Storyteller
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She sat in the straight-backed, sturdy, hardwood chair wearing, as directed, a white blouse, knee length skirt, pretty, but not sexy underwear and heels, and, somewhat unusual for her, a garter belt and stockings. She kept her back as straight as that of the chair, her hands folded in her lap, her ankles crossed demurely, and she looked absolutely straight ahead.
The room’s walls were plain: stark white walls undecorated but for one small abstract painting and a long narrow mirror. It was obviously carefully kept with a thick carpet without one speck of lint visible. To her left was an empty table of the same quality and construction as the chair. There was no clock so she had no idea how long she had been sitting. There was no visible means of observation but she was certain that she was being watched.
She thought, "This is the correct office, right? He did say Wednesday the 14th at 2:00pm precisely, I'm sure of it."
Just as the wait began to make her truly nervous, she heard the door behind her open and footsteps on the plush carpet. In her peripheral vision, she saw him walk to the table wearing a dark gray, obviously expensive and exquisitely tailored suit. He placed a leather bag on the table and begin to remove items from it, setting them down carefully in a specific arrangement. He set the bag on the floor and walked behind her to close the door. Without moving her eyes she could not see what was on the table and the temptation to look was great, but her desire to show her obedience was slightly greater.
"Hello, little one," she heard his soft tenor voice in her ear, slightly startled by his proximity. He began to walk around her as he spoke, purposefully, with confident strides and a definite direction.
"Having seen your pictures, I had hoped your appearance wouldn't affect me as strongly as it has. However, the camera cannot begin to do justice to your absolutely natural beauty," he said as he continued to slowly pace around her. She fought back a smile.
"You followed my directions precisely which was, of course expected. I am pleased, nonetheless." Her eyes wanted desperately to follow his movements as he circled her but she continued to look straight ahead at the blank wall before her.
"We have spoken online many times about our views on the roles of the Master and the slave. However, we haven't spoken specifically of my expectations of a slave." His voice filled the room without booming or echoing.
"I expect immediate and unfaltering obedience to every command and instruction. Direct and instant confirmation of each command and an outward display of your acquiescence to my will." She began to notice her breathing quicken and her heart began to beat with more force.
"That is, of course, if you find me worthy of your service." He stopped directly in front of her, facing her. The instinct to look up into his face defeated only by her years of training and effort. After what seemed like a full minute, but must have been less than a second, she realized he was waiting for a response.
"I do, Sir." Three short words had never taken so much effort to speak without her voice quaking.
"Thank you, little one." The smile was obvious in his voice.
She saw him begin to remove his jacket as he moved to the table. He folded it neatly and laid it to one side. He walked back to her and stood, once again, directly in front of her, much more closely this time. She saw that he had rolled up one sleeve and was now rolling up the other, and noticed an attractive but not flashy gold watch on his left wrist. She could now see his clothing more closely: the flat front wool slacks with a black leather belt and simple gold buckle, a deep blue shirt, and a gold patterned tie.
Her reverie was broken when she felt his fingers under her chin. He lifted her face to look into her eyes. As their eyes met, hers opened widely. The corners of his mouth turned up just enough to slightly soften his stern face. His thumb traced the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips as he held her gaze, seeming to search her eyes for something. She felt like every one of her emotions and thoughts were bare to him there.
After a few moments, he spoke.
"Are you ready to begin, little one?"
"Yes, Sir," she answered immediately.
“You have told me, little one. Now show me.”
He walked to the corner of the room and stood there, facing her not quite casually. She could see the top of his short boot on one leg as it crossed the other and rested, toe down, on the carpet. She knew that he was waiting for her to decide on her "outward display of her acquiescence to his will." It didn’t take a moment for her to know precisely what that meant for her.
Still seated, she looked down and removed her shoes, setting them next to the chair, absolutely in line with each other and the placement of the chair. She then unbuttoned her blouse and removed it as she stood. She folded it neatly as she carried it to the corner. She unzipped her skirt and placed it just as carefully under the blouse.
As she removed her bra and panties, she remembered how much he loved the garter belt and stockings and considered for a moment leaving them on but decided that complete nudity would be a better display of her submission. She walked the few steps back to the chair and, never having looked up once, knelt before it, facing it, knees apart, clasping her hands behind her head, rather than behind her back, because she felt it was a more flattering pose for her breasts.
She could almost feel his intense gaze upon every inch of her exposed body as he walked once around her then seated himself in the chair.
"Thank you, little one, for the gift of your service. I am very aware of its rarity and value and will treat it with the respect and significance which it deserves."
She could not help but smile but kept her gaze down.
"I am going to spank you now, little one. Not as a punishment, for you certainly have done nothing wrong. And not as a show of my control over you. But because it is my desire and, I know, little one, that it is your desire as well. Come, lay across my lap."
She moved quickly to obey, feeling the soft wool of his slacks on her bare skin and grabbing onto the sturdy legs of the chair with her hands.
"You will count each stroke and, should I stop for more than five seconds, you will thank me for your spanking. Do you understand, little one?"
"Yes, Sir," she said, thankful, once she said it, that something has forced her to breathe again. She felt his soft, warm fingertips, ever so gently caressing her flesh, circling each cheek and tracing a line between them. Then suddenly, making a sound in the empty room like a gunshot, the first blow landed squarely in the middle of her right side, stinging slightly but obviously just a warm up.
