(this was inspired by reading Will’s story here Saturday night just before bed…)
He instructs you to hold your hands behind your back.
“No,” he gently re-positions your arms, so that your left hand cups towards your right elbow, and the opposite for your other hand. You can’t reach your elbow, but it doesn’t matter to him, at least for now.
He binds them, round and round with an ace bandage. There is room to wiggle fingers, but not move your arms out of position.
There is the warmth of his hands on you, slowly lost as the elastic wraps replace the feeling of skin on skin. You find yourself missing that touch, despite his solid mass behind you.
For a moment, you envision him fucking you this way, just your arms secured, your body his to use as he pleases. You imagine the feel of his hands on your ass, spreading you, to make your innermost secret places open for him.
But that is not his lesson for you this day.
He comes around in front of you, admiring the way your tits are raised now, back slightly arched with the pull of your bound arms.
“An offering,” he murmurs quietly as you take a breath, lifting your breasts to him.
You smile, that little submissive woman smile, knowing you are teasing him. When his hands take your tits, you wonder if it was because of your guile…or his agenda.
“A for arms, bound in my pleasure,” he says, “and B is breasts. Yours are bountiful, ripe for pain.”
His fingers close, vise-like on your tender flesh, and you moan, rising up to your toes.
“B is also for butt, and yours is a delight for spanking and fucking, but not just now,” he says, releasing your breasts and swatting you firmly on your ass.
He takes a box from the nightstand, opening it, and gathering the contents in one hand.
He fastens the first elastic band up and over your breast, pushing it up against your chest wall, then adds another. More are added until he is satisfied with the look, the feel of the rows of bands tightening your tit.
He replaces the bands in his hands into the box, and puts it away.
“Today, slut, B is not for balance; just one tit for torture. I know how much you dislike that, unbalanced pain…” and he smiles at you.
You feel the one tit, captured and contained, begin to swell with captured blood, and looking down, can see it begin to purple with it.
“C,” He says, turning to cross the room, “is for Cane.” He opens his closet, and removes the one with the slender canes…there are nine of them, you know, you’ve counted. The handle is leather-wrapped, intricately braided so no cane will come loose. You watched him create it, admiring his hands doing such careful work. You have felt the impact of them on your ass many times, and they bite like a horror with every stroke.
It makes you sodden just to see it in his hand.
He crosses to you, tipping your chin up with the handle, and kisses you softly on your slightly open mouth. He bids your lips to caress the length of the canes, then he steps away and swats your swollen breast.
Ah! the stroke is sharp; coupled with the sensitivity of the swelling it is brilliantly painful.
He is careful to swat all around your tit, inside, outside, bottom, top, while avoiding your swollen nipple. The inside of your cheek is tender from biting back your cries. Why you hold back, is hard to say. As if you are keeping secrets from him.
You know he won’t allow it.
Once more he swats around your tit, and you see the welts rising through the swollen flesh of your breast. Harder now, the third time around his strokes land with thwacky thuds, and the welts begin to purple with bruises.
A tear races down your face to drip onto your chest. The banding stops it from coursing down your tit. His finger raises your chin again. His eyebrow is cocked. You know what he wants.
Deny it at your own peril.
His free hand drops between your legs.
“C is also for clit,” and he rubs that swollen nubbin making you cry out. He is not gentle, rolling his thumb and forefinger around that protruding flesh, then pulling and tugging at it.
Your knees shake.
He wants to taste it. You feel his hunger burn into you as his gaze stays locked with yours. Your tit throbs in harsh beats, your hips thrust towards his, yet your mouth is silent.
His hand moves, lightning fast from your chin. Clasping your nape, hair caught and coiled about his grasping fingers, he tugs your head back.
And his fingers slam up, into your cunt. He holds you by your hair; your legs are shaking with the harsh rill of pleasure pouring over you, through you.
“Hurt me, hurt me,” you gasp into his mouth as he possesses you.
Fingers pounding into your cunt, his thumb curves up to flick at your clit. He pushes you against the wall, his body pressing against your sore tit, his cock a hard lump enclosed in denim pressing against your hip as he pulls your orgasm out with his hand.
His rumbling laugh fills your head as he takes your mouth with his, hard; as if he is sucking your pain and submission through your tongue, up from your belly. His tongue fucks your mouth as his fingers fuck your cunt, and you feel the swelling of yet another orgasm begin to crash through you.
Your keening cry pours into him, as you scream into his mouth. You feel his hand pull out from your clenching pussy, yet in seconds, it is full again, with his cock.
You never heard his zipper over the sound of your sex cries.
His hands gather at your hips, pulling you forward, hard into his thrusts. His cock curves up into your belly, its hard heat pushing through the still clenching walls.
He fucks through your orgasm, his hairy belly rubbing hard against your clit. He is fully buried in you, and he stays there, unmoving, his shaft throbbing deep inside of you.
Your cunt echoes that beat.
His hips shimmy, left, right, rubbing your swollen clit and your legs buckle, pushing his cock deeper, ever deeper into your hole. He shoves you hard against the wall, driving forward without withdrawing, grinding his belly into yours as he growls into your ear.
Withdrawing at last, you know he will return with force. His hunger is a palpable thing, a wolf stalking around the room sniffing for cunt.
He spears up inside you, your pussy lips mashing under the force of the thrust; his hands grab and squeeze your tits, the swollen, banded one, and the unmarked one.
Your head falls back, cracking against the wall, but you don’t feel it. You feel hands on your tits, and a cock inside you, attempting to pierce your womb.
Pain, lust conjoin and you explode again, your body squeeezing along his length, your juices flowing wetly in invitation.
Take, give, your pussy says.
He explodes, you feel the wracking tremors as his tight balls squeeze juice up into you.
Your head falls forward to his shoulder.
Gasping breaths, slowing at last to quiet. Heartbeats quiet, their racing wildness tamed. Wet flesh, sweat and sex juice, goosebumps as bodies cool. And leaning there against the wall, his body pressing against you, you speak.
“D is for dunce,” you whisper, “….please, Master, show me again…”