September 29th, 2011
She tried to blink, but couldn’t. Coming more fully awake, she realized her head was covered in fabric. Tight. It wasn’t a headache, her head was tightly wrapped. Her ears hurt. Not badly, just a mild ache. Static. There were headphones over the wrappings, playing white noise. She tried to move. Nothing. Taking a breath to stem the rising panic, she realized she was at least free to do that, nothing blocked her nose or mouth. Something at least. She focused on breathing for a few moments.
She sent out her conscious the the rest of her body. She was sitting up, arms bound to the arms of a chair, wrist and elbow. Metal chair and legs bound to the legs, ankle and knee. Her head and waist were secured, as well. Naked. Completely naked. She shivered, though it was not cold.
She still felt groggy. What had happened? Where was she? She remembered the club. Out for a night on the town while her partner was away. Business trip. Back on Sunday. Was it Sunday yet? It had been Friday night. Was it only Saturday? She danced and drank with her girlfriends. They mainly ignored the men trying to pick them up. Ladies night out.
There had been one man. Persistent. Dark. Handsome. He’d caught her eye a few times. Sent her a drink. Oh god. What had been in that drink? Had she gone home with him? She remembered him staring at her while she accepted and tipped back the shot. Hot, hungry eyes. She didn’t remember anything after that.
She gasped as a cool breeze passed over her body, mirroring the cold shiver running down her spine. She felt air moving around her, goosebumps covered her arms and legs. Someone was near her. Was it him? What did he want? Why was he doing this?
“Who’s there?” She called into the silence. “What do you want?”
She felt small pads being placed on her body. Two on each breast. Two on each arm. Two on each thigh. Two on each calf. Wires tickled her skin. She tried to turn her head, tried to thrash free, but there was no slack anywhere. Her body started to tingle and she froze. The tingling grew, first in her breasts until she yelped. Then those stayed steady and each limb’s tingling grew, one at a time, until she made a sound of pain, then stopped. Then it all stopped.
She reminded herself to breathe, and the white noise stopped, replaced by a voice.
“Where were you last night?” A computerized voice, loud and harsh.
“At… at the club. Syrens.”
“What did you do there?”
“I danced, and drank with the girls.”
“I… I don’t know. Someone sent me a shot. I don’t know.”
Pain. All of the pads sprang to life at once. Her muscles clenched and she screamed.
“Who sent you the shot?” The pain stopped.
“I… don’t… a man. Tall, dark, black hair, blue eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a red tie.”
“Did you know him?”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. I don’t know. Not before he sent me the drink.”
“What was the drink?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you drink it?”
Pain erupted again. Pulsing this time, making her muscles jerk out of her control, breasts feeling like they were being stabbed.
“You drank something, sent by a stranger, without even knowing what it was?”
“Yes!” She couldn’t help but scream.
The pain surged for a moment and then relented.
“I…” she gasped for breath, terrified of the answer she had to give. “I don’t know. I woke up here.”
Just her legs this time, higher than before. It felt like they were trying to curl into the chair. She clenched her jaw and growled at the pain.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” She grunted.
“Maybe more pain will clear away the fog.”
All the pads sprang to life, in a wave of pain, from her calves up her thighs to her breasts and then out her arms. The pain growing and receding up and down her body. She writhed against the bonds, straining her tortured muscles even more. Her feet did not touch the floor, but curled helplessly in the air. Her hands clenched at nothing, just beyond the arms of the chair. She growled and grunted, screamed and whimpered. She had no idea how long it lasted, almost started counting the waves once, but gave up as pain overwhelmed her. Finally, it stopped.
“Now, what did you do after you drank the shot?”
She gasped for breath, drenched in sweat, shaking with leftover energy. Panicked and still without an answer. She wracked her brain, having been incapable of thought while he tormented her. She saw his eyes, remembered tossing back the shot. It burned. Her head swam.
“I sat down. He came over.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I… I must have. I don’t remember. It was Ladies’ Night. I wasn’t supposed to. I must have.”
“I…” She didn’t want to say she didn’t know, she tried to think, she wondered if he’d know if she was lying. “We danced.” She tried, not sure if it was a lie or not.
Stabbing pain in her breasts, her arms seized. She screamed and it was gone.
“Do not lie to me. What did you do after he came over to talk?”