"One," she said immediately, anxious to please and also because the blow forced her to make a noise of some kind. A pause. One one-thousand one, two one-thousand, three one-thousand. SMACK. The left cheek, stinging slightly more. "Two." Another pause. One one-thousand, two. SMACK "Three." SMACK "Four." SMACK "Five." SMACK "Six." SMACK "Seven."
The alternating slaps landed so quickly that her counting fell slightly behind, the force increasing with the speed. Thankfully, another pause. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir," she gasped out and fought to steady her breathing as the excitement built in her with the force of a train. She was sure he must be able to feel her heart pounding, pounding, pounding against his leg. She closed her eyes and focused, slowing her breathing and willing her heart to slow and calm, as she felt his hand gently rub her back, helping her to quiet her mind and her body.
"Very good, little one," he breathed into her ear. His hand left her back and she tensed for the blow which never came. Did he sigh in disappointment or was it just a quick breath? She began to panic and fight to control herself again and relax. A few more seconds passed. The room, though comfortably warm when she was clothed, began to chill her skin slightly. Another blow. Where was she? "Eight." Slight pause, not even a second. Another. "Nine." This one directly on top of the last. They continued. "Ten." "Eleven." "Twelve." "Thirteen." Each one precisely in the same place on her left cheek, the stinging pain rising quickly, the sound nearly deafening in the small room.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one… Suddenly they start again. "Fourteen." "Fifteen." "Sixteen." "Seventeen." "Eighteen." These all on one specific spot on her right cheek. One one-thousand, as she counted, two one-thousand, she quickly compared, three one-thousand, the number of strokes per side, four one-thousand, would there be one more, five… And there was.
"Nineteen." Back to the left and slightly lower. "Twenty." Lower again. "Twenty One." Lower still. "Twenty Two." Slightly to the outside. "Twenty Three." Higher now. "Twenty Four." Again higher. "Twenty Five." Higher. "Twenty Six." Almost to the hip. "Twenty Seven." A different angle, more to the inside. "Twenty Eight." And lower. "Twenty Nine." And lower. "Thirty." And lower, touching the thigh. "Thirty One." Back to the left side now. "Thirty Two." Moving "Thirty Three." In "Thirty Four." A "Thirty Five." Seemingly "Thirty Six." Random "Thirty Seven." Pattern "Thirty Eight." But "Thirty Nine." Covering "Forty." All "Forty One." Areas "Forty Two." Completely
A pause. One one-thousand, the stinging quite painful now, two one-thousand, tears welling in her eyes, three one-thousand, despite her desperate efforts, four one-thousand, to hold them back, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." And she waited, the silence in the room screamed in contrast the slaps and her near shouted counting. Suddenly she began to breathe again, panting but struggling to be quiet. She tensed as the backs of his fingernails gently stroked her throbbing flesh, the pain refreshed and intensified along the path but she quickly forced herself to relax, and listened for the sigh that might not have been a sigh… waiting… waiting.
Then it was there. "FORTY Three." Impossibly hard. She cannot begin to imagine how his hand must feel without the cushioned flesh of her buttocks. Tears now falling from her eyes. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three… "FORTY Four." Harder yet. Her face twisted and wincing. She knew, somehow, that his face was stoic and fixed though his hand must have stung more than her skin. She watched as the teardrops fell to the carpet below.
One one-thousand, two one thou… "FORTY Five." Forceful enough to push her forward against his legs, which were somehow braced for the blow without her sensing it. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." Tears now streamed steadily from her eyes, she swallowed to force back the sobs and cursed herself for her weakness in this, her first test.
He waited a few more seconds before starting again. "FORTY Six." Nearly lifting her from his lap. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." She clenched her eyes and jaw shut, determined not to cry, no matter what. "FORTY Seven." One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "THANK YOU FOR MY SPANKING, SIR." The words nearly screamed to avoid the choking sobs she had stuffed deep into her chest, her breathing still ragged and jittery. She blinked over and over to clear her eyes of the tears. She waited and struggled frantically to calm herself, furious at her lack of control.
"Shhhhhhhh." she heard as his hand softly stroked her hair. At its touch she sighed and began to breathe more deeply and regularly. The stroking continued until her heart's racing became merely intense rather than frenetic. "Rise, little one," his voice called. It took her hands half a second to release their talon-like grip on the legs of the chair and she slid back onto her knees before hesitantly placing her right foot on the floor. She thought she might stumble but before she began to tip over, his hand was there on her forearm, firm but not painful or rough, to help her to her feet. She followed the guiding pressure from his hand to stand before the mirror, facing it.
Her tear-drenched face and swollen, reddened eyes mocked her proud, steady posture. She dared not glance at his face, fearing even a hint of disappointment in his eyes. His hand on her arm pulled her gently around to face away from the mirror and dropped away, moving to her chin to turn her head to face the mirror. She twisted around, holding her feet and hips resolutely in place and gazed in amazement at the red, no maroon, color of her skin. She felt her pulse there and was sure that, if she held her hand even six inches away, she could have felt the heat pouring off of it. He leaned forward, so close that she felt his breath against her cheek, his lips as close to her ear as possible without touching it. She closed her eyes, determined to avoid seeing the displeasure that she was sure must darken his expression.
"Perfect, little one. Perfect."
