tagBDSMJust Desserts

Just Desserts


"Strip," you say, standing, watching me.

I obey, just a little shy; we've been apart so long. I fold each piece of clothing with care as it comes off and set it to the side, out of the way. My black bra and panties come off last, slowly, and then i'm standing naked in front of you. Again.

"Turn," you tell me, your voice cool, your forefinger sketching a circle in the air between us. A blush heats my body as i obey, my feet shuffling, my breasts and ass and mound open to your eyes. You beckon me toward you and reach between my legs, testing my heat, and i shake a little at your touch. It's been so long since you've touched me, way too long, that time a thing of my doing, my fault and my responsibility.

You kiss me softly then, with melting tenderness, then turn me around, my back toward you. Reaching from behind, you press a moist finger between my lips and i taste myself on you as i suck. After a moment, you draw my arms back and i feel the smooth coolness of the leather cuffs binding them firmly. Tears prick into my eyes as i surrender into the restraints, pulling slightly to test them. I know from long experience that my only way out is via your will.

You direct me to the bed, pushing me onto my back, standing over me, looking, assessing, and reacquainting yourself with my body. You drag the end of the whip we bought one cold winter's day over my skin. I remember the humiliation and wild excitement i felt in that rough livestock supply store as i purchased the whip, sure the clerk knew i didn't have a pony to use it on. Smiling, you watched from across the store as i struggled for calm.

You slap at the V of my legs. "Open." I do, widely, immediately. You flick the whip then, quickly, several times. It hits my mound lightly and smoothly, barely touching my skin. I gasp at the sensation and heat floods my mind. Before you've begun, you stop, dropping the whip to the floor.

You shift me, your hands moving over me almost impersonally as you unfasten my arms from behind my back. Without haste, you refasten them up and over my head, slipping the chain that links my cuffs through a sturdy hook set into the headboard. Need begins to cloud my mind, my coherent thoughts begin to collapse and become wordless and primal urgings toward the flooding pain and wild pleasure I hope will come. You know what I'm feeling. You can see it. You understand my needs.

You slide onto the bed next to me. Your hand strokes over my body lightly while i quiver a little beneath it. Leaning over, you kiss me again, softly, tenderly, with a promise of passion. I moan into your mouth, melting into you. Your mouth moves down my neck, licking and nipping, and i arch open, exposing my throat to your teeth and lips. I feel your mouth on my skin, your body against mine, and i yearn toward you.

Your hand snakes down the front of me and cruelly twists one of my nipples. I cry out and you lean back, watching, your fingers still pulling and twisting my sensitive skin. I look up at you, your eyes bright with long-repressed need, and the silence flows between us.

"Please ..," i whisper, then stop speaking as you twist more tightly.

Meeting my eyes, your face is suddenly closed and cold and your words lash into my heart. "Please? Please what? I can fuck your cunt or your ass or your throat. I can give you pleasure or just take it. I can spank you, beat you, or mark you. I can apply that brand we talked about. You are mine." You lift your hand to stroke my face gently, then slap my cheek hard. The sound rings into the silence of the room and crimson heat blooms across my cheek. "You violated the trust between us when you left but, still, you are mine. That's not changed, can't change, won't change."

Gently, easily, your fingers stroke over the skin you just twisted, touching the nipple that continues to harden. "Lift your legs," you tell me, and I do. You fasten cuffs to my ankles, the leather smooth and solidly strong on my skin, and then fasten the cuffs together with a short chain. Pulling hard, you haul my legs over my head, affixing them to a hook in the wall above the one that holds my hands. I burn with the stretch; my body is bent almost double, my ass and cunt are open and exposed. Only my head, shoulders, and upper back still touch the bed. I strain against the bonds, moaning, and murmur softly, "Please, please, this hurts."

You say nothing but reach to caress my ass. Softly, you stroke my skin, over and over, touching my brown hole lightly, arousing me. Then comes a swift SWAT against one cheek followed immediately by another against the other cheek. Then another, and another, on and on and on, alternating sides, up on my hips, lower on the tops of my legs, your hands hard and heavy against my skin. My whimpering turning to pleading and writhing in my bonds, becoming louder, more frantic, until my ass is burning and bright red.

You stop, spreading my cunt lips and press a fingertip against my wet clit. I gasp at the heat that spears through me, shaking. I try to buck against your fingers but can't move. I want to shove your fingers against my clit, into my body, into my ass or my cunt, but i can't move. As always, the control is yours.

You pause and look down at me, watching me squirm. "I think my little slave likes this. You like this, don't you?" I only moan in response. Spearing hard into my cunt with three fingers you fuck them into and out of me roughly while i shake and gasp. "Don't you?" you ask. Words tumble from me then, moanings and pleadings for more, faster, harder, more more more please .. Master, please ..

