A Visit Pt. 01 - Friday

I came. I came so hard. I felt the orgasm rippling from my clasped fingertips to my curled toes. I must have moaned your name aloud, but I was so lost in it, I couldn't be sure.

And then, it was over. The thwaps and the vibrator came to a halt.

Thank goodness for that. Despite my sensory deprivation, I was overstimulated. I'd forgotten how intense subspace could be. I heaved, still panting, returning to earth. I felt tears well up, and the wrench of a silent sob. I tried to breathe deeply, slowing my movements and whimpering.

As I caught my breath, I felt you climb up and straddle my raw abdomen. I winced. You pulled the headphones off and lowered the blindfold. I blinked my eyes open. It took me a moment to adjust to the light in the room, though it was yellow and warm. And then you came into focus, staring right through me.

Making eye contact, you said to me, "I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, whore. It'll be your only orgasm tonight. No matter what I do to you, you may not come again. Understood?"

I swallowed and nodded, all too aware of how close your cock was to my mouth, if still beneath a few layers of fabric, and how little I could do to regulate that distance with my hands bound. You seemed to be aware of that too, watching my eyes dart to your crotch and then back to yours. I'm sure my pupils were wide as saucers.

I was so distracted by your dick between my tits, I didn't notice you raise your hand. The slap across my cheek came hard, fast, and stinging. I jumped beneath you and gasped.

"Manners, whore. Pay attention. What was that?"

I shook my head quickly, looked you in the eyes and replied, "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. The orgasm was so good, thank you so much. I promise I won't come again, no matter what you do to me. I'm sorry, Sir, for forgetting my manners."

You looked at me sternly. "Better. Misplace them again, and you will learn what sorry will really feel like in this room."

Despite the reprimand, you didn't move away immediately. It emboldened me to glance back down again, testing the waters. You raised your eyebrows, a subtle reminder of what I had to do: beg. Beg like a dog. Beg like I meant it.

I looked at you and spoke clearly, if quickly, as I knew that was what you wanted. "Sir, I want your cock in my throat so badly, I can't live another second without my lips around you. Sir, will you please let me have a taste? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

I felt pathetic in that moment, strapped to the bed, searching for the right words to beg for your dick in my mouth. But even more than I felt pathetic, I felt desperate. I felt desperate to have you inside of me after so long, to run my tongue across your skin, to reacquaint myself with every ridge and ripple of your body. I wanted you far more than I wanted my own pleasure. I was entirely alight, a Venus beneath you, consumed by the spear you had driven into my mind. I needed to taste you. I needed to taste you or I would surely die.

You smiled at me then, shaking your head. "Not yet." And then the world darkened once more.

***

You climbed off of me, leaving the bed. Beneath the blindfold, I started doing math. I'd been good tonight, as good as could be expected, really. You'd threatened-promised me cum in each of my holes. I hadn't even so much as seen your dick, let alone laid hands or mouth on it. Even if we didn't make it all the way around the world that night, we definitely had a ways ahead of us. You hadn't been kidding about the need for stamina.

"Sir, I might like a drink of water soon, if that would be alright."

You were moving around the room, though I couldn't overlay onto your footsteps any pattern that made sense to me. The bathroom. The living room. The sound of the desk drawer, maybe a plastic bag? Then the bathroom again. After a few minutes, I heard you on the right side of the bed. I felt my hands pulled slightly for a moment, then heard a click, and my wrists were unclipped. I brought my arms down and worked my fingers into the cuffs, between the faux fur and my skin, creating airflow.

"Don't take them off."

You grabbed me by the hair and pulled me forward, indicating you wanted me out of the bed. I stood up, the quake still wedged between my legs. You took me by my neck and pushed me back down onto my knees.

"Follow me."

I crawled behind you, following the sounds of your feet hitting the carpet, from the bedside through to the living room and over to the left. I realized you'd put a pillow down for me in front of the couch. A small kindness, though I was confident it meant I would be kneeling there for quite some time. I stopped there and stayed kneeling.

"Put your hands behind your back."