Her eyes sprung open and met his in the mirror. His face showed no hint of smile, only a firm confidence in her and his faith in her.
"You could not be more beautiful to me, little one."
She could not help herself. Her head whipped around and her hands flew to her face as she began to sob, her fingers quickly soaked with her tears. In a movement as sure and deliberate as the step of a Russian guard, he moved before her and enclosed her in his strong and protective arms, calming her spasms of joy and relief and clutching her steadfastly to his chest while holding his hips slightly away. It took her a moment to realize that he was preventing her body from pressing into his groin so as to prevent the evidence of his desire from distracting from the comfort of his embrace. For a long while, many minutes it seemed, he held her, allowing her to completely release her suppressed anxiety and fear.
As her breathing slowed, he spoke, "Only when you are ready, little one." She took several deep breaths and, once she was able to breathe regularly, she gently and tentatively pulled away and knelt before him, keeping her eyes down. He remained silent and slowly circled her... once... twice... a third time... and stopped directly in front of her. As she waited, she studied the break in the well-pressed creases in his slacks and the cuffs resting on perfectly shined, but not glossy boots.
She realized, with some confusion, that she had time to wonder: “Why is he waiting? What was he thinking?”
The air in the room was cool on her bare skin, particularly on the still hot flesh of her buttocks. Her knees and toes pressed down into the soft carpeting and she began to feel the hard floor beneath. After an uncountable number of minutes, he walked to the table and she heard metal against metal as he returned, walked behind her, and bent to whisper in her ear, "Your patience was impressive and will be rewarded, little one."
She felt the hard, coldness of the cuffs as they closed around each ankle, only a small shift necessary from her current position to allow them to be applied and their size locked in place so that they could not tighten further. After one wrist was cuffed, she expected the other one to follow but instead she heard his voice at her ear once more. "Lean back, please, little one."
She felt her wrist pulled back suddenly, throwing her off balance. His hand, warm on her bare back, steadied her as she felt a pull on the chain between her ankles. Then he guided her other hand down and cuffed it. She was pulled back at an awkward and uncomfortable angle by the interlocked cuffs, barely able to keep from falling over backwards as he removed his hand from her back.
Her thighs and stomach had to constantly work to keep herself upright. It took effort to draw her concentration away from the physical strain but his standing before her drew her attention. Knowing her place she kept her eyes down. And she knew his face would reveal nothing anyway.
"You desire to please me, don't you, little one," he asked.
"Yes. Very much, Sir."
She heard the sound of his belt being undone and his fly unzipped. She fought to keep her eyes down as her breath quickened and she felt a tingling, a stirring, a moistening deep within herself. He had not spoken and so she waited for what seemed like several minutes until he finally spoke.
"Speak your desire, little one."
"I want to pleasure you, Sir... with my mouth."
"You'll have to do better than that, little one. Be more specific, more detailed, more explicit."
She hesitated ever so slightly, not sure if she could craft the words with her mind in this state of desire and while struggling to stay upright with the cuffs pulling her backwards.
"I want your fat, hard, hot cock in my willing mouth, Sir."
"Go on..."
"I want to feel its heat in my mouth, taste it with my tongue, surround it with my lips." Suddenly, as she feel a contraction inside and her desire expressed itself with wetness and heat, the words poured out of her without thought as though from a place much deeper and more primal than her mind. "I need it... I want your cock pushing deeply into my throat. I want to suck it so hard that it hurts. Please, Sir, PLEASE let me suck your co... MMPPHFF."
Her words were muffled as he shoved his cock into her mouth, almost pushing her over backwards but catching the back of her head with his hand, both to keep her from falling and to push his cock deeper into her throat, his poise and control belied momentarily by a short soft moan. With what seems like a physical as well as a mental effort, he composed himself and moved his hips back slightly and released her head. He did not speak again knowing that she needed no further instruction.
Unbalanced as she was and without her hands, it took her a few seconds to adjust her knees and find a method and rhythm that kept her upright and allowed her to so ardently address their mutual desire.
She was panting heavily and saliva started to drip from the corners of her mouth as she furiously bobbed her head back and forth, feeling the throbbing veins under the soft skin with her tongue. Every movement making her bare breasts gently bounce and the heat and wetness between her legs increase. She pushed forward hard with every stroke, forcing the head of his cock down into her throat, concentrating on not gagging then pulling her head back, pushing her tongue hard against the underside of his cock and sliding it from side to side as it neared the head, knowing that was the most sensitive part. Every minute or so, she slid her mouth completely off of it and licked and sucked up and down the sides and cupped each testicle in her mouth.
During one particularly intense series of thrusts, a small moan slipped out. She hesitated for a split second, waiting for a castigating word or, much worse, losing the opportunity to finish. Instead with a smile she could hear, he said "You may moan, little one. It shows how much you're enjoying yourself and feeds my, sadly typical, Dom ego."
With those words she dropped all efforts at control and become a wanton and ravenous animal, hungrily devouring his cock, saliva dripping from it and down her chin. Her moans, loud and continuous by now, were muffled by his stiff, fat, pulsing cock. Her jaw began to ache and her thighs and abs were starting to scream with the effort of holding herself in place.
She began to realize that she was having to work harder to stay upright and then that he had been moving forward with almost imperceptible slowness. This caused his cock to go further down her throat with each push, making her gag slightly sometimes. But his lack of comment let her know that he was not bothered by it and may even be pleased.
