tagBDSMA Little Understanding

A Little Understanding

byarbenitre©

You tell me how it frightens you and that I don't understand. Oh, but I do. I don't want to hurt you, but when you are tied to the bed and you have that panicked look in your eyes, when they are big and round and have the anguished look of - what? Fear? Apprehension? A hint of pleading as though you really want to say "please don't hurt me." I do understand.

It's not as though you truly fear me. You know I won't hurt you, I've shown you that over and over. Yet with every contact, there is an anxiety you show and feel. I do nothing to dispel that, moreover, and truly, I know that I feed it. It's not as much an intent as an instinct. You see, I do understand.

When you are tied and your eyes are huge and anxious and pleading and needing too, I feel such excitement against all that I know that my erection becomes nearly painful for me. Hearing your voice over the phone as you tell me you are fearful or don't really want to do this makes me ferociously hard. It's all I can do to keep from masturbating immediately. You drive a hunger within me with your desperation. The wanting and wishing you didn't is like the writhing you do within the binds. The wanting and claustrophobia squirming together within you.

You wish you didn't have this need. What grown, professional woman wants to be whipped, tortured, teased to insanity? Who really wants all their worst fears brought to them as a means to keep them from orgasm and bringing them to orgasm at the same time? To keep them from the very delight they need and are willing to beg for? And not just any orgasm. That one. The one that takes you completely. Drives you to this, drives you back for more. A climax heightened by your own fears, your own anxiety until you find yourself outside any measure and thought of control.

The first time a hoarse and gentle "please" was ripped from your lips and torn out to the open air, you were so surprised you gasped and tried to take it back into your mouth. Instead, you took my rock hard member and nearly choked with the force and intensity. You couldn't believe how it had grown even more with the pleading tone pulled from you. When I finally fucked you that time, after more begging, we both collapsed from the totality.

No, I understand. You don't want this. You wish you could forget the aching, empty, shaking deep within you that feels like the descriptions of insulin overdose. Nearly sort of a terror at the thought that not only will you be utterly incapacitated but that you will beg for the very things that you would never, ever tell anyone you want. "Whip me until my skin is hot burning and too sensitive to touch." "Fuck me until it hurts for me to move." "Make me want more and beg for it." "Keep me from the climax I need so badly until I can't be touched anywhere without screaming. Until I'm so in need and delicate that when I do cum, it takes me so thoroughly throughout my body, makes me shake and spasm so completely out of control that I will never be the same. That I hurt from the pain and absolute pleasure of it."

I understand. You are just beginning to. That your need is mine own. The force that makes you suffer so and want it so and literally ache so is the same desire that makes my cock throb inside you with a pulsing that echoes beyond your heart.

When I gaze down your back, along the swell of your buttocks and see the effects of my ministrations, the excitement takes me as surely as you are lost. My cock, hard with the first touch, now jolts and jumps mercilessly. It's a need for me as well. The whip that makes your ass circle and pooch out for more snaps through my member. Each flick answered by an electric tic from my balls to the head. Often this is so intense it makes me moan and groan. The sight of the redness evokes the memory of the feel of the heat. The sight of your wriggling for more gives me shivers of knowing the feel of that pushing against me, taking my cock ever deeper within. Each snap of the whip gives me the jilt of burying myself in your dripping, grasping pussy.

Do you really think I don't understand? How your need is beyond you? How when I'm bringing down the leather onto your succulent flesh you are feeling my desire so intently that you would do anything to have more? Oh, I understand. It's my need as well. When I see the drip of delicious desire wrenched from you and pooling between your knees I have a want that goes beyond me. When it drips more, despite your wishes, with each stroke of leather, I ache to feel it washing over my length and hardness. A need to plunge within, driving to the very heart of it.

So why the ties? Why the bound hands and feet? Wouldn't you lie for all this without forcing you? Yes, you would and no you wouldn't. You would stop before you went too far. That's been the problem all along. As far as you can control, you will. That's what makes you good in business, good at your job, good at managing people. That you will control it as far as you can. The first time your hands were taken from you, that panic came into your eyes and you had no idea how much harder and needier that made me. I saw it then, your submissive side. How did you miss it all those years?

Panic but not quite terror, anxiety but not quite fear. Need and hope and desire and want mixed with apprehension. All these things I saw in your eyes that first time. And my cock jumped at it. It was not just the loss of control, it was the disappointment of all the other times when someone did something close to what you want but had no idea what they had done or were doing or wanted to do. The times you were near the edge you hoped to cross, brought to a point where you could look over and see what you wanted, yet left there gasping and hopeless.

Or worse, taken there with the wrong intent. There are so many that confuse abuse and violence with sex and pleasure. Such a fine line and yet so fully different. There was a fear there, but not the fear of the victim. The fear of the hopeful hopeless. The bindings on your hands quickly became your communication to me. Your moans as I tugged at them to move you forward became whimpers as your ass was exposed. That I rammed my dick into you as hard as possible became but a tease as I took it away just as fast and hard.

Licking your clit to take you to the edge of orgasm became but a distraction to the desire mounting in your breast. Taking it away suddenly told you exactly what to expect. And when your ass started those pushing circles that told me you needed it hot and red, my hand gave you what you dreamed of. Again and again it raised and again and again it slapped and stung your fears away.

I began asking you, then "is this what you want?. You want your ass red and hot before I fuck it hard? You want me to pound it and grab it after making it glow?"

You barely managed a weak "yes". Another tug at the bindings on your wrists to bring you across the bed and into a better position for me to reach any of you I wished. Your moans told me how you felt about the ties. Next time you would certainly be bound feet and hands. The next time you were. The roundness coming into your eyes as your hands were secured and growing as your feet were.

I understand, my dear, do you? Do you know how hard I spent the following days knowing I would see that look? How I couldn't have my pants crotch too tight or I would burst out into an erection that would only get worse? The times I spent picturing you writhing and squirming against your chains, wanting and struggling? How your voice with the underlying anxiety in it as you tell me over the phone an excuse why continuing wouldn't be a good idea only made me harder?

Once out of control, you've been simply unable to be otherwise. The delight I felt hearing you squirm and struggle to get out before you were even in was exquisite. The memory haunts me still. It is my continuing thrill to relive it. Oh, and then comes the memory of the first time you were held beyond your ability to think. Another time near orgasm and another crashing disappointment, another and another beyond what you believed you could handle rationally, but unable to do otherwise. What a delight for me! Each scream mingled with frustration and fear and want and need and almost rage, jolted me right through my spine and rock hard electrified organ.

The shivering and shaking and moaning as you tried to make me want you more than I already did, and possibly could, drove me beyond my own senses. When you came that time, the intensity, the completeness and the full loss of function is etched within my mind. I love the way you cum so hard it hurts you. How, for you, the need for more keeps just ahead of your dismay at your own depravity. I understand, do you?

I understand how you'll never feel as completely taken without being bound. How you'll never feel as needful without being teased, tempted, deprived. I understand how you've never thought of yourself as one of those "deviants" for whom sex becomes a game or a vice or a bizarre stage. I understand how you wish you could do otherwise but your body's need forces you to return my call or even to call me. How could you think I don't understand? Don't I give you what you want?

Do you want more? You only have to ask. Or beg. Or whatever I need you to do.

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