All my psychobabble fellow students always do their own modest sort of personality profile on me and my sexuality and always find me to be submissive, in sexual deed and perception. I can't contest it as in every day and in every way I find myself filed away under the big black "S".
I've nurtured this tendency within myself to the point where I feel I've found my one true sensual calling: being someone else's.
My skin crawls with tingles when I imagine my wrists being bound above me and the length of rope trailing from them is attached to a hook above me. I'm pulled taut up like a bow by the tension of the rope so that my feet can barely touch the floor, save for the balls of my feet.
I can feel the softness of a length of fabric tied over my eyes and I can hear the jangle of rolling buckles clanging as a bit harness is secured between my teeth and around my head. My teeth bite down to test the strength of the bit and they find it sufficient to keep my wailing at bay.
I flinch as my clothes are ripped from my body, revealing my skin down to my bra and panties. I hear hushed and hurried voices in the corner of the room and more sounds of instruments being fetched. My body tenses and I let a small stream of tears from my eyes in anticipation of what’s to come. A warm hand trails down my breast bone to the band of my panties, tickling me but also making me painfully aware of how incapacitated I am. A deep voice comes close to the soft shell of my ear.
"I'm going to make you blush all over your body and when this is through, you'll be an exhausted heap lying on this cold cement floor begging to be Mastered still."
A shiver runs through my body at his words and I feel that all too familiar rush of heat and moisture inside of me. I whimper in response but the only consolation I receive is a soft rap on my bitted mouth by the tip of a crop.
In my mind a tidal wave of emotions flood: pleasure, pain, fear, anticipation, vulnerability, chill, heat. They all contradict and fuel one another as they parade around my cortex, taking me out of the moment for the time being.
A heated blow to the thigh awakens me to my present situation: my breath catches and my body recoils, dangerously upsetting my hold to the ground. I struggle to keep attached to the floor while I know he watches on, entertained. He speaks up:
"I said: How do you like a little slap and tickle?"
I struggle with communication abilities until he interrupts with a solution,
"Moan once for yes and moan twice for no."
I moan once after much trepidation. His laughter pounds through my ears,
"Ask and you shall receive."
I whimper and furrow my brow; I always did have too big of a mouth around my Sirs.
His walks a slow circle around me to intimidate me and to confuse my sense of location. I can hear his breathing and I can sense how his libido is firing up like a great kiln of perversion. The first smack to my flesh hits the back of my knee, a reminder of my totally exposed expanse of skin. He could beat me black and blue all over my body if he wanted; my body is his to poke prod and manipulate and I put myself here to be his.
After ten quick pops of the crop all over my body I’m softly weeping, small tears escaping from time to time. He pulls the strap on my bit to bring my face up to his; even stretched out like this he still towers over me like a great sentinel in the darkness. The heat of his speech reclaims my senses,
"Do you regret your pledge to be under my whip?"
I moan twice quickly.
"Do you feel like you’re ready to dive more deeply?"
I moan once with great determination. My limit hasn’t even been touched, why stop now?
>He moves away to his tool box and I hear the semblance of something metallic and automatically become extremely intimidated. When he's close enough so that I can hear his breathing, he scrapes my skin with the flat side of a very powerful knife, I whimper and try to pull away but he hushes me in a very expeditious fashion.
Pulling the hip portion of my panties taut, he slices through them with the knife and follows suit with the other side. He pulls the center of my bra taut and slices it too with hardly any effort. I can feel the shells of the cups fall away and feel the tug as he cuts the shoulder straps as well, pulling the whole garment off and away in one fell swoop.
The cool air on my nipples perks them immediately, the chill coursing through all of me. I’m hardy adjusted to my nudity when I feel the soft stroke of seemingly a thousand strips of softness touch my tummy and trail up between and over my breasts; a flogger.
I wiggle to try and avoid its reach when I realize its only provoking his sadistic side. I whimper as he lightly swings the flogger over my bottom; the sting is just a whisper of what it will be. I’m protesting behind my bit and rubbing the side of my face against my upper arm to calm myself. I’m working my way into my own early levels of sub space; my acceptance doesn’t come easily and when it does, it comes only after much near-hysteria and lead-in.
He isn't amused as he hasn’t even begun and he intends to show me my place by swinging the flogger hard onto my bottom, forcing me to reclaim my standing position after nearly losing my balance. I can feel the tears starting to rampage right behind my eyes and know that with only a few more well timed swings I'll be a sobbing mess.
He calls out my name as he lands a hard swing on my rib cage just under my breasts, some stray lengths of leather catching the soft flesh underneath my breasts. His voice clears and resounds,
"Why do you submit? Is it because you have no choice or because you have the option to choose? One for the first and two for the second, please."
He smacks me yet again, this time full across my upper thighs, he leaves much time between smacks for me to process the sensation.
I think for but a moment before moaning twice. His voice is thoughtful now,
"Oh I see, you’re a slut by choice and a submissive by compulsion then."
He doesn’t ask me to respond but instead hits me with two closely measured blows to my breasts, making me moan and curl my toes, a wail at last issuing from behind my bit. He takes my upper arm in hand and spins me slowly as he beats first my tummy and then my bottom with two severe swings. I’m sobbing and pleading wordlessly and I can feel his tension building from where I hang.
