Hired! ~10~

y’all have stuck with this for 9 chapters without ANY sex. That’s over 10,000 words, you guys!  I’m so happy that you’re reading, and commenting and loving this tale. You’re wait is about to be over…. ~n~ oh…and today is my birthday…but I’m giving you all the gift! Enjoy!

 

The room was designed to look like the interior of an old barn, all wood beams, studs, and rustic boards. Around the room were alcoves, formed by thicker beams. They weren’t private, but they were intimate, she thought. Eyeing the heavy iron rings, nails, and hooks, she licked her lips. He watched her take in the great space, feeling himself harden when that wily tongue slipped over her shapely mouth. He could see the need within her, feel her fascination with the variety of straps and chains which hung near each station. He led her to one niche, pushing her against the wall. The heat of his body settled against her ass. She wiggled against him, smiling to herself. His hand, still holding her tie-wrapped wrists, pulled them up over her head. Hanging in this particular space were a pair of heavy cuffs, hung on a length of chain. Pausing a moment, he felt her bum press hard into his groin and wiggled.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered into her hair, slapping her bum.

“Me?” she said, her voice a husky tease as she looked over her shoulder at him. “I was just warming up.”

“Indeed,” he said wryly. She had certainly warmed up parts of his anatomy. Now it was time to return the favor. He slipped each wrist into a cuff, sliding away his tie. He looped it around her throat, the ends trailing down her back.  Pressing forward, he squashed her against the roughness of the wall, centering his shaft on her buttcrack, and moved suggestively along that welcoming valley.  When she moaned, he took a step back. Time to dance, he thought.

He lifted her chin, serious now.

“Yes? Or no?”

She gazed at him a moment, looking into his eyes, then at his mouth, before returning to his eyes. Smiling slightly, her lips parted.

“Yes.”

He nodded, accepting her acquiescence.

“Safe-word?”

She’d pondered that, actually. She couldn’t use “red”…that had been her safeword with Alex, and it conjured up too many hard memories.

“Ouch?” she said at last, grinning cheekily.

“Oh, I think you’ll be saying that far to often for that to be a good choice. Besides, with that “ouch” comes the pleasure. Would you deny yourself that?”

He made a good point, damn him. It was interesting seeing the Dom-mode begin to suffuse him. There’d been flashes, to be sure, but this was way more intense. He wasn’t scary-Dom, but he was…

Something.

More primal, perhaps. Eyes sharp and keen. It was body language and a way he had of engaging visually.

“I see the wheels turning again, Ms. Bobblehead.”

“Oh, right, safe-word. Uhm…” she paused, and he wondered what was coming out of that cheeky mouth next. Her eyes were dancing.

“What about asshole?”

He grinned, shook his head.

“You’re a smartass to the core, aren’t you? No. A word you’ll remember.”

“Oh, I have no problem remembering to call you an asshole,” she said sweetly. “I already have, many times.”

“You may want to remember your position here, little girl. You’re rather…vulnerable… just now, yes?”

She thought he might smack her ass then, give her a taste of what she needed. Her mouth formed into a round () of surprise at his next move.

He reached out then, and firmly tugged down the top of her dress. Her tits popped free, bobbing back and forth as if to entice his touch. He gave a quick slap to the top of each, making her gasp. He slapped at the sides, but couldn’t get a good angle. She was too close to the wall for him to get a good swing going. Moving behind her, he tugged her hips back, forcing her to bend. Her tits swung in the air. He reached for something, she couldn’t see from the angle, but the slap of a crop against the underside of her breast was familiar, and painful. There was no sound for some minutes as he beat her tits, top, sides, bottom. When he paused, she was breathing heavily.

“Was there a word, miss?”

She shuddered a deep breath into her lungs, her tits blazing fire. For a long moment she couldn’t even remember her name let alone a word. A word. A safe-word. Right. She thought she might cum right then and there. A quick slap of the crop on her nipple made her gasp.

“Mercy!.” She yelped out the word.

“Good choice,” he said, then returned to slapping at her tits. He alternated using the crop and his hands in equal measure. She thought she would scream with the hurt, but the pleasure of it held her silent other than moans and gasps. Finally, when she thought she was going to have to cry her safe-word, he stopped. How these Tops knew the breaking point was a mystery to her.

