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It was the first time we met.

I was nervous and scared, with a small ball of anxiety low in my stomach. Once or twice I started to turn back, all the niggling doubts in the back of my mind rushing forward. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t what I wanted. Could I handle it? What if it was too much, too intense, too overwhelming? And the worst doubt of all: what if you were disappointed?

I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, you knew me better than anyone. All of the long chats, emails, phone calls, after the in-depth conversations about my hopes and desires, darkest fantasies you had teased out of me, one at a time…you knew me better than I knew myself. Still, I couldn’t help but worry. This was the first meeting, the first time we would actually see each other in person, physically be within close proximity. I was excited, yes, but mostly nervous. So many things could go wrong. And I wasn’t really sure I would be able to do this. I have never been a self-assured, confident person, and this was a huge step.

But I knew I had to try. I needed…something….more or I would suffocate. I just couldn’t continue this way, without at least knowing that I tried.

You were more experienced with it of course, I knew that, expected it. In truth, I needed that as well. Two novices would be disastrous, much like the old adage, “two virgins on a bed is one virgin too many.” I was completely new and would need your guidance and expertise. You knew that, as well.

Deciding that the punishment for changing my mind wouldn’t be worth it, I left my car a little ways down the street. I didn’t want to draw too much attention as I made my way to the address you had given me; worried that someone would read my face and knew what was about to happen, what I was walking myself into. None of my family or friends knew what was planned. Oh, they knew I was meeting someone out of state, but they were told it was for a collaborative business project. They knew what time I should be back and that my phone would be off during most of the trip that I would check in during the evenings or before bed, but they didn’t know the real reason I was here. That was just between you and me.

After a few moments of indecision I knocked on the door, perhaps a bit softly, but you heard it. There were footsteps and the slight creak of hinges as the door opened. I remember the expression on your face more than anything. After a second’s pause I remembered the first rule, quickly dropping to my knees and folding my hands across my lap and dropping my head down. It wasn’t a standard pose but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I remember blushing. I was embarrassed that anyone on the street who happened by would see me, but at the same time I was exhilarated.

You knew I would feel this way, the shame and the thrill. Part of my nature. More than anything else, it made the situation real to me; I was here. I was actually going through with it.

You left me there, sitting subserviently on the top step for all the world to see, for what seemed like hours, although it was probably no more than three minutes. By now my face was flaming, ears straining for the sound of traffic on the street behind me, desperately hoping no one would see.

Finally you motioned for me to stand and follow you. With relief I complied, quickly stepping through the doorway and into a narrow hallway, my bright pink ponytail bouncing slightly as I walked. It was warmly lit, I noticed, with simple, tasteful abstracts dotting the walls. Somehow I hadn’t expected that.

At the end of the hallway it opened into a larger room, mostly in shadow. A squashy couch sat near a wall to the left, where you led me and offered a seat. This amazed me. I had expected to be on the floor. Apparently my surprise showed on my face because you lifted your lips in a half-smile as you reclined against the cushions. That was when I saw something shift behind your eyes, like you had pinned your prey and were waiting for it to realize that all you had to do was pounce.

So I sat on the edge, nervous and shy, while we discussed the main details. It was going to be simple, easy, light. A trial run, as it were. We set precautions, and then spoke about boundaries that could be pushed, under the right circumstances. You knew that you could press me further than I thought I could go, had already done so many times, but I felt it was necessary to reinforce my limits. I had learned by now that you liked to cheat. Still, this felt familiar, comfortable. Like we were messaging each other. I sighed as the knot of tension in my stomach loosened.

You noticed.

Of course you did; you knew me the best, knew when would be the time to strike. Without even stirring you ordered me to stand and strip. I was caught off guard but followed the command with only a slight hesitation; you cocked your eyebrow at me and smirked. I was going to be punished for that pause, I knew it. You always warned me what would happen if I lacked obedience. My stomach clenched again.

This was it.

Clothes neatly folded and placed on the couch I was motioned to stand upright, hands behind my head, legs spread. Facing you as your eyes traveled down my frame, carefully scrutinizing every detail. I was uncomfortable and bare, feeling vulnerable in ways I had never experienced before, especially aware of the cool air on my freshly-shaved cunt. I shivered and you smiled. That was the point, your eyes said to me. That is why you are here.

For a long moment you just looked me over, making me suffer in my exposure, gesturing for me to turn now and again. I was mortified, a deep blush creeping up my body.

Which is what you wanted.

Finally you stood, turning me to face the couch again, still in my defenseless pose.
I averted my eyes in shame and excitement as you walked around me, hands roaming over my skin, cupping my breasts, stroking my back, tracing the line from ear to clavicle. Small electric shocks followed your touch, teasing and tantalizing. I bit my lip as your hands dipped lower, exploring, feather-light, taunting, building a smoldering need. I held my breath. Your hand hovered just above my nether regions, taunting me as I craved your touch. Could you feel the heat from my swelling lips?

I groaned softly when you turned away, walking to some area still in shadow. Little trails of arousal ran down my legs as I waited. Within moments you were back, starting down at me with dark eyes. You were planning something that I probably wouldn’t like, I could tell by the expression on your face.

One hand caressed my breast, drawing out the nipple into a hard pebble. I moaned, delicious feelings rippling through my body as you manipulated my sensitive skin. My eyes fluttered half-closed of their own accord as I leaned into your touch. It just felt so wonderful, waves of sensation flooding me as your fingers worked magic on my skin. Something cold made me gasp but you continued stroking, transferring your attention to my other breast. I could smell something with a menthol base. Icy Hot? The cold quickly warmed and began stinging, a deep burn seeping into my flesh. Yes, definitely the Icy Hot. I bit my lip. I had done this much before at your direction, I could withstand it again. Deep breaths. I could do this.

Without warning I felt a sharp, hard pinch. My eyes flashed open, wide with pain. Glancing down I saw a clothespin firmly attached to my hard, sensitive nipple.

It hurt.

But you knew it would. Just like you knew how hypersensitive my nipples were, how I was able to convert some pain to pleasure but not others. How the Icy Hot was a pain I enjoyed, but the clothespins were not. How this pain was one that always overwhelmed me, a limit that I wasn’t sure I could push.

The bite of the second clothespin was just as bad as the first. You smiled at your handiwork, pulling and tugging on each in turn, causing me to gasp and pull away. That was more than I could tolerate, but I didn’t want to safeword. I was too obstinate to give in this early in the game. I had to know I could do this.