“I don’t know.” She was shaking and gasping, fear and pain warring for dominance.
The white noise came back in her ears. Her body started tingling. All the way back down to the beginning, all at once, and built slowly up. They did not stop for her screams this time, but kept building until she was thrashing and sobbing as much as her bonds would allow. Then he pulled the pads off, one by one. Starting at the top. Until all were gone. The tension released, only the restraints kept her from sliding to the floor. Tears soaked the fabric around her eyes, her lips moved, but only breath escaped.
Darkness. Static. Nothing.
She regained control of herself. Got her breath and heartbeat back to normal. Calm for just a moment. Still nothing. Panic started bubbling up again. She focused inward, no injury or lasting pain. Outward, she felt no movement, no breezes, nothing. Was he gone? What did he want her to say? She couldn’t remember what had happened. What if that wasn’t good enough? Was he mad she didn’t remember him? Why was he doing this? Her mind spun in useless circles. She had only the vaguest impression of him coming towards her after the drink and then nothing.
“Let’s start again. What time did you go to the club last night?”
“9 o’clock.” Grateful to have a question she could answer.
“Who did you go with?”
“Erika, Sarah, and Heather.”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Two glasses of cider, a cosmo, and that shot.” She shivered a little, hoping she hadn’t had more after the shot, but not knowing.
“When did you leave?”
“I…” Panic. “I don’t know.”
“Who did you leave with?”
“I don’t know.”
Shocking pain ran down her left thigh.
“Not good enough.”
“I don’t. I had the shot. He came towards me. And I don’t know.”
Her right thigh this time, a straight rod delivering high voltage directly to her skin. She squealed.
“Tell me what happened after the shot.”
“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”
She cringed against the chair as the rod delivered shocks across her breasts, right over the nipples, crying out and trying to wrench free.
“You do remember.”
“No, I don’t, I can’t.”
The electricity crackled from her left hand, up her arm, across her collar bone and back down to her right hand. She screamed, then gasped for breath.
She bit her lip. “I…” What could she say?
The rod ran down her chest, over the left nipple, down to her clit and back up again, right nipple not spared. She swore vehemently, but he only did it again, in the opposite direction.
“Such language. Now, tell me what happened.”
“I looked over at him, lifted the shot in a salute, drank it down. It burned my throat, and hit hard. I sat down on my stool and looked back at him. He had gotten up, and was walking towards me.”
“I don’t know!”
He ran the electricity over her arms, chest and legs in big zigzagging motions. She screamed in protest, trying to thrash, or move, or jerk, or anything but sit there perfectly still, except for her hands and feet clenching and curling in the air.
“You do know, you just won’t tell me. This would all end, if you would just tell me what happened next. Don’t you want me to stop?” He zapped her clit.
“Yes, please. I do. But I don’t know. I can’t tell you. I don’t remember.”
He answered with more electricity. Fingertips, toes, one by one. Up the side of her calves, the inside of her thighs, circles around her clit and her nipples. Tell me, echoing in her ears with each shock. She squealed and clenched her fists and fought the urge to curse. He zapped her earlobes and the tip of her nose and she forgot herself, spitting curses until he zapped her lips. She snapped her mouth shut and breathed heavily through her nose, curling her lips inward and licking them.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“No.” She gave up on insisting she couldn’t, he didn’t seem to care.
“Then remember, you could have stopped this.”
Static. Darkness. Cold.
Constant cold air was blowing on her now. But he had stopped hurting her. Stopped asking questions. She wasn’t even sure if he was there anymore. What now? What else was he going to do to her? Why didn’t he believe her? What else could she say? She wracked her brain, trying to pull up more of last night, but there was nothing. A big black hole in her memory. Why hadn’t her friends saved her? Why had they not been there for her? How had they let her end up here? Did they even know what had happened to her? Had they seen her leave? Had they told anyone she was missing? Was anyone looking for her?
“Are you ready?”
“Will you tell me what I want to know?”
“Because I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth. What happened after you drank the shot?”
“He came towards me. And then I don’t know what happened.”
Pinching pain seared through her nipples, causing her to gasp, but this pain didn’t go away, and she started to whimper.
“Tell me the truth.”
More pinching around her nipples.