“Good girl,” he crooned, rubbing her aching breasts, his crotch coming to rest hard against her ass. And she could feel him. Feel the rock hard jut of his cock against her rear. She was salivating at the thought of that hardness sliding between her thighs and soothing the fire he’d managed to light in her pussy.

His hands slid down her sides, then hooked into the hem of the bandage dress. Lifting it slowly, she wanted to scream ‘hurry, please, touch me’, but held onto herself. Gawd, but he was taking his time, his fingers sliding over her round belly, trailing along the curve of her hips, the tops of her thighs.

“Please,” she moaned, pressing herself back against him.

“You know,” he said conversationally,  “I think this is the most pleasant you’ve ever been to me! Even saying ‘please’. It’s very out of character, you know.”

A long moan escaped as his hands teased up her inner thigh, stopping just short of where she most needed to be touched.

“Are you becoming a greedy slut?” he asked, his tone deepening. He could smell her arousal, feel the heat in her groin. His fingers moved an inch closer. She was quivering, her ass pushing out hard against him.

“Oh, please,” she whimpered.

His hands lifted, cupping her tits and flicking the nipples with his thumbs. He was holding her hard against him, his fingers kneading the tender flesh, constantly fluttering over her erect nips.

“Be right back,” he said cheerily, and stepped away.

He could hear her groan from across the room, and he smiled broadly. She heard him approach, hope blooming.

“Oh, by the way,  could you hold this for me until I come back?”

He slid the crop handle between her thighs, lifting it tight against her pussy. She ground down on it, rubbing her clit, moaning as he snugged it close. OH gawd, so close,she thought, trying to move to the best position.

He lowered the crop to mid-thigh.

“That’s better. Don’t want you leaking all over that,” he said. And he laughed. The asshole.

“Oh, and KittyCat? Don’t drop it. You won’t want to find out what happens if you do.”

The sound of his footsteps moving away made her want to scream. She wanted to shift position, to rub herself on something, anything. But if she moved, she’d drop the crop.  And his warning had been delivered in full-on Dom voice. Which made dropping the damn thing all the more tempting. The devious bastard!

 

*****************************************

 

 

 

Tighter

the slap on her tit made her jolt. being blindfolded left her unaware until he hurt her. the pain was intense, the ropes biting hard into her soft flesh. couldn’t see the color of them, though she imagined them turning blue as she’d seen on so many porn pics.

oW! she yelped, knowing the cane by the thin burn of pain.

fUCK! she tried to move a few dancing steps back, away, but he’d tied her from above so she could only move a little bit left or right, back or forth. the crack of the thin wooden rod upon her nipple burned like hellfire.

his steps moved around her, she knew he walked hard so she could fear, anticipate, sweat.

SWAT!

SWAT!  her ass was burning from the two crossed swishes, she felt the X blaze across her butt. Bastard! Asshole!

words begged to be uttered, lips wisely held them back

SMACK! upon her tender nipple, swollen and rigid from the ropes binding her large tits, making them swell to rigid, fat orbs of purple, slut-grapes taking pain.

she whinnied with the pain, like a horse with a burr under its saddle blanket, bucking and writhing and seeking escape. the safeword slid across her tongue, knocked upon her teeth for release,

but she swallowed it away instead.

ScREAmED him for a right BASTARD as he tapped the stick again on her tender nipple. she felt the bruise rising, long straight highways of purple rising against the swollen purple of her tit.

his fist in her hair, pulling her head back, growling into her blinded face

a bastard am I? am I? 

her nod as he held her hair, cried as he laughed, and agreed.

releasing her to swing and dangle, a blue-titted bird, a human wind chime, a snotty-faced creature with head bowed.

legs, shoulders, ass, pussy, all stroked with his lashing. cool tender hands tracing along her aching flesh.

wiping the juice from her thighs, her lips suckling his fingers clean, tasting herself, moaning.

his fingers made quick work of her next release.

jerking on her rope, she came, came, came

Dr. Strangeguy~Unfeeling (part 1)

“Tell me, little girl, why are you here?”

“Well, uhm…”

“Now, now, none of that temporizing. I’ve been on the edge of retirement, yet your call brought us here to my office today. Speak.”

“It’s gone. I-I’m afraid I …lost it.”

Her head hung low, her long red hair hiding her face. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. In her sandal-clad feet, even her toes, painted a brilliant purple to match the lone streak in her hair, curled tight. His finger, bent from his years, caught her chin and lifted her face.

Concern was clear on his face. The sharp eyes seemed to peer into her.

“It’s time to breathe, time to tell me all.”

“I…”

Her eyes fluttered downward, looking at his feet. He’d never professionally dressed for these sessions. Part of her thought it might be to comfort his patients, who came from the hinterlands of Maine. Part of her was certain he had way too much “don’t giveafuck” to even notice what he dragged on each morning. The incongruity of his nobbly toes peaking out from ancient birkenstocks made a small smile flit across her mouth.

“Here. Look at me.”

There, that was the tone that she could never resist. The firm command of a Dom–whether he was a doctor or a landscaper–always made her obedient. Her blue eyes rose to his; nerves made butterflies dance in her belly.

“It’s…hard for me to talk about this with you staring into me,” she whispered.

He grinned. Her body clenched for a moment. A smiling Dom, even one who was not acknowledging himself as one, always made those areas of her body waken. This, this was why she drove so far to see Dr. Strangeguy. It never failed to help her slough off the stupor of her ‘regular’ life.

“Continue,” he said, his tone firm. She nearly rolled her eyes at that order–what therapist demanded words? Weren’t they supposed to be content to let people move through things at their own pace?

“I…have…been…stifled lately. For a long time all my stories had left me. And now, now I can feel them there, under my skin. But I don’t have a way to let them out.”

“I see,” he said, his finger still firmly under her chin. She felt a tiny loss  when he moved away. The heat from even that slight touch burned neatly in a fingertip sized circle on her skin.

He moved away, behind her, then passed in front of her again.

“Do you do your laundry every day?”

She blinked. What?

“What?” she said, echoing the confusion in her head.

“Do you wash your dishes, take out your trash, mow your yard, go to work?”

“Well…well, of course I do,” she replied, bemused.

“So you are making time for all these other parts of you, but ignoring this other, equally essential part?”

“Well…” she said, then paused.

She shook her head, frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her until he spelled it out that way.

“I guess…I am.” Her frown deepened.

“Sit.”  He shoved her, hard, one large hand pressed between her breasts. Falling back into the chair, she was too stunned to protest.  “Stay,” he said, moving deeper into the office.

Sit. Stay. Was she a fucking dog now? A protest rose to her lips, yet when she opened them to speak, a hard rubber ball slipped inside.

“Waaagh,” she tried to forestall him around the ball gag.

“No, no more waiting for what it is you really need, slut. You are a slut, as you have acknowledged here before. You pay me to help you. Sit, stay, and be a good girl.”

A blindfold slipped over her eyes. There was almost silence in the room, though she strained to hear. Rough rope wrapped around her left wrist, securing her arm to the chair. Her lips moved, though to protest or moan she wasn’t certain. She felt the hot splat of saliva on her left breast, soaking into her blouse and bra. There was a tremor in her belly now as her right wrist was also secured.

“I’ve thought about your problem. It’s time. Specifically, time management. To slow down time, we’ll keep that blindfold on.”

A rough hand rested briefly on the top of her head.

“Your other issue is touch. Staying in touch with all the parts of you. If part of you ceases to function, it puts a stress on the rest of you. I see the tension in your body as you sit there. Some of that is nerves–that’s good. But some of that is because you’re out of practice, out of touch, with who you really are.”

He paused and she heard him moving around the room again.

“We can cure that easily enough. You’ve paid for a multiple hour session. And a long session is exactly what you need. And what you’ll get.”

She felt the rope loosening from her wrists.

“Stand,” he spoke curtly.

She stood.

“Remove your clothing.”

“Wha?” she spoke wetly around the ball gag.

A hard swat on her ass make her squeak, jolting.

“Naked. Now.”

She obeyed, shivering at the knowledge that he was now looking at her. A Dom doctor with a naked patient. He walked around her. She felt the brush of air on her back, her butt, her nipples as he moved. Another quick shiver ran down her shoulders. Her nipples tightened. She felt vulnerable, exposed.

Excited.

Still, he didn’t touch her. Moved away from her, in fact, across the room where she couldn’t hear clearly. The gag in her mouth made her drool, and she felt the splatter of it on her chest. Ugh.

