tagBDSMLittle Girl

Little Girl

bykaeorin©

"Stop fidgeting and get to work. You're distracting me, and I'm not even doing anything important."

At the sound of His voice, your shoulders straighten and you still in your chair. He doesn't sound angry; there is the characteristic firmness in His voice, though it is tempered with the sound of a gentle smile, amusement. You swivel around to face Him, sheepish. "It's...boring." You make sure to keep your voice low and even, and flash a smile so He won't think you're whining. No more words—He just waves you back to the computer to finish your work. At the beginning of the summer, you would never have suspected that, come autumn, you'd be writing a term paper while sitting naked in your Master's chair, but...here you are. You shift slightly, and your thighs stick to the seat. Where your skin touches the chair, you can feel the uncomfortable stickiness of sweat, but the rest of you seems to be covered in goosebumps from the chilly air.

"I'm cold..." Now you're whining, and you both know it.

"Turn around." He is close to losing patience with you. With a shiver unrelated to the temperature, you do as you're told. His eyes freely travel the length of your body, searching, you know, for signs that you are telling the truth, and not just whining. After a few long moments, He puts His book aside and rises from His seat to disappear into his bedroom. He is probably tired of listening to you. You turn to your essay with a sigh.

He returns accompanied by the telltale clinking sound of a familiar chain, but orders you to close your eyes before you can look up at Him. Your seat is rotated to face Him, and you sense him stoop a bit, to be closer to your level, then feel His strong warm fingers tweak your nipples. Unguarded, you let out a quiet moan. After a few seconds of His ministrations on each breast, you feel the cold metal teeth clamp down around your nipples. Another moan, this time colored with the slight delicious edge of pain. It's almost as though your breasts have a direct, physical connection to your core, because you can feel the heat growing there. This is not going to help your attention span, but you keep your mouth shut. You can feel yourself slipping even deeper into your role as His submissive, just as he prefers. There's a lot to be said, you muse, trying to maintain your tremulous grasp on normalcy, for classical conditioning.

When He straightens, you open your eyes and study His face. Similarly, His eyes linger on the sight of you—your thighs now pressed tightly together, your hands grasping the arms of His chair, your nipples already turning a dark pink under the clamps, and you feel shy, as always. You want to please Him above all else. Finally, you remember your place and lower your eyes to your knees. He drapes something around your shoulders—something soft and smeling of Him—and you realize that it is one of his button-up shirts.

"You may wear that until you have finished," He says, and you realize that the clamps were a kind of compromise, a reminder of your position in case this kindness gave you the wrong idea. You quickly fasten the buttons on His shirt and return to your work once again, this time slightly more comfortable.

Once you've completed your essay, you move to kneel in front of Him, back straight, shoulders back, eyes lowered, at a respectful distance. "Sir," you murmur, once you can feel His expectant gaze. "May I return your shirt?"

"You may," comes His reply. "Slowly."

Once again you raise your fingers to work the buttons, and you can feel Him before you, approving. With each button freed from its place, more of your pale skin is revealed to Him, and finally you are completely exposed in front of your Master, from your breasts accented with painfully-pink nipples at either end of a glittering silver chain, to your pussy shaved smooth and soft. You slip the shirt down off of your shoulders, and the movement causes the chain to tug on both of your nipples. Dutifully, you fold the shirt and hand it to Him, eyes still focused on the floor.

"Good girl," comes His low voice as He accepts the offering. "Now, come here." He tugs you forward using the chain, and in a moment you have crawled forward between his knees, your front side pressed against the chair He is sitting in. "And how do you intend to repay me for the use of my clothing?" It's that voice you love again—firm, but smiling. The corners of your lips curl a bit.

"May I suck your cock, Sir?" Your eyes flicker boldly to his face (He's watching you intently), then, more appropriately, to his crotch. He is bulging slightly already, and you are pleased that He seems to like what He sees, though you know that there is still much more of Him not showing.

"Would you like that?" You can hear more of a smile now, and, correspondingly, the heat in your lower region grows, throbbing a bit.

"Yes, Sir. Very much." You hesitate. "But...only if You would." Silence stretches between you for several long moments and you begin to grow fearful that He will not grant you permission. Finally, though, he settles back in his chair.

"Then, by all means, continue."

Your eyes move to his face yet again (a bad habit when you're in chains, and one that He has often tried to train out of you), before you unfasten His belt, His fly, freeing His cock. Shyly at first, you run your tongue along His length, teasing Him into growing harder. When He is finally standing at full attention (for you, you realize with a little thrill), you close your mouth around the tip, sliding your tongue around it, savoring the taste of His skin, of the drops of precum that are already leaking out from His tip. Slowly, you work your way down His shaft until He is pressed against the back of your throat. He is filling your senses now—the dark musky scent of his skin and the taste of him on your tongue are intoxicating, the feelings that they evoke almost dizzying. You pull back a little, wrapping one hand around the base (mostly out of habit) and imediately feel Him pull your hair, yanking you backwards. His cock slides most of the way out of your mouth, only the very tip left resting against your lips. You look up at Him, a little shocked and confused as to what you've done wrong.