He strokes the full length of my back with three to four swings of the flogger, the wispy sting just barely grazing my bottom. I let my head hang forward and begin breathing heavily, my teeth chomping on the bit rhythmically. He isn’t going to give me time to absorb these blows; these blows are for him and his delight and for my pain and my struggle. I cant blame him for indulging himself to my pain though, as this is what I’m here for.
Just as I’m starting to feel the strain of my own weight pulling painfully on my arms he blinds me with semi soft yet strategically placed smacks all over my uppers arms and over my armpits. I make a harsh intake of breath and bring my head to an upright position.
He goes behind me and its a religious experience as he begins to lap uncounted blows up and down and back and forth over my back. I scream and pant, my expressions slightly muffled by the bit in my mouth and my pain greatly enhanced by the darkness my eyes are privy to.
I can feel something akin to mist clinging to the well punished skin on my back when I realize he's broken the skin ever so slightly all over. He stands back to admire his work as I begin to feel little droplets of moisture sliding down my spine.
I’m moaning and pleading uncontrollably by now, my mind having slipped into a colorful and orgiastic space, my sub-space. Imagine being on drugs and falling off a cliff into a huge vat of feathers and you'll get what I feel when I've been properly taken down a notch by a whip or a flogger.
My lungs are having a hard time collecting enough air as my arms have been secured over my head by tight ropes for nearly an hour and upon realizing this, my Sir begins to take me down slowly, not by untying my wrists but by lowering me slowly to the ground where I eventually just let my body lie down where it wants to. My relief compounds into serenity as he picks me up and lies me on a soft surface, not minding my lightly bleeding wounds being compressed beneath me.
He slowly unties my wrists with care and then once I’m free, he lightly massages my hands until all the blood-flow returns before once again securing my wrists, this time apart and to the sides of the small table I'm lying on. He coaxes my tired legs up into a bent position close to my body and secures my ankles as well. I breathe methodically as he pulls me further down the table, until my legs are wide open and my bottom is nearly falling off the edge of the table.
He suddenly flicks a thin cane near my left ear, startling me and forcing a new barrage of tears to flood from my eyes. He strokes my tummy with the tip of the cane, lightly snapping the brutal tip against both of my nipples. I'm shocked into guttural screams behind my bit when he smacks down the cane on my inner thigh, my body jumping in spite of itself. I pant and chew at the bit yet again, to try and hold back my cries of pain and disapproval.
My abused skin feels as if its not part of my body, but rather a bit out in space and taking the repeated punishment of the snaps of the cane.
I feel shame as I feel the slickness of my kitten sliding out of me and dripping to the floor; I swear I can almost hear it and when he strokes my innermost core with the tip of the cane cloyingly I try to pull back, fearing pain and punishment is going to be directed there too. His voice is a shock to me suddenly,
"Petite, do you think I'll beat our cunt as well? Do you think me so wicked and merciless?"
I remain silent but instead do nothing to stop the flow of my tears soaking the blindfold. Sobs rack my chest and he clicks his tongue softly as he comes over to my side where he can speak to me more intimately. I feel sudden panic when he begins to loosen the blindfold, fearing my humiliation at his discovery of all of my crying.
His hands are soft and comforting when he touches my face, soothing my worries. He bends over my face to place a kiss on my forehead before reaching behind my head to loosen the bit and eventually take it off. I stretch my mouth and lick my lips as I look shyly up at him. I shiver suddenly and uncontrollably as he stares at me.
When he walks back over the foot of the table I'm stunned, as I am too when he lowers himself, lining up his face with my dripping feminine orifice. His tongue is shock and heat and release all in one orgiastic moment. I cry out when his tongue etches trails in my wetness and when I can feel him gently prodding my clit. I whimper and say "Sir" over and over and over again. His face is soft against my inner thighs as his mouth works on me and I wish suddenly I could reach out to him and run my hands trough his hair, be closer to him; but this is what he wants, this distance, this act of pleasure after my punishment. The affection will come later.
I beg him to let me come for him,
"Please Sir, let me come for you. Please let me...for you. For you....for you."
My words become unintelligible moans as my head thrashes back and forth, my teeth biting down hard on my lips and hand hands clawing at the rope of my restraints. Suddenly his head pops up and he speaks softly to me, his lips and chin glistening with my produced amorous flow.
"You can come after you count to ten and once you reach it, I want you to yell it out and come as you do."
I get nervous in situations like these because times before I've been told to come on command and I just couldn’t do it; its about a fifty/fifty situation and it always makes me feel horribly disobedient when I can't reach it.
I begin to calmly and slowly count to ten in my mind, the numbers sliding softly through my brain as I reach them. My body is like a bucking wild animal by this time, while my mind is the most controlled item in my possession. When eight comes bubbling up my anxiety increases. Nine now, preparing for ten.
"TEN!" I scream out, my lungs exploding as my body seems to dies and be reborn within the instant I realize it has submitted to his will and has given me a star-filled and ecstatic orgasm.
My head lulls from side to side as I come to from my seeming coma. He strokes my cheeks softly now, his face above mine, my scent clinging to his face and enveloping me.
I let some huge breaths escape my as I recover; he is a permanent shadow above me, the only audience to my pounding existence.
I forget who I am as he unties me, throws me over his shoulder and carries me out of the room.
I have no idea where I'm going but I know whatever it is, I know I'll try and please him. I am his.
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So after all my doom and gloom lately, I thought I'd post something a little more creative. How did you like it? My fiction it seems, can be as good as my reality.