“Two clothespins for every lie. What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Now there were three on each breast and she was panting and squirming with the pain, tapping her feet in mid-air and clenching her fists.
“He came toward me. He must have sat down. We must have talked. We didn’t dance. But I don’t know.”
Two more, above her nipples. Strong and small. She breathed quickly with the pain, whimpering with every exhale.
“I can’t, you know I can’t. Please, I don’t know.”
Two more at the top of her breasts.
“You can, I know you can.”
“No, please, why are you doing this?”
Two more just below the collarbone.
“Tell me, now. I just want the truth.”
“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”
Ripping pain as he yanked all the clothespins off at once. She drew a sharp breath and then screamed. Shaking, and shivering against the chair.
“Apparently I’m being too nice.”
Cold liquid splashed over her chest, then arms and legs. It smelled like alcohol. He ran a wet cloth over her exposed skin. She shivered harder, terror rising bile into her throat.
“What, please, what… I don’t know what you want. Please…”
“Only the truth. That’s all I’ve ever asked for.”
Stabbing pain in her left breast, sicking sliding under the skin and another burst of pain. A needle, he’d just slid a needle through her skin.
“Oh god, please. Don’t, please.”
“Then tell me.”
Pain in her right breast, she could only focus on the horrible feel of the needle sliding through her skin.
“Tell me the truth.”
“Please, please, please. I don’t.. I.. please, I…”
Pain lower, right above the nipple, slower, sharper.
“Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“I.. please… don’t, I… please.”
The other breast again, right above the nipple, matching sets of fear and pain.
“Tell me what happened after you drank the shot.”
“I don’t know, I woke up here, I must have passed out. I don’t know.”
The needles came out fast and clean. She was crying and shaking as he wiped down her breasts with alcohol. The headphones came off, the wrapping around her head started to unwind. She was dizzy, she didn’t understand. What happened? Light began to assault her eyelids, she cringed away and found she could move her head. The restraints were coming off her arms, then her legs. His body was in front of her lifting her, carrying her, a hood still on her head, but thin. Softness beneath her, a bed. It was darker here and he slid the hood off. Stroking her hair.
“Such a good girl.”
She opened her eyes, startled by her partner’s voice after so long with the computerized one.
“Shhhh. You did so very well.” He wrapped her in his arms and she curled up against his chest, sobbing with relief. “Such a good girl.” He repeated.
“Thank you, Sir.” She whispered, as she fell into an exhausted sleep against him.
“You’re welcome, little one.”
December 30th, 2010
These last few weeks have provided many lessons in Negotiation. First as an observer and then as an active participant. I watched several new people learn their first lessons in trying to fence with him, and in trying to assist one of them, became part of the scene. Bear with me and I’ll tell you all about what I ended up agreeing to do. So, what have I learned?
No wishing for more wishes. This seems simple enough, most of us remember Robin Williams’ genie quoting this to Aladdin. But in the heat of the moment, when you don’t have any better ideas. A blank check, while dangerous, seems simple enough. You must, however, remember to stipulate, that it cannot be cashed in for more blank checks, otherwise, a single scene at his whim becomes many more.
Don’t forget your limits. Not that you might forget your limits such as they are, but always remember to include them in a negotiation. Whether it is telling a new partner what your limits are, or stipulating that the above blank check(s) cannot violate them. It is all well and good to push your limits when you want to, but make sure you want to.
Be specific. At all points of the negotiation, be clear and precise. What are you offering, what are you getting, what are the terms and the rules and the boundaries. “Test me!” might be a fun thing for an excited student to shout, but it behooves one to specify what they want to be tested on. “School girl outfit” can mean different things to different people. “Skirts” come in many different lengths and styles. “Tied together” sounds fun, but do you really want to leave the binding material up to his imagination? Stockings, hose, fishnets, knee-highs, socks all very important distinctions in how much leg is covered or uncovered.
Offer something of value. Different people value different things from different people. Some people value sex. Some people value service. Some people value suffering. Some value the passing of knowledge. Learn what it is that will be of value and find ways to offer it.
Be creative and then be even more creative. Don’t offer things you have already given or things he already has. Offer something new, offer something bigger, offer something more interesting. Start with new and interesting offers, and then push them one step further. And don’t be afraid to make them well rounded – paint the full picture, not just the center of it. Bootblacking is good, but bootblacking while naked and kneeling is better, and bootblacking while naked and kneeling followed by some boot worship is even more interesting.
Don’t let other people negotiate for you. Stay in control of your side of the negotiation. Keep your wits about you and keep your mouth moving. If you want to be happy with what is agreed to, stay actively engaged in the discussion. Stick up for yourself and stand your ground when you have to. You do not have to agree to everything they say, keep seeking compromises that work for both parties. Unless agreements to the contrary are already in place, you can always say no, and most times even then.
Be reasonable and trust the other people in the negotiation. If you have a real problem with something, explain it, trust that they care about you and will listen. (If you don’t trust them or they don’t care about you, well, that’s another entry entirely.) Then, negotiate to find a way to make it work for everyone. Try not to just say no, that is impossible. Look for solutions that benefit everyone. Most problems are only little bumps in the road.
Be flexible and open minded. Understand that everything is not going to go the way you want it to. Understand that your definitions may not be the same as his definitions. Accept that sometimes comfort zones are meant to be left behind, it is how you can grow. I am incredibly curious, sometimes I have to let the curiosity override the fear.
Relax and enjoy it. Negotiation is where you get to learn about the other person. You get to see how their mind works, what they like and don’t like, how they feel, what their state is. You get to know them, and get to share yourself with them. You are not going to get it all right, but you’re not going to get it all wrong,either. But if you’re both/all happy when it is over, then everyone wins. Keep talking until you’re happy.
So, I promised to let you know what I got myself into. A new friend was starting a negotiation with him, and I was offering some advice. When he was presented with that fact, he suggested that since I was trying to help out, perhaps I should join the negotiation. Her fate and mine became intertwined. We spent most of the rest of the night negotiating. When it was all said and done, we had quite the scene lined up:
Three of us, dressed as school girls (clothing was one of the largest parts of the negotiation) – Japanese, American and British, respectively (I hear there may be a chalkboard hung high up on the wall for sentence writing). We may not say no for the entire night (creativity will be flowing). The evening will start with bootblacking, and we will be available at any time for massage. At his leisure, he may put us in the dog cage (with a violet wand kit nearby), or bind us all together (quite possibly with saran wrap, followed by ice and then hot wax). And at some point during the evening, there will be a Japanese song and dance (whaddya mean I have to dance when I’m sober?) in front of an audience of undetermined size (our voluntary third musketeer is joyfully plotting choreography to the song chosen last night).
It shall be a Very interesting evening. I can hardly wait.
What are you thoughts on Negotiation? What traps have you fallen into?
September 30th, 2010
I have had fantasies about someone hiding under my bed and jumping me or catching me coming naked out of the shower since I hit puberty. I don’t go for the full on beat the crap out of me type of fantasy that some people may enjoy. I prefer more mental than physical taking of control. Use of fear instead of violence. The threat to keep me still and compliant, rather than being beaten into submission. I’ve never been one for violence. Yes, I like pain, but for it’s own sake, not for taking of control. It is the mind where control truly lives. When I write or imagine such scenes, the assailant usually has a gun or a knife, some physical representation of potential violence, but they never use it.
The other day Lover and I were playing and he said he was going to force me, but when we got to the bedroom, he ordered my clothes off and I complied for no reason other than he said the word Strip. Then we played and had sex. The only consensual non-consent part of the whole thing were the nipple clamps. Later that night, I was thinking about the willingness taking the power from the scene. The idea of my pants being opened and shoved out of the way, my shirt being pulled up just enough for breast access, is far more a turn on than full nudity. It feels more non-consensual that way, feels more like there is resistance, feels more like being used.
Being used. Why is that a turn on? Why on earth would I want to be used?
It is part of the overarching fantasy of giving up all will and control to someone. Being an object, a tool, a toy for their use and pleasure. The added spike of someone taking that control makes it that much hotter of a fantasy. Sex, for me, is the most intimate act, and therefore, taken without consent, the biggest violation. Therefore, it only works with someone I love and trust, it has to be consensual non-consent to turn me on in reality. It’s a fine line to walk. How do you make non-consent hot when it is consensual?
