Beautiful

It was a Friday evening, the sun beginning to set as Rabbit sat in front of the vanity, drying her hair. A towel still clung around her shoulders to ensure that her outfit stayed dry. Once her hair was sufficiently free of moisture, she picked up the curling iron, which had been heating up since she had stepped out of the shower. It was a long and tedious task, but Sir had specifically asked for it tonight. He had something up his sleeve; she only wished she knew what. Almost an hour later, her long red hair hung in ringlets down her back. She pulled the front back from her face, securing it atop her head with a small, but elegant, gold clip. Her make-up took less time; she didn't wear much. Quickly she swiped on some mascara before adding a thin, smudgy line of eyeliner in her favorite shade--a deep burgundy brown. A small touch of blush on her cheeks completed the look and, after a quick once-over in the mirror, she decided that she was ready. Standing, she pulled the towel from her shoulders and tossed it into the clothes hamper.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror, visible through its open door. Her outfit, much like her hairstyle, had been chosen for her. Some of it she had never even seen before tonight. All-in-all, she liked the ensemble. It consisted of a short black skirt, tight enough to show a little curve but loose enough to flow freely, paired with a corset. It was made from rich purple brocade silk with a simple black trim, and managed to cinch her waist a full four inches without being too constricting. The longline style just covered her hipbones, with the top cutting off just below her breasts, slightly pointed in the center for a smidge of support. Her "under" garments were simple. The bra she had found this afternoon, waiting for her with the rest of the outfit, was sparse. Thin black lace covered surprisingly little of her breasts, scooping low down the front. She noted that it clasped in the front, a novelty she had never given much thought to.

A slight breeze wafting through the second-story bedroom window reminded her that there had been no panties laid out with the rest of her clothes. In fact, every pair that she owned was suddenly and inexplicably missing, blatantly obvious from the dresser drawer which had been left open. She had wondered at that, curiously checking the other drawers as well. Nothing. Shrugging it off, she crossed the room to a lone wooden chair set at the foot of the bed; the chair she had found her current outfit draped across. A pair of shoes and an opened envelope was all that remained. Setting the envelope on her lap and the shoes on the floor, she leaned forward. First one foot, then the other, slipped into the heeled shoes. She knew this pair to be one of his favorites, and hers. They were made of black patent leather, a classic design with a slightly pointed toe and a five inch spike heel. It was a pair she was reluctant to actually walk around in, self-conscious of the added height, but he loved just to see them on her. She buckled the strap that adorned each shoe at the ankle, and closed the tiny padlocks that kept them in place. There was no functional use for these but she loved to feel their slight weight, and both of them found the look appealing. Her hands slid up her stocking-covered legs as she sat up again. They were sheer black nylon of the thigh-high variety, decorated by a purple seam which ran up the back. Though these were the stay-up kind, he had surprised her with a set of garters which attached to the bottom of her corset before stretching to hold the tops of her stockings in the front and back. The purple back-seams, garters, and corset matched perfectly; she had no idea how he had pulled that off.

Sitting up straight in her seat, she pulled a single sheet of paper from the envelope, reading it one more time. "To my Rabbit, You have two hours. As I am sure you've noticed I have taken the liberty of picking out your clothes. When I meet you tonight, I am expecting the following: 1) That you have showered and shaved. 2) That your hair is curled. Whether it is styled up or down is your choice. 3) That you will wear what I have laid out for you and nothing else. 4) That I will find you sitting in this chair, facing forward, and wearing the blindfold that I have provided. I will see you at 8:30. Be ready."

Trembling slightly with anticipation, she returned the letter and removed the blindfold he had included in the envelope. It was plain black leather and lined with thick, soft fleece; a design she knew would block out every scrap of light. The digital clock sitting on top of the dresser flashed, showing 15 minutes to go. She was glad that she had dilly-dallied a little--waiting like this was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Taking one last look at the mysterious sheet-covered rectangle which was propped against the wall, bathed in the fading glow of twilight, she held the blindfold to her eyes and securely buckled it in back. She tried to relax, the hard back of the chair fitting snugly just below her shoulder blades. With her hands folded in her lap, she focused on taking deep breaths, and waited.

