tagBDSMA Baker Evening

A Baker Evening


You sit up fast from your bed. You need to clear head, an being here doesn't hold that chance. You stand and look at your dresser then your closet; decide that he's not going to notice anyway and start to pick out clothes. It's early evening; the sun dipping into the horizon, the moon peeking over the other one. The cool breeze driving the stifling heat back into its sleep. The night seems to forebode a deep sense of resolution. A night for going with whatever comes to mind.

The ensemble consists of a thin knee-length skirt, over the knee socks of some argyle/plaid style, clog shoes, an accentuating t-shirt, and a lack of undergarments. The last chance her man has to satisfy you before you finally call it quits. If he takes the bait, then you'll try and work through it; otherwise, there is a certain gentleman who is willing to give his all to you, including his soul. You decide an evening walk will be innocent, but the message will be given to him. "Now or never," you think as you leave your bedroom and head to leave. You keys in hand, wallet in the other, and the clock of the clogs on the linoleum signal something's not right to your man. He looks up from his place o the couch and asks, "What are you all dolled up for?"

"I'm headed to the mall with Jen. You want to go?"

"Nah, I'm good. Have a good time." The thought of him lying there while you agonize over your own fate with him resolves your decision.

"You sure? It'll only be a bit," you try one last time.

"Go ahead, I'll be fine. Oh, pick up some drinks on your way back," he says no looking from the TV.

"Sure." You try and make it sound OK. Even you can't deny the disappointment in your voice. You head for the door with tears in your eyes waiting, hoping, praying for some utterance from him that you are wanted by him. The silence as you c lose the door behind you seals everything. You need to clear your head, without a pill or drink. A walk, like you had decided; that should do the trick.

You drive to the park by your apartment; there is only one other car in the parking lot. Good, less distractions. It seems familiar, but you see a lot of these cars around. You get out and walk by the car; no heat from the engine. Its been here a while. You head off into the woods slowly; the light is enough that you can see rather well and can pick your way with out effort.

Your gentleman has called and texted a lot lately, nearly getting you caught, but without the attention of your man, there is not much to catch. You had him at your apartment even, trying to make it better with your man; still no response other than, "hey, cool, new people." The opportunity to have him struck; you took it. It helped a little bit, until you realized that your gentleman is willing, able, and ready to give you everything. You life feels complicated. You breathe trying to allow oxygen to whisk away the stress.

You realize you have been walking for a while. Everything is much darker than you had thought but you can still see well enough to make out the trails without too much stumbling. You keep walking and almost immediately feel a presence. A near tangible feeling of being prey. The hair on the back of your neck stands. Your heart slows so as not to give away your fear. Your breath goes shallow, and you stop dead in your tracks. You feel the presence move, but you hear nothing. The feeling of a prey animal has your nerves going crazy; half of them are screaming to run, the other half are bellowing to fight. Your body is having another response.

Your flight response wins, and you take off, not really caring where to but just away. As the cool night air meets bare flesh, you realize this has given your thighs a glaze. The cool breeze causes the slick glaze to feel like ice. You come around a bend in the trail and fall. You hear the foot steps of someone coming, and they slow as they get near you. A long sniff signals the person is looking for you. The depth of fear you feel has never been matched. You legs get a fresh glazing as you scramble for your feet.

A hand is around your face quicker than you could have thought. The palm encases your mouth as the other arm grips you above the breasts holding your arms down. The sheer ferocity of this man has you cowed and quite like putty in his hands. You mind lets go of everything and tries to go blank. Something is pulling you back from passing out. The strong sexual response of your body. You focus on that one idea; "without it, you may die," you think.

You feel him press you to a tree and pin you there; the bark rubbing abrasively against your shirt and uncased breasts beneath. You feel a strap surround your arm just above the elbow, then the other arm. His hand still clamped on your mouth as you realize your eyes are clamped shut. You open them to see the silhouette of the man binding you and causing your body to react. A you breathe, you smell the telltale scent of his cologne. A traditional man, raised by a man most likely.