After another moment you moved away, leaving me to dwell on my situation. My nipples were throbbing dully, stinging hotly, replacing my embarrassment. My legs were becoming sore, the strain of standing too wide taking its toll. My arms were feeling a similar distress from being held up, hands clasped over my ponytail. More arousal trickled down my legs.

I saw you walked back over to me, assessing how I was able to maintain my position. I must have done reasonably well because you didn’t make any comment. Instead you raised kind of whip. It had a braided handle with many different strips of conditioned leather.

We had spoken of this often. The flogger.

Without preamble you began, the leather striking my flesh, sending spikes of sensation deep into my skin. Back, stomach, the undersides my breasts, thighs, buttocks. Up one side, down the other, back to front to back again. Methodically you worked your way down and up my body, the sharp sound of leather on flesh echoing slightly in the austere room, each strike stinging a little more than the last. The clothespins shifted as the whip struck me, pulling and tugging on my already aching nipples. My small pants each time the flogger hit punctuated the air.

Abruptly the flogging halted. I tensed again slightly; would you be delivering my punishment now? You ran your hands over my heated skin, feeling the warm flush that covered my body and the slight welts from each strike, flicking the clothespins. My arms were trembling, hands still locked behind my head. My legs felt strained from holding a position so unnaturally wide. I had never been in this kind of tension for so long. You said nothing, moving behind me to shuffle something against the wall. I couldn’t see you, but I could feel your presence, hear the tinkling of metal.

Coming around to stand in front of me again, you signaled for me to kneel. I complied a little clumsily, the cold floor feeling like an electric shock on my warm skin. It was almost soothing at first, before the discomfort of the unyielding floor began to seep in my bones.

With deliberate slowness you removed your pants, almost like a striptease, watching my face to gauge my reaction. This wasn’t some romantic encounter, with kisses and cuddles and peeling away garments one at a time in a haze of passion; this was about power and assertion of authority, demanding that I acknowledge your dominance. And I did.

Your cock stood out, proud and erect, eye-level with me as I kneeled on the cold floor. Inflicting pain on me had obviously turned you on, but I knew that it would. I remember the trepidation I felt as you walked toward me, signaling my next task in silent commands. I wasn’t concerned about the act itself; despite having only a little experience, it was fairly obvious what to do. It was the lack of verbal communication that was starting to wear on my nerves. And the worry that I would do something incorrectly, fail to please you.

Hesitantly I opened my mouth, sliding down over the head of your cock. As you filled me I reached down with one hand to stroke you but you grabbed my hands in one of yours, trapping them above me, sliding further in. I would have to do all the work with just my mouth.

I risked a glance up. You were watching my face, your eyes dark and burning, waiting for me to get started, seeing if I could follow your commands despite my discomfort. So I tried. I swirled my tongue over the head of your cock, tasting you, formed my mouth into a wide “O” and ran it down your length and back up again. I repeated the process, feeling each pulse of your flesh in my mouth.

You let me work for a few minutes. Perhaps I wasn’t moving fast enough, you never said. Perhaps you simply required more control. Without comment you tightened your grip on my wrists with one hand while your other moved to the back of my head. You began thrusting hard, choking me, the head of your cock forcefully sliding down my throat. Liquid was leaking down my legs again; being used was turning me on more than I had ever been. The harder you thrust the more I gagged, choking, but you kept on, over and over, grunting softly as you moved. I was little more than a vessel, something to be used at your whim. My comfort was irrelevant. I struggled for breath as you pushed you cock as deep as you could and held it there, cutting off my oxygen until my eyes started to roll back, then withdrawing to allow me air. Over and over, my throat spasming around your cock, until my eyes swam with tears. Another hard, deep thrust and I choked again, feeling your cock swell, tasting your cum as you withdrew. You released my hands and stepped away.

Gasping, I fell forward, palms spread on the cold floor, trying to steady my breathing as I quivered. You watched critically as I calmed myself, making sure you hadn’t pushed me too far, too fast. It was still early and neither of us wanted me to break. Not yet.

I don’t know how much time passed while my heart rate slowed and breathing returned to normal. Trembling, I raised my arms back up, hands clasped behind my head, grasping the hard knot of the rubber band that held my hair to keep my hands steady. Satisfied that I was ready to continue, you moved away, preparing for the next activity. Giving me time to recover my equilibrium. You had deliberately placed me so I faced away from you as you worked. I wasn’t supposed to know what was coming next, that was part of it. Anticipation and trepidation built up in equal measures as I strained my ears, trying to decipher your movements.

Footsteps.

A breeze caressed my skin as you passed closely, still beyond my line of vision. So I waited. As my breathing continued to settle I began to re-notice the ache in my knees from the hard floor. I longed to move, to ease the soreness of my muscles and the strain on my knees but I held still, barely fidgeting.

More footsteps. Something heavy sliding against the floor. A soft click. A light, it sounded like.

Perhaps this was part of my punishment, the silent treatment. I was property, undeserving of attention until you were ready to use me. You ignored me, moving around the room, completing preparations. Reinforcing my place, kneeling at your feet. A reminder that you were in charge.

After what seemed like hours you moved to stand in front of me, motioning for me to stand. I lowered my aching arms and rose unsteadily, wincing as my knees protested. I turned as you indicated, following to the space you had prepared while I was waiting, my eyes widening apprehensively.

Below a wide pool of light was a metal table. A smaller table stood beside it, but in shadow so I couldn’t see what was on it. More implements of torture I was sure, but I didn’t know if they were for my pleasure or yours.

Or both.

At another imperious gesture I rose and climbed onto the table, lying backward on the cold surface, legs spread wide. With quiet efficiency you used a length of rope to bind my hands together, above my head. Your continued silence was just as torturous as any physical activity thus far; I had no method of gauging your mood except by expression, which you knew. It was gradually driving me mad.

You were still moving around, mostly at the end of the table where I could not see. I was on pins and needles, waiting for your next move, still tasting the saltiness of your cum in my mouth as I lay there.

I didn’t have a long wait. It was a flogger again, a little smaller this time. I refused to look at you when you raised it, keeping my eyes closed. You were going to inflict more pain on me again, and even though I wanted this, I couldn’t help but be a little afraid. The experience was already more intense than I had expected.

At least had my safeword.

The first strike wasn’t terrible. It stung my tender pussy, already swollen from excitement, but it wasn’t debilitating. The warmth left behind was pleasurable. This was fine. I could do this.

