Thy Rod and Thy Cane

I'd get a room for the evening. Text you the location and time. Lets say...6:30 PM. And what my whim for the night is. Tonight, I want Victorian, I think. Wear a long skirt, long-sleeved white or cream blouse, high necked. Put your hair up. Boots with heels. Underwear?do you even have to ask? Do wear a bra, though. I like playing with them.

A knock. "Come in, please." Some people are harsh and rude, trying to establish their authority with force and bluster. Me, I never found that was needed. One either is, or is not: does, or does not. You will come in, give me a civil greeting, and wait quietly. Oh, and the term is "Sir." It's not a Master/slave piece of nonsense -- just more common civil courtesy.

"Stand in the centre of the room, luv. I want to look at you." Ok, these rooms are not exactly made to have a "centre" and allow one to walk around. I just twirl my finger, motioning you to spin in place. Slowly. I do rather like what I see. A step, and I am before you, staring down into your eyes. Reaching up to caress the back of your neck. Then to take hold of your hair-bun, pull your head back and kiss you. Hard. Pull your head back a bit more, and softly lick along side of your neck, where your pulse beats passion under your flesh.

"Turn around. Put your hands on the edge of the bed. Spread your legs." I raise your skirts, leaving it draped well above your waist, your delicious arse exposed. An ass made to be caressed (I do).... and spanked (and I do that, as well.) Lightly at first, just the fingers, a slow rhythm. Mmmm...you really do have a lovely arse. Do you like that? Sightly harder slaps, now, but still just warming you up.

"Stand up again, luv. Unbutton your blouse." Sometimes, I like to strip you myself. Others, to sit back and watch as you show off for me. Tonight, as much as I do like watching you undress, I am after the glory inside.

With your blouse un-buttoned and pulled free just enough, I caress your tits with both hands. Yes, you can see the dreamy smile on my face -- you have lovely tits, too. I take them into my hands, one each, and squeeze. Hard. Still that smile, but less dreamy and more evil. Oh yes...I do like playing with your body. Hard.

You've worn a back-hook bra. Not surprising -- that is normally what I like, even though tonight a front-hook might have worked better. Or mayhaps not, for then I wouldn't have as much fun with it. I have to grin to myself -- you also chose to wear a cheap bra. One you can afford to loose. I suspect you know how my mind works.

The knife is black, a skeleton handle. A real knife, not some play toy gussied up for a scene. Flash is for putting on a show. (we might do that sometime, as well.) The boot-knife is for really doing things. Like cutting off your bra. I trail the point down your chest, from the hollow of your throat to the fabric between your breasts. Then slide the knife between flesh and cloth, and slice outwards. The cups fall away, and your tits are open to the air, my fingers, my greedy gaze and the edge of my knife.

"Put your hands up, behind your head, luv." You lift and position, thrusting your chest out. Keeping your eyes on mine, as I trace pattens on your flesh with the sharp point of my knife. From behind the earlobes, to your belly, where your skirt halts my teasing. Over the globes of your breasts, using the edge to lightly scrape the flesh. Then you feel the cold steel under a nipple -- it slashes across. A cold black point, suddenly under your chin prevents you looking down to see. The knife at your throat holding you still, your hands laced behind your head, all you can do it stare into my eyes....

...as you slowly realize there isn't any pain. I take the knife from your chin, and run the back edge across my neck, and you figure out what I did. I just laugh, as you sputter and call me names. Do you really think I would cut such a fine nipple? Well...ok...I confess it is a thought. But some other time -- we'll talk first.

"Enough." You have enough sense to shut up. And probably, you're smiling inside. Who wants boring predictability? You probably expect the nipple clamps, though. Not very tight -- not the crushing pain of clover clamps, or the insidious bite of cloths-pins. Just the gentle squeeze of tweezer clamps. Almost as much because I like the look, and have fun tugging on the chain between them, as much as to stimulate your nipples. That happy smile again, as I look at your clipped tits, the shiny chain between your nipples leading the eye to the dark red tips. Tap the timer.