Creating the scene in the mind. Talking as though it was real. Whispered threats and hints at pushing too far. Role playing it out, creating the roles and fully stepping into them. Allowing for resistance and the taking away of control. The element of surprise can be used as well. Having agreed to the scene, but not the time and place. Choosing an unexpected place, perhaps a place with just a bit of danger of being caught, to heighten everyone’s awareness during the scene. Doing things that are unexpected. Forcing actions that are allowed, but not particularly liked. Agreeing to continue the scene until the top is done, regardless of when the bottom is done unless there is dire need to end the scene early – allowing for emergency Red, but not for Yellow.
July 1st, 2010
A short post today. It’s been a busy week and I have more things still to do.
What turns me on? I’ve posted about my fantasies. I’ve posted about my kinks. But what really turns me on? The simple things. What gets me going?
A deep kiss, full of passion.
The joy in his eyes and the smile on his lips.
A tight grip on my hair, right against the back of my head.
Light sucking and nibbling on my earlobes.
Harsh bites on my neck; inner wrists, elbows and thighs.
Hard pinching of my nipples.
Hard rubbing and sucking on my clit.
Naked bodies pressed together.
Sucking on a cock.
Open hand spanking on my bare ass.
A knife blade on my skin.
The smell of hemp and leather.
Rope holding me tight.
Pain coursing through my body.
Fear rumbling in my chest.
Giving up control, giving up completely.
June 10th, 2010
My current hard limit around public sex is no intercourse with more than two other people present. I don’t do orgies. I don’t do penetrative play at parties. I don’t have sex with an audience. For me, this is about the intimacy of sex. Sexual intercourse is a private thing for me, it’s about a deep love and connection with my partner.
I play in public, at parties, at clubs, in dungeons. I get aroused, I get pushed into sub space, or pain space, I orgasm. And these scenes can be very much about connection and love. They can be very intimate, very personal.
Lately, I’ve been edging towards the line with him. Masturbation and oral while driving down the road, but that felt mostly private and it was a different kind of energy we were creating. Riding his boot in public while wearing a short skirt, with people around – a new edge for me, but not sex.
So, what’s the difference?
Sex, naked and completely vulnerable. Giving everything to each other, sharing everything. It has always involved a deeper level of trust for me. A deeper connection, that I don’t want to share with other people. I want to feel our energy, our connection, not that of other, unconnected people. I have trouble with playing at big parties where the energy of strangers is flowing everywhere, and people interrupt connections. It is even more important to me that sex, and the energy it creates with my partner, be kept private and personal.
May 13th, 2010
With apologies for last week’s post, I was not in the writing frame of mind…
He snapped his fingers with a smile, and my clothes came off. Shirt, shorts, shoes, socks. Piled neatly on the floor near the suspension ring, out of the way. Thirty feet of hemp, doubled up, around my waist three times, knotted and wrapped into a short tail. Sixty more feet, thirty for each leg, from waist to thigh, a small band, and up and down, thigh to waist. A drum tie. Tuck the tails into the wraps, a double coin for style.
I’m going to blindfold you, turn you upside down and spin you around, how does that sound?
Sure, sounds fun.
A carabiner in the crotch, catching all four runs of line. Hoist rope run through pulleys and ring, up I go, only slight pinching as the ‘biner shifts from down to up. Feet straight up, lift until only my fingertips touch the floor, feet below the beam. He sits in front of me, checking in, all is well.
Aren’t you under dressed?
Now you’re screwed.
A blindfold, tied around the head. Spinning and swinging, checking that all is secure.
Now I’m going to go get the stun gun.
Whimper, squirm, gasping for breath. He asks, receives and returns, electricity crackling. I yelp at every snap, louder at the noise than when it touches me. Unable to move, the shots with it flow into me. I squeal at the short bursts, my arms around my head, panting with fright. More spinning and swinging, more zapping and crackling. His voice breaks through again.
I’ll let you down after you do one hundred crunches. Do you understand?
Spinning, spinning, crunching up. Tired quickly and oh so dizzy.
Are you giving up?
Spinning and crunching and counting. The stun gun comes in to help motivate. My arms are numb.
If you pass out, I’ll leave you there.
Oh yeah, and breathing. Breathing and spinning and crunching and zapping.
How many now?
Are you giving up?
Should I get the dragon tail? See which of us can do finish the next 50 first?