The flogger came crashing down once more. It was a little worse, but still tolerable. The next caused only a little gasp from me. You continued, striking again.

And again.
And again.
And again.

The pain steadily increased until I was letting out little shrieks with each impact, my muscles shaking, my stomach clenching and unclenching, thighs shaking uncontrollably while I fought to keep them open. Finally you put the flogger down, placing your hand against my hot, swollen flesh. You massaged it, feeling the heat that radiated upward and the wet evidence of my arousal. With another of your infuriating half-smiles you slid a finger inside me, fast and deep, grinning broadly as I started moaning and bucking. I nearly came right there, with your finger motionless inside me.

“Please?” I was frantic, feverish, desperate.

“No.” One word, denying me that which I wanted most. The first word you had spoken to me since I sat on the squashy couch was a direct order meant to keep me on the edge. I let out a little sob as you withdrew. I had been so close.

You moved around to the side of the table near my head, forcing me to acknowledge you. The sly smirk was still playing about your lips, and I could see your new erection jutting out arrogantly, still sticky with cum and saliva.

“Ready for your punishment?” Your voice was hard, cruel, and authoritative. That single word sent tendrils of terror and elation through me in equal measure. What kind of punishment? Wasn’t my nipple torture punishment, pushing that boundary I had set so early? Wasn’t denying me release when I was so near, so frenzied, penance enough?

Apparently not. Reaching for another item off the table I could not see, you moved back down to the end of the table, between my spread legs, where I was most vulnerable. My muscles tensed, anticipating the next attack.

“You will receive five.” Your voice gave away nothing away except your desire to see me suffer. That turned my arousal up to another notch. “Each one will be harder than the last, but if you take all of them, you will be forgiven.”

Five? Five what? I could take five, couldn’t I? You wouldn’t be doing this to me if you thought I couldn’t handle it, I was mostly sure of that. And five didn’t seem like a great deal to endure, even if I didn’t know yet what the five was going to be.

The first blow was sharp and quick, landing directly on my delicate clit. I squealed, half raising off the table in pain. You had struck the most sensitive point on my body, the place that I treasured above all others. My very core.

You caressed my clit with the side of the crop, drawing gasps and moans as the pain was soothed away and replaced with renewed pleasure. I could feel my flesh swell more, forgetting the agony it had so recently endured.

Another strike, a little harder than the first. I jumped fast, snapping my legs closed. That was more than I was anticipating, and it was only the second. That hurt. Not the sensual, erotic pain I was accustomed to, transmuted into pleasure through adrenaline. This was pain.

You waited patiently while I gained some semblance of composure, until I was able to turn my legs to their wide-open spread. I gritted my teeth, waiting, anticipating the next blow, willing the sharp misery to convert to pleasure.

You took your time, savoring my fear. Running the crop up one leg, down the other, back again. Across my stomach. Walking around to the side of the table as you ran the leather along my skin.

A sharp swish knocked one of the clothespins off and I yelped, having been focused more on the hot ache between my thighs. Without pause you swatted the other clothespin off, leaving two deep pink nipples, throbbing as the circulation began to return.

My eyes closed of their own accord. I was too overwhelmed with the sensations coursing through my body and your near-silent presence. My mind was in a vortex of colliding sensation and fear, with only a few coherent thoughts rising to the surface.

I felt you move away, back down to the end again. I braced as much as I could, knowing how much worse this was going to be. I heard the sharp swish before the leather struck my flesh again, bringing more intense pain than I had ever felt. I squealed again, rolling onto my side to escape the hot burning agony, tears welling in my eyes. That was three.

There was no way I could withstand two more. I just couldn’t.

You must have sensed that I was close to breaking. I heard the riding crop thud on the table, felt you move to stand beside me. Your hands were tender against my skin as you stroked my arm and back, caressing and soothing. You gently rolled me back over, stroking my hair and face, calming me. I didn’t want to look at you, fearing that I would see what I felt: my failure. I had wanted so urgently to please you and I dreaded I had been a disappointment. I couldn’t even handle my first punishment.

Your hands continued to stroke me, rubbing down my arms, stomach, even the space between my breasts. Gradually my breathing returned to normal. Apprehensively I peeked up, into your face, relieved to see the concern in your expression, with a flicker of anger behind it.

“You didn’t safeword.” I heard the censure in your tone. You thought I had deliberately refused to say it, to push myself past my ability to bear. I didn’t tell you at the time but the truth is, I didn’t even think of it. Despite the level of misery I was in, stopping never occurred to me. I shook my head, indicating that I wanted to continue. I wasn’t ready to quit yet. I was too aroused, to enthralled with the power you exuded. You smiled, softly this time, surprised. You hadn’t expected this.

As I spread myself back out on the table I heard you pick up the crop again, moving down to the end of the table again. I took deep, slow breaths to steady myself as you moved back into position. I could do this. I needed to do this, to prove myself, to accept my nature. Pain was pleasure, the two inseparable, flip sides of the same coin. I could do this.

Your hand moved, the leather slashing down again, striking me. I cried out, more tears spilling down my temples, but I stayed in place. That was four. I could do one more. I could. I knew I could. I had to.

Apparently I was right. You did the last shortly afterward, bringing the most intense suffering I had ever experienced to an end. My breath came out in short sobs but inside I was proud. I had done it. I had survived my first punishment with you.

I was sure you would be proud too, but I didn’t have the voice to ask. Immediately after you placed the crop back on the side table. My whole cunt was on fire, my clit aching and engorged with pain. I flinched slightly when I felt your hand begin lightly rubbing, first my labia, then gradually moving to my most tender and brutalized bits. You gently stroked and soothed, expertly massaging away some of the stinging. I settled again, allowing your touch to comfort me, to arouse me beyond all reason.

I was so relaxed I didn’t notice when you stood. One moment I was enjoying the delicious sensation of your fingers teasing my skin, the next I realized you were looming over me again, that expression back on your face.

You know the one. The expression that tells me my place, that I have no control. The one that demands I must submit to you in every way. Gone was the caring man who soothed and comforted me. Vaguely I wondered how much more torment I could withstand, how much more you had in store for me.

