The Date
Author: kaya
Filed in: submission, bondage, spanking, slavery, pain, m/s, gagThe music started slow, lazy notes of melody drifting over her ears as she watched her Master pull items out of the toy box. Cuffs were layed out on the bed, rope and chain coiled next to them. He caught her eye, an easy task since her eyes were never far from Him anyway and as He did, He nodded in the direction of the cuffs. She climbed up on the big bed, the familiar mixture of fear and excitement swirling in the pit of her stomach and began buckling on her own cuffs. There was something about doing this herself.. readying her own self to be tied down and beat.. that struck her right in her center. One can sometimes be carried away on the fantasy of damsel in distress, but this is not possible when you are buckling your own leather restraints around your own limbs.
As she worked the cuffs on, Master began laying implements next to her. Sometimes giving one a fast swish through the air next to her ear.. or slapping it down with a reverberating thwack on the mattress next to her. Actions designed to make her squeal and jump, to make her heart pound, her eyes widen and her cunt clench. No words passed between them, none were needed. She could see the fire beginning to burn in His eyes and it matched the need building in her own.
He finished making the fastening points on the four corners of the bed and roughly pushed her into position. She splayed amid the various tools, some of them poking and pressing into her, already causing her some discomfort. He meant for her to lay on them, all of them tucked under her revealed body somewhere. He wanted her to feel each one as He pulled it out, to anticipate the level of pain each would cause and to be keenly aware of how many were left to go through. Over the years they had collected an impressive amount of tools and the amount of agony He could inflict was almost limitless.
He secured her at the four points, purposely pulling the bonds tight. He wanted no wiggle room, no movement, no chance for a missed blow because she had twisted or turned. He meant to beat her good tonight. He meant to beat her hard, not missing an inch of flesh, and was determined that she feel each and every strike on exactly the spot He aimed for. Her breath caught in her throat as He stretched her arms and legs, she knew what this meant. Fear bloomed up in her gut, hot and heavy, and she whimpered with the sudden need to empty her bladder. But she knew He was past the point of caring about such things.. that any complaint in that direction would probably set Him to making her humiliate herself by wetting the bed, so she pressed down on that need. She knew she didn't need to go as badly as she felt anyway, it was a reaction and she was actually getting pretty good at controlling some of her body's reactions. She closed her eyes, pulling her mind from her bladder and focused on the music. It picked up tempo as the song changed, the bass thumping into her chest and she timed her breathing with the beat, an exercise in self-meditation.
He slipped the blindfold over her eyes and fastened it. This blindfold had been wet with many of her tears on many occasions, all cried for Him and because of Him. All spilled in pain and love and need and desire, lessons learned and re-learned. Walls broken, journeys made, paths forged. All under this black leather blindfold. The familiar shape pressed itself over her face and the smell filled her senses. As her sight was taken from her, snippets of past experiences under this blindfold filled her mind. And she waited then.. for this new memory to be made.. for fresh tears to join the remnants of tears long-dried. She smiled in anticipation of her next wearing of this blindfold, when this session would be another snippet of memory to flash through her mind.
She couldn't see Him then and had no idea what was causing the delay in activity. She knew better than to ever try to guess His next action for He was unpredictable. Always keeping her on her toes, denying her the comfort of expected reactions. Complacency and boredom would never have a place in their life together. So she waited, in tense breath-holding silence and had just begun to wonder if He had left the room, to leave her in anticipatory agony when she felt Him move next to the bed and felt His hand on her back. She breathed deeply then and settled back down to wait. When He was ready, it would start. Not a moment before.
