For you. I do this for you. Because I want to please you. Because your pleasure is mine too. Because your pleasure is a gift you give me; a sacred token I dare not refuse, lest I incur your wrath.
It is a thing of beauty, your wrath. I sometimes do it intentionally, to get you mad. I think you know this, and you enjoy it too. Because whenever you get mad, you order me to your playroom. You tie me to the St. Andrew’s Cross that stands there, securely, and you punish me, for disobeying.
I never see you, because you blindfold me. You tell me a disobedient slave like me doesn’t deserve to gaze on her mistress’ body till she’s been thoroughly punished.
Like today, when I said I was too busy to fuck. You lash me across my belly, and you tell me to count each stroke as the crop sings across my skin.
One.
I inhale sharply. You tell me to thank you when you hit me.
Two. Thank you, mistress.
My chest is heaving. I’m imagining you standing there, your breathing heavy from the exertion, and the pleasure you derive from my pain.
Three. Thank you, mistress.
The words come out on a whimper. You hit me across my breasts. My nipples harden and I feel myself getting wet. You like punishing me, but you like to reward me too, for taking my punishment.
Four. Thank you, mistress.
You hit me across my breasts again. This time, I can’t suppress the moan. I hear you chuckle, and I hear the slice of the crop through the air. I expect it to hit my breasts again but it doesn’t.
Five. Thank you, mistress.
The crop landed on my pussy. I want to writhe, but I can’t. The ache between my legs is almost unbearable. I want to cum but I don’t dare ask you to make me. You decide when I should. You’re my mistress and I trust you with my body.
I hear you put away the crop. I don’t know what to expect. I hear you move around. The cool metal around my nipples startles me at first. You’ve clamped them, one and then the other. I suck the air in through my teeth. I feel your breath on my neck. You’re standing very close to me. You bite my neck hard.
You’ve always said to me that my neck is beautiful. It always makes me happy when you do. I tell you sometimes that when you bite me there, I understand why vampires go for the neck. They want to give their quarry some pleasure as they expire. There’s no way others don’t feel the immense pleasure that shoots through my body when your teeth sink into the flesh there.
I cry out when you bite me. You lick my skin and I moan. I’m so turned on, it hurts. You whisper in my ear, tell me you’re not done with me yet. I shudder in anticipation. You suddenly thrust two fingers in me. I grit my teeth against the sound that wants to escape. You tell me I’m a slut. You’ve barely touched me and yet I’m dripping. You bring your fingers to my lips and I suck them clean of my juices.
You move away. Count, I hear you say. The leather whip slices against my ribcage.
One.
I don’t thank you, I want to irk you more.
Two.
I still do not thank you.
Three.
The whip sings across my thighs. I still do not thank you. I want more pain, but I won’t ask for it. I’ll get it if I anger you.
The whip doesn’t slice across my skin again. I feel you close to me again. Your hand wraps around my throat and you choke me. You warn me sternly. I better thank you the next time you hit me, or I’d be sorry. Yes mistress, I whisper. I have no intention of obeying. I want to be sorry. I want to make you angrier than you’ve ever been. I want to see how far you’ll let yourself go, how far you’ll take me.
Four.
The whip hit my clit, hungry and peeking out through my folds. My voice breaks as I count. My breath catches. I almost orgasm. It takes everything in me to make sure I don’t. I don’t want this to end yet.
You untie me. I’m unsteady on my feet. You’re angry, I can tell. You lead me to another section of your playroom. You tell me to stretch my arms out in front of me. I do. You let the crop loose on them, once, twice, three times. You cuff me and lead me to the bed that sits in one corner of the room. I lie down, per your command. I can’t see what you are doing, but I can feel it.
You set about binding me and rearranging my body. You use the softest rope. My arms are bound to the headboard above me, to the ring I know sits at the very top. You bind me quickly and efficiently and when you’re done, my thighs are against my belly, my heels bound securely to the bedposts, my legs spread as far as they’ll go. I test the strength of the rope by trying to move. I realise I have almost no slack. I truly can’t move.
You surprise me by taking off the blindfold. I blink against the sudden light. You’re straddling me. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. You look at me with a small smile and I shudder inwardly. I have no idea what you plan to do. You’re still looking at me, and then you ram 3 fingers deep inside your pussy. You throw your head back with the pleasure of it. I lick my lips. I want to taste you.
I realise suddenly what my punishment is. I’m going to lie there and watch you make yourself come, sitting on me. And I would be turned on more than ever, while you make no attempt to make me come too. I will lie there and want you and you’ll be just within reach, untouchable. I whimper.
Your clit is cuffed in your palms, and you’re rolling it around. Your juices flow unbidden unto my chest. I groan. My pussy clenches, and my clit aches but I can’t do anything about it. I wish I had my blindfold on. Sometimes, blindness is a blessing. This is torture. Torture most exquisite. You smile down at me, a twinkle in your eye. I curse myself for my obstinacy.
You reach into the drawer by the bed and get your vibrator. It hums to life when you push the button. You pass it over your clit. I can feel every tremor in your body against mine. You moan loudly, music to my ears. This vibrator is dildo shaped. You feed it into your pussy. You increase the speed and then you’re writhing over me with pleasure. Your cum is leaking out of you, unto my chest, my chin, my neck. I want to taste you more than I want to come. I want to taste the ambrosia that only my goddess can offer me and I’m not above begging.
My plea is a broken sob. I beg you, remorseful. Please, mistress. You shush me. I remain quiet, lest you think up another creative way to punish me. You move so you stand over me, your vagina right over my face. You pass the vibrator over your clit and thrust your fingers in deep. Your juices seep all into my open mouth. I sigh from the pleasure of it. You taste exquisite, divine, like I imagine a deity would. Because standing over me, that’s what you are. All I can do is watch you from below, a subject looking to her deity.
I don’t know why you relented and gave me the gift of your pleasure, but I am not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You sit on my face and I want to weep with joy. I eat you like I would my favourite candy. I lick you, fuck you with my tongue, suck on your clit and roll it around. You fuck my face and when you come again, I latch on to your pussy and drink it all in.
I’m sure there’s a puddle beneath my pussy from how turned on I am. I want to cum. I want to ask you to make me cum. You tell me that wasn’t my punishment. It’s just about to begin. You tell me to remember my safe word – Apples.
You get off me, blindfold me again and then you take off my nipple clamps. I had forgotten they were there. I cry out, loudly. That hurt like a motherfucker, but the answering tug between my legs is plenty of reward. I grit my teeth against the pain.
Remember your safeword, you caution again. I hear the snap of a lighter. I wonder what you’re up to. I find out in a few seconds. Hot wax drips onto both my nipples. You must be holding two candles. I nearly yell out apples, but I want to please you. I know how proud of me you’d be if I took it all. So, I grit my teeth as you drop hot wax down my body.
You move away again and when you return, it’s to whip me across my belly, my thighs and then, my clit. You hit it again and again and I can’t help it. I try hard to hold back but I’m coming hard from your assault. My hips would buck, and I would writhe but, I’m tied securely.
I didn’t give you permission, you say and in the next instant, I feel hot wax drip directly onto my clit. Fuck, I yell. I think I just discovered my threshold. Apples, I say. You’re way ahead of me though. I feel the softness of your mouth surrounding my clit. Yes, I sigh breathlessly.
Later, we would cuddle and watch a movie. I would tell you about my day and you would listen and make all the appropriate noises, in the right places. We’d be just another normal couple.
Now though, you’re my goddess and I have incurred your wrath.