I didn’t have to wait long. You advanced until your pelvis was level with mine, your cock erect, nudging my entrance. You shifted forward, your strong cock forcing its way into my tight channel, stretching me. I groaned in agony and ecstasy as your cock made its unhurried advance into places rarely touched, taking its time in reaching its full descent. There you stopped, head pressing again my cervix, savoring the tightness as I panted small breaths, allowing a moment for me to adjust. Just as deliberately you withdrew, causing ripples of both pleasure and agony. I gasped and moaned, shaking as you pulled out then moved forward to rest at my entrance again. I tried not to tense when I felt you move again, I knew you wouldn’t be as easy with me this time.

The next thrust was full of your power, your domination. In one hard movement you buried you cock deeply, impaling me hard. My hips arched upward, either in encouragement or escape, I was never sure. Again you withdrew until just the tip was seated in my entrance, using your full weight to force your cock inside as far as it would go.

And again.
And again.

It was almost too much for me to bear; the feeling of your cock pulsing within me, your pelvis slamming into me, the lust on your face as you used me, my skin hot. Within moments I was teetering on the edge, begging you. I didn’t want to find out the consequences of cumming without permission.

“Sir? Please!”

You stopped, fully embedded, looming over me. “Please what?”

“Sir! Please!” I was mindless, imploring and pleading.

“What are you?” Still unmoving, pulsing inside me, implacable in your insistence on humiliating me yet again.

“Oh god Sir, I’m a painslut. A dirty little painslut who needs to cum. Please? Sir please?”

Another withdrawal, another hard thrust. “No.”

I couldn’t believe it. You actually denied me my release, when I was so close and so desperate. I needed it. You resumed your furious pace and I wailed. I knew I couldn’t continue being stimulated like this, bound and abused, being fucked hard and fast.

So I begged. And pleaded. Nearly cried with frustration and overwhelming need, each hard thrust sending me closer to the edge. My ragged breath echoing in the room, my chest heaving with arousal and the effort to hold back.

“Sir please! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…I can’t…I’m going to….I just can’t!”

“Cum.” That one word directive sent me spiraling and shuddering. I felt you tense; using all your power you slammed into me twice more, your cock swelling and pumping all your cum into me. This added more intensity to my orgasm and I convulsed harder, gasping and twitching, my muscles tense as dizzying spirals of pleasure consumed me.

I felt you lean down to nuzzle my ear. “Such a painslut.”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice was barely audible, my chest still rising and falling rapidly. I was vaguely aware of you withdrawing and moving away. I was too weary to try to follow your movements so I just rested, allowing my mind to drift as my body continued to calm. My eyes closed.

I don’t know how long I lay there. My next thought was an awareness of something warm and soothing rubbing across my labia. It felt like some kind of cloth. With effort I raised my head to see you carefully cleaning me, gently removing as much fluid as you could. I laid my head back against the table. I was too drained to argue about it and my whole body ached. I just didn’t have the strength.

Perhaps I dozed. I remember feeling the slow motions of the cloth, then something cold was being rubbed into my skin. I could smell a faint hint of something herbal, like pine, as you massaged my arms and legs, rolling me over to rub the cream on my back. With a great effort I opened my eyes, noticing that you must have cleaned yourself up as well. Your expression was neutral, neither hard or cold, you continued your ministrations.

“What’s that?” I murmured sleepily

“Liniment. It will help with the soreness. You aren’t accustomed to standing in that pose for so long, so you may have strained a few muscles.” Your voice was kinder now. I continued to drift, more exhausted than I could ever recall feeling.

Soon after I felt your hands on my arms, helping me sit, then stand. My legs were felt boneless, my skin tingling from the liniment as you supported me across the room, back to the couch. You sat, helping me down to curl up beside you, head on your chest, your arms wrapped around me. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of your skin, enjoying the warmth of your touch as your hands stroked my shoulder and arm.

“Why did you clean me?” As I settled I became increasingly embarrassed that you had performed such an act—much more intimate than merely fucking me—and a little resentful that you hadn’t forced me to clean you. It was one of those things we had discussed.

“I wanted to check the damage. You were very tight, and I could have torn something.”

“Oh.” That had made me feel better, although I was still a little embarrassed. “Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember how you said I would clean your cock with my mouth?”

“Yes, and you will. But today you were in too much of a haze. Would you have been able to?”

I thought about it. I hadn’t even been able to move on my own.

“Sir, may I ask one more question?”

“You may.”

“How did you know that I need a break?”

I felt your sigh more than heard it. You were silent for such a long time that I feared you had been offended or angered by my question, that I was being impertinent without intending to.

“A combination of things. Your face, for one. It is so expressive, I can see every thought. And I didn’t think you could take more since you had such a difficult time with your punishment.”

“Thank you Sir. I was just curious.” I felt your hands settle.

“How is that cunt?” There was a trace of humor in your voice now.

“Abused.”

You chuckled.

“Glad you are enjoying it. I feel like I won’t be able to walk for a week.” I snuggled closer.

“Needs more, hmm?”

“Oh god no. My pussy has had enough.”

“Oh, is it your pussy’s choice?” The words were lightly spoken but had an edge to them. I was treading dangerously close to the line.

“No, Sir. I didn’t mean to say it was. Merely that is has been thoroughly abused and very tender.”

“Good girl. Rest for a bit. I think your ass needs some attention too.”

I smiled.

The Meeting-Part 2

I think it was the movement that woke me. For a split second I was confused, curled up in a ball, bare against something soft and faintly scratchy. In the next moment memories of flogging and fucking came rushing back and I sat up quickly, feeling stiff muscles protesting as I forced them into motion. My skin felt warm and a little tender, my nipples were still dark but less painful now. Most of my attention was concentrated on my poor abused naughty bits, where I could feel the most heat and discomfort. Nothing I had ever done in the past had hurt like that.

“Ah, there you are.”

I jumped slightly when you spoke, realizing then that the sound that woke me was you. I smiled slightly and turned toward you, feeling something soft brush my neck. With a quick glance down I realized my hair had come out of its band, small wisps floating around my face.

“God.” My voice felt rusty so I swallowed a few times. “How long did I sleep?” I felt shy again, a little ashamed that I had been drained of energy so quickly, but mostly self-conscious. Had I really just let him whip me and fuck me?

Oh, God. I had. Even more awkward, I had actually enjoyed it. Well, most of it. I blushed more.

“About an hour. You needed it. Leave it down,” you added as I started running my fingers through my hair, trying to pull it back into some semblance of order. I complied with a little shrug. As long as you didn’t plan on pulling it, I didn’t mind it being down.

My hands drifted down to feel the welts across my body, gingerly massaging sore nipples, tracing the reddened stripes across my thighs, reflecting.