It seemed ages later when she heard soft footsteps in the hallway outside the door. Her heart, which had just recently managed to quiet itself, sped up a notch. It wasn't quite racing or pounding, not yet, but the blood pulsing through her ears seemed louder than normal. The doorknob turned, the door opened and, after a few moments' pause, closed. She felt his presence as he took his time to cross the room and wished she could see him; the time she had spent with him at dinner suddenly seemed as if it had occurred days ago, rather than hours. The corner of her lips twitched in a small, but contented smile as his fingertips brushed her leg to grasp the envelope still sitting there, the warmth of his body close enough to touch, if she had dared. The note tossed aside, along with something she could not identify from the soft "thump" it made against the bed sheets, she felt his body heat retreat as he circled her, slowly. As always, this sort of inspection made her worry that she had forgotten something, but she felt confident that she had followed his every instruction. As he squatted down in front of her he lifted the top of her skirt to look for the panties she wouldn't be wearing and ran his hand briefly over her shaven mound, checking for stubble. Smiling to himself, he said nothing, released her skirt, and stood. Grasping her hands in his he swiftly, though gently, pulled her to a standing position as well. He softly kissed her lips, just for a moment, before pulling away and releasing her hands.

"Turn around please, legs spread, and bend over. You can use the chair for balance if you like."

She turned obediently, tentatively sticking out a foot to locate the chair before bending cautiously at the waist. Her legs were spread wide, a good three feet apart, and she rested her elbows on the seat of the chair. He ran one finger slowly up the length of her slit, smearing the thin dribble of liquid which was seeping out even now. A few seconds passed, until she suddenly felt something probing her wetness. It felt different than the usual dildo--its shape was somehow wrong. He slid it in up to the base, and she realized that this particular object was definitely not a dildo. It was about four inches in total length, a bulb which tapered quickly from a small blunt tip to a more substantial width. She felt the unfamiliar intruder being pumped slowly in and out of her, once, and then twice. As it was slowly pulled out she realized, with some amount of surprise, that he had merely been lubricating it. This toy was meant for a different hole.

Swallowing nervously, she focused on relaxing herself. This was new, but nothing she didn't feel she couldn't handle. In fact she imagined, with some embarrassment, that she could feel herself getting wetter at the thought, as nerve-wracking as the concept was. Just as she had expected, she soon felt a pressure at a previously ignored orifice.

"Just relax," he told her, soothingly, a hand cupping one of her cheeks in order to hold it aside, "this will go in a lot easier if you do." She nodded her head in acknowledgment, taking slow deep breaths. He began to push then, gently wiggling the plug from side to side as it slowly began to slip in. Her instinct was to tense up, to refuse the foreign object, and she willed herself to instead let it in. If he wanted to try this, she would let him. Sure enough, she was able to let the muscles loosen enough for the plug to settle itself in nicely. Once he had worked it in to its full length, he tapped the base of the plug with the pads of his fingers, just once, for good measure. She jumped, feeling the slight motion all the way to the end of the plug. As awkward as the new sensation was, she couldn't deny that it excited her. She expected him to have her stand back up, or sit back on the chair, but instead she became aware of his hands lingering on her backside. His left hand still rested gently on the curve of her ass, and now his right hand was softly caressing the smooth flesh. Before she could get too used to this his hand pulled back, reconnecting sharply with her skin. SMACK. She made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat, feeling the warmth already starting to spread from the point of contact.

He built up a steady rhythm, alternating hands every so often. Caress, caress, caress, SMACK. Caress, caress, caress, SMACK. She anticipated each hit, and found herself pushing her ass backwards into the strike of his hand. His slaps were soon met by appreciative moans. She always loved a spanking and, to her surprise, the new sensation of the plug made the experience that much more arousing. The spanking steadily increased both in speed and force, her moans growing louder and more insistent. Suddenly, his hands were gone, and she groaned softly in disappointment. His hand slapped lightly at her now very moist pussy as he directed her, "Sit back in the chair."