More crunches, desperate to finish. Counting down now instead of counting up. People watching, some amused, some sympathetic.
Are you sure?
His arms around me and a table slid beneath me. Some one lifting my ass while he unhooks me from the ring, and down on my back. Gasping and shaking. Finally catch my breath and I feel him nearby.
Dragon tail. Scream. He moves around the table, snapping thighs, belly, breasts. My arms are still up around my head. I flatten out, but rock with each snap. Grabbing at the table for a moment before falling flat again. Legs curling up and back down. Tears come, filling the blindfold.
I straighten my legs, feet out, whimpering, crying. Screaming as he snaps the sole of my foot, curling up and forcing myself to flatten out. Shaking, crying, screaming, writhing.
A different sensation. Slapping my belly and thighs. The screaming stops, I sink into the more solid continuous pain, coming out for a vibrating yell.
More snapping, screaming, crying and then…
Stand up. Move it.
On my feet, blood rushing out of my head.
On your knees.
Down I go, back up, head down, knees spread, palms up. He circles snapping thighs, arms, breasts, long strokes on my back. I arch and squeal, and return to position. Head throbbing, but slowly calming.
He walks away and leaves me to come down. Tears stop, breathing calms, shaking quiets. Sound returns, cool air of the dungeon on my skin. I feel him in front of me. Blindfold is untied. Ordered to my feet, he unties the ropes, handing them up to me.
Can I have my girlfriend back?
Smiles and hemp coils. I take care of the rope, inspecting and coiling, putting it back in the crate. My stomach, reminds me I was abusive to it, spinning upside down. He sends me up for water, I down a few crackers and return. A few glasses later and I’m curled up by his side. All fuzzy and glowing from a spectacular scene.
April 15th, 2010
I often think of this question in terms of the physical. What can he DO to turn me on? This is often the easy answer, the safe answer. It involves the surface of my being. Often it involves involuntary physical reactions. Kissing, licking, sucking, touching, groping – these things are meant to turn us on. Spanking, pinching, biting, paddling, caning, whipping, squeezing, grabbing, holding, restraining – these things turn on a masochist, it is no secret.
But what about mentally,what about my fantasies, what do I think about to get turned on? This is more risky territory. These are things that aren’t straight forward, are more vulnerable and personal. Not that I think my fantasies are unique to me, if you can imagine it, you can find it on the internet, after all. But to offer my thoughts and my mind has always been riskier than offering my body. The hurt when my thoughts are rejected is far higher than when my physical desires are rejected.
So, what are my fantasies? What are my daydreams? What do I think about to get turned on?
School girl. Kidnap victim. Slave girl. Are my top three.
1)School girl. Typical short skirt, white panties, button up top. It always involves getting in trouble and being made to bend over a desk for a spanking or paddling. It then generally devolves into sex on the desk. Sometimes it begins by being caught having sex on school grounds. Sometimes it involves bad grades or incomplete assignments, and trying to trade favors for good grades.
2)Kidnap victim. Blindfold, duct tape, handcuffs, rope, being driven off in the back of a van. Stripped naked, threat of violence for noncompliance. Photos or video taken as blackmail. Forced to pose or perform sexual acts seemingly willingly for the camera.
3)Slave girl. Collar, shackles, little else. Taught to please and serve. Often involves being raised specifically for this purpose and and may start with meeting the one I was raised to serve, or being shown and tested to find a buyer. Occasionally, involves being taken prisoner and forced into slavery for a more rebellious and discipline oriented fantasy.
So, what turns you on?
December 9th, 2009
She knelt on the bearskin rug on the hearth, hands on her thighs, hair falling down around her lowered face. The fire crackled and popped, casting an orange glow over her pale skin. He stood with his hand on the mantle, watching her from behind. He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, run his hands down her back. He needed to touch her, to take her, but he waited. Control. He had to be in control, but the sight of her there, naked and kneeling was driving him crazy.
She had come to him a year ago, a gift from his parents for his eighteenth birthday. A servant girl to entertain a prince. She had knelt to him then, but there had been fire in her eyes and a stubborn slant to her chin. The past year had been a journey for them both, full of joy, sorrow, excitement and conflict. All leading to this day, where she knelt willingly and submissively on the rug, waiting to serve him.
Had it really only been a year?
