A Feather, a Metronome and My Clit

I had almost laughed when you told me what my punishment was going to be, and the truth is, I'm disappointed. An hour of a feather on my clit? How will I cope with the boredom - that's the real question.

After my shower, I march downstairs in the nude, and I allow myself to be tied into the bondage frame without complaint. You ask me to recite my safeword and safenoise, and I'm tempted to tell you that the safeword is 'kiss my ass'.

I'm still disappointed. I may not be horny at this moment, but a spanking would've been nice.

I smile up at you as you put the gag in my mouth, mocking, hoping you'll take the bait and do something else to me. But no.

Gagged, I wiggle my pert little bottom in the air before you strap me down tighter. You don't react to that either. Annoying.

With my naked body splayed out like this, it almost puts me in the mood for sex.

You place the metronome under me, the tip of the feather against my clit.

It starts, and you sit down behind me, I assume to watch TV on your computer or phone or read or whatever.

It tickles. It's nice having my legs spread and ass on display for you like this, but this is not how I'd wanted to spend the afternoon.

The brushing is nice, though. It's not so bad.

After a few minutes of the swinging back and forth, my nipples are hardening, and I'm even getting a little excited.

I indulge in some fantasies to add to it. You, having me tied up over your lap, spanking me for being the brat that I am, finally putting me in my place and making me squeal.

In another, I imagine you taking me from behind while you pull my hair. You threaten to punish me if I don't do what I'm told.

It's starting to get a little frustrating, thinking about these things and getting more aroused by the feather. I'm probably going to have to masturbate after this after all. I take a deep breath.

Ten minutes or so in, I start grinding my hips as much in the air, even though I can only move them an inch. I want more out of the feather, but grinding does nothing to add to it. The metronome is what controls it.

Every brush is too much to ignore.

A few more minutes pass, and I start feeling more aroused.

It never slows, nor brushes any harder, and it's becoming frustrating. Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth.

I take a deep breath through the gag, getting pretty wet between my legs. It's not so bad, but I'd still much prefer to be spanked.

I try to grind harder, to no avail, and it's annoying. I keep going though, because somehow it's better than not.

It's a hit to my ego, but at least it's arousing to know that you're behind me, watching this and knowing that you've broken me this much.

Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth.

Gradually, it gets worse, and I can't stop grinding now.

It's a pain, a challenge, wanting to have more but not being able to have it. The feather brushes back and forth over my clit, over it one way, then back over it the other way, on a loop. My pussy wants to have something in it now, and the throbbing in my clit is asking me to rub it.

Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth.

I'm starting to get desperate. I want to touch myself now, or tell you to do it. I pull tight against the straps, but yes, I am tied down tightly. Every part of me is. There's definitely no way out. My nipples are like glass under me, and my pussy clenches on what it wishes was inside it.

I *so* want to masturbate, but that isn't possible. Instead, the feather is just getting wetter and wetter.

I take a frustrated breath and clench my fists, looking down at the floor. This is getting annoying.

Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth.

Ten minutes later, maybe, and it's not annoying anymore. Fuck this, I want to masturbate or have sex, and I haven't wanted to masturbate this badly in a long time. I'd ask you to fuck me, even ask nicely, but I can't.

Suddenly, I feel trapped. I pull against every restraint, and I have to groan to make it through the seconds.

I'm grinding as hard as I possibly can now, even though it's tiring me. Pulling my thighs and lower back as hard as I can against the straps is having an effect, and I'm trying to time it all against the feather. That thing has to be wet down to the stem by now.

I pull hard against the straps around my wrists and ankles too, to see if they'll give, and they don't. My front is similarly held firm against the padded wood.

Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, all while I let out angry moans through the gag.

Fuck this. Fuck it, fuck it.

Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth.

Those moans turn into pants.

It goes from frustrating to bad.

"Pwease," I say through the gag. "Pwease, pwease. 'Oh 'ore, 'oh 'ore," trying to say 'no more, no more'.

I can't take a second more of this.

The throbbing in my clit is getting too much with every fucking single back and forth, every fucking back and forth, making me writhe, stimulating, but not pleasing.

I grind as hard as I can the inch or so in the air, trying to cope with the exhaustion. My thighs are wet too now.

"Pwease, plwease! 'ay i' shtoh!" Make it stop.

Minutes later, and I'm thrashing.