It finally occurred to her that this was more than just an opportunity to please him, that it was another challenge, a test. She knew that he would not stop moving forward until she had satisfied his desire and that if she fell before that, she will have failed. Until now, it had not occurred to her how long this had gone on but now, jaw hurting and neck aching, she began to wonder if something was wrong. What if she was not pleasing him? What if he was not feeling the rush of pleasure that she, herself, felt even through the pain and effort?
The strain to stay upright increased and she fixed her mind, determined to succeed. She lightly grazed his cock with her teeth as she used each suck to pull her back up. She slid her tongue quickly back and forth, almost wrapping it completely around the shaft, as she moved back and forth on it. Though she tried to ignore it, her own desire increased as did the wetness between her legs and she began to feel it on her open thighs.
Finally, just as she was starting to feel herself slip backwards frighteningly every time she moved her head back, she heard him.... moan... groan... sigh… all at once, a sound of pure ecstasy from deep in his chest and he thrust forward. Her eyes widened and she stiffened as she began to fall backwards...
... until his hands caught her on either side of her head, holding tightly as his hips thrust rapidly. His cock now pushed deeply into her throat and slid almost all the way out while he straddled her thighs and pulled her face onto him, her nose buried in his crotch. She felt the hard shaft swell slightly and warm even more as it began to spasm and jerk and the first thick, hot, fluid filled her mouth. She had no time to swallow as it was shoved into her throat with the next thrust. Again and again, she felt it pump into her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could but some leaked from her lips and down her chin. Then the thrusts slowed and became less fierce.
Finally he moved back and held her head until she was stable again and, with some effort, she leaned forward in exhaustion. She felt the cuffs on her hands opened and then those on her ankles. Then his arms slid under her knees and back and he lifted her in one slow, steady motion and carried her to the sofa. The leather felt cold under her bare skin but the support felt wonderful as she was now able to relax her muscles.
His warm hands touched her, firmly but gently, placed for just a few second on her arm, her thigh, her stomach, her cheek, then slid a few inches and lifted away. The effect was calming and exciting at the same time. As she began to relax, the touches became caresses and began to move closer to her more sensitive areas. He continued without a word, without a sound. She could hear only her breath and her heart beating harder and faster as each touch of his fingers began to make that part of her more responsive and alive.
With nothing but gentle pressure from his fingers in the right places and directions, her arms were soon over her head, her legs spread wide, her left foot on the back of the couch, her right on the floor. She wished she could know his thoughts, wondered what he thought of her naked and exposed body, hoping that it excited or at least pleased him the way his touch excited her.
As her breath became ragged and heavy, she felt the wetness between her legs begin to spread like the warmth inside her body. His hands left her body and only his fingers touched her. It felt like they were touching her lips, her breasts and nipples, her thighs, the soft, warm, wet flesh exposed by her open legs, impossibly, all at the same time. As his fingers slid and stroked here there, she fought to keep her hips still and herself silent. Once, the very start of a nearly inaudible moan left her throat and he leaned down, never slacking in his attention to her desires, and whispered, "Not yet, little one. Soon... soon."
With these words, knowing she would be allowed release, she steeled her will and pulled her mind away from her physical being as much as possible, determined to resist the sensations and remain beyond her needs. It was an arduous fight. How could he know exactly how long and how hard to pinch her nipple and how long to wait before doing it again? What had told him the pattern she, herself, used when pleasuring herself, the exact pressure, the exact timing? She felt the flush of her skin that always preceded the crest of her bliss and struggled to keep herself from passing that ultimate point when she heard (Felt? Sensed?) his voice in her ear, "Now, little one… for me."
She unclasped her hands, unaware until that very moment that she had been squeezing them together so tightly that her fingernails had dug into the skin on the back of her hands. She freed her mind and body from the wall of will she had built, allowing both to rush headlong and wild into the flood of pleasure bursting forth from every cell of her being. Her mouth opened and a long, impossibly loud, cry of pure ecstasy rang in her ears as she felt her stomach contract as if it was trying to expel every organ inside her.
Reflexively, her arms reached up made contact with him, her hands gripped his shoulders and squeezed as her cry broke and changed pitch and tone. Again and again, her hips writhed and her lungs heaved in a desperate grasp for air and then emptied instantly. She felt the ripples of hot electricity tear through her, mind and body.
After what seemed like the third time she crested over that peak of pleasure, she realized that his fingers (two, three, four?) had never stopped their movement inside her and that his thumb still stroked and teased her clit. She wondered if she might lose consciousness and that, if she did, she'd not feel this torrent of release. She tried to speak, to ask for mercy, to beg him to stop before she became lost in her pleasure but could only shake her head.
That, though, was enough and his fingers slowly slipped from within her, almost painfully as she was so intensely sensitive there. As she released her crushing grip on his shoulders, she wondered if the rest of her body was as sensitive and was answered by a gentle caress on her hip... cheek... breast... arm, each causing her to jump, twitch, or spasm. Without a word from him, the touches continued, each one becoming longer, less powerful, more calming.
She heard, above her panting and thundering heartbeat, the wet sound of suckling and then felt his fingers on her lips as he shared her taste with her. She sucked and licked his fingers hungrily, greedily, her mind still tumbling, unable to express her gratitude in any other way.