“I believe we shall start with this, my dear,” he said from behind her. She felt the roughness, felt his hands–how had she thought them too gnarled?–run nimbly around her back, crossing the rope, pulling it tightly around her chest, cross again on her back. He stepped to the front of her and began to wrap one tit. It tingled. It hurt gently. It was delicious. He wrapped the other tit, then continued to carry the rope up around her back. Her arms were now bound behind her, her tits thrust up and out. She wished she could see, they felt amazing.

Hearing the sound of the seat confused her. What was he doing? Sitting there?  Looking at her? She stood, shifting from one foot to the other. Nervous. Her tits began to ache. As suddenly as they felt good, they began to throb. She moaned.

“There we go. Now you’re ready.”

The first strike of the cane against her nipple made her yelp. But she quickly lost count of the tap-rap-tapping against one breast, then the other. It hurt. It throbbed. She yelped often, especially when he struck across her engorged nipples.

“If you think it hurts now, just wait until the clamps go on,” he whispered into her ear. “Oh, by the way, you have pussy juice running down your leg. I do believe you’re feeling again. Feeling fine, I’d say. And still so much session time. I might even go over time, no charge of course.”

He laughed softly against her ear.

Shuddering at the tone, the caress of warm breath on the tender orb, she came.

 

 

 

 

 

HNT-Tired of the Nekkid?

Sometimes I wonder if all you all are just tired (bored?) with the titty show here every week. Not that I mind doing it (okay, sometimes I mind, which in turn makes it hot, because, you know, doing what I HAVE to do because HE ordered it, and doing it even when “i doan wanna”…all adds to the sick and dirty heat of it.)

Sometimes I’m totally uninspired about what to post…do I show bruises? Clap some clamp on there? Decorate them for flag day? Like, what? I’ve been posting titty pix here weekly for nigh onto 6 years or so now, that’s 300 tit pix. Normal tits, not those porn star perfectly sculpted by man kind of silicone bag tits. So sometimes they are droopy and sometimes my bra is squishing them, and once in a while HIS hand is holding one or the other…

A reader wrote to me some bit of time ago asking for rope bondage for my tits. I like the idea but M? He’s not into rope at all. It’s simply not his thing–and i’m fine with that. (Elastics were suggested but they don’t stay on my tits, something about my skin and the way  my breasts are shaped. I can get a tiny elastic on the nips but trying to wrap them otherwise tends to not work.)

In point of fact He felt that roping them would be a terrible waste of time when He could be hitting, grabbing, slapping, or biting them. He is very much into the torturing of my poor boobs, than the artful uses of rope. That’s the sadist there.

So in memory of that, I’m posting two older pictures that shows some of the damage that He can do to me with a cane. Happy HNT! (are you sure you’re not bored?!)

Playday bruises (I bruise so easily!)

a weighty reminder

 

Two days later:

OUCH!

“Master, I’d Like You to Meet….

….Mr. Hitachi.”

That’s how I rehearsed how I was going to introduce them, at least. My imaginings never quite match up to His reality. (Imagine that!)

I left it out on the back of the bed (which is against the wall so it couldn’t roll off). It was plugged in and ready to rumble. He started on me the second we got into the room (after having a leisurely and lovely dinner together)–pulling my head back to His shoulder by my hair. Kissing me hard, while squeezing my tit. I think I screamed into His mouth then. I thank the goddess every time we play that He didn’t go into mammography! He throws me onto the bed and is pinching me everywhere. I’m squirming and trying to keep my whimpers down so it doesn’t sound like He is murdering me, but oh! How it hurts (and OH, how good that is, too) as His hands roam over me.

He attacks my toes. I try to curl my toes so that He can’t take the socks off the last bit there, and He laughs.

“Yeah, like that’s going to stop me, nilla,” He chortles.

One hard flick and my sock sails across the room, and His dastardly fingers are tickling my toes…between, underneath, over the sole of my foot…even now that makes my toes curl. I laughed and laughed, the damnedest torture, ever. I’m gasping for breath, and He looks up at me.

“Oh, too much?” He says sweetly. (Don’t you go on immediate alert when that Dom voice gets all sugary?) His hands move, fast as lightning in midsummer, pinching my soft and tender belly, tugging and twisting my nipples (how did He get His hands into my bra that fast?? Years of practice, He says, grinning smugly.) Suddenly giggles are transformed to moans of pain. Back and forth between the two tortures He moves, until my head is spinning.