"I gave you permission to suck my cock, girl," he bites out. "You use your mouth for that." You don't move for several seconds, so frozen are you by the sudden (though minimal) violence, and he pulls your hair harder now. "Hands behind your back—now." The direct order unfreezes you, and you comply immediately. This appeases Him, and He loosens his grasp, although He has yet to completely release you. His free hand moves to the chain dangling between your tits, and He tugs it, none-too-gently. You whimper, but remain still. "You seem to be having trouble with the rules lately. First that backtalk at the computer, and now you're ignoring direct orders? Am I wasting My time with you?"

You can feel yourself go pale—you don't want to disappoint Him. What if He gets tired of you and leaves? You shake your head, feeling both silly and desperate. You're afraid to respond verbally, but He's still holding your hair, and you know that He's studying your reactions, so you swallow hard (keeping your eyes lowered, of course) and manage a tearful "No, Sir."

"Good." But still He doesn't release you, and you wonder if you've made Him angry enough that he doesn't want to play anymore. A small, selfish part of you fears that because you know you're dripping wet and aching for release, but, more importantly, because you know He likes to do these things too, because you like to make Him happy. He rises, which forces you to sink backwards, and you look up at Him from beneath His cock. "Stand up," He orders, and you stumble to your feet. "Follow Me."

Not that you have much choice—He is still tugging on the chain attached to your tender nipples. He leads you into His bedroom and gestures for you to lie on the bed, and you comply, of course. He pulls the door shut with a solid, final "click", then returns to stand beside the bed. You get the sense that He is evaluating you, determining whether you look...suitable. Worthy. This...this is unfamiliar. He has punished you of course, but it's never felt like this before. The foolish urge to hide, to cover yourself, rises in you, but you (wisely) ignore it. "Are you very angry with me, Sir?" The words are pathetic, barely whispers. He trails His fingertips lightly along your cheek, down your neck, across the rounded tops of your breasts, down to your navel, and then...lets it slip away before he comes to where you most wish to be touched.

"I am disappointed," He replies softly. "Turn over."

You've started to tremble now, but do as you're told, exposing your back and buttocks to your Master. With your face buried in His pillows, it is hard to hear what is happening behind you, but after a moment, you feel His presence on the bed, straddling your knees. Without warning, you feel a sharp blow across the backs of your thighs, and you yelp despite yourself. The pillows muffle the sound, but not enough. He has heard you. "Do you not want to continue this?" He asks. "You can go home at any time, you know."

You shake your head vigorously, lift it a bit to be heart. "No, Sir. I want to continue. I want You to punish me. Please, make me better for You?"

His response is another solid smack to your thighs, and this time you choke back a sob.

"Thank me, little girl," comes His new order. "Each time I spank you with this crop, I am making you better, just like you asked." Another stroke, in exactly the same spot as before, and, through the pain, you comply. He gradually moves up your thighs, to focus the constant rain of strokes on your ass, and soon your cheeks are red and stinging—and, as expected, your pussy is wet and pulsing again. The blows begin to slow, and soon each one is tempered by His hand caressing your skin. You realize now that His pillows are soaked, not with your sweat as you had thought in near-delirium, but with tears. You try—and fail—to hide a sniffle, and finally, the blows cease.

"On your knees." His voice is unreadable.

You've learned your lesson tonight—you obey him immediately, rising to kneel. His strong hand on the back of your neck forces the upper part of your body back to the bed. Your glistening pussy is now displayed to Him, presented in the most base manner, and you feel equal parts aroused and ashamed. Two thick fingers part your inner labia, then delve deep inside of you, once again without warning.

"Did you like that punishment, little girl?" He might be smiling. You nod, though your too busy forcing yourself to stay still and silent to trust your voice. "Yes, I guess you did." Just as abruptly as they had entered you, the intruding fingers are removed, leaving you empty and yearning. You can feel Him moving on the bed again, and soon He is sitting in front of you. It takes only a gentle pressure on your shoulder and you are sitting up to face Him. He tugs on your chin to open your mouth, then slips those two fingers inside. Taking the cue, you clean your juices off of His fingers, and suck greedily even after there is only the taste of His skin.

"That's better, isn't it?" He extracts his fingers from your mouth and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. One thumb comes up to swipe a tear off of your cheekbone, and you can feel your face burning. He merely reaches behind you to retrieve something—a roll of duct tape!—and unwinds several lengths of it. "Now, step two. You need to learn how not to use your hands. Wrist together."