Straightening up from her bent position, stretching her spine as she did so, she turned to take her seat once more. She delighted in the feel of the cool wood against her warm and still smarting ass. It was difficult to find a comfortable position, and she shifted her weight several times, trying to get used to sitting with the plug in. Trying not to fidget too much, she found a tolerable position and stuck with it. "Good girl," he murmured, and ran his hand through her hair, knowing that this was a big step for her. He leaned over the bed, grabbing what he had dropped upon entering the room. As he knelt before her, she felt the familiar sensation of rope being wrapped around her ankles. He worked quickly--this was something he had done many times before--to secure each ankle to its corresponding chair leg.

After a while, he spoke. "This may seem like a strange question, but did you look in the dresser?"

"I did, Sir," answered him slowly, wondering if she had done something wrong.

She could hear the grin in his voice as he stood, walking behind her, "Good. And what did you find?"

"Not a thing, Sir."

He took her wrists in his hands one at a time, pulling her arms back and over the low back of the chair rather than around it. Her wrists were bound together, secured to the lowest rung of the chair back.

"Excellent. Because the clothes you have on are all that I am allowing for the weekend." The last length of rope that he had set aside began to work its way around her elbows. He chose to bind one and then the other, leaving a few short inches of rope, stretched taut, in between. The tie was loose enough for him to be was certain that she would be able to hold the position as long as he chose to keep her there. Even so, her shoulders were pulled back such that her breasts were thrust proudly forward, causing her to wince a little as he tightened the rope and tied it off. She squirmed a little in her bonds, savoring the feel of being helpless and opened to him.

With that taken care of, she felt him move to sit behind her on the bed. His hands trailed lightly through her hair, running from just above her ears, to the base of her scalp, to her shoulders. Rather than follow her arms back behind the chair his fingertips moved, so softly, to her collarbone before moving to rest between her breasts. He paused for a moment, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. He had to resist a small chuckle as he felt her heart beating so quickly. It always made him smile a little to see that he still affected her so much; that she was still excited by his presence and still reacted to his every touch. Finally, his hands resumed their movement, tracing slow concentric circles from the edges of her breasts inward.

As he reached her nipples, she braced herself for the small burst of pain she knew would follow. She was surprised to feel his fingers continuing their gentle movements, instead of his usual pinching and twisting. Oh yes, he was up to something. Once the small nubs were erect, almost painfully so, one hand swiftly unclasped the bra, pushing the straps back over her shoulders. So soft was his touch that she had let her guard down, and was completely unprepared when his hands shifted to dig his nails in just below her collarbone. He drug them forcefully downward, eliciting a sharp gasp from her as ten angry red welts began to rise on her milky white skin. She shakily released the breath, hoping he didn't notice the faint whimper she hadn't managed to suppress. Whether he had heard or not, he didn't let on. He simply stood to cross in front of her once more. The next thing she felt was his warm breath over her right nipple, his tongue snaking out to trail so softly along the outer edge of her aureole. Her left breast was cupped snuggly in his right hand and gently squeezed, so as not to feel left out. He teased her this way, her breath becoming ragged as she wished he would move faster, willing him to take her nipple into his mouth. When he finally did, she moaned softly in relief, her stiff and swollen nipple glad to finally be getting some attention. His tongue swirled expertly around it as he suckled gently, his teeth biting down on occasion, much to her obvious pleasure. This went on for several minutes, his ministrations becoming more and more intense, before he switched to give her other breast the same treatment. By now, she was very aware of the slickness between her legs, of the way her lips slipped and slid against each other with every movement of her hips.

When his lips at last left her skin, his hands slid slowly down her sides, until his fingers were toying almost absently with the waistband of her skirt. "How much do you like this skirt?" he asked her.

It was an unexpected question, and she answered him honestly, "I like it a lot, Sir."

His hands continued their mindless movement as he continued, "And... whose skirt is this?"

She knew the answer to this, and knew what this question meant. Silently, she mourned the loss of one of her favorite articles of clothing. "The skirt is yours, Sir."