But there was no need. He spoke softly into her ear, "No, little one, thank YOU."
The room’s walls were plain: stark white walls undecorated but for one small abstract painting and a long narrow mirror. It was obviously carefully kept with a thick carpet without one speck of lint visible. To her left was an empty table of the same quality and construction as the chair. There was no clock so she had no idea how long she had been sitting. There was no visible means of observation but she was certain that she was being watched.
She thought, "This is the correct office, right? He did say Wednesday the 14th at 2:00pm precisely, I'm sure of it."
Just as the wait began to make her truly nervous, she heard the door behind her open and footsteps on the plush carpet. In her peripheral vision, she saw him walk to the table wearing a dark gray, obviously expensive and exquisitely tailored suit. He placed a leather bag on the table and begin to remove items from it, setting them down carefully in a specific arrangement. He set the bag on the floor and walked behind her to close the door. Without moving her eyes she could not see what was on the table and the temptation to look was great, but her desire to show her obedience was slightly greater.
"Hello, little one," she heard his soft tenor voice in her ear, slightly startled by his proximity. He began to walk around her as he spoke, purposefully, with confident strides and a definite direction.
"Having seen your pictures, I had hoped your appearance wouldn't affect me as strongly as it has. However, the camera cannot begin to do justice to your absolutely natural beauty," he said as he continued to slowly pace around her. She fought back a smile.
"You followed my directions precisely which was, of course expected. I am pleased, nonetheless." Her eyes wanted desperately to follow his movements as he circled her but she continued to look straight ahead at the blank wall before her.
"We have spoken online many times about our views on the roles of the Master and the slave. However, we haven't spoken specifically of my expectations of a slave." His voice filled the room without booming or echoing.
"I expect immediate and unfaltering obedience to every command and instruction. Direct and instant confirmation of each command and an outward display of your acquiescence to my will." She began to notice her breathing quicken and her heart began to beat with more force.
"That is, of course, if you find me worthy of your service." He stopped directly in front of her, facing her. The instinct to look up into his face defeated only by her years of training and effort. After what seemed like a full minute, but must have been less than a second, she realized he was waiting for a response.
"I do, Sir." Three short words had never taken so much effort to speak without her voice quaking.
"Thank you, little one." The smile was obvious in his voice.
She saw him begin to remove his jacket as he moved to the table. He folded it neatly and laid it to one side. He walked back to her and stood, once again, directly in front of her, much more closely this time. She saw that he had rolled up one sleeve and was now rolling up the other, and noticed an attractive but not flashy gold watch on his left wrist. She could now see his clothing more closely: the flat front wool slacks with a black leather belt and simple gold buckle, a deep blue shirt, and a gold patterned tie.
Her reverie was broken when she felt his fingers under her chin. He lifted her face to look into her eyes. As their eyes met, hers opened widely. The corners of his mouth turned up just enough to slightly soften his stern face. His thumb traced the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips as he held her gaze, seeming to search her eyes for something. She felt like every one of her emotions and thoughts were bare to him there.
After a few moments, he spoke.
"Are you ready to begin, little one?"
"Yes, Sir," she answered immediately.
“You have told me, little one. Now show me.”
He walked to the corner of the room and stood there, facing her not quite casually. She could see the top of his short boot on one leg as it crossed the other and rested, toe down, on the carpet. She knew that he was waiting for her to decide on her "outward display of her acquiescence to his will." It didn’t take a moment for her to know precisely what that meant for her.
Still seated, she looked down and removed her shoes, setting them next to the chair, absolutely in line with each other and the placement of the chair. She then unbuttoned her blouse and removed it as she stood. She folded it neatly as she carried it to the corner. She unzipped her skirt and placed it just as carefully under the blouse.
As she removed her bra and panties, she remembered how much he loved the garter belt and stockings and considered for a moment leaving them on but decided that complete nudity would be a better display of her submission. She walked the few steps back to the chair and, never having looked up once, knelt before it, facing it, knees apart, clasping her hands behind her head, rather than behind her back, because she felt it was a more flattering pose for her breasts.
She could almost feel his intense gaze upon every inch of her exposed body as he walked once around her then seated himself in the chair.
"Thank you, little one, for the gift of your service. I am very aware of its rarity and value and will treat it with the respect and significance which it deserves."
She could not help but smile but kept her gaze down.
"I am going to spank you now, little one. Not as a punishment, for you certainly have done nothing wrong. And not as a show of my control over you. But because it is my desire and, I know, little one, that it is your desire as well. Come, lay across my lap."
She moved quickly to obey, feeling the soft wool of his slacks on her bare skin and grabbing onto the sturdy legs of the chair with her hands.
"You will count each stroke and, should I stop for more than five seconds, you will thank me for your spanking. Do you understand, little one?"
"Yes, Sir," she said, thankful, once she said it, that something has forced her to breathe again. She felt his soft, warm fingertips, ever so gently caressing her flesh, circling each cheek and tracing a line between them. Then suddenly, making a sound in the empty room like a gunshot, the first blow landed squarely in the middle of her right side, stinging slightly but obviously just a warm up.
"One," she said immediately, anxious to please and also because the blow forced her to make a noise of some kind. A pause. One one-thousand one, two one-thousand, three one-thousand. SMACK. The left cheek, stinging slightly more. "Two." Another pause. One one-thousand, two. SMACK "Three." SMACK "Four." SMACK "Five." SMACK "Six." SMACK "Seven."
The alternating slaps landed so quickly that her counting fell slightly behind, the force increasing with the speed. Thankfully, another pause. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir," she gasped out and fought to steady her breathing as the excitement built in her with the force of a train. She was sure he must be able to feel her heart pounding, pounding, pounding against his leg. She closed her eyes and focused, slowing her breathing and willing her heart to slow and calm, as she felt his hand gently rub her back, helping her to quiet her mind and her body.
"Very good, little one," he breathed into her ear. His hand left her back and she tensed for the blow which never came. Did he sigh in disappointment or was it just a quick breath? She began to panic and fight to control herself again and relax. A few more seconds passed. The room, though comfortably warm when she was clothed, began to chill her skin slightly. Another blow. Where was she? "Eight." Slight pause, not even a second. Another. "Nine." This one directly on top of the last. They continued. "Ten." "Eleven." "Twelve." "Thirteen." Each one precisely in the same place on her left cheek, the stinging pain rising quickly, the sound nearly deafening in the small room.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one… Suddenly they start again. "Fourteen." "Fifteen." "Sixteen." "Seventeen." "Eighteen." These all on one specific spot on her right cheek. One one-thousand, as she counted, two one-thousand, she quickly compared, three one-thousand, the number of strokes per side, four one-thousand, would there be one more, five… And there was.
"Nineteen." Back to the left and slightly lower. "Twenty." Lower again. "Twenty One." Lower still. "Twenty Two." Slightly to the outside. "Twenty Three." Higher now. "Twenty Four." Again higher. "Twenty Five." Higher. "Twenty Six." Almost to the hip. "Twenty Seven." A different angle, more to the inside. "Twenty Eight." And lower. "Twenty Nine." And lower. "Thirty." And lower, touching the thigh. "Thirty One." Back to the left side now. "Thirty Two." Moving "Thirty Three." In "Thirty Four." A "Thirty Five." Seemingly "Thirty Six." Random "Thirty Seven." Pattern "Thirty Eight." But "Thirty Nine." Covering "Forty." All "Forty One." Areas "Forty Two." Completely
A pause. One one-thousand, the stinging quite painful now, two one-thousand, tears welling in her eyes, three one-thousand, despite her desperate efforts, four one-thousand, to hold them back, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." And she waited, the silence in the room screamed in contrast the slaps and her near shouted counting. Suddenly she began to breathe again, panting but struggling to be quiet. She tensed as the backs of his fingernails gently stroked her throbbing flesh, the pain refreshed and intensified along the path but she quickly forced herself to relax, and listened for the sigh that might not have been a sigh… waiting… waiting.
Then it was there. "FORTY Three." Impossibly hard. She cannot begin to imagine how his hand must feel without the cushioned flesh of her buttocks. Tears now falling from her eyes. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three… "FORTY Four." Harder yet. Her face twisted and wincing. She knew, somehow, that his face was stoic and fixed though his hand must have stung more than her skin. She watched as the teardrops fell to the carpet below.
One one-thousand, two one thou… "FORTY Five." Forceful enough to push her forward against his legs, which were somehow braced for the blow without her sensing it. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." Tears now streamed steadily from her eyes, she swallowed to force back the sobs and cursed herself for her weakness in this, her first test.
He waited a few more seconds before starting again. "FORTY Six." Nearly lifting her from his lap. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." She clenched her eyes and jaw shut, determined not to cry, no matter what. "FORTY Seven." One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. "THANK YOU FOR MY SPANKING, SIR." The words nearly screamed to avoid the choking sobs she had stuffed deep into her chest, her breathing still ragged and jittery. She blinked over and over to clear her eyes of the tears. She waited and struggled frantically to calm herself, furious at her lack of control.
"Shhhhhhhh." she heard as his hand softly stroked her hair. At its touch she sighed and began to breathe more deeply and regularly. The stroking continued until her heart's racing became merely intense rather than frenetic. "Rise, little one," his voice called. It took her hands half a second to release their talon-like grip on the legs of the chair and she slid back onto her knees before hesitantly placing her right foot on the floor. She thought she might stumble but before she began to tip over, his hand was there on her forearm, firm but not painful or rough, to help her to her feet. She followed the guiding pressure from his hand to stand before the mirror, facing it.
Her tear-drenched face and swollen, reddened eyes mocked her proud, steady posture. She dared not glance at his face, fearing even a hint of disappointment in his eyes. His hand on her arm pulled her gently around to face away from the mirror and dropped away, moving to her chin to turn her head to face the mirror. She twisted around, holding her feet and hips resolutely in place and gazed in amazement at the red, no maroon, color of her skin. She felt her pulse there and was sure that, if she held her hand even six inches away, she could have felt the heat pouring off of it. He leaned forward, so close that she felt his breath against her cheek, his lips as close to her ear as possible without touching it. She closed her eyes, determined to avoid seeing the displeasure that she was sure must darken his expression.
"Perfect, little one. Perfect."
Her eyes sprung open and met his in the mirror. His face showed no hint of smile, only a firm confidence in her and his faith in her.
"You could not be more beautiful to me, little one."