The straps constrict and pull your elbows toward each other. Not touching, but enough that you know struggling is not going to afford you escape. Another strap is felt around each wrist as he pulls your hands together around the tree. Yes, you have no where to go now. Pain, torture, and eventual death are the only thoughts that run through your mind. Another strap; this time around the top of your calf. A bar is felt not but an inch or two from your legs as the other strap is fitted around the other calf. "Stuck like Chuck" doesn't begin to cover it. The scent of his cologne is having disastrous results on your body. You try something that may give you a chance. You try and kick him. He shoves his foot against the bar between your calves and pins them to the tree too.

"Fuck," you think, "this asshole has thought of it all." He removes his hand and places a ball gag between your teeth. The rubber tastes like molasses; the familiar taste, smell, and feel of this man scares you even more. He knows you; did he stalk you? Did he study you? How much does he know of you? His hands are now being lightly dragged over your covered skin. The agonizing pull with only enough pressure to elicit the perfect amount of electricity. He sweeps over your ass and the hands disappear. You sigh in relief. The torture was getting to be too much; the top of your socks are wet.

Your body jolts as you feel and hear the smack on your ass. This crushes your tits against the tree; your thinly covered ass is well feelings the force of the blow. Smack. The other side; the force of it matched and even with the first blow. You try and hold back a scream. No reason to give him anything, even your acknowledgment of pain. The next several blows delivered in record time, break that resolution. You cry out around the gag; the molasses flavor soaking deep in your mouth as you breathe in, gulping air.

You ass is now feeling like a naughty child; it seeps the pain and release to your honey pot. The glaze and honey continuing to flow even with the violation. Your legs seem incapable of holding you any more, but you persist and plant your feet on the ground again. As if sensing this, he binds our knees to the tree as well. The large strap holding above your knees is wrapped around the tree. You feet are pointing at the ground while your heels are off the ground. The pressure of the straps increasing to hold your weight.

Smack, smack, smack smack. The strikes come when least expected. The torturous abrasions and heat drive your body to moan and scream around the gag again. This man knows what makes you right. He is exploiting your most primal drive. The torture is not the spanking, or the binding, or the tit mashing; its the fact he hasn't touched you or spoken.

You'd nearly die for a grunt, a moan, hell even a squeak. Something to tell you he is enjoying this. The scent of your arousal should be pervasive on his hand; the back of your skirt is wet with your glaze. This is not to mention your socks; the squishy feeling starting to get in your clogs. You know you have never been this aroused. You feel him move. You haven't been able to keep your eyes open; mind you when they were, your eyes wouldn't focus on anything. Your senses have turned internal.

Your skirt is lifted ever so slowly, exposing an inch of bare thighs at a time. As it nears the curve of your ass, he pulls it away from you slightly. The materiel rolling up over your now bare ass. You feel your arousal rising even higher. You know if you cum it will make you pass out. You have never been treated this way, and you absolutely adore this process and the time he is spending on your body. The careful attention to detail that is driving your crazy.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Four smartly placed blows to a spot on your ass that has just driven you to the edge of oblivion-by-exctacy. The absolute destruction of your self-preservation and submission to your cunt has transformed this situation into something more. Smack, Smack, Smack. Three more blows takes you over the edge.

You spasm as best your body can, convulsions shaking the tree, eyes rolling back in your head, and your moans, screams, shrieks, and grunts bellowed into the forest. The lights of the Milky Way have nothing on the brightness of this orgasm. The sheer power released from your body sucks all thought, memory, and emotion from your body and replaces it with the pure exalted enlightenment of exctacy.

You come to as he is removing the ball gag you realize has your teeth embedded in it. Your body is still on the tree. He caresses your face as he makes sure the gag didn't harm you. He releases your knees then calves. You don't trust your legs, so you keep held on the tree for dear life. He next releases your hands. The dis lodging form the tree is almost too much for your legs to bear and he catches you. Lying you on the leaves of the trail, your eyes close as the ordeal of having to stand is taken away. He releases your arms, and a smile creeps across your face as you realize your skirt was pulled down at some point you don't remember. He begins to rub the areas the straps held.

His cologne enters your nose again. You know him. Reality sinks in; he notices this as well and you feel his wicked grin. "Yes, you needed this. You have done some underhanded things as of late. You need to make a decision," he says softly. He stands and leans down to kiss your forehead. You see his face and smile.

"Thank you, Master," you say as you close your eyes and allow him to leave. You rise several minutes later and slowly back to your car. "Yes, I do need to make my decision."

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