From far away I hear His voice but in truth I am already half-way gone.

“Whoa ho…well well well, and what is this, nilla?  His voice is filled with glee. “I’d forgotten you said you’d gotten this…”

His voice fades away as He flicks the button on, presses it against His hand. He grunts as He dismisses “low” (the ONLY setting I use, mind you), and flicks it to “HIGH”. And presses it against my pussy.

My pussy was wet and swollen and wanting some action after all the torment from tickling and pinching…but having Mr. H land on her in “HIGH” mode almost made my clit explode.

I yelped (He laughed), and squirmed–but He was laying on my arm and hair and His leg hooked over mine. My other leg dangled off the bed, at such an angle that I couldn’t touch the floor with my toes, nor get good contact to brace my leg enough to cross it over my crotch.

In other words, I was fucked.

He laughed as my first orgasm spurted out of me, shutting off the vibe to feel how wet I was, then immediately flicking it back on. On “HIGH”.

And laughing.

 

HNT-Caned Boobs

The cane was a fucking bastard. Or HE was. Thwapping and slapping that fucking thing on the tops of my tits. Smacking the clamps He’d snapped onto my nipples, alternating with flicking the chain that joined my two tits together. Oh my gawd!  It hurt like fuck-all.

And…..

It was erotic as hell. The burn…oh the throbbing burn of the pain…

It was as fiery as hell.

I was a wet, limpid, wanton slut (with very sore tits) when He was done.

OUCH!

 

HNT-Mammory Memories

How I hope to revisit this particular vision when we meet this weekend…

(Master, will you cane my tits? I’ve been fantasizing about it endlessly…?)

(*sound of deep, dark laughter* Oh nilla, you silly little slut. I’d be happy to make your fantasy a reality. VERY happy.)

And He was.

And I was.

And even now just writing about it makes me wet all over again..

 

Leftie

Pain Is The Gateway

“Get on the wall. Now.”

I scamper across the room, if a slut can ‘scamper’ on 6″ heels. (Cherry red brand new heels but more on that later.) I slam myself on the wall with an audible ‘thunk’…because it is so much easier to do it to myself than have Him smash my face into the hard flat surface.

He laughs.

He says “good girl” and I melt hearing those magical two words. “Good girl” surpasses all the other sentiments, doesn’t it?

I swallow the surge of lust. I’ve been turned on, turned on hard for 40 hours or so. Waking up wet and throbby, tossing and turning in my sleep trying to deal with the unanswered needs. Now, the cold of the wall presses against my clamped nipples,  the freezing chain pressed into my belly, but it does nothing to assuage the curling of lust deep in my cunt. Nipples banged with heat, from pain, from fantasy come to life, from lust. There was such intense sex-need growing between my thighs, that I wondered if I would leave a ‘snail trail’ of sex juice down the flat surface. His voice, all business, interrupts my musing.

“Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

I turn, a bit shaky, a bit wobbly and plaster my ass and palms against the wall.

“Close your eyes…”

*snap* I shut them tight.

There is a whoosh and a thwap against my left tit. A second blow falls on the clamp biting my nipple. The chain swings, tugs. I moan just a bit as He tugs the chain with whatever He is hitting me with.

My pussy is blazing with heat, oozing with liquid. I am soooo close to cumming.

And then He begins to beat my tits in earnest. He is silent as he does it, just the sound of my little gasps as the blows rain down–left tit right tit left tit left tit nipple nipple chain nipple right tit right tit right nipple right nipple right nipple…

I am whining a bit and then it happens…I cum, a wet slippery tremble as He whacks my tits. I’m dazed and confused and shaking and so fucking turned on. I didn’t know it was going to happen…the regular “I’m gonna cum” warnings didn’t flash, blare, or warn me. Just *boom* and it was drooling down my legs.

My hands clench, nails biting into palms as the tempo and force increase, until I’m pressed back as if trying to pass through the wall.

And then He is done, moving away. I breath, big rasping breaths.

“I have a surprise for you nilla.”

His voice is smooth and dark as fine chocolate. Prickles raise up along my shoulders, race down my spine. He bids me to open my eyes and I do. He waves a radio antenna in front of my face. His eyes glow.

