Scarlot's Pose

This story was inspired by a photograph. The naked model is as described in the story...standing on tip toes, bent forward at the hips, holding onto the frame of an antique bed. The picture was so perfect that I wrote this as an homage to her poise and beauty.

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She knelt, patiently.

Her thoughts drifted like leaves on a lake, caught on eddies and swirled around by the wind.

He body was graceful and poised...slim, pert, held in readiness for her Master. Being his gave her a sense of place, of purpose, of pride. Others might compliment her on her beautiful face, her defined lips, her dancer's body, but all those were illusions for her...mere accidents of birth.

What gave her pleasure, gave her earth in which to grow, was her Master's control over her, his discipline, his purpose with her. He didn't fawn over her or defer to her wishes. With him she knew her place, and she knew that in that place she made him happy. Serving him and his desires filled her with bliss, even as sometimes her body sang with pain, or endured discomfort until his pleasure filled her with his essence.

She heard his footsteps behind her, and his hand wrap itself in her loose hair.

"Come"

One word, and his hand pulling her up by her hair, and she rose to her feet without comment or hesitation. Almost any other man would have paused to admire her, to praise her, to compliment her and ask to touch her breasts or kiss her lips.

Not him. In those early days he had come, he had discerned, he had taken, and she had given. He saw her need to be useful, to have pain, to be valued for what she gave, not how she looked, though seeing his arousal at times gave her pride that her body was one that pleased him enough to find pleasure in it so often.

So, casually, he lifted her and took her where he wanted.

His hand still in her hair, holding her head upright, he walked her over to the iron bedstead. His shoes echoed on the floor, muffling the sound of her bare feet. She loved being naked while he remained clothed...it reminded her of her availability to him, of his right to decide what she wore, or not.

At the end of the bed, with her facing the bare mattress, her took his hand from her hair.

"Present"

For months they had talked about this. Her job prevented her from giving him a deeper part of herself, her desire for pain, to take his pain, to feel his passion through a cane.

He spanked her often, he even paddled her. She enjoyed those sessions, the bite of the impact, the heat of the after glow, the tears as they released, and then...with him and with such intensity, the raw adrenaline fuelled sex.

He used clamps and pegs, rope work and restraints, and other darker pleasures...but never, until now, had she been able to give her Master her skin to mark, to welt, to bruise, to use as a canvas that she could then admire and treasure for days afterwards.

They had saved for this, set aside time and money so that for several weeks she would be able to watch the bruises blossom, bloom, and then fade, her flawless skin returning to its pale glory for the photo shoots that paid her rent and college fees.

So, in honour of the occasion, to show her devotion to her Master, to demonstrate her eagerness for the enjoyment he was to take from her...she positioned her self in absolute submission, for his cane.

She spread her legs, exposing her sex for him in case he should choose to use it. She bent forward at her waist, and with her arms fully outstretched, grasped the metal frame.

Already, in that pose, her beauty and form was arousing. But then, with grace and with infinite self control, she lifted herself up onto her toes.

Her Master watched, and his heart stopped, seeing perfection in his slave. He knew she couldn't, in fact didn't want to, see the jewel that she was to him. But he took pleasure from her pose, a position that captured with erotic accuracy her desire to serve in all things.

He moved to her, standing to one side.

She waited, taut in expectation.

The cane tapped against her stretched cheeks, moved away

And flame cut across her skin. She knew this was light compared to what was yet to come, but the shock of it lifted her head automatically...and she slowly lowered it again.

And so it started. At first he struck with careful deliberation, marking her arse and her thighs with red lines. The blows were intense, but not overwhelmingly so, and she was allowed sufficient time to process and breath though the pain.

In so doing, he gave her time to calm her nerves, to accept that she wanted and craved the pain, and had no need to fear it. The endorphins started to flood her body too, giving her a hazy feeling, almost as she were starting to float...anchored only by the cords of the cane strokes.

But imperceptibly, over time, the pace quickened. She wasn't overwhelmed, but the space for her to recover was shrinking, and she had to work at calming herself. But that self discipline, in itself, reinforced her submission. This was part of what she gave him...her willingness to subdue her body's natural responses, so that his enjoyment was prolonged and intensified.

Now, it was like a rainstorm, rolling, driving waves of sensation making her shake with pain and pleasure. She was no longer fully aware, her endorphins now taking her mind offline, and her feet were flat on the ground...her hands gripping the bed so she wouldn't be swept away.

But then, something changed, and she went within seconds from being poised on a the crest of sweet agony, to feeling everything imploding inside. The cane strokes felt like a punishment, she lost that magical poise, and she broke, tumbling to earth. She cried, she wept, she sobbed, tears running down her face as she howled her pain and agony even as she held herself out for him until he should choose to finish.

After ten more savage cuts that would leave pretty welts and purple bruises, he stopped, knowing that he was done, as was his slave.

But his arousal, that was another matter. He stepped close to her, unzipping his hardness. He knew from experience that she would be wet, and so he did not use his fingers before hand. She had said before that feeling him just penetrate her so suddenly was powerfully erotic, underlining yet again his power and ownership.

But this time, his hardness was a double reward, she knew that she had given him full measure, had pleased him to the point of his arousal...and feeling him thrust so forcefully into her triggered an orgasm. Although normally she would could be expect to be punished for cumming so quickly, he sensed that her body was high on its natural drugs, and she was deeply aroused by the caning..and so he enjoyed watching her body jerk and shake as he thrust in and out, feeling her muscles spasm on his shaft.

All too quickly his own pleasure reached its peak, his hands dug into her slim hips his thighs rammed against hers. With three more slower, deeper, more powerful thrusts he triggered his own spasming, the spurting of his cum into her, filling her with warmth. Her body responded with one last pulse of pleasure that almost destroyed her grip on the bed, and she cried out in pleasure and joy.

And afterwards, he wrapped her in a duvet and they sat together on the bed, silently. He held her in his strong arms, and yet again she was conscious of his silent love that encompassed her like the sea and the sky combined. Her body told her that she had suffered more pain that she had ever felt before...and she could feel that her Master had used her thoroughly, as she had wished. She was drained, yet filled, proud, yet humbled, and above all...content.