I shake my head from side to side, sweating and thrusting as hard as I can despite my exhausted muscles, still trying to time it to the back and forth swinging.

My clit wants to cum, has for a while, I realize, and it can't.

There's a terrible trembling running up and down my thighs, and it's been there for the past few minutes. It starts to move through my body as the swinging continues. It's up my back, then in my calves, then into my arms, a vibration, a tensing of muscles, all as my clit and pussy throb and gush, begging to cum, for the feather to do more than what it's doing, or to please please please stop.

It brushes me oh so finely oh fuck I want to cum I want to cum so fucking badly but it won't fucking let me cum.

Back, forth.

I strain against the straps with all my strength, thrusting and moaning. I scream a gagged, muffled scream.

I just know that this feather will not let me cum. My body know it will never be enough.

The feather drags my wetness back and forth with it.

Back, forth, back forth.

I want you inside me more than anything. If you were to reach forward and touch my entrance, I would cum, just from that.

Tears are running out of my eyes, and the shivering that had started in my thighs is now all over me. I feel it everywhere, and my pussy is the center of it.

Watching me from the outside, you would see the moment that I break, when my head sinks and my will goes out of me.

Back, forth, back, forth.

I cry that I'm a good girl now, try to tell you that it's over, that you've broken me, but my arousal makes it come out incomprehensible. I don't deserve to be punished anymore, you've won, but it comes out as, "Mmmm-mmm-mpphh!"

Suddenly, you're stand in front of me, stroking my sweaty hair, and I beg. Beg.

I'm still shaking my head from side to side under your hand, trying to escape my own body.

"Good girls don't want to cum," you say.

I agree with you, forcing out, "'oh, 'oh, 'oh". No, no, no.

*Good girls don't want to cum. Good girls don't want to cum. Good girls don't want to cum.*

I writhing now. I'm not fighting to get free anymore, I'm just writhing, still grinding.

You ask me if I'll be a good girl, and I scream yes. That's the last coherent thing I say before my arousal claims me even further, and moans dissolve into nothing but uncontrolled pleas.

I look up at you, and I beg with my moans. You hold my face in your hand, and I'm grateful for that.

Then you move your hand down to my back, to my perfect, pert bottom that you squeeze and caress, and then you spank me.

I scream.

Back, forth, back, forth.

My cries become rhythmic with my exhausted grinding and the feather, every three or four strokes provoking a new one instead of the last.

You step out of the room, and I try to scream no. I beg you with my screams to come back. You're all I have. Your hand on my sweaty skin, your presence, even your spankings - they helped.

When you return, I burst into fresh tears. I sob into your loving hand again.

Watching me from the outside, you'd see a shell take my place. A broken shell, grinding her hips with all she has against the feather, not even in sync with it anymore. Just grinding.

You said an hour at the start of this, and we're only 50 minutes into it.

I'm a shell. My arousal owns me. You own me. My body is my torturous prison, my clit and my pussy the middle of it.

Finally, after a world of need, you start counting down from sixty, but not counting the seconds, counting the spanks you're giving me.

On the hour, you touch your finger to me entrance, not penetrating me, and the blazing rush of what does to every part of my mind makes me snap.

I scream my safenoise through my gag, begging you to make me cum.

Your finger penetrates me, and the orgasm hits me.

Every moment of frustration built up inside me is let out, like a coiled spring. I lose mind in the bliss, time and self meaning nothing. The release is greater than I've ever felt, yet it still takes a long time.

Right in front of you, I become a writhing mess, clenching and tensing around your precious finger that's doing it to me.

I feel like a different person by the end of it, and I know, somewhere, that I'm going to need the aftercare of a lifetime, and you, being you, being perfect you, can provide it.

I hold you, and you hold me. You even take of your clothes so we can feel closer, and then we shower together.

Since then, the feather becomes as much my dom(me) as you are. It's framed on the wall, and I happily kiss it goodnight before we go to bed. I say hello to it in the mornings, and I thank it for what it did to me.

It gave me everything I ever wanted.

I take my spankings like a good girl, not a word of complaint, and fuck does it arouse me.

I strip naked and curl up with you on the sofa. I get excited when I purr for your affection, and I'm exhilarated when I make you happy. I am, in every way, your perfect girl, and I love you so much.

As I lie in bed in your loving arms, happier than I've ever been, I know that it's up there, and I'm grateful for it, even though it's always waiting, waiting for the day when I start to forget what it can do to me.