But you only pull out of me, away from me. I protest wordlessly, almost peaking, as you move away from the bed. You take a length of black lace from a drawer and move back to the bed, smiling down at me a little sadly. Gently, you lift and hold my head while you wind the lace around and around my head, covering my eyes. After my sight is blocked, i feel the cool hardness of my leather gag nudging my mouth. I open, obeying your wordless command, knowing you'll simply force my mouth open, force the gag into my mouth and down my throat, if i don't obey on my own. "Good girl," i hear, and i glow at the approval i hear in your voice.

Your hands run softly over my ass, the skin there still tender and hot. "We're not done, slave," you tell me. I scream around the gag as a clamp bites into my nipple. Searing spiky pain radiates through my nipples and into my breasts as the other is clamped.

Again, your hands move on my ass, smoothing, touching, and caressing. A couple quick kisses, your beard scratchy and tickly against my hot skin. "We're not done," you repeat against my skin. Again you move away from me and i can hear you sorting through the collection of whips and paddles and belts and slappers you've acquired or made over the years. In your voice i recognize the disappointment and hurt and anger staining the respect and love between us. I know i caused it, know that i hurt you more than you've been hurt in a very long time.

I hear you move back to the bed and know you're standing beside it. "Punishment," you say soberly, a finger tracing gently over my face, "isn't fun. It isn't erotic. It isn't a thing I want to do to you but a thing that must be done. Nod if you understand that, b." I nod, recognizing the bleakness in your voice. Oh gods! Why did i hurt you like this?

"Ass, thighs, and hips," you say, "Cane. Thirty strokes." You pause and i begin to wiggle and scream around the gag, protesting, scared. "That's ten for each month you've been gone," you say firmly, "and then we'll put this behind us."

You step back and i still, tense and disbelieving. In all our time together, you'd never really had to punish me for anything. You'd had to be firm, of course, but i'd been a classic 'good sub', always a willing masochist and slave to you. I'd always tried hard to please you. Well, until i left so abruptly and hurt you so deeply in the doing.

I hear the hot tight SWISH of the thin supple cane a fraction of a second before pain explodes across my butt. Arcing, tensing, my hands form fists against the wildly blooming pain. "One," you say.

Another stroke lands high on my hips, welting my skin and sending me spinning into gagged, bound, screaming denial. "Two."

Another, across my thighs, burning the mark of the viciously supple cane into my sensitive skin. "Three."

Garbled, keening noises come from my throat as the blows continue raining down over my skin, hot and hard, demanding my immediate focus. Pain, not erotic, not fun, but real pain, intense and terrible, stabs into my soul and rages across my skin as the punishment continues.

My nails dig bloody crescents into my palms and i scream my voice into hoarse tatters behind my gag as the strokes continue to mount. "Fifteen."

I almost faint as the cane rips into my skin and i feel blood splatter in the wake of another blow. "Eighteen."

Lost in the pain, i urinate and the acid fluid flows down over my welts and cuts and causes me more agony. "Twenty-seven," you tell me.

Another atomic burst of pain across the welts and bruises and cuts of the former cane strokes. "Twenty-eight."

Lightning jagged pain flays me open, the stroke hard hard too hard against already beaten skin. "Twenty-nine."

I am shaking and sick, torn and welted and bloody. Waiting. The last stroke. The cane whistles down and .. stops. You touch it gently against my skin. "Thirty," you say, sounding ill.

I sag in my bindings, gasping as you remove my gag. I try to form sounds but short, mewling moans are all i can manage. You remove the clamps you'd fastened to my nipples before the caning, rubbing lightly over my hard, bloodless nubs. I twitch at the return of sensation but it is nothing compared to the incredible pain that still burns white-hot against the skin of my ass. You free me from the hooks and remove my cuffs, then turn me to lie on my tummy. I smell something medicinal as you touch over my welts and cuts and bruises with a soft wet cloth. It stings and burns. I try to move away from it but am too weak and you hold me too firmly. Finally, you smooth a cool salve over my skin and then move off the bed. "Stand up," you tell me, "over here, off the bed."

Slowly, made clumsy by the pain from the caning, i struggle off the bed and stand before you, crying but trying not to droop, trying to move toward acceptance. With gentle and careful fingers, you unwind the lace from around my eyes, permitting me light and sight for the first time since the punishment began. You frame my face with your hands, lift my chin and force my eyes to meet yours. Your thumbs stroke tears from my face. You bend to kiss me tenderly and I hear great pain in your voice when you speak.

"Don't do that again."

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