She could not help herself. Her head whipped around and her hands flew to her face as she began to sob, her fingers quickly soaked with her tears. In a movement as sure and deliberate as the step of a Russian guard, he moved before her and enclosed her in his strong and protective arms, calming her spasms of joy and relief and clutching her steadfastly to his chest while holding his hips slightly away. It took her a moment to realize that he was preventing her body from pressing into his groin so as to prevent the evidence of his desire from distracting from the comfort of his embrace. For a long while, many minutes it seemed, he held her, allowing her to completely release her suppressed anxiety and fear.
As her breathing slowed, he spoke, "Only when you are ready, little one." She took several deep breaths and, once she was able to breathe regularly, she gently and tentatively pulled away and knelt before him, keeping her eyes down. He remained silent and slowly circled her... once... twice... a third time... and stopped directly in front of her. As she waited, she studied the break in the well-pressed creases in his slacks and the cuffs resting on perfectly shined, but not glossy boots.
She realized, with some confusion, that she had time to wonder: “Why is he waiting? What was he thinking?”
The air in the room was cool on her bare skin, particularly on the still hot flesh of her buttocks. Her knees and toes pressed down into the soft carpeting and she began to feel the hard floor beneath. After an uncountable number of minutes, he walked to the table and she heard metal against metal as he returned, walked behind her, and bent to whisper in her ear, "Your patience was impressive and will be rewarded, little one."
She felt the hard, coldness of the cuffs as they closed around each ankle, only a small shift necessary from her current position to allow them to be applied and their size locked in place so that they could not tighten further. After one wrist was cuffed, she expected the other one to follow but instead she heard his voice at her ear once more. "Lean back, please, little one."
She felt her wrist pulled back suddenly, throwing her off balance. His hand, warm on her bare back, steadied her as she felt a pull on the chain between her ankles. Then he guided her other hand down and cuffed it. She was pulled back at an awkward and uncomfortable angle by the interlocked cuffs, barely able to keep from falling over backwards as he removed his hand from her back.
Her thighs and stomach had to constantly work to keep herself upright. It took effort to draw her concentration away from the physical strain but his standing before her drew her attention. Knowing her place she kept her eyes down. And she knew his face would reveal nothing anyway.
"You desire to please me, don't you, little one," he asked.
"Yes. Very much, Sir."
She heard the sound of his belt being undone and his fly unzipped. She fought to keep her eyes down as her breath quickened and she felt a tingling, a stirring, a moistening deep within herself. He had not spoken and so she waited for what seemed like several minutes until he finally spoke.
"Speak your desire, little one."
"I want to pleasure you, Sir... with my mouth."
"You'll have to do better than that, little one. Be more specific, more detailed, more explicit."
She hesitated ever so slightly, not sure if she could craft the words with her mind in this state of desire and while struggling to stay upright with the cuffs pulling her backwards.
"I want your fat, hard, hot cock in my willing mouth, Sir."
"Go on..."
"I want to feel its heat in my mouth, taste it with my tongue, surround it with my lips." Suddenly, as she feel a contraction inside and her desire expressed itself with wetness and heat, the words poured out of her without thought as though from a place much deeper and more primal than her mind. "I need it... I want your cock pushing deeply into my throat. I want to suck it so hard that it hurts. Please, Sir, PLEASE let me suck your co... MMPPHFF."
Her words were muffled as he shoved his cock into her mouth, almost pushing her over backwards but catching the back of her head with his hand, both to keep her from falling and to push his cock deeper into her throat, his poise and control belied momentarily by a short soft moan. With what seems like a physical as well as a mental effort, he composed himself and moved his hips back slightly and released her head. He did not speak again knowing that she needed no further instruction.
Unbalanced as she was and without her hands, it took her a few seconds to adjust her knees and find a method and rhythm that kept her upright and allowed her to so ardently address their mutual desire.
She was panting heavily and saliva started to drip from the corners of her mouth as she furiously bobbed her head back and forth, feeling the throbbing veins under the soft skin with her tongue. Every movement making her bare breasts gently bounce and the heat and wetness between her legs increase. She pushed forward hard with every stroke, forcing the head of his cock down into her throat, concentrating on not gagging then pulling her head back, pushing her tongue hard against the underside of his cock and sliding it from side to side as it neared the head, knowing that was the most sensitive part. Every minute or so, she slid her mouth completely off of it and licked and sucked up and down the sides and cupped each testicle in her mouth.
During one particularly intense series of thrusts, a small moan slipped out. She hesitated for a split second, waiting for a castigating word or, much worse, losing the opportunity to finish. Instead with a smile she could hear, he said "You may moan, little one. It shows how much you're enjoying yourself and feeds my, sadly typical, Dom ego."
With those words she dropped all efforts at control and become a wanton and ravenous animal, hungrily devouring his cock, saliva dripping from it and down her chin. Her moans, loud and continuous by now, were muffled by his stiff, fat, pulsing cock. Her jaw began to ache and her thighs and abs were starting to scream with the effort of holding herself in place.
She began to realize that she was having to work harder to stay upright and then that he had been moving forward with almost imperceptible slowness. This caused his cock to go further down her throat with each push, making her gag slightly sometimes. But his lack of comment let her know that he was not bothered by it and may even be pleased.