I did, and felt you use the shortest link to join the cuffs behind me. You stepped away, opened and closed a cabinet, and ran the sink. Ahh. My glass of water. You returned to me, and put the glass to my lips. I tilted my head back and drank, shaking my head when I was finished.

"Thank you very much, Sir. I appreciate the kindness."

You chuckled under your breath. I raised my eyebrows under the blindfold, curious about why you found this funny. Unsurprisingly, no explanation was offered. You walked back to the kitchen, set the glass down, and then returned to sit on the couch. You stripped the blindfold off, and there you were, before me, shirtless, the crop across your lap. I thanked you once for my sight. And another time for the view.

You took out your phone and switched the quake on its lowest setting before you began speaking.

"Mmm, good girl. So, I've been thinking about where to start with your retraining this week. So many hungry holes to choose from. But I have to be honest, it was always your throat. I could fuck that pretty little face of yours all day long. And it's just been far too long since you forced yourself open for me.

"I know you're out of practice. That's okay. It's not your fault really, just a product of circumstance. But we're going to need to correct that particular issue first and foremost, and given our truncated format here, we can't take all week building up to it.

"So, tonight, you are going to deepthroat me. You aren't going to move from this spot until you do. I'm going to give you all the time you need to relearn how to suck my cock properly before I facefuck you. But no hands. And teeth will earn you strokes with the crop. That seems fair, doesn't it, whore?"

No, it did not. Given that I'd only ever managed to deepthroat you a handful of times in all our encounters, despite months of practice, that did not seem fair. Or even possible. Hmmph.

I guessed at the right answer, laying it on thick. "Yes, Sir, very fair. Thank you so much for the pillow for my knees, and for this generous opportunity to take my time relearning how to take care of you."

After I'd replied, I realized the error in my calculus. You smiled at me slowly, with that devilish grin, at once exciting me and scaring me. You'd set me up, testing my earnestness, listening for cheekiness. And I'd most certainly failed.

There was a long pause.

"Ahh. You know, you'd been so good so far, too. I didn't think I'd end up using these tonight. This is so good for me, but so bad for you." You were shaking your head as you spoke, still smiling.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a large handful of the nastiest-sized clothespins and a relatively short length of paracord.

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

You lectured me, "you know better than that. When I ask you a question, I expect honesty in return. Don't give me what you think I want to hear."

As you spoke, I kneeled in silence, like a child in time-out anticipating the wail of the hickory switch. I watched you thread the pins on the line, knotting between each one as you went. The minutes felt long, vibrator still humming in my cunt as if to mock me. Three, four, five. Finally, you stopped after the twentieth pin. I whimpered almost-silently.

When you were finished, you leaned forward, and one by one, you pulled my skin up and pinched them onto my welted, bruising middle. From just beneath my sternum to just above my clit, I winced as each pin clipped onto me. Together, adding insult to injury across my abdomen, they were barely tolerable.

You finished clipping, and said, "now, let's try that again, whore. What do you really think about this arrangement?"

I looked you in the eyes and tried very hard to humble myself. I relaxed my jaw, which had been clenched since you began clipping, intending to speak as clearly as possible.

Your gaze, as always, overwhelmed me. What came out was mostly word salad, the pain-induced tremble in my voice evident.

"I appreciate the design, Sir, and I do appreciate the end goal. I am nervous about it, especially not having my hands. This is a lot. I have always struggled to get you down my throat, and I'm not sure I'll be able to tonight. But I will try very hard if it pleases you, and I'll do my best to communicate if it's too much."

You smiled back at me, now seeming satisfied enough. "Better. Much better."

And then your hand rose upwards, pulling, hard and fast.

***

It wasn't quite a full-throated scream. But it wasn't not a scream, either. More than a squeal and more than a screech, but muted behind my once-again tightly clenched jaw. After the rip, my body jerked before curling forward, face knotted into a grimace. My hands strained, pulling the cuffs taught behind me. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. One rolled down my right cheek. Heaving silent sobs, moaning quietly through my now open mouth, I looked back up at you. I'm sure you could see the fear in my eyes.

The pain, though unbearable, subsided rather quickly. I was grateful the clips hadn't been on for long.