What He had been doing was fingering the gag, eyeing her displayed body. Trying to decide if He wanted to silence her of if He wanted to hear her screams and moans mixed with the music filling the room. Sometimes her noises were music in and of themselves, filling His head with a deep-seated desire to hear the pain as she took it, the cadence of His strokes fueled by her shrieks until He heard just the perfect note in her voice and that sound, that soul-bending cry seemed to pull the need from Him, and He would be sated for a time. Other times her cries and sobs distracted Him. He sometimes wanted to focus on the marking of her, of laying the lines and color of His mind on her skin. With an almost detached attitude, He'd work her body like a canvas, needing to see the results of His swings and strokes and the gag would be used. He moved back and forth in His desires tonight, though.. undecided which part of Him was needing it the most.
He finally laid the gag next to her face and she brushed up against it with her cheek, knowing immediately what it was. She loved and hated the gag. She mostly always embarrassed herself with her caterwauling and sobbing so in that respect, the gag was a Godsend as it forced her to swallow the screams but on the flip side of that, she knew He couldn't hear her.. and couldn't gauge her pain level and that truth scared her silly, even though she *knew* He didn't want to know her pain level at those times, that that was the whole purpose of the gag but she hated it all the same.
She touched the gag with her cheek and she knew it was there to be used if He wanted. If her noises became too much and once again her bladder tightened into a hard little ball as the knowledge that He intended to use her hard, that the gag was there to silence her loud screams, the ones that would drown out the beat of the heavy metal music blaring through the speakers. Knowing that He expected her to scream that loud filled her with fear... and her pussy began to drip onto the sheet.
She felt His hand digging into the mattress under her hip and a crop was pulled from under her. The friction against her skin caused a flash of white hot heat and she grunted. She didn't hear the way the air whistled as the crop swung through it.. she didn't hear His own echoing grunt of effort as His arm arced.. the music filled her ears and blocked all of that.. but it didn't block the searing line of fire that suddenly branded itself across her ass. Air whooshed out of her lungs in a panic and before she could draw in another breath to even think about crying out, another blistering stroke came, just millimeters above the first. She bucked hard then, her body dropped into "fight or flight" mode and she pulled hard against the bonds, still struggling to pull enough air into her lungs to get out a decent shriek, as with each half-breath, He lit into her ass again and it whooshed silently out of her. But He had tied her well and her struggles were ineffective, she could do little more than wiggle her fingers and toes. She perservered in her effort to escape though, her body refusing to believe that it had to lie there and take this pain, her brain squealing inside her ears and still she tried to work in oxygen and all the while, He swung over and over again, already breaking a fine sweat and an erection. He enjoyed this first panicked attempt to flee more than anything when He lit into her hard and fast and watched as acceptance slowly.. oh so slowly.. took over and her body would still, jerking and jumping now only in direct response to His strokes and His touch and He played her like a fine tuned fiddle then.
The first bit was always the worst but knowing that didn't make it any easier to bear. She had clawed the sheet into a tight sweaty ball in her fist and had bitten her lip to bleeding before the endorphins took over her brain and the pain on her backside soothed into a constant but pleasant heat. She let herself drift then, giving over her body to Him, to use and to mark. To welt and to own and she responded to each stroke with a slight wiggle of her ass.
He didn't smile as He worked, He didn't talk or touch Himself. He focused on the flesh before Him and set about using it. He yanked each instrument from under her with sadistic purpose. (When He had finished and rolled her over, she had angry red lines all over her front from the painful extraction of each instrument and He lovingly traced each burn with His cool tongue.) He used each tool to it's full potential, creating patterns of welts with one and then destroying that pattern with another. She bled with some, she welted, bruised, blistered, striped and streaked with others. From the backs of her calves to the tops of her shoulder blades, no flesh was untouched or unmarked. He had employed the gag about half-way through and she now lay, exhausted and sweaty, flying high, silenced and blinded and alone in her world of pain.
