Peppermint Ch. 01: Deborah in Pain

The dildo is three quarters of the way in and I can see its bulk stretching and expanding your throat below the jawline, pressing your skin against the slave collar. I slip my phone from my pocket, select the camera app and command you to look into the lens as I take a single photograph. Reviewing it, I can just make out the first smudging of your mascara as your eyes begin to water. Conscious that you have not taken a breath for some while I say "Take it the rest of the way in, Deborah. I will count to ten, and then you may remove it and breathe for a few moments." Your chest heaves slightly as you force the remainder of the rubber cock into your throat, and I see you begin to struggle for breath, saliva beginning to leak from the corner of your mouth. Slowly I count, watching the rising tide of your anxiety as you hold the dildo in your distended throat against your natural compulsion to remove it. I reach six and your body begins to shake in anticipation of breathing again, the skin of your upper torso, neck and face reddening. By the time I reach eight you are imploring me with your eyes to hurry. "Nine... ten" I say, and you wrench the obstruction free of your throat, dragging a sticky web of thick saliva behind it. I turn away and listen as you gasp for air, your racking sobs loud in the stillness of the room. You continue to cough and retch for a few more seconds, bending low over your folded legs as you do so.

I look down at you quizzically. You look up, meet my gaze and shake your head, forcing yourself back to an upright kneeling position and awaiting my next instruction, the dildo held in your right hand and resting across your thigh. The thick saliva coats your chin and I order you to use your fingers to wipe it away and swallow it. You do so, scooping it up and pushing it between your lips, their lipstick now beginning to smear slightly.

"Seeing as how much you enjoy tasting yourself, you will now fuck yourself until you are on the point of orgasm. At that moment you will stop and take the toy in your throat again. You will fuck your throat as deep as you have shown you are able." As I say this you nod, move your knees apart and slip the dildo between thighs with your right hand. "Use your left hand on your clit. You will push the toy in as far as you can take it."

Immediately you set to work, engulfing the silicone as you ram it towards your cervix. I listen carefully as you pump it in and out quickly, detecting your first quiet whimper of enjoyment as your left middle finger gently circles your clit. Before long you begin to pant, although you try not to. I see this and almost casually pull the right cup of your bra down and expose your breast, the skin inflamed and hurting due to my previous ministrations. I take the nipple between my index finger and thumb and yank it sharply downwards. You shriek again, reflexively and momentarily trying to shake yourself free from my grip before you catch yourself. Instead of an escape attempt, you drag the silicone toy from your body, reluctantly abandon the teasing of your clit and force the toy deep into your throat, bullying it past any remaining gag reflex. You tilt your head backwards and feed every last centimetre into your throat, your eyes now streaming with tears, mascara running down your cheeks. I order you to fuck your throat roughly and you obey without a moment's hesitation, gurgling and coughing.

A flush of red reappears on your face, slowly travelling towards your sweat- beaded hairline. You turn your gaze towards me and I tell you now to again hold the toy deep in your throat, but this time to remove your hands from it. Roughly I pull the remaining cup of your bra down and force your hands onto your breasts. "Pinch them." I tell you, and you do, despite being desperately short of air. Your chest and stomach are heaving by the time I step forward and slowly pull the dildo from your aching jaw. You dry heave several times, slumping to the floor, albeit with your breasts still in your hands. Trails of thick saliva drool from your mouth, falling to your chest and the floor. I listen to you coughing, and very briefly wonder if I've gone too far. I'm young, inexperienced at this level, and am on the point of ending our session when you force yourself upright and shake your head defiantly. I know then that although I have pushed you, you have more to give.

"So far you have done well", I tell you. "You may use the towel to clean your face." I take it from the table and hand it to you. "Remove the saliva but no make-up." Carefully you do just that, still gasping ragged breaths as you work. I can see your heart hammering in your chest, your skin shiny with perspiration. I look critically at the welts on your breasts, thighs and buttocks and examine the swollen state of each hard-worked nipple. You put the towel down and sit upright on your heels, proudly showing me the evidence of our session. I move to stand behind you and carefully remove your bra, dropping it onto the table. I tilt your head back and see that the kohl-nebulae now resemble the ragged branches of trees in winter, dragged down your face by your tears. I run my fingertips across your aching nipples and feel you tremble against my legs at the pain.

"We are nearing the end, Deborah. You will now make a choice; you can take my cock in your throat while you fuck yourself to orgasm or you can end our session immediately using the safe word." You smile slightly and shake your head.

"Very well. Throat-fucking it is. You will suck my cock as you fuck yourself in any way you choose. You will make yourself come. However, if you come before I do, I will finish on your face and photograph you." I walk away from you, over to the patio door by which I made my entrance.

I tell you to crawl over to me, dragging your nipples on the handmade carpet as you do so. I watch the eager anticipation on your face as you make your way towards me, buttocks raised in an effort to keep your breasts in contact with the floor. You are naked other than for your hold-ups, and for a brief moment I wonder if I should make you remove them, before deciding that I like you better with them on. You arrive at me feet and I command you to kneel. I tell you to begin and watch your delicate fingers as they unzip my trousers and reach inside, pulling my cock free.

You begin to stroke your clit with your right hand and massage your left breast gently with the other as you lean forward and gently take the head of my cock into your mouth. I see your eyes flick up to meet mine and there is the briefest of pauses before I pull your head towards my belly and force my cock into your already-stretched throat. You groan immediately and I begin to slowly fuck your mouth, feeling your throat muscles relax to accommodate my flesh. Your fingers move quicker, your left hand dropping your breast and joining the right at your groin, the fingers sliding inside you as you reach for your g-spot. You continue to groan through your nose as I push into your mouth and I feel the tip of your tongue at the base of my shaft; again you are resisting the temptation to pull your tongue back into your mouth and allowing me more space therein.

Every few thrusts you pull back far enough to breathe past my cock but you never break contact with it. I can hear your pleasure rising as you continue to stimulate yourself and I run my fingers through the lava of your hair, knowing how much you enjoy it. My own breathing is becoming faster, and I begin to resist the urge to come in your mouth. I feel you slow your attention on your clit and, determined that you will climax first, order you to continue. With a whimper you obey, and for the first time I sense something inside you give way. Your eyes close gently and you concentrate on your own pleasure, surrendering your natural tendency toward authority and command. I step back, withdrawing from your mouth and fumble in my pocket for my phone.

I start to record video just in time to see you fall forward, catching yourself and holding your torso up with your right arm as your left hand brings you to a colossal orgasm. You scream wordlessly and a trickle of fluid glistens on your thighs as it makes its way to the carpet. You slowly sink down on the floor, humping your fingers and coming again and again, screaming in lust as each wave breaks over you. I command you to keep going, and your hoarse voice breaks as your screams become one long, low moan and eventually cease altogether. I tap my phone's screen and stop recording, placing it back in my pocket carefully, because I know that it will be needed again soon.

I pull you upright into a kneeling position and look at you. This time you are unable to meet my gaze as you slump on your haunches, riven by aftershocks of orgasm. Sobs heave through your chest for a few moments and your breath rattles in your ravaged throat. In a sudden rush of anticipation, I believe that you're going to use the safe word, that I've pushed you too far. A murmur of concern begins to form but it instantly dies on my lips as I see you rise up into an erect kneeling position, grasp the soreness of your breasts in either hand and turn your face towards me, a smile forming on your lips. You work your way forward until you're touching my thighs and open your mouth hungrily.

Marvelling at your resilience and your commitment to our agreement, I plunge my shaft back into your mouth, bunching your beautiful hair in my fists and fucking your throat as vigorously as I can. I look down at you and see that your nipples are pinched almost white between your fingers, despite the abuse they have received already. You bury your nose in my stomach as I slam my penis as far into your throat as I can, pushing strings of saliva from the sides of your mouth and smearing the last of your lipstick against my belly. You look up at me and I cannot hold it any longer. I rip my penis from your mouth and pump rope after rope of sperm over your face, gasping obscenities as I do so. You remain upright, taking my load until I have no more to give. I watch as my seed runs down your face and drips off the angle of your chin, dropping onto your breasts and hands. It is everywhere; in your eyes, across your lips and the bridge of your nose, on your cheeks and in your hair. Remembering who is in charge, I squeeze the last drops out onto your face and stuff my cock back into my trousers, carefully doing up my zip, my pulse thudding in my ears.

I pause briefly, steadying myself, and take my phone from my pocket to document the sight of you naked, skin inflamed and covered in my sperm, but an idea presents itself to me. I hand you the phone and order you to take the pictures yourself, knowing that, as you are used to being the person issuing instructions, the humiliation of doing so will be a rare experience for you. I watch as you pose for yourself, detailing the mess I've made of you with wanton enjoyment. You tilt face to the lens and I hear the camera click several times as your tongue searches for the come on your lips. You lift your sperm-covered, ravaged breasts and photograph them. I watch you reach behind you and take yet more pictures, this time of the welts across your buttocks and thighs. Bringing the phone in front of you again you document the tracks made down your chest and belly by rivulets of pearly white come, before finally reaching upwards to take a whole-body self-portrait, a half-smile of self-satisfied determination across your come-covered face.

I hold out my hand for the phone, and you silently give it to me. I put it away and lead you, still on your knees, back over to the table and hand you your bra. You put it on and I drag the cups downwards, smearing sperm over your nipples. I pull the straps down into the position they were in when I first entered the room and push you down by your shoulders until you are kneeling close to the edge of the table again, so you too, are where you were when I saw you first. I order you to open the atlas again, and you do it, knowing that the pain is not yet over. I watch you lean forward until your swollen nipples lie on the sharp edge of the pages and fold the atlas shut. You look at me questioningly, and I reach for the rack holding the kettlebells, and place one of them atop the closed cover of the large book. Despite your resilience you whimper quietly.

I move back over to the patio door and open it slightly. "I will be leaving now. You may free yourself in fifteen minutes," I instruct. "During that time you will not try to clean yourself up. You may, however, touch yourself as much as you want to, but on no account must you remove either or both nipples from the atlas, Deborah." I command you to look at me and I take a few more photographs of you in your predicament, my come drying on your skin. I step out of the door, and into the warm afternoon air. The sounds of a suburban summer weekday afternoon enfold and forget me as I slide the door shut behind me and walk up the path along the side of your house, get into my car and drive away.

So, how did we come to this?