Submit, You're Willing Pt. 02

I swallow past my nerves. A deep breath, my stomach expanding, pressing against my thighs. I move a little, spreading my knees, my thighs, wider. The new angle taking the pressure off my hips, letting the natural arch of my lower back exaggerate. Under my fingertips and palms I feel the swell of my arse as my muscles flex and shift. Everything, everything feels so suddenly alive. And focused. As if my body lays beneath a magnifier, amplifying sensations.

Mostly of heat. A full, pulsing wet heat of arousal. And an ache, an ache at my very core. A want. A want to lose myself in the act of being used. To lose myself period. To forget. And you have me drowning, waves of want and apprehension dousing my brain in equal measure until I feel I can't breathe. My focus grasping for something, anything to hold. And it is the leather at my wrists that I find.

It was made, not to bind tightly, but to wind seductively. So around my wrists, as tight as you have tied them, the straps are hard and unforgiving. Their hard edge feels sharp against my skin. Just sharp enough for me to notice, for me to grab a hold of. I take a deep breath tethered to the sensation and try to still the war of stimulus, of my nerves.

Pausing your own pursuit of pleasure, you watch as I attempt to relax. As I attempt to right myself in this moment. And then you tease. A flick of your wrist and the ends of two thin strips of leather strike the roundest part of my arse. I hiss, the heat of the contact sharp, a direct contrast to the heat of my want which is full and pervasive. Your wrist flicks again, and you watch me jump. You don't want me comfortable. Not yet. So you pause on your original intention and you tease, stoking already roaring flames until I am almost sobbing with a want for... release. Relief.

My skin, my clit, my cunt... my thoughts. Gods I don't want to think right now. The straps bite again and I am thankful for the distraction. Everything is so full I feel each piece of me is bursting. Waiting for you, for your cock, for your control.

I wait.

And you wait.

And wait.

Until all I have left is to beg. My voice broken, hesitant, a release of a gasp.

"Please."

A whisper. A plea.

I hear you tutt behind me. And I realise that I have broken the first rule. Your hand smooths over my arse, before you spank me. The sharp retort of your palm on my flesh causing me to jump. Your fingers gripping at the flesh of my arse firm enough to bruise, and then you spank me again.

Pausing as you think. You can feel your cock throb with an unfulfilled promise, yet you smile as you tuck your length away back behind your zipper. Your mind already on other things, most notably how beautifully my skin marks under your attention.

Your fingers trace over the raised welts from the strap across my arse. The finger marks from your hand. You can feel the heat in my skin from the leather and your palm. I tremble as the tip of your tongue licks over one and then another. Until the cool of air on wet skin leaves me with goosebumps.

You are tutting again when I feel the chill of the glass plug slide through the lubrication on my skin before the length of it is thrust inside me. My groan at the penetration becomes a gasp as you spank me again before your hand moved to undo the lace that remains around one of my ankles. The leather falling away from me with your practiced fingers. And then you are helping me to my feet. The change in speed is disorientating. The sudden rush of blood from my head, the need for coordination, the loss of context.

I focus on the carpet on my bare feet. It follows me as you lead me deeper into the house, until we are moving down darkened stairs of bare stone. The heat of pleasure dissipating, my apprehension growing with each step. And then I am at the bottom, looking around me.

The room is large. The farthest corners lost in shadow. The plush feel of carpet is here as well, however down here is it rugs, thrown haphazardly across bare flagstones. The lighting is soft, smoothing the sharp edges of shadows. If it was not for the wooden pommel horse and the manacles hanging strategically from the walls, one could confuse it with an unfurnished games room, as opposed to the games room it was.

The decor of earth and leather and bare metal smells of old musk and saddlery. I am hesitant, my forearms flexing against the straps that still bind my wrists at the small of my back. I look to you first before moving deeper into the room. Curious and nervous. Behind me, I hear you on the stairs, moving back up to the distant rectangle of light before you are closing the door. An unnatural, subterranean quiet falling around me, punctuated by the sound of your footsteps back down to where I stand.

I feel myself swallow. My eyes tracing dark fabric laid over the large table off to the left, draping the smaller tables along the wall, the stout metal frames that decorate the bare brick between chains. The chains are everywhere, a delicate web of organised pulleys. I follow their lines as you move around the room, removing covers until everything glints with a shined metal finish.

Clamps.

Collars.

Cuffs.

Crops...

I have seen some of these things before. The tools you used on our first night of meeting. The pretty redhead moaning beneath them. How I had wanted it to be me. And now?

I still want it to be me.

I bite my bottom lip as I watch your hands caress your toys. Your fingertips touching each as a lover, watching for my reaction. My nostrils flare as you touch items familiar to me. The ones burned into my memory. They flare and you nod, a half smile, almost predatory.

"Turn around."

Your voice is soft. Quiet in this too quiet room. My chin dips as I do so. Flexing my arms again when your fingertips start to tug at the leather straps. Your fingers quick, first loosening and then removing the ties completely. The strength in your hands rubbing at the deep red lines before you are easing my dress from my shoulders. One shoulder at a time. Letting it fall. The dress clings, held for a moment by hard nipples before the weight of the fabric peels it from me and I stand naked in the soft light. My feet ringed by cloth.

The chill of the room and my body is primed with arousal and cold. My skin dusted with goosebumps. I am silent as you look and then as you touch. Fondling me gently before pinching at my nipples. First one and then the other at irregular intervals. I don't make a sound until you catch both at the same time, pinching harder than before, tugging them out from my chest in a deliberately slow movement. My breath catching around a gasp when you release them only to do it again. Over and over. Until they are warm and throbbing.