The hall grew quiet as King Samsen and Queen Sylvia rose from the table. Prince Jayceon returned from the dance floor to stand beside them. At a motion from the King, the guards swung open the doors, and two men entered, flanking a young woman, dressed in an iron collar attached to iron manacles, and a small leather skirt. The men in the crowd murmured and stared. The women eyed her critically. Jayceon bit his lip and looked between her and his parents as she was marched to the front of the room and shoved to her knees.
“Happy birthday, Jayceon.” The King announced. “Since you have not chosen a wife, yet, this one will take care of you until you do.”
Jayceon looked at his mother, she was smiling, but her lips were thin and she glared at the girl. He looked back at her and realized why. She was looking up at them all with undisguised fury. He took a step back and then laughed. The tension in the room broke with his grin.
“What’s your name?”
“Well met, Ciera. Thank you for coming to my birthday party, though you look decidedly unhappy to be here.”
She did not answer, nor did she drop her gaze.
“Perhaps you would be more comfortable waiting elsewhere?” He motioned to her guards who pulled her to her feet and led her back the way they had come.
“She’s a wild one, Jayceon.” The Kind confided. “You’ll enjoy her, I wager.”
“Samsen, she’ll bite his head off rather than serve him, what possessed you to pick such a girl?” The Queen hissed as the room filled with chatter again.
“You worry too much, Sylvia. Our boy can handle that small wisp of a thing.”
Jayceon was sure he could handle her, but wisp was not the word he would have used to describe her. She had perfectly round breasts the size of golden apples. Her belly was smooth and her hips rounded out in delicious curves. Her thighs were solid and her calves well muscled. Her arms were thin and her hands soft and slender. Her long black hair ran down to the small of her back and her skin was pale and creamy. No, not a wisp at all.
“What? Oh? Sorry.” He realized that other people were offering him gifts now, and he tried to focus, smiling, and thanking them each in turn, but the girl filled his mind and he wanted nothing more than to rush back to his rooms to see her.
October 7th, 2009
She felt his hand in her pocket, turning up he dial as she lined up her next shot. Her breath quickened as the little bullet sprang to life in her panties. She barely noticed that her shot went wide and the cue-ball didn’t hit a single thing as she handed off the stick to her partner.
“You missed,” he said, pulling her against his leg, pressing the little vibrator tighter against her clit.
“Umhmm.” She mumbled.
“Stay in control, little one. You have to be ready for me later.” He kissed her tenderly, turning it down just a bit. “Wouldn’t want to distract you from the game.”
“Stop right there. Drop your purse and put your hands on the hood of the car.”
She didn’t turn, there was no need, the voice and the tone were unmistakable. She pulled her purse off her shoulder and let it slip to the ground. Taking a step sideways, she put her hands on the top of the hood. She didn’t bother to ask what she’d done, it hardly mattered at this point.
“Spread your feet apart and then hold still. I’m going to search you.”
He waited for compliance and began to pat her down. She was not surprised when he roughly squeezed her breasts and massaged her ass. Then she felt him kneel down behind her as he made a thorough search of her panties and stockings. As he stood back up, he gave her crotch one last grope that made her gasp softly.
“Hands behind your back, we’re going for a little ride.”
His fingers slipped up the back of her neck and entwined themselves tightly in her hair. He pulled her slowly toward his mouth, feeling a shiver run through her body.
“Behave yourself, little one.” He whispered against her throat. “or I might put you over my knee right here.”
“Master, please, you wouldn’t…” she stiffened and caught a moan behind her teeth as he bit a taut tendon in her neck. “I… I’m sorry, Master. I’ll be good.” She gasped as he release her with a single swat on the ass.
“You better, little one. I’ve always wanted to spank you in public.” He grinned at her shiver and lowered eyes.
She stood blindfolded at the foot of their bed, listening and feeling him moving around her. He slowly stripped away her clothing, running light fingertips over her skin. She smiled and shivered at his touch.
When they were both naked, he slipped behind her. One hand brushed her hair back, away from her right shoulder and then slipped around her waist. His left hand slipped around her shoulders, over her forehead, to catch a nice handful of hair on the top of her head. He pulled her head firmly to the side as he kissed her throat. She squirmed back against him and froze for just an instant as his teeth sank into her neck. Then she moaned with pleasure as he bit deeper and sucked hard on her flesh.
“You’ve been naughty, little one.” He ran his hand over her bare back, bending her over the end of the bed. “You disobeyed your Master.” He dragged the leather slapper over her pale ass cheeks.
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” She shivered at his touch, anticipation of punishment tensing every muscle.
“Too late, little one.” He punctuated this with a sharp slap on her backside.
“Yes, Master,” she gasped, “thank you, Master.”
He stroked the reddened flesh with leather a moment, enjoying watching her squirm. Then he brought it to bear on the other cheek.
“Thank you, Master.” She moaned as he struck her ass again. “Thank you, Master.”
He smiled behind her, watching her ass grow red, enjoying every gasp and groan and Master that came from her lips. “Such a good little naughty slave you are.”
“You have much to learn.” He stood over her kneeling form. “But if you work hard, I think we will both be very happy.”
She nodded silently, unable to pull her eyes from the bag at his feet. It was from their favorite toy shop, and the outline of the sagging plastic clearly showed a collar within. She could barely breathe through her excitement at the prospect of finally earning her collar. So much so that she hardly heard him speaking again.
“…at any time, any place. “ He watched her, knowing it was the bag that had her attention and not his voice. “You will learn to be a proper slave to your Master without losing your self to the role.”
“Yes, Master.” She replied, her mind reengaging at the key words of ‘slave’ and ‘Master.’ “Thank you, Master.”
“Good, my little one, now go get dressed, we’re going out for dinner.” He pulled her to her feet and kissed her tenderly. “I love you.”
August 19th, 2009
Stripped naked and laid out before him. Watching with bright eyes as he stalks his prey. He pounces, grinning, and I smile right back up at him. Knowing what is to come, wanting it, needing it. I wait, but not long, and I am beneath him. Thoughts flying away as his gaze rakes my body. Wrapping ourselves around each other for a kiss before he takes full control.
His weight presses down on me, pinning me to the bed, hips to hips, chest to chest, legs entwined around legs. His hands clamped around my wrists, sometimes holding my head still. Arms pressing my shoulders, holding me below him. I am trapped. Held, not still, but secure. There is no escape from him. From his weight, from his teeth, from his voice, from his cock. And I do not want to be free. I am his to enjoy, to control, to use, and to love.
He holds me tight as his teeth descend upon my nipple. Teasing with tongue or just pouncing with animalistic growl. I squeak and moan and gasp for breath. Delicious pain emanating from a single tiny point. I arch my back, wanting more, even as my nerves scream for me to fight and flee. Some days it leaves me gasping and happy, other days it leaves me yearning for more. Just a little more pain, that was not quite enough. And then he goes for the other one. Sweet torment, twisting the tender one as he bites the fresh eager flesh.
Hands clamp around my head, fingers curling in my hair, I feel his breath on my ear, a soft growl as shivers run down my spine and he snaps his teeth. I want it so badly, I tilt my head towards his mouth, and whimper as his teeth sink in. Gentle at first, I moan softly and squirm against him. Then it become harsher, teeth digging into tender flesh, and I yip and try to turn away. Pain overriding control, especially when he take a bigger bite. I want more, but I cannot hold still, it is so intense.
When he pulls his mouth away, I shiver, the intensity suddenly gone, there is a void that makes me gasp and shake. Just as hard to control as the pain. The yearning for more is almost as intense some days. I fight and twist my head and whimper, but when it stops, I want more. Every snap of his teeth, and growl of his breath and I tilt my ear towards his mouth. Silent begging for what I cannot always voice.
When he counts, while his teeth are deep in flesh, while pain is riding high. It flows free, filling my whole body, with a painful pleasure that only can be soothed by the number Three. Two feels like a string, pulled to breaking point, with a knife rubbing gently on the last few fibers. My mind screaming for the knife to stop, to wait, just a moment longer.
Then everything melts. His voice, with simple numbers, giving me a focus, a direction, a place to send all that built up energy and pleasure. And with Three, or a kiss, it rushes through me, taking all the pain and all the pleasure, every bit of tightly controlled energy and explodes leaving me breathless. Again and again. Until I do not think I have any energy left to spend. Then he counts one more time, and just the energy of his voice, of our connection, is more than enough to ride another wave of pleasure, just for him.