I ache all over. As I kneel on the floor with my rump pressing into my heels, I can feel bruises building on my skin from the beating you gave me earlier. I shift slightly to minimise the press on my arse, and ripples of heat run from my buttocks up my back. I know that if I could see, there would be red weals from the cane, and thick marks from the paddle you wielded so mercilessly.
My hands are tied low behind my back, and the hemp holding them rasps gently across my lower spine. They, too, set off the heat, and I am well aware that there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I love the feeling, and hate it as well, for there is no respite from the touch of the hemp, or the press of my heels.
But the infliction of pain has ended. Instead I kneel in front of you as you sit on the edge of the bed, my shoulders back and my head lowered. My ripped and torn clothes are discarded off to the side, and I can see the shredded fabric out of the corner of my eye. I smile a little, remembering how when I arrived you crushed my mouth to yours, took my hand and dragged me to the bedroom, and then threw me on the bed.
“Do you value your skin, Dee? Then don’t move.” You chuckled wickedly and then took your leatherman from your pocket, clicking it open. My eyes widened and my breath quickened as you straddled me, holding my legs in place.
“Put your arms behind your head.” Deliberately, you slid the knife up under the seam of my t-shirt, cutting it through from bottom to top and ending just below the flesh on my collarbone. Parting the material, you then pressed the flat of the knife on my belly, and carefully flicked it up under the centre of my bra. I stopped breathing entirely, and then, as you lifted the knife again and my bra fell loose, took a deep breath.
My trousers and knickers came off much the same way, but I was losing myself to sub-space even as that happened, and I cannot remember the details.
Back in the present, I lean forward a little and press my cheek against your knee. You stroke my hair. “That’s my good girl,” you murmur, and I glow at the praise from you.
Your hands in my hair tighten and start to pull. I look up, my eyes asking permission, but when you don’t move except to pull my hair tighter, I realise that you want me to ask verbally.
“I want to taste you,” I growl up at you. “Please, can I suck your cock?” You know how much I love it, and that this is a reward, a treat for me. You pull my head toward your groin, and I take it as permission.
I start with your balls. Sweet musk and soft flesh is under my nose as I nuzzle and gently lick. I am slightly off-balance with my hands tied, and I lean my shoulder against your knee to keep from slipping. Your hands continue to hold and pull on my hair, adding another measure of stability.
As always, you taste delicious to me. I inhale the aroma of you, taking your balls whole and laving them each with my tongue. My teeth grasp ever-so-gently, but never enough to bite. I pause and look up at you, watch the expression on your face as I slide my mouth from balls to the base of your cock, and then lick my way to the tip. Your eyes are half-closed, mouth lax as you continue to tighten and loosen your hand in my hair, kneading like a cat.
Such a lovely cock you have! Solid and chunky, it fills my mouth as I slide down, my tongue drawing a path. I trace the mapping of your veins, and slide around the spongy top, flickering across and back and feeling your knee shudder under my shoulder.
I lose myself, love your cock and balls, forget that I am aching and bruised, and that my knees are sore on the hard floor. I care nothing for those pains, only for the moment – hot cock and hands pulling my hair tight and your knees pressing tight and holding me in place.
Then your hands grip harder, and you pull my hair, and me, up and away from your groin. I pout a little, but you grasp my shoulders and pull me higher, off my knees and into a hug.
You breathe into my ear, “That’s enough for now, my good girl.” A kiss, then you say more. “You didn’t think we were done with the pain, did you?”
My breath catches again, and I grin delightedly as you point over at the bedside table, and the hat-pin resting there.
A conversation earlier this afternoon…
Adonis: Before you get “Dee time”, you must write up your fantasy in it’s entirety and post it on your blog.
Adonis: And you’re not to get out of it by not having “Dee time”.
Dee: and this must be achieved before I go out this evening?
Adonis: oh yes!
Dee: blushes and feels hot Thank you, sweetheart.
Adonis: as I doubt you’ll have time later.
Dee: That’s very true.
Adonis: you will also send me an email once it’s uploaded.
Dee: smiles Yes sir
Adonis: That’s my good, big girl!