“You wanted your tits beaten, right? Well there you go. This broke off my radio. Broke right off. And I knew then that it was for you. For you, nilla.”

Did He laugh then? As the first whooshing pass came toward me, as I shuddered, whimpered at that first unforgiving contact, and moaned with pain and pleasure, I think that He did.

A Fantasy for Master

I text You from outside the door.

It takes only a moment before it’s pulled open. You tug me into the tiny hallway, and You kiss me, hard. I love Your fierce kisses. They are a force to be reckoned with and never fail to make my pussy leap to life.

I’m yearning towards you, leaning on you, almost breathless with my need for your hugs, your touches, your ownership.

Your fist moves to my hair, and you pull me across the room.  I blink, surprised.  A man sits there. Oh!  my heart races when I see him there. He is perhaps about your age, maybe a few years younger. His hair is thick and almost shaggy. He is holding a hank of rope in his lap, and a white cane in his hand as he sits comfortably at ease in the chair.

Kneel, you tell me, pushing me to my knees in front of him.

“This is Sir M,” you say, “and you will be obedient to him, slut.”

“Yes, Master,” I say, my voice hushed, quiet with nerves. I have thoughts whirling through my head, but I don’t give voice to any of them. We’ve talked about this a dozen or more times. I’ve always been glib about it, and yet, confronted by the reality? I am a mass of nervous energy, but sit, quiescent. And then He speaks.

“Take my cock out and suck it, slut.” His voice is raspy, not the sexy husky tones of You.

“Suck, but gently,” He tells me.  Obediently I open my mouth, waiting for him to rise and come to me. You smack the back of my head and gesture me to move to him.

Oh. Duh. I crawl over to where He sits. I look back at you, Master, once, whether in pleading to not do this, or admitting I am yours to do with as you will, I’m not certain. You point at him in a way that says “get on with it, slut.”

I put my hand on his knees, moving between his legs.

“No hands,” you say in unison.  I slide my hands behind my back, nesting one fist inside the other palm. You slip a noose over my wrists, tightening, and wrapping the rope around my arms, several times. This makes my task much harder, and I lean my head against him, against his crotch, as I try to get the zipper tab between my teeth. It isn’t easy, yet I feel rushed to do it, to get it right, right away. His hand on my head gives me pause.

“Gently, slut. Take your time and do it right. You don’t want to bite my cock, trust me.”

I shake my head no, then realize he can’t see me. “No, Sir M,” I say, my voice shaky with nerves. He pushes my head down to his crotch again. With tongue and teeth I’m able to lower the zipper. It is a difficult task. I root around in the opening trying to find his cock.  For an instant, I’m suffused with amusement…thinking of this as an idea for a sexual game show…”Find That Cock!”…but before I get too far along the giggle path, I swallow down the laughter, and try to find a way through the pants, and the tighty whitey’s under them.

This is not an easy task, and several times I raise my head and stab my Master with my “annoyed” look. He raises his brow at me, a clear sign that I’m crossing the line. At long last, I get the angle right and am able to capture his flaccid cock with my tongue, and lips, and gently…oh, so gently….suck it up into my mouth, tugging it free of the confining clothing.

He makes a ‘hmmmmm’ noise deep in his throat as I release him to catch a breath; moments later  my lips wrap around the soft, warm head. He shimmies his hips a bit, shifting. For just a moment, I lose my grip on him, and feel that slippery shaft almost slide away from me. I slip my tongue under the top of his cock, cradling it in my mouth, and gently suck on it. How odd, I think, to have another man’s cock in  my mouth.  I close my eyes and picture You looking at me, Master. I want to make You proud of me,  to be Your obedient slut. I  am desperate to prove myself to You, and to him. I want him to see what a good slut You have created. I suck and he hardens in my mouth. As I slide him deeper, as  my mouth takes  the length of him, I gag  a bit, then remember Donna’s trick.

How neat…it works, and he goes deeper into my throat.  Pulling back, sucking gently, trying to not fuck up, I make pleasing this man, Sir M, my sole focus.  I pull my mouth up his shaft, my lips leaving a red trail of streaks from my lipstick along the length of him.  Without a word, he pops the head out of my mouth.