She jerked a little as a drop of something cold fell and then dripped down her flaming ass. It was followed closely by the unmistakable rubbery feel of the butt plug and He worked it into her ass, not too slow but not too fast. Enough to hurt but not to hurt too much. He smeared the rest of the lube across her cheeks and it felt divine, cold and soothing on the welts and cuts. But she was wrong in her relaxing as the last instrument was pulled sharply from under her thigh. She knew what it was immediately. There was no mistaking the weight and size of the oak paddle. She lifted her head and took a deep breath, preparing herself to commence begging the best that one can beg through tears and snot and a gag-filled mouth but before the first whimper could find it's way around the gag, the paddle met her ass with a resounding thud, heightened by the wet smack of the left-over lube. The first blow was strangely dulled but He had known it would be and He followed it quickly with twenty more. On the same cheek, each blow just a tad harder than the one before it, the burn getting higher and higher and sinking deeper and deeper until it felt as if her butt bone was being pummeled with an oar and she opened her mouth and screamed around the gag. Just at that moment He switched to the other cheek and gave it the same treatment, she was lost in the haze of pain, begging her own body to shut down, shut off, go to sleep, pass out, anything, *something* to escape this agony but of course there was no escape. And He continued to rain blows on her bottom, switching now from cheek to cheek, filled with the power of Owning and Using and knowing that she would take it until He was damn well good and ready to stop. He kept His eyes on her ass, watching the colors change, the bruises blooming up, making occasional swats to the plug to keep it deeply seated.
The music swelled and grew around them, obliterating her muffled screams. The hard and heavy beat seemed to match the condition of her ass.. and He began to match His blows to the music, sometimes faster, then slower, building up towards the end as the song reached it's finale in a hail of drumbeats and guitar screeches and then it was stopped... and He stopped.. and silence came down like a curtain, broken only by her pants and whimpers.
She lay in the middle of the bed, trembling. Spent. The plug still buried deep. Her mind was gone, lost in an endorphin wave. The entire back of her body burned and throbbed and tingled, yet between her legs, a growing puddle of masochistic need. She sensed but didn't quite comprehend His legs straddling her body. The rough curled hair on His legs poked and itched at the welts and tears in her skin. He pulled the plug from her and even as she tried to wrap her mind around the sudden emptiness of her ass, His cock was there, pressing insistantly at the rapidly closing entrance. She instinctively pressed her hips deeper into the mattress, seeking avoidance of this new and painful invasion.. she was done, she was tired, she hurt.. couldn't He see? Didn't He care?
He yanked the gag from her mouth but left the blindfold. He leaned forward over her and spoke into her ear, His deep ragged voice cutting clean through the haze of her jumbled thoughts "lift that ass up to Me, cunt" and she did. As high as she could, she lifted and pressed back against Him. He slid in smoothly, deeply, pressing until His pubic hair crowded against her burning cheeks and she felt his testicles ride up hard against her cunt. Pain filled her ass and lower belly and she moaned into the mattress, tears renewed themselves against the soaked blindfold. Her Master was thick and long and her ass was small and it hurt each and every time, but that fact didn't always deter Him. He owned that tight asshole and He desired to fuck it, to feel it clench almost painfully tight around His cock, to hear her moan with each thrust, to make her scream and cry out the answer as He pounded into her and bellowed "Who owns this ass, cunt?" and she sobbed out "you, Sir, only you".
Then He lay on her, digging His hands under her torso, finding and latching on to her hardened nipples and pinching them hard between His fingers as He worked His cock in her ass, the pain from her anus lost as pain bloomed bright and sharp in her nipples. His mouth found her ear once again and He demanded that she cum. He left no room for refusal, it was an order. She felt His cock harden further inside of her, His fingers squeezed her nipples harder and the entire night exploded inside of her. She bucked back up against His hips and screamed out again.. not in pain this time.. in orgasm. In being owned and used and loved and taken. Her asshole tightened and milked at His cock and He growled as His own orgasm took over His mind. He rocked her hard, almost as if He were trying to climb inside of her and she felt the twitches and trembles of His cock.