"Put your hand the edge of the bed again, my dear."

"So very lovely..." I murmur.

The rod is an odd sort of anachronism. It is Makrolon(tm) plastic, virtually unbreakable and designed for space-craft. The shape is one an overseer in Egypt would recognise, building the pyramids. A simple rod about as long as my arm. I use to it stroke the back of your legs, run it up your thighs, tap your calves to make you spread your legs wide. A few gentle taps on your bum.

"Do you need a gag, luv?" Politeness. Civility. Then I will thrash your arse until you howl. You say, "No, sir" and I am proud of you. But I put a pillow close to the edge of the bed, you can lean forward and bite it if you need.

"Five tonight, I think..." That seems light, and you may be (very quietly) relieved. And maybe disappointed. "... then I think I'll torture your pussy some."

Oh shit. So much for 'relieved.'

"Breath..." I say, quietly, almost a whisper.

One! The sudden, expected pain makes you gasp, jerk forward towards the bed. But you remember: Keep Still! Sometimes, we shall dance, the three of us -- you, myself, and the flogger, or belt, or cane. It is always different. But tonight, you just know. Keep. Still. ...

Two! You don't flinch this time. Well.. not as much. And the blow, although as hard as the first, didn't seem to hurt so much. "Breath..." you don't hear the word so much as the air remembers me saying it ...

Three! That one hurt. Ok, one and two hurt -- but now there is a rhythm to the flow of pain. Your breathing becomes heavy, you can feel the chain swinging between your tits...

Fou... wait... a noise? An alarm? Oh. Timer.

I take the nipple clamps off. You wish I had left them on. It's been ten minutes, and I don't know your body's limits yet -- I am not going to risk nerve damage. But now, your nipples hurt like hell as the blood flows back. You can hear me laughing -- you know that I know.

"Breath, luv..." Four! Am I hitting harder? You think I am. It hurt, a fire-line across your ass. A fire-line connecting your pussy, your throbbing nipples, your ass. Mayhaps your soul. You know the count. Need, fear, desire, hide. The conflict of pain and pleasure. But you keep still. Although you do eye the pillow.

Five! That *was* harder and you break, just enough to fall forward and bury your face in the pillow, moaning.

You might have forgotten in the moment. I hadn't.

I drag you back to being clear of the bed, bent over with your arms straight. I stuff the corner of the pillow in your mouth as I do, you may need it.

Then I flick the rod against your labia. Not all that hard. Just again.

And again.

And again.

Evil, striking bites. You cry out in time, the feathers absorb your sounds of pain.

I pause a bit, to run the tip of the cane over your arse, the stripes now starting to show. Run the tip between your legs, playing with your pussy lips. Hmm... No, love -- don't think I wouldn't. I would...

...tap your clit hood with the tip of the rod. And harder. At the third strike, you howl, clamping on the pillow, and I push you forward on the bed. You feel my cock at the entrance to your abused cunt. Then I drive myself in, grasping your waist, holding a mix of flesh and dress and I use your body as a hand-hold to drive harder, deeper.

My belt-buckle hits the stripes on your arse, the zipper of my slacks teeth against your enflamed pussy lips. I am pushing you down on the bed, pounding hard, your only relief is that your sensitive nipples are not rubbing on the sheets -- you are being held down too tight for that.

It is not ideal. I can not drive too far, just sticking out from my pants. Another time, it will be leather cuffs and long, slow strokes. Another, fucking you in the arse as your hands are tied up high on the wardrobe. Yet another might find you spread-eagled on the bed, being brought to orgasm again and again with a Hitachi.

But right now, tonight -- need has taken over. Raw lust. And I had to have you, had to be in you *Right* *Now*.

I continue driving. Short, pounding strokes. Pain from your ass, your clit and pussy crying, your body forced against the mattress, pillow still clamped in your teeth. Me taking my pleasure from you as I will.

Yes, luv. You may come whenever you like....

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