“How is your twat feeling?” There was humor in your tone again. You loved seeing me discomfited and off-balance.

“It’s rather sore at the moment.” I tried to keep the sour note out of my voice, but it was difficult. The aftermath was worse than the actual flogging or cropping. As fantastic as that orgasm had been, I knew I definitely didn’t want to be punished again.

You must have noticed my neutral voice, because you stood suddenly. A thrill of excitement ran through me, causing my toes to curl and my muscles clench.

“Spread.” The tone was back, implacable and commanding.

I knew at once what you wanted. Without looking at you I timidly stretched my legs wide along the couch, going completely scarlet. How much more could you embarrass me?

You remained stationary, tall and imposing, while I flushed. I waited for your next move, anxious. Why were you just standing there? No commands, no signals…nothing.

Sudden comprehension dawned and I felt my eyes widen in disbelief. You didn’t mean…?

You did.

My hands trembled as I tentatively reached down, pulling back inflamed and tender flesh, opening my recesses to your gaze, mortified more than I have been in my life. I could feel the slight wetness already starting to form, making my fingers slide as I held myself open. I was already becoming aroused.

After a long moment you crouched, reaching down to stroke each fold, exciting me. Unable to watch I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the back of the couch, letting the sensations wash over me. Your fingers danced across my clit, stroking lightly. I flinched.

“Still stinging?”

I nodded, biting my lip. Not unbearable, but definitely noticeable. Without the endorphins from full arousal, pain was just pain.

“I don’t see any bruising.”

I made a slight huff. “I don’t bruise.”

I felt your attention sharpen at my words, remember the flutter of panic. Oh crap. Did I really just admit that? Aloud? Damn and blast.

You didn’t say anything about it, just continued to stroke and tantalize until I was moaning in delight, arching into your touch.

“Such a dirty slut, cum leaking out of your cunt.” You slid a finger inside me, eliciting a delighted moan from me, continuing to tease. “I love seeing my cum in your hot pussy.” You stroked a few more times, then rose. Your words penetrated my fog.

Cum? I didn’t still have…did I?

I opened my eyes, confused. You must have read my face as the thought flickered through my brain. “Look at what a whore you are.”

I glanced up at you first. You were upright again, that expression back in place, gazing down on me. In a flash I saw what I must look like to you, sprawled wide, completely naked, flaming pussy spread open, cum leaking out. My body flushed again as I glanced down. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but a small pool of semen had seeped onto the fabric below.

Did I think I couldn’t be more humiliated? I was. And you knew the effect your words would have, how being degraded like that always made my cunt throb with need. Even then, I was becoming a whore for you.

“But…” I struggled for words. “I thought…I mean…after, you cleaned me.” I was stuttering.

You grinned broadly. “No, I wiped you down. There’s a difference.”

Wiped me down? Like I was a dog? I remember the shame I felt at the comparison, and the realization that this was deliberate. Another way to torment me, make me blush, make me suffer.

Apparently judging that I had been sufficiently embarrassed for the moment, you turned away. I watched you be enveloped in darkness as you moved further into the room. Without the distraction of your presence I felt my attention drift, absorbing my surroundings. The room was mostly black, with a bit of light over the couch where I was sitting and another pool some distance ahead. The rest was shrouded in shadows. I couldn’t see where you had gone, but I was more concerned at the moment with the encroaching darkness. How large was this room anyway?

And just what did you have in it?

I sat contemplating this for a while, vaguely registering the continued growing dampness underneath my fingers. Thoughts flitted through my mind, ideas of toys and tables, torments and delights. The possibilities were endless, frightening, enthralling.

I still don’t know how long I sat there, pussy spread open, gazing off into space while my mind spun. Minutes, hours, days…did it really matter? If it pleased you for me to hold myself open, revealing my innermost secrets, then I was perfectly happy to do so. Ashamed and embarrassed, yes, but inwardly thrilled and, oddly, content. It was what I needed.

My mind was so focused on these thoughts that I didn’t notice your approach. One moment I was contemplating the myriad ways in this experience had surpassed my expectations, the next you were standing there, gazing down at me, seemingly pleased at how well I continued to spread myself open.

I still wasn’t sure what to expect when I was told to follow, just that it was going to be wicked. The cold from the floor seeped into my soles as I walked a few steps behind you, counterpoint to the heat I could feel my body already radiating. Tendrils of anticipation, desire, and nerves coursed through me, spiking when I saw the area you had rigged. I stopped suddenly, mouth open slightly, amazed and a little frightened.

You had actually gotten one. We had discussed it before of course, many times. More than the flogger actually. I was elated, surprised, touched. I remember the way your mouth curled up at the corner, smiling at my astonished expression.

“What do you think?” You walked around it, hand patting the padded seat in unspoken command. I walked forward, still unable to believe I was seeing it here, for me.

For us.

“Where did you get one?” I climbed on it, ineptly, but I made it. My muscles felt weak with anticipation; I had fantasized about this as long as I could remember.

You knew me so well.

You didn’t respond to my query, just continued smiling like the cat that got the cream as you grasped my wrist, bringing over to the armrest and securing it with a wide leather strap. The movement was soft, sensual; my breathing increased pace. Your fingers traced light lines across my skin as you walked around to the side, strapping my other hand down as well. Continuing the same delicate, teasing touches you placed one leg in a stirrup, then the other, stroking each calf in turn, cinching straps to keep them secure.

I was nearly panting from the sensations, my excited skin delighting in each caress, knots of yearning and eagerness curling through my stomach. What were you going to do? I was more helpless than I had been all day, almost entirely immobile, hair falling around my shoulders in a pink cascade.

My hands clenched reflexively, my ankles twisting in small circles. I wasn’t getting out until you released me. I shivered.

“Comfortable?”

I nodded mutely. While mostly immobile I wasn’t uncomfortable at all; the chair was a little cushy, soft underneath. I felt no strain from my arms or legs, just a tingling anticipation.

“Let’s see what we can do about that.”

Your wicked grin was back. I swallowed reflexively, certain that I knew what was coming next. Gynecological chairs were built for one main reason, after all.

Without warning I felt your hand reach down between my legs, pulling apart the fleshy globes of my ass. With sudden trepidation I realized the mistake I had made when dressing today: no plug. I was in such a rush—so exhilarated and terrified—that I had completely forgotten about it.

“Forget something, slut?” Your voice had a note of anger in it. I had broken a rule—unintentionally, yes, but the fact remained that I had. Which meant I was in for another punishment, and for a much worse infraction.

“Sir I am so sorry! I was in such a rush that I forgot. Please, don’t punish me. I promise I won’t forget again!” I was panicked now, beseeching.

You didn’t answer, just moved to the small table—I recognized it from earlier—again. I saw you pick up a plug that was slightly longer and a bit wider than the one I normally used. You had seen that I was without a plug earlier today, had prepared for it while I had been sprawled on your couch.

I cringed automatically. This was going to hurt more than usual, even if you went with a standard lube instead of Icy Hot. I didn’t see what you used but you did coat it liberally, then spread the lubrication around my anus. The sensation almost tickled. Then I felt the tip of the plug press against me, felt my body start widening to accept it.

“This is going to hurt, but I want you to take it. Can you do that for me?” Now your voice was persuasive and smooth, keeping me calm. If you had thundered at me, full of strict authority, I would have tensed, but this voice assured me that I would survive.

I didn’t have time to respond. In one single, hard push you thrust the plug home until my anus closed around it. I squealed, the pain of being stretched farther than I ever had coursing through me. It was almost as bad as the hot sauce and ice fiasco.

I took deep, calming breaths as you rubbed my legs and abdomen, soothing me as much as you could. Pain radiated deep inside my rectum, causing it to spasm and ache.

You waited for the pain to pass, consoling as my body adjusted. I had always enjoyed anal stretching before—something I loathed admitting, even to you—but had never gone this large, this fast.

“Good girl. That was a bit larger than you are used to.” Your voice sounded pleased.

Eventually the pain receded to a slight throb, replaced by an arousing fullness. Now that my body had adjusted, the larger plug was starting to feel enjoyable. You noticed, smiling widely at me.

“You really are an anal whore.”

I didn’t bother to argue, just watched as you moved. I was prepared for my legs to swing further apart, but received another surprise. Instead of immediately adjusting the stirrups you reached over to the small table to pick up something small and rectangular. You held it up for me to see and I gasped, spikes of actual fear running through me.

It was lighter.

Fire-play was never something I had anticipated, nor wanted to explore. Way too easy to get carried away, and burns were not a kind of pain I could enjoy. I didn’t think you would actually burn me, but the possibility was still alarming.

You noticed my unease, my terror. One hand ran the lighter across my stomach, chest, down one arm. My breath hitched, my eyes sparkling with tears, pleading with you. It was a serious horror, beyond a hard limit. I was trusting you, would you really do this to me?

Without comment you turned back to the table, removing a candle I hadn’t noticed earlier from its surface. Smiling slightly at the sudden relief on my face you lit the wick, placing it back down to repeat the process with another. One red, one white, two fat pillars with pits in the center from apparent previous use. The smell of hot wax slowly wafted through the air as the flames grew, dancing against the darkness.

I gazed at them, transfixed as they flickered, expectation causing my chest to tighten. Another kink I had always wanted to explore, coming true.

With my attention focused on the candles, you took this time to walk around me, hands lightly tracing as you moved. I vaguely recall registering that you stopped near my head, hands reaching down to cup and massage my breasts, stroking already sensitive flesh, lightly pinching each nipple in turn.

I gasped and struggled to pull away—they were more than a bit tender—but the straps kept me stationary. I had no choice but to endure.

I bit my lip, trying not to pant or groan, not wanting to give you the satisfaction. Of course you already knew how torturous this was for me, but I was stubborn enough to try to keep my silence.

I didn’t last as long as I would have liked. The squeezing and fondling in turn made my nipples ache and throb, becoming increasingly more agonizing each time. It was just too much to bear. I broke.

“Please!”

I deplored the whiney tone of my voice, the sound of unshed tears. Even more, I hated showing my weakness. I felt your hands relax, massaging again, almost consoling.

“Does slut want more?” Your tone was light but I noted the heavy undercurrent. You were already in the zone, full-Dominant mode.

“Sir, please stop! I can’t…anymore. Please!”

You continued stroking, unwilling to give up your game so easily. I had a recollection at the time of something you had said when I had protested a task; it did not matter if it was fair. If my Dom wanted me to suffer, then I would.

And so I did, frequently. But usually not like this. I closed my eyes in misery.

“Perhaps slut would like a choice. Hmm?” More caresses, with sporadic pinches that caused fresh tears to form, sliding down my cheeks.

“Sir please just stop, it’s too much.”

Your hands stilled, heavy and warm. “Would slut like to safeword?”

I bit my lip again. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted, except that I did not want to stop everything. Just the nipple play. I was too aroused, to excited to see what else you had in store for me.

I shook my head no, indicating that I wasn’t quite ready to give in. A tremor went through my body as I felt your hands leave my skin and, despite the presumed end of my torture, I felt a slight sense of loss.

“Slut will have two choices. Option one, slut will wear alligator clips on both nipples. The teeth, digging into such sensitive, aching flesh….” Your voice trailed away, leaving me to contemplate cold bite of clamps on my tender tissue.
“Or, she can chose option two. Slut can instead have her nipples pumped, which will stretch them, painfully. It’s really her choice.”

That wasn’t a choice at all. You knew when you devised that little game that the psychological distress of making that kind of decision would drive me a little mad. How was I supposed to choose between two differing tortures?

You were patient as I recall, waiting me out. I would have to decide eventually, or safeword. There weren’t any other options and I knew instinctively that, if I tapped out, I wouldn’t have the chance to explore the wax. It was forgo a major fantasy of mine, or endure a little more, for you.

“Pumping, Sir.” My voice was barely above a whisper, anticipating the next bout of pain. Surely the suction wouldn’t be as painful as clips. Right?

“Oh, has slut made a decision then? Is she sure?”

I swallowed to clear the lump in my throat. “Yes, Sir.”

“Beg.” Your voice had gone hard again, ruthless. It sent more shivers of thrill through me, despite my impending agony. This was what I wanted most, the forced submission and humiliation. This is what I craved.

“Sir, please pump my nipples?”

“Are you sure, slut?”

“Yes Sir, please. Please pump my nipples.”

“I’m not sure slut is serious about it.”

“Please? Sir please pump my nipples! Please!” I made my voice pleading, begging for my own agony, mentally squirming at the degradation I felt. What kind of a person begs to be tortured?

I did, apparently.