I look up at him, then at You, Master,  with questions in my eyes. Have I done something wrong? He grabs his cock and jerks it hard a few times, until he moans and his juice jets onto my face. He sighs, leaning back and panting for a moment. Then, his hands search for me. His fingers find my face;  he rubs his cum over my cheeks, my hair, my forehead.

I am grossed out. I am turned on. And I can’t help but wonder if you will kiss me later with another mans jiz on my face. You untie my hands, and bid me to rise. My stuff is on the bed and You tell me to change into my slut-gear…but just my stockings.

Wait……I have to be naked?

Yes, he’s blind but still… I say nothing, but You know me well enough by now that You know exactly what I’m thinking. You give me that “do it now, slut” look.

Slowly, I  disrobe. You see my reluctance, and smile -a  bit of mind torture obviously pleases you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slide my hose up my right leg, then my left, then slip on  the garters to hold them in place. You pass me the red shoes, wordlessly. They slide onto my feet as if made for me.

The moment they are on,  You pull me to my feet.  Pinching both nipples at the same time,  leading me a few steps around the room, You’re grinning as I’m moaning. You ask me where my clamps are, “n’est pas?”

I tell you and You find them, and put them on the window sill.  The window sill, Master? OMG! I  know they will be so fucking cold when You put them on my tits. Sometimes I forget what a sadist you are…and this is a pretty mean trick, Master!

And yet……… I smile because…well…because I really like that about you. You want things Your way…and have the dominance to make it so. I crave that. Just as much as I crave the occasional tender kiss, I crave the raw, down and dirty meanness that You sometimes throw my way. It feeds me.

Sir M rises. You leave me, and lead him to where I stand, naked except for hose and heels.  He begins to explore me, his hands touching, feeling, exploring me. Weighing my tits in his hands, slipping around behind me to cup my ass, feel my pussy. I feel as though he is measuring me…and of course he is.

“Good,” he says to himself.  He places a hank of rope around my neck, and he begins to work, tugging rope here, there, around under, over. He ties my tits hard and tight. I grunt from time to time as he pulls and tugs. I lose movement, as he wraps one wrist, the other, behind me. I’m girdled in rope, tightly coiled. I can breathe, but I can’t move. He tugs me forward. My feet work. But I feel my head slipping into that “other place.”

My tits begin to swell and ache from the bondage. The rope is rough, his hands are smooth and warm, an interesting contrast.  And then, he threads a rope through my pussy, a knot placed precisely over my clit. In seconds, I am moaning.  He tugs me forward a step, and I feel the movement everywhere, from aching tits, to throbbing clit. His hand is on my belly, feeling the rope move as I do.

“Good,” He says again. “Almost done,” he says, and I am aware he is speaking to You, Master, and not to me. I am the canvas. I hear You move behind me. You surprise me by putting a mask over my eyes, shutting away the world, and any chance I might have, to prepare for what happens next. I feel a swat, the sensation heightened by my painfully bound tits. I feel my nipple swell and tighten.

And in a moment it hits me what is coming next. I hear the clink of the chain, feel the bite of it on one swollen nipple, then the other. I was right, Master. The chain is cold, very cold, bouncing around my belly. You’re so fucking mean, Master!  I shiver, feeling my nipple pearl tighter, making the clamp bite deeper.

Oh. OUCH! You *knew* this would happen, I just know it.  I am whimpering now.

I hear that satisfied laugh. It’s soft, and low, almost a growl. It is Your pleasure-laugh, Master. It warms my heart to hear it…and makes me quiver for what You are planning next.

I don’t have long to wait as you slap my tit. I am a sucker for this kind of pain, but the ropes make everything even more. There are whimpers. Tears. The sound of toys hitting titflesh, the sound of low-conversation between You and Sir M.

I feel his hands gliding over me. Feel the pinch as He tugs at the chain, and the cold slap of it as he drops it again.  His fingers move between my thighs, pressing on the knot over my clit.

“You’re right,” he says.

I think to myself…”This isn’t news, Sir M….Master is always right!”

“She’s soaked.”

I hear the amusement in his voice. I’m not sure whether to be embarrassed or proud. The ropes begin to loosen and fall away.

“Almost time for part two, slut,” You murmur in my ear. “Your ass is mine, always…but your pussy? Well, I think Sir M has plans for that…”