Until my arousal wets the top of my thighs. Your finger tracing through the cream that drips from my cunt so you can bring the taste of me to your mouth. I blush as I watch you, my flavour on your tongue. I can smell it, my arousal heavy in the closed room. It is earthy and sweet. I wonder what I taste like, if it is the same.

I am still blushing as you select a pair of cuffs. They are made from a thick heavy leather, a silver chain shining softly between them. My breath is shallow as I watch you cover the fading red lines on my wrists with your newest choice of restraint. The buckles tightening until they are snug, firm against my skin. The length of the chain lets my hands hang tethered across the flat of my stomach, almost the width of my hips. I flex my hands, balling them into fists, wondering at why I feel more vulnerable in chains, than with my hands bound behind my back.

Perhaps it is the room.

Perhaps it is you.

You are so certain. So sure. You know where everything is. And you move about the room as though you are staging a play. Chains, and pulleys and a rug pulled to the center of the room. You have me stand upon it as you find a hook in shadows high against the ceiling. It makes the sound of a chain pulley as you pull it down to meet us, hooking my wrists before easing my hands above my head.

"Spread your legs."

I pause. And then move as you ask. My pulse quickening. Above my head my hands squeeze into fists once more, the only expression of building energy I have left.

You wait, watching.

Waiting for me to settle.

I feel how wide my eyes are when I look to you. Again your hands travel my body. Stroking. Squeezing. Playing. Provoking my arousal from the plateau where it has been resting. Pinching. Caressing. Soothing. Until you get to my cunt. Your fingers catching my labia, slippery with arousal. There you begin the same ritual as my nipples.

Pinch.

Tug.

Stretch.

Only this time you end your play with the flat of your hand. A short hard spank against my clit. My thighs tremble but I do not move, you hold my eyes with your own as you spank me again. And then again. Before two of your fingers thrust roughly inside me. Stroking the insides of my cunt until I am holding my breath, and then you withdraw.

Fading into the periphery.

The ankle restraints are unexpected. They are made of thick leather to match my wrists, only there is no chain between them. There is a chain, but each is attached to another pulley hidden in the shadows on the walls. You tug gently at each one until my thighs are as wide as they can be. You then adjust the chain at my wrists. Stretching me upwards, not so much to straighten my arms, but enough to have my breasts stand out proudly, daring your imagination.

And you are imaginative. You circle me again.

Admiring.

Touching at your whim.

Fondling.

Standing behind me you reach your hands around me and catch my nipples once more.

Tug. Stretch. Twist.

Stretch. Twist. Tug.

Twist... Tug... Stretch... the sudden and sharp teeth of the nipple clamps adding a new level of fire. You make sure I am watching when you add the weights. Holding each up, letting it catch the light before threading it through the mechanism and letting it drop. My clit throbs with each new assault.

Whatever nerves I had, forgotten.

Only to return again as I watch you select a crop. Your hands hovering over each as if feeling it's energy before you settle on black leather and a red racing stripe. It is long and thin like a cane. The thong at its head, wide and flat.

You let me feel its texture under my breasts, running the thong along my skin. The attention sends the weight dancing and I moan into the quiet still air. You touch me again. Liking how I whimper. The thong caressing my cheek, my jaw, the slope of my waist, the inside of my thighs... a soft and gentle journey. Until it finds my clit, there it presses until the cane bends into a sharp arc under the pressure. And then with your release, you bring it back to my clit with a light smack.

Barely a kiss of leather.

But it is enough to know your skill. Your restraint. It is the first time you make me cry out. My response seeming to encourage you. The thong then singing against my left breast and then my right. The weights dancing. The pain delicate and searing and primal, tinged with fear. Then the inside of my thighs. And back again. Until my cries are bitten behind closed lips.

So you move, this time behind me. The crop, harder now, sounding across the fleshy part of my arse. The plug eased from me in between the thong landing. Your fingers rough as they thrust their way inside me, inside my arse, my cunt, stretching me, fucking me, before the crop lands again, every time somewhere new.

And each time it lands, my breath comes hard. Each time your fingers find me, I am wanton, wiggling on them, against them. Each time they leave, I feel emptier. And then the crop lands again and my body tightens in response.

It is when my skin feels as though it is on fire, red welts crisscrossing my skin. It is when I am panting and breathless, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. It is then that I feel the swollen head of your cock press against my arse. The sound of lube and arousal wet between our bodies as you press, and press and press. My body stubborn but your are patient. A deep breath, and the bulbous head of your cock breaches tight muscles. I groan, the length of your cock framed by the hot pink stretch of muscle as you hold my arse cheeks apart, allowing you cock to thrust that much deeper.

You are mesmerised. Captured by the heat. Distracted from the body before you. Which is right now just a hot receptacle for your cock. You sink forward slowly, moving your hands to my hips, pulling me onto your cock, as though you are engaging in some perverted parody of dressing.

I moan into the air as I feel the full weight of you. Your hips finally coming to a stop. Pressed hard against mine. Deep inside me the length of your cock twitches, the hot angry head of your cock throbbing. My body clasps your length. My muscles moving around you, trying to accommodate your intrusion. I breathe through the discomfort and again you wait. A heartbeat. Another. Until my breath returns to a slow steady inhale. Before you thrust. At first short. Leