastenings that would allow them to be fastened to each other, so that the wearer of those cuffs might be restrained in a similar position to that in which you are now placed, but without the need for the use of the bench and its attachment points. And the overall effect of this is that your behind is raised further into the air, while with your arms now pulled backwards you are restricted in your movements forwards and backwards along the bench.
Hastily I remove my own clothes and even I am surprised and though I might claim to be a naturally modest man, even yet I could not in all good conscience deny that effect you have on me has rendered my member in such a state as its size must truly be described as prodigious!
And with this monstrous protuberance in front of me I mount the bench so I am kneeling directly behind you and between your legs which are still spread from my earlier attempts to force your submission, and I take a moment (and if truth be told, I take somewhat more than moment, for the sight is such as any man would be mesmerised) to feast my eyes on the sight before me.
But finally I break the spell and place the head of my hardness at the softest wettest most pleasureable opening presented to me and I can feel its welcome even without applying any pressure, even without entering you in the slightest.
(I realise now, at the time of writing this account though not at time of the events themselves, that I should have taken more notice of the state in which I found you, for that wetness and warmth was not the state in which one might expect to find a victim who is not anticipating enjoying the experience to come, but rather the state of one who is anticipating quite the opposite, who is looking forward to what might happen next.)
And now with my hands on your hips I slide slowly into you and feel you engulfing me, swallowing me, taking me into you, drawing me into you and with ease, and despite your tightness, I slide all the way into you, as far as I am able, and I begin an in-and-out rhythm, taking the opportunity to enjoy the sight of you helpless in front of me, and the sensations travelling along the hardness of my member, and the wet sounds from where we are joined, and the soft sounds of your moans and sighs.
But this opportunity seems not to last long, or perhaps it does last long but just seems to pass quickly, for suddenly, or so it appears, my movements start to become urgent, become quicker, my thrusts become harder, driving deeper into you. And what is more, I can feel you thrusting backwards against me, to the maximum extent that your bindings permit such a movement, as I drive forwards, matching me in time and rhythm and speed and energy and from your movements and your sounds it seems to me that you are getting quite as much pleasure from the experience as I am.
And also I have the sense that it is you, as bound and restrained as you are and as incapable of much movement, as I say, that it you not me who is in charge of this moment, who is driving the pace of these actions and driving them towards their conclusion.
... until that conclusion IS reached and I can no longer restrain the feeling rising inside me and my hands grasp your hips and I thrust deep into you one last time and you thrust back against me also one last time and I can feel your body shuddering and hear your gasping breath and with the last action over which I have any control I withdraw from you an instant before it is too late and submit to those feelings and release over you, ejaculate over your behind and your back, ribbons of thick rich salty cream stretching down your back and almost to your hair.
And now as I watch, panting, exhausted, sated, heart racing, trembling, I can see that cream running along your spine to the back of your neck and from there trickling round to under your chin and to pool on the soft red leather surface of the bench.
And now I am sure my approach is flawed for as I watch you I can see your eyelids not quite closed and see your mouth slowly open and I can see... oh yes... I can see your tongue flicking out and lapping at the creamy pool.
Sherry
- 07.08.2021
- 10
- 0