You seemed satisfied that time, so I must have put enough stress in my voice. I listened to your movements as you prepared the cylinders, then felt the first one settle over my engorged, throbbing nipple. I could feel the slight vibration in the hard plastic as your hand pumped the bulb, creating suction, drawing agonized flesh into the rigid tube.

Three.
Four.
Five.

Finally you ceased, removing the pump and leaving the short, fat tube behind. I risked a glance and saw my nipple—deep red and throbbing excruciatingly—stretched. As I gazed in fascination and pain I became aware of a gradual stinging. As you began pumping the other nipple I realized the fiery sensation was growing stronger.

Something was wrong. It wasn’t supposed to burn!

“Sir!” I squeaked, panicked and agonized. “Sir it’s burning! Please take it off please!”

“Oh, does slut like my addition? I thought hot sauce would heat things up nicely for you.”

I did groan that time, resting my head back against the chair again, struggling to ignore the increased scorching sensations coursing through each nipple. It was excruciating, worse than the cropping had been. My hands clutched and opened reflexively, my ankles turning, my muscles fidgeting involuntarily. All my attention was focused on two hotspots.

I felt you move again more than I saw it, tears pouring freely. I wasn’t sure I could handle this, seriously considered safewording. When you reached the open space between my legs I tensed again, trying in vain to prepare for the next onslaught. How much more pain could I stand? When was this going to start being pleasurable for me as well?

A small voice in the back of my mind chastised me for that thought. Wasn’t it enough that I was providing pleasure for my Dom, in ways that fulfilled your need to control and inflict pain? The more self-centered voice countered this with a simple reminder. Has Sir ever caused you pain without rewarding you with pleasure? I calmed a bit at this, recalling my trust. I didn’t believe you would push me too far.

The first splash of wax on my stomach was like a shock. Splatters and streams of heat trailed across my stomach, intense for the first few seconds, then fading to a deep penetrating warmth. I moaned softly each time the hot wax landed on a welt. Those hurt worse.

You worked for a time, overlapping colors, sometimes pouring molten wax, other times allowing it to drip in small dots. Over the soft tissue of my breasts, down my stomach again, over each thigh, just along the top of my mound. My hips arched in unspoken invitation, begging. The one place where I wanted it most, needed the heat and the pain, the one place you were avoiding so thoroughly.

I gritted my teeth, my clitoris throbbing with eagerness. I no longer noticed the agony of my breasts, the pain obliterated by an impatient need. You knew how much I wanted this, knew that the more aroused I was, the more I wanted my clit to suffer. The avoidance was just another torment for me to endure.

I felt a keen disappointment when you set the candles back down. I was covered in wax, everywhere except the one place I wanted it most. I was beyond frustrated, my hips still making involuntary bucking motions, anything to ease the desperate yearning I felt. Why couldn’t you have tilted the candle just a little lower?

You were watching me. I could feel it, your gaze dark and penetrating as your surveyed your handiwork. I blushed at how I must look, strapped and defenseless, nipples suctioned into tubes, red and white wax coating my skin, fidgeting restively. Sprawled and spread and ready for use, like a bitch in heat.

I wasn’t sure if I liked that analogy.

Now you adjusted the stirrups as I had expected, moving my legs far apart, until I could feel the muscles tense. I was completely open, more vulnerable than I had ever been, completely at your mercy.

Which was how you liked me best.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, nothing had gone as I had anticipated. One moment you were smiling and teasing, the next cruel and pitiless. I didn’t know where I stood with you. I can still recall the havoc it reeked with my emotions, feeling powerless and inferior. I wasn’t sure if that was part of the game.

I watched you as you ambled to the table again, where more instruments of my torment were waiting. What did you have planned next? Could I withstand any more? I felt hot, aching with need and frustration, all my attention focused on you and your next move. Captivated.

“I seem to recall a little slut who said she wanted to try electricity.” Your voice was taunting again, relishing in my predicament. Mocking me.

When you turned toward me again there was something new in your hand, something I had only seen in videos. A black cylindrical device with some kind of cord hanging down and a long glass rod. You pressed a button, creating a sharp buzzing sound as the glass end glowed blue-lavender. I twitched automatically, excitement coursing through me.

The violet wand.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it, even after you released the button and the sound died away, the glass returning to its uncolored transparency. This. This was a deep fantasy of mine, something I had wanted since I first discovered pornography. To feel the zing of electricity on my skin, making me writhe….

I couldn’t wait. I was breathless, anticipating. Longing. I felt my pussy swell more, liquid pooling below me, my clit fully engorged and throbbing with need. More than anything, I wanted this.

You took your time, first running the tip over my leg and underneath, across the sensitive skin above my rectum, across the other leg. Anywhere wax wasn’t cooling the glass touched, just caressing. My muscles tensed with each motion, waiting for you to press the button again, anxiously waiting. The third circuit across my flesh you finally did so. The air was again filled with the harsh din of the wand, but it barely registered over the sharp shocks to my skin. You followed the same path, the wand never leaving my skin, never turning off. Everywhere it touched felt like tiny little pinpricks, intense and almost burning, leaving a warm afterglow as the wand moved on. I moaned and gasped with each zap, delighting in the crispness of the pain.

You did my arms, trailing down one and up the other, but the stings weren’t as harsh, as spine-tingling to me. I really wanted it in one place, which you knew. It was the place you were avoiding again, despite my frantic hip-bucking.

Please please please, I thought. I knew you would do it when you were ready, that teasing me like this was such a turn-on for you. I knew also that when you finally decided to give me what I wanted it would be much more than I expected.

I was right.

Perhaps you sensed how close I was to losing it, how desperate I was becoming. I had never felt such need, such mind-numbing desire. It took all my concentration to focus on you and the delightfully evil things you were doing to my body, the responses you were coaxing out that I didn’t realize I could do. If I didn’t get it soon, if you didn’t move that glass to the place I wanted it most…I thought I would faint.

Finally, at long last, you decided I had experienced enough torment. Instead of making the usual trail you ran the wand tip just between my inner and outer labia, up and down on one side, then repeating on the other. The sharp stabs of electricity caused my feet and hands to curl reflexively, painfully pleasurable and pushing me close to the edge. I gritted my teeth, clenched my eyes shut. I just couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. You slid the glass tube inside my cunt and stopped.

I opened my eyes, my entire body tense. What was going on?

You were smiling at me again, delectably evil. “I think you have had enough fun on the light setting. Let’s try a higher number.” With my eyes wide I saw you turn a dial, but I couldn’t see what the setting was.