His hands are firm as He binds your wrists. When He's finished, He tugs once again on the clamps you've been wearing all this time. Your nipples are angry and painful now, so you cry out, real pain and fear instinctively coloring the sound. Shame fills you instantly. You're still too whiny. Why is your pain suddenly more important than your Master's pleasure? But instead of more punishment, He removes the clamps one at a time, quickly covering each nipple with His mouth and laving it with His tongue to offset the pain as the blood and feeling rush back into each rosy peak. To your credit, you remain silent, complicit, throughout this process. "There's my good girl," He murmurs, pride returning to His voice. "Now, shall we try this again?"

Some more maneuvering results in Him lying back against the pillows, with you half-lying, half-kneeling between his legs. Your hands, still bound of course, support you awkwardly in order to give you room to pleasure Him. His cock is hard already, so you slowly slip it back into your mouth, and mentally breathe a strange sigh of relief that it has not been taken away from you. Your ass and legs are still burning from his blows, but the pain serves as a reminder as to the rules and your position. You bob your head slowly, lovingly, on your Master's cock, but freeze when one hand fists in your hair. He is not pulling you away, only holding you still as He raises his hips to fuck your mouth. When His cock begins to press against the back of your throat, you understand his wordless order and allow Him to slip into your throat, going deeper with each stroke. He is not gentle—you wouldn't expect Him to be after what you've done tonight, after all—but you take him happily, savoring the way it feels when He is crammed into your throat, controlling your air supply, taking His pleasure from you.

You work hard to pleasure Him tonight, ignoring the aching muscles in your arms and your jaw, and you are rewarded when He drives himself hard into your mouth and releases his load deep in your throat. You feel his thick hot seed filling you, and drink it greedily, not choking once or spilling a drop. When He lets His hand fall from your hair, you keep sucking on his softening cock, coaxing the last bits of his cum out, swallowing it gratefully, sliding your tongue up and down his shaft. As your Master gradually begins to return to normal, you nuzzle his sack and carefully take his balls into your mouth. He laughs a bit (you love the sound) and smooths his hand through your hair.

"My little cumslut," He murmurs, and you smile shyly. Cumming always puts Him in a better mood, though it is never certain how long it will last—especially when you've been as bratty as you've been tonight. "I'll bet your little pussy is even wetter now than it was before, huh?" You can only nod sheepishly. "Maybe that's step three. Maybe I should make you go to sleep without letting you cum. I only let good girls cum before bed, you know." Once again, you nod. You're disappointed but far from surprised.

He sits up and helps you back into a full kneeling position, and His fingers circle your nipples, teasing. "If you can get yourself off like this, with your wrists tied, I'll allow you to cum. Does that sound fair to you, little girl?" You can scarcely believe it, but keep your eyes on his rumpled bedspread instead of raising them to examine his face. "Well, go on, then. I haven't got all night.

You struggle against your restraints and find that you are unable to touch yourself the way you usually do, but discover that, with a bit of effort, you can just barely brush your clit with your pinky finger. Of course, in the state you're in, that's plenty. For a few moments, your Master watches you touch yourself in front of Him, but then he moves again, and the shifting of the mattress nearly pitches you forward onto your face. He's just moving behind you, His breath hot against your neck. You shudder as one of His hands trails over the sore curve of your ass, down between your legs. One finger is inserted into you, then two, and He pumps them in and out of you while you continue to touch yourself. Soon, you find yourself bucking against his hand, moaning out with pleasure and need.

You're dying to come, but you'll be damned if you're going to break another rule tonight. So, in a desperate, whispery voice, you beg, "Please, Sir. Please, let me cum. I need to cum..."

His other hand comes to rest on your hip, steadying you even as He increases his speed. "What are you waiting for, then?" He replies. "Cum for me. Consider it an order."

That's all the encouragement you need. You whimper out a warning and then let your body go, riding the waves of release gifted to you by your Master. Foggily, you are aware that He is sinking His teeth deep into your shoulder as your body is racked with pleasure, and the sharp pain only serves to enhance the feelings. When you finally come down, you realize that you are leaning weakly against Him, and hurriedly straighten your back, slipping back into your proper role.

"What do you say, girl?" He rumbles against your shoulder, tracing his tongue along the marks left by his teeth. Something tells you that you will bruise, and the thought fills you with relief. He only marks you with His mouth when He is happy with you again—otherwise he would use a whip.

"Thank you, Sir," you answer immediately, sincerely.

He extracts his fingers once more from inside you and holds them in front of your mouth, for you to further enjoy. You throw yourself into your task, licking and sucking his fingers until, again, all you can taste is the familiar taste of His skin. His other hand glides along your thighs, which by now are trembling and straining to support you. "I think it is bedtime now," He announces, and, for a whole array of reasons (not the least of which is your complete and total exhaustion), you are not about to argue with Him. He stretches out on His bed, and you wonder whether you'll be able to make it on these unsteady legs to the spare bedroom that you have been using. Before you slide off of His bed, though, He tugs on your bound wrists and "forces" you to join Him. "You may sleep here tonight," He informs you in the dark. "But you will remain bound." He sits up to grab another comforter and spreads it out over the two of you, and you fall into a deep, quiet sleep.

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