Your voice interrupted my recovery, as though you'd read my thoughts. "Next time, they stay on those same spots twice as long before I unzip. And so on, and so forth."

You weren't fucking around. The threat now hung in the room like a dense perfume, coating everything the air touched.

Fear of physical pain is a difficult reaction to write about. It's an immensely powerful, visceral response, tied deeply into the most animalistic roots of our brain stem. It cannot be communicated, only experienced. It is tremendously difficult to overcome. I had only experienced it a handful of times in our play before, pain strong enough to trigger the fight-or-flight rush of brain chemicals that form the foundation for real aversions, not ones that were simply convenient in-scene. The binder clips still scared me. Your hands coming down directly on my clit still scared me. Now, too, so did the pins.

I had to be good. Bruised and torn as it now was, my middle could no longer afford me getting insolent with you. On my knees before you, perched on my pillow, I sank further into my submission.

"Yes, Sir, I understand. Thank you, Sir, for the correction." Again, I found the words came out earnestly. I felt my wetness around the quake, still humming away.

You smiled at me, reaching your hand up toward my face and running your thumb across my cheek, feeling the wet line where the tear had fallen. It was a gentle touch, but betrayed your sadistic fascination.

I felt proud then, as always, producing tears for you. Each one was a small prize, a tribute that verified objectively I had suffered for you.

You began to unbuckle your belt. A handsome reward indeed for my suffering.

***

It felt strange, finally coming face to face again with your hard cock. It was such a familiar sight, though made foreign by time and fate. Kneeling before you that day, I hesitated with initial ambivalence. Part of me felt silly, recognizing how pathetic I seemed consumed by the trappings of my obsession over what was, at the end of the day, just a dick. And the other part of me felt ecstatic, eager to greet what had been denied to me for so many months. The latter won out, of course. And a well-trained reaction, however long lost. Your cock was in front of me. I moved my mouth toward it.

I scooted myself forward awkwardly, without the help of my hands for balance, and leaned into you, neck craned. Just before my lips reached you, I looked up demurely and asked permission. Though it was implied, fear is powerful. And I wasn't taking any chances.

"Sir, may I please suck your cock?"

You smiled again. "Yes, whore, you may."

And so I did. I had planned to tease you a bit with my tongue before taking you into my mouth, slickening your shaft so I could work it toward my tonsils more easily. But I couldn't help myself. The moment I felt the velvety head between my lips, I opened wide and tried to swallow as much of you as I possibly could. My lips gave way as you filled and stretched my mouth. As I took you inside me for the first time that night, my cunt throbbed around the quake.

My struggle was admirable. It took me quite some time to reacquaint myself to your girth, but my eagerness never faded, and I choked myself onto you dozens, if not hundreds of times, each time trying to push further and further until my breath expired and I was forced to spit you back out. And when I did, as I caught my breath, I smiled up at you as I tongued one or more of your balls or rubbed my face into your drool-drenched flesh. At least half an hour passed as I knelt like that at your feet, hands bound behind my back. I earned a few licks from the crop, but only a few, and you delivered them swiftly against my inner thighs, leaving enough sting behind to prevent me from forgetting the lesson. We had a few exchanges as I worked, most of which involved you alerting me to your appreciation for the puddle of drool that had begun to form between my knees, soaking the thin carpet.

And finally, finally, my efforts were not in vain. I felt it. Your cock worked just a millimeter deeper into my maw, offering just enough leverage to pry me open. In a moment, you filled my throat. I swallowed as I fought the urge to gag, knowing I needed to press further before my oxygen supply expired. So I did, and there it was. The pop. Subtle, but indisputable. I had you down my throat. I held for just another second before releasing, pulling back a thread of drool as I came off you and panted, looking up at you for approval.

"MmmmMMm. That's it. Veeery good." And then, my mission accomplished, you grabbed the sides of my head and began to thrust yourself inside me at a vigorous clip.

You took my mouth like that until I was practically heaving. I don't know how long it was, but it felt endless. You were less gentle and less patient with me now; the only moments you let your cock leave my mouth were the four additional times I earned myself licks from the crop. I found myself ironically grateful for those reprieves, though you were hardly merciful when delivering the additional strokes due to my thighs.

