Monday, June 10, 2013

(Continuation of my pretentiously titled): "Untitled #1 or This Will Happen But Not To Any of You, Ha Ha!

You may find the first part of the story by scrolling down or clicking here:

Now his ass is hot and adequately warmed up to my liking.  "Leave the shoes on," I say, and tell him to sashay back to The Room, watching his ass wiggle awkwardly down the hall, all bowlegs and wobbles.  I think I'll put him in the cage tonight when I'm finished.  He is on his hands and knees when I enter The Room. "Stand up,", I say, "Put your back against the wall."  He knows which wall I mean, the one with the shackles, of course.  I slip the black leather cuffs around his wrists and his ankles, securing him in very tightly.  He is splayed out like Vetruvian Man.  DaVinci would be pleased.  I get my face near enough so that he can feel my breath on his lips.  He stays very still, I can feel him looking at me, thinking about how wet and sweet my mouth is when we kiss.  I put my hands on his shoulders.  My fingertips caress up the back of his neck and I touch his ear slightly with my mouth, lightly kissing the lobe and exhaling hot breath lightly, my teeth grazing.  A bit suddenly I make my nails pierce the tops of both of his ears to remind him of the times where I've been his teacher and led him around by them.  His head jerks back, and he hits it on the wall.  It jostles him and I snicker, standing fiercely with my legs apart clutching his ears without budging, he takes a sharp breath through his teeth.  I become distracted and want to touch his chest, so feel down to his nipples once more, pinching lightly at first, feeling how hard they are, then squeezing them. Gradually increasing the pressure, his lips tighten but his eyes stay focused on me.  I tell him to breathe and to keep looking at me, and take pleasure in watching the surrender build in his eyes.  He is trembling.  I look down and he is still erect.  I decide it is jutting out way farther than I want it to be and take a long piece of thin rope, winding it around his sac and tightening it so that his smooth balls give off a faint sheen from the tautness.  I caress them and alternately pull at the fine red hair- and continue to braid the rope up his cock, tying it in a knot just below the head, and then tying it around his waist so that it seems pinned to his abdomen.  I notice moisture on the head of his cock and slick it off with my finger.  He sucks it off and I slap him.  Because I feel like it.

I rub against him, using my knee to tease his cock, my hands on either side of his body, trapping him.  He doesn't know if it will be pleasurable or if I will decide to knee him suddenly, so I lay my knee slowly into his cock and balls.  His quivering turns into quaking and perhaps taking pity on him, perhaps not, take a chunk out of his thigh with my hand and squeeze.  "Good, concentrate on another area, darling," I say.  He leans forward and a purple imprint appears on his thigh in the shape of my nails.  Admiring it for a second,  I turn around and walk to the nipple clamps dangling from the shelf.  I choose the "nice" clamps, and secretly stash the much more painful binder clips in my other hand.  Turning around, I walk over to him and place the normal clamps on him which I know feel like pressure, but not pain-- he can take it, he's thinking.  I let him kick off the shoes and his legs collapse a bit, and he hangs from his wrists as I untie him and decide I want him over my knee again.  He is to choose a paddle from the metal shelf.  If he chooses one that's too light he knows he will get more thwacks, and that will possibly be all he gets.  He instead chooses the lexan paddle.  My eyebrows go up.  He comes to lay back down on my lap, his ass still red with lines from my spanks.  I linger over it and admire my work laid like enamel into the perfection of his ass and think it's my canvas in a way.  I then banish the banality of the thought and become giddy at the prospect of what it will look like later.  The lexan paddle is about a foot and a half long, clear with holes drilled into it.  A client had bought it for me years before as it is much less forgiving than wood.   I spank him again to warm him up a bit more, until I feel a slight firmness of the skin under my hand again.  I feel the hard wetness of his cock against my panties, and wonder if I should just throw him down and fuck him right there...  nah.   The paddle is heavy in my hand as I start to slowly thwack away at him and grab him by the back of his hair, pulling it back, exposing his thick neck and rubbing the paddle across his ass, letting it thud over and over as he winces and tightens then relaxes.   Again and again until he's given his pain to me and accepts he is going to get hurt as I make his ass messy with streaks of purple and red until I am satisfied.

I run my nails up and down the backs of his thighs and grab his ass, rubbing it and spreading his cheeks open so I can see how pink his asshole is and to admire his taint.  I spit on it slowly and tease him there with my fingers, allowing him a bit of pleasure so that he thinks maybe it will all be over now.  I even tell him to get on his knees and rub his ass.  I notice his shoulders slumping as he rubs,  looking down at the ground.  Taking his head in my hand, I look at him and with my other hand rip off his nipple clamps.  He calls out and his head goes to the floor.  I get down on my knees in front of him and rub them in mock sympathy, but actually it made me very excited.  Producing the binder clips in my hand, he looks down and breathes deeply and faster in preparation of their wrath.  His stomach muscles tighten as I place them on slowly, the pressure so great it almost looks like they'll snip right off.  Standing up, I say, "Open," and he lifts his head as I give him a nice thick dollop of saliva in his mouth.  "Thank you, ma'am," then looks down again, swallowing and bravely accepting that I'm nowhere near finished.

"Go fetch a pillow from the couch."  He does so, his posture slight and careful, different from the awkward cowboy from before.  He comes back and puts the pillow under his hips and lays down on the bondage bed on his stomach.  He is careful not to lay down the wrong way so as to disturb the binder clips.  I take a brown hemp rope from the closet, untie it and wrap him with it just above and below his ass, framing it so that it stands out and also securing him down with the metal eye hooks on either side of him.  I tie his ankles in place with leather cuffs and leave his hands free so he can clasp them to his chest in prayer :)  I know exactly which cane I want to use on him... the thick rattan, as I am in the mood to give him more thudding pain, and besides, it sings so sweetly before it strikes.  I take it out of it's sheath and look at the muscles in his back, my eyes following down the length of his spine to his ass.  It's purple, red, magenta, combinations of striations and dots make need to touch it.  It's very hot, the majority of heat coming off the apple part of his ass.  The perfection is ruined, and positioned to be ruined further.

I always breathe very heavily when I am caning.  One has to slow down, take aim.  Sometimes my nose runs too...  not the most ladylike thing, but a physiological response similar to what is happening between my legs with this activity.

I rub the cane back and forth on his ass, one arm behind my back in an official posture.  I stand slightly sideways, and make sure my wrist is  straight.  I tap his ass and it makes a knocking sound as it is quite hard at this point.  His cheeks tighten in preparation.  It is hard to describe the satisfaction of caning although I will say the sounds are a large part of it.  The whistle of the cane through the air, and the almost wet thwack it makes on striking.  One can also feel when the implement has sailed true, and it is similar I would think to when an arrow hits it's target.  Clearly the marks when in alignment and kept solely to the ass and thighs are a demonstration of skill on both Mistress and slave's parts.

I don't play games with him.  I don't make him count the strikes, and do not give him an idea of when I will stop.  I do not wail on him.  I feel calm.  The strikes measured.  I watch each strike form a straight lipstick line across his cheeks.  I rub the cane slowly back and forth on his ass before striking.  Alternating with my hand, I feel the indentations that my work has left, and notice that he has again relaxed into the pain.

To be continued...
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