He collapsed on top of her, ragged breathing filling her ears. His body hair and sweat began to work it's way into her cuts and welts and her body lit afire again. She broke then, sobbing into the bed... overwhelmed with pain and emotion. He lay on her for a good long while, His weight constricting her breathing, forcing her to calm herself. She took comfort in the message being sent to her from His refusal to move. She was not just His whipping post. Not just His fucktoy. Not just His wife or His slave, He'd use her for anything.... even as a mattress... and she'd submit. His cock, semi-hard, was still buried in her stinging and abused rectum. And as she cried, He began to pump His hips again, driving the sting home and making her say it again and again. "It's your ass Master."
She didn't take comfort in loving aftercare. In cuddling and stroking and kissing. She didn't want coddled after being used hard. She needed hard still, just in smaller and smaller doses as she worked her way back. So this continuing of pain, this pulling out of more tears and admitting hard truths fed her starving spirit. Once He'd extracted Himself from her and untied her from the bed, He had her pose before Him. He admired and remarked on the evidence of the beating she took. He made no secret of how she'd pleased Him and He slapped and pinched and bit at the deeper of the marks... and what that cemented in her mind was that He had no regrets, He felt no apology. He loved what He did to her, and she loved what He did to her and she sank into that belief.
Once the examination was done, He placed her into the closet, cuffed her wrists to her ankles, slapped a clothespin on each nipple, one on her clit and each labia and two on her tongue and shut the door, locking her into darkness and silence. Her backside burned and tingled against the rough carpet under her and sharp waves of discomfort radiated from each placed clothespin. But as she listened to Him moving around the house, hearing the refrigerator door opening and closing, the quick fizz of a pop can being opened and she let the truth of not being important enough.. or deserving enough.. to not be in pain.. to be out of the closet.. to have her own can of pop.. wash over her and she was comforted. In who and what she was.. and her purpose in His life. She closed her eyes in the darkness and set about managing her own pain. She sat still... the various pains settling to a dull throb... and her mind quieted and calmed.. she brought herself back. Then she waited.
He opened the door after a while and surveyed her. She blinked rapidly in the sudden light and didn't see His hand as it snatched ahold of one clothespin and yanked it off of her nipple. She moaned and pulled her chest in and He snagged ahold of the offended nipple, gripping it tight and pulling her forward. Message received. Don't pull away. Still keeping a tight grip on that nipple, He pulled the clothespin from the neighboring nipple and she cried out but didn't move. He reached down between her legs and she spread them wider, taking a deep breath and preparing herself for it. Showing no mercy, He plucked all three of them at once in His fist and pulled them off as she yelped. He let go her nipple then and grabbed hold of the two on her tongue. For awhile He played with them, pulling them, opening and then letting them snap shut again, as drool ran down between her breasts and He laughed as she whined. He pulled one off and immediately snapped in onto her nose. And so it bagan, with orders to not move and to not make a sound, He moved those last two clothespins from spot to spot.. nose and ears, eyebrows and lips, breasts, arms and legs, toes and inner thighs... and all the while He kept up a steady stream of words... who she was and what she was and what she always would be... and she soon became one with the truths and with the pain and she sagged against the wall of the closet. He saw the lightening of her spirit, as she exhaled her own demons in the comfort of the constant pain and litany of the words... 'cunt, slut, whore, object, it, fuckmeat' ... He placed the clothespin one more time on her clit and unhooked her wrists from her ankles while it dangled there. He fetched her purple velvet pillow and her fuzzy blanket and tucked her into a crude bed on the closet floor. He pressed His lips to hers, hard and cruel and at the same time, He pulled the clothespin from her clit while she moaned into His mouth. Her eyes found His and locked there, her's wet and shiny and His dark and satisfied. He kissed her again, then stood up and shut and locked the door. She was back.. she was home.. she was safe. She curled into the dreamy comfort of her pillow and blanket, not noticing the hard, rough floor or the cramped space of the tiny closet for in comparison to what she had just been through, it was the Ritz. It was the Hilton. It was paradise and comfort and she fell asleep, smiling and crying at the same time.
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