Finally, after a particularly vigorous minute or two facefucking me, you pulled my mouth off you. I was a soggy mess by that point, drool hanging from my chin in thick ropes, tears running down both cheeks. I panted audibly.

You ordered me to look up at you, open wide, and stick out my tongue. I did so, eyes glistening as much with joy as distress. Jerking your cock, you began to moan lowly, signaling you were about to come. You instructed me not to swallow just before you came, putting your hand on my forehead and tilting my head back slightly to spray your cum inside me. I moaned deeply with gratitude as the familiar taste filled my mouth.

Following orders as you panted and collected yourself, I tried to keep the cum pooled in the front of my mouth to prevent any dribbling down the back of my throat. It coated my tongue, scalding my tastebuds with that all-too-familiar burn. I was grateful for the feeling, and I did my best to thank you for it through my closed mouth.

It came out mostly as gobble-dee-gook. You chuckled before replying, "you're welcome, whore."

Standing, you unclipped the cuffs behind me. " Get onto your hands and knees."

I did as you said. And then you walked away, into the other room, leaving me to maintain my mouthful, vibrator still humming inside me, for quite some time.

***

Given how animatedly my knees were howling by the time you returned, I must have been there for at least twenty minutes. The vibrator was still churning away, giving me just enough stimulation to help keep my mind off my knees, but no more.

I learned over those twenty minutes just how difficult it is to keep liquid in your mouth for an extended period of time. The swallow reflex is instinctual, after all. And keeping your jaw clenched for the same period is as difficult as fighting that instinct. At first, I tried to let my imagination run toward fantasies that might allow me to build an edge, with little luck. The fatigue was forming a solid roadblock. My breathing exercises were also of no use with my oral constraints. I ultimately resorted to flexing and releasing my core to keep rhythm and focus, singing songs in my head to keep my thoughts from wandering to just how tempting my safewords were in that pose. The subspacey feeling was fading to exhaustion. I hoped, prayed, that you wouldn't leave me for too long.

When you finally walked back into the room and squatted down behind me, I was groaning softly, as much from the pleasure as the pain. I'm sure you relished it. You removed the vibrator from inside me, turning it off.

You ran your hands along my back, gripping my neck, tickling my trigger spots. It was exquisite. I moaned deeply, shaking off the blues, diving right back into bliss, and thanking you profusely for the kindness. After a bit, you reached around me and into my mouth with your right hand, swishing your fingers into what cum hadn't yet been absorbed by the insides of my cheeks, and then deftly worked inside my cunt with those same fingers. I flooded at your touch, mumbling a thank you through my closed mouth, riding the wave back down into the subspace haze.

As you fingered me, I approached the edge. Though my jaws were still clenched trying to keep your cum in my mouth, I whined at you, "Please Sir, please may I come?" I didn't hope you'd acquiesce. But I knew you'd like me begging anyway, and I just couldn't help myself asking.

As expected, I got back from you a stern "no." Less expected, your left hand then left the small of my back where it had been bracing me, and came down ruthlessly on my ass.

The blow was perhaps not as hard as you could hit me with your off-hand, but close, and certainly much harder than you'd ever hit me before. My head spun from the pain, which, I realized after a moment, had ruined my edge. I thanked you again for that small kindness.

You reached back into my mouth to re-lube, working more of your cum inside my thirsty cunt. We kept on just like that through four more edges. Each time I asked you for relief, with increasing intensity, and each time you denied me before hitting me so hard I saw stars. I'm sure your hand was stinging and aching by the time you stopped, too.

***

After all five edges, you finally granted me relief. Pulling me up off my aching knees after a moment's rest, you dragged me by the hair into the bathroom. My gait was wobbly, joints stiff as I finally stretched them open.

"Put your hands on either side of the sink. Don't look up."

I did as you said, though from my vantage point I was still able to see you pull the lube from the amenity basket. I felt the liquid dribble into my ass crack. Your thumb followed. Assertively. You spent several minutes working into me, my body folded over the vanity, silently coaxing my tightest hole to accommodate one, then two, then three fingers.