Watching my face intently you pressed the button again.

I squealed. I had never felt anything like it before, the sharp stinging amplified. It felt like beestings deep inside me, agonizing and so good at the same time. I felt my pussy start to contract. I was going to climax.

“Sir please? Please may I cum?”

You released the button and removed the wand in one movement.
“No.”

I growled in frustration. You laughed darkly, rubbing my clit with the tip of the wand, causing me to moan and whimper in need.

Please. Please please please please please…..

And then you did. A quick pulse of electricity, right on my aching clit.

I shrieked, the pain quickly becoming intense pleasure. I could have came right there, if you hadn’t released the button, ceasing all sensation. It was more—better—than I could have dreamed. I didn’t want it to end, I wanted you to keep zapping me with the violet wand. I wanted to orgasm from the pain and mingling pleasure, but you weren’t ready for that yet. A few more times you touched the wand to my clit, sending electricity into my most susceptible point, but not enough. I wanted—needed—more.

And you knew that, of course. Which is why you put the wand away, back on the table with your other tools of torment. My chest was heaving, my eyes glazed with feverish arousal, pleading wordlessly. You shook your head in denial, running your hands over the wax now fully cooled and hardened on my skin. Carefully peeling it away in small strips, you revealed warm, dark pink skin underneath, the welts clearly visible. Meticulously you worked as my pulse slowed and my breathing calmed. Within a few minutes you had managed to peel away the bulk of the wax, turning your attention to my imprisoned nipples.

I bit my lip and quelled a cry when you tapped the first one, checking its sensitivity. Grasping the glass cylinder you gently pulled, causing me to gasp as tears spilled. The pain was overwhelming but you were careful, breaking the air seal as softly as possible and removing the tube altogether, then repeating the process. I continued to cry as you lightly stroked my enlarged, excruciatingly irritated flesh.

Pleasure and pain and lust were cascading through me, my senses overwhelmed with the torments you were inflicting. My nipples were complete agony, my skin hot, my pussy swollen and leaking. I was aroused more than I had ever though I could be, feeling the shift of the plug each time my hips moved, watching you in your Domination over me.

I still don’t know why you stopped. Maybe you were concerned that I would safeword when you still had more planned. I never asked, but I was grateful when your hands drifted down my torso, caressing and teasing. The soft stroking inflamed my desire, turning pain into pleasure as only you could. This was torment of another kind, a gradual descent into madness, fuel on a raging fire.

Your hands travelled downward further, ignoring my throbbing, wet cunt to firmly tap on the end of the plug still wedged inside me.
“You are such a painslut. Look at how wet you are. You love being abused and used, don’t you?”

I couldn’t disagree so I said nothing. I did love it. I loved that you knew just how much to push. I loved being humiliated and taunted, made to beg and plead. I loved how my misery fed your sadism.

You smirked at me again, knowing my thoughts. I was too far along to care at this point, eager and desperate. I remember thinking that I didn’t care what you did next, as long you didn’t stop.

I wasn’t quite prepared for it when you grasped the end of the plug and began to leisurely—teasingly—pull it out. I let out a small gasp as it slid free, feeling the cool air on my now-open backside.

I shivered a little.

You placed the plug back on the table then turned to inspect my newly-vacated hole. Another flush of shame crept up me as you bent down, eyeing my most private place, running your fingers along the outer edges, then inside. I clenched my eyes closed again, unable to watch you anymore. I was embarrassed, but my muscles rippled as the luscious sensations flooded through me and I arched against you, silently begging for more.

I felt your fingers leave, then return, cold with lubricant. You were careful to get every inch of me coated. I was partially ashamed—no one had ever touched me there before—but mostly I was astonished at the strength of the sensations.

Satisfied that I was ready you withdrew, walking to the side of the chair and pressing first one lever, then another. The chair flattened out until I was staring at the light above me. I was confused when I felt the whole assembly lower, trying to figure out what was coming next. Why would you want me so far below you?

When the chair as low as it would go you leaned down, unstrapping my arms first, then my legs. I watched you, puzzled. It wasn’t over was it? Surely there was more than that! I felt like I would explode, my whole body was buzzing with desire, and you hadn’t fucked me once. How could it be over?

With one swift motion you picked me up, flipping me over. I landed on the chair with a thump, a little winded from the unexpected movement. Before I had time to adjust you pulled my hips upward, folding my knees in front of me on the seat. It was a little awkward but I managed to stay put, using my arms to brace myself.

Now I understood why you wanted the chair so low. Easy access to the one place no one had ever been, the place you could claim as solely yours, but in a position that placed you in more authority. I waited with apprehension, feeling the air cool the liquid on my thighs and the heat of your hands on my hips as you pulled my cheeks further apart. I felt you position the head of your cock at my anus, pushing steadily forward.

I groaned at the sensation. It was better than any plug I had used. The heat from your skin as you carefully slid inside was just as arousing, jolts of pleasurable pain tingling through me and up my spine as you stretched me, the feeling as the head popped in more than I could take. I convulsed, unable to hold back.

You felt it of course. How could you not? But then, you should have expected this, having teased me to this a feverish pitch before stimulating me in such a way. That didn’t stop you from quickly reaching down to pinch my distended nipple, the intense pain quelling the beginnings of my orgasm.

“You do NOT cum until I tell you!”

Oh, you were angry, but it wasn’t something I could help. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood but you released my abused flesh, returning your hand to its position, continuing to sink your cock into my ass until you were fully embedded, my body spasming around you. You stayed like that for a few minutes, savoring the sensation and the knowledge that I had given you the ultimate surrender.

It took all my concentration not to cum right there, just thinking about it.

You started thrusting, keeping your motions shallow and smooth. It didn’t hurt the way I had anticipated; it was pleasurably painful, a combination I had only associated with tormenting my clitoris during periods of high arousal. This was unexpectedly erotic.

Your motions became faster, your thrusts a little harder. Your hands tightened on my waist, pulling me toward you as you increased your pace. I lowered my forehead to the soft surface of the chair, eyes closed as I absorbed all the sensations, my body rocking with each penetration.

I felt overwhelmed, all the colliding waves of sensation washing over me, obliterating conscious thought. It was more than feeling your cock thrusting in my untouched recesses; the knowledge that you were taking me, holding me down as you violated me, which drove me so wild.

I was completely overcome. Looking back, I can only recall small snippets of awareness; the thunking sounds of the chair, your harsh breath in