It finally occurred to her that this was more than just an opportunity to please him, that it was another challenge, a test. She knew that he would not stop moving forward until she had satisfied his desire and that if she fell before that, she will have failed. Until now, it had not occurred to her how long this had gone on but now, jaw hurting and neck aching, she began to wonder if something was wrong. What if she was not pleasing him? What if he was not feeling the rush of pleasure that she, herself, felt even through the pain and effort?
The strain to stay upright increased and she fixed her mind, determined to succeed. She lightly grazed his cock with her teeth as she used each suck to pull her back up. She slid her tongue quickly back and forth, almost wrapping it completely around the shaft, as she moved back and forth on it. Though she tried to ignore it, her own desire increased as did the wetness between her legs and she began to feel it on her open thighs.
Finally, just as she was starting to feel herself slip backwards frighteningly every time she moved her head back, she heard him.... moan... groan... sigh… all at once, a sound of pure ecstasy from deep in his chest and he thrust forward. Her eyes widened and she stiffened as she began to fall backwards...
... until his hands caught her on either side of her head, holding tightly as his hips thrust rapidly. His cock now pushed deeply into her throat and slid almost all the way out while he straddled her thighs and pulled her face onto him, her nose buried in his crotch. She felt the hard shaft swell slightly and warm even more as it began to spasm and jerk and the first thick, hot, fluid filled her mouth. She had no time to swallow as it was shoved into her throat with the next thrust. Again and again, she felt it pump into her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could but some leaked from her lips and down her chin. Then the thrusts slowed and became less fierce.
Finally he moved back and held her head until she was stable again and, with some effort, she leaned forward in exhaustion. She felt the cuffs on her hands opened and then those on her ankles. Then his arms slid under her knees and back and he lifted her in one slow, steady motion and carried her to the sofa. The leather felt cold under her bare skin but the support felt wonderful as she was now able to relax her muscles.
His warm hands touched her, firmly but gently, placed for just a few second on her arm, her thigh, her stomach, her cheek, then slid a few inches and lifted away. The effect was calming and exciting at the same time. As she began to relax, the touches became caresses and began to move closer to her more sensitive areas. He continued without a word, without a sound. She could hear only her breath and her heart beating harder and faster as each touch of his fingers began to make that part of her more responsive and alive.
With nothing but gentle pressure from his fingers in the right places and directions, her arms were soon over her head, her legs spread wide, her left foot on the back of the couch, her right on the floor. She wished she could know his thoughts, wondered what he thought of her naked and exposed body, hoping that it excited or at least pleased him the way his touch excited her.
As her breath became ragged and heavy, she felt the wetness between her legs begin to spread like the warmth inside her body. His hands left her body and only his fingers touched her. It felt like they were touching her lips, her breasts and nipples, her thighs, the soft, warm, wet flesh exposed by her open legs, impossibly, all at the same time. As his fingers slid and stroked here there, she fought to keep her hips still and herself silent. Once, the very start of a nearly inaudible moan left her throat and he leaned down, never slacking in his attention to her desires, and whispered, "Not yet, little one. Soon... soon."
With these words, knowing she would be allowed release, she steeled her will and pulled her mind away from her physical being as much as possible, determined to resist the sensations and remain beyond her needs. It was an arduous fight. How could he know exactly how long and how hard to pinch her nipple and how long to wait before doing it again? What had told him the pattern she, herself, used when pleasuring herself, the exact pressure, the exact timing? She felt the flush of her skin that always preceded the crest of her bliss and struggled to keep herself from passing that ultimate point when she heard (Felt? Sensed?) his voice in her ear, "Now, little one… for me."
She unclasped her hands, unaware until that very moment that she had been squeezing them together so tightly that her fingernails had dug into the skin on the back of her hands. She freed her mind and body from the wall of will she had built, allowing both to rush headlong and wild into the flood of pleasure bursting forth from every cell of her being. Her mouth opened and a long, impossibly loud, cry of pure ecstasy rang in her ears as she felt her stomach contract as if it was trying to expel every organ inside her.
Reflexively, her arms reached up made contact with him, her hands gripped his shoulders and squeezed as her cry broke and changed pitch and tone. Again and again, her hips writhed and her lungs heaved in a desperate grasp for air and then emptied instantly. She felt the ripples of hot electricity tear through her, mind and body.
After what seemed like the third time she crested over that peak of pleasure, she realized that his fingers (two, three, four?) had never stopped their movement inside her and that his thumb still stroked and teased her clit. She wondered if she might lose consciousness and that, if she did, she'd not feel this torrent of release. She tried to speak, to ask for mercy, to beg him to stop before she became lost in her pleasure but could only shake her head.
That, though, was enough and his fingers slowly slipped from within her, almost painfully as she was so intensely sensitive there. As she released her crushing grip on his shoulders, she wondered if the rest of her body was as sensitive and was answered by a gentle caress on her hip... cheek... breast... arm, each causing her to jump, twitch, or spasm. Without a word from him, the touches continued, each one becoming longer, less powerful, more calming.
She heard, above her panting and thundering heartbeat, the wet sound of suckling and then felt his fingers on her lips as he shared her taste with her. She sucked and licked his fingers hungrily, greedily, her mind still tumbling, unable to express her gratitude in any other way.
But there was no need. He spoke softly into her ear, "No, little one, thank YOU."
Jeannie
- 12.05.2020
- 41
- 0
- Category:
- BDSM