With that, he pulled a small object from his pocket, flipping it open. Shuddering slightly, she felt the cool touch of metal against her skin. A light "shickk"ing sound reached her ears as the pocketknife slowly slit the thin fabric of her skirt from hem to hip. Although she could easily have lifted her hips to allow the torn fabric to fall free, he roughly placed a hand on the small of her back. Sliding it down to cup her ass, he lifted as much as was necessary to pull the skirt away, releasing her with little ceremony. Though largely unnecessary, she got the message his gesture had sent: Your body is mine, and I will treat it as I wish.

One finger lazily found its way between the fold of her sex, probing the warm wetness. "Now tell me, whose pussy is this?"

She hated that word; it sounded so dirty coming from his lips. He loved the effect it had on her. "Yours, Sir."

His finger plunged deep inside of her, stroking her walls. "Mine?" he asked her. "To do with as I please?"

"Yes.." she moaned softly, hoping he wouldn't stop touching her. His hands had been on her for most of the evening, and yet she'd felt little relief for the constant heat of desire pooling in her stomach. She wanted this, wanted him to touch her forever, to never stop making her feel this good.

He inserted a second finger, and a third soon after, moving them faster and harder. She was moaning openly now, her hips bucking against him as she began to lose herself in the sensations. "Does my pussy like this?" he asked. "Does it want more?"

"Yes," she breathed, feeling wonderfully full from the double penetration. "Yes, Sir, please keep fingering your pussy."

His thumb came into play then, rubbing circles around her swollen clitoris. This elicited even more noises from her, and it was clear that she was enjoying herself immensely. This did not go on for long, though; soon, he began to slow his pace, pulling out one finger at a time, until she was empty again. Ignoring her pleas for him to continue, he wiped his fingers clean on her cheeks, causing her to blush fiercely with embarrassment. "You're my girl, aren't you?" he spoke, leaning forward until his lips were mere inches from hers. "Mine; to own, and to use?"

"Of course, Sir," she responded, still regaining her breath. "I'm yours and yours alone."

That was when she felt the blade, cold steel, as it touched the column of her throat. It pressed against her skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough that its presence was known. "Then whose life is this?"

This was the same game he had played with the skirt, she knew. He would not hurt her, she knew. Yet the small knife that touched her skin sent a chill down her spine, a shudder of dark excitement. "It is yours, Sir," she whispered, her voice suddenly small. A sharp pinch pierced her skin as the blade was drawn away, and she breathed deep as she felt a single droplet of blood begin to fall down her throat, down towards her chest. In an instant, his mouth was upon it, licking up the spilled blood before latching on to the tiny wound. His tongue bathed it, her head falling back as a long, low moan escaped her lips. Yes, her life was his, just as he lapped up the life which flowed slowly from her neck, and she knew she would always give him anything he craved.

As the bleeding slowed to a stop, he gently pulled his mouth from her neck. One hand moved swiftly to his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping to release his dick. It was almost painfully swollen at this point. As much fun as he'd had teasing her, it was time to finish the job before he drove himself crazy. Unnoticed by her, a final small object was removed from his pocket. He stepped out of his pants, tossing them aside, and quickly untied her ankles. He took a step forward, pressing the button on the small remote in his hand, and then dropping it to the floor. She jumped, as the plug buried deep within her came to life.

There was one last item left on the bed: a riding crop. Reaching behind her, he picked it up. "Open your mouth." She did, and he placed the crop between her teeth. "Don't drop it," he directed her, "or I'll have to use it." She nodded, the vibrator causing her hips to wriggle uncontrollably in the chair. Grabbing her by the thighs, he lifted her hips until she was level with him. Without warning, he plunged himself into her. She gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he began to thrust in and out. She moaned loudly now, and he groaned at the muffled noise he loved to hear. He could feel the buzzing of the powerful vibrator through the thin wall of her vagina, spurring him on. Neither one was in the mood to drag this out, as he pounded fiercely into her. The room filled with the sounds of their fucking, audible squelching noises accompanying each thrust as his hips slapped against her. Her moans soon became frustrated whimpers as she longed to be able to touch him, her arms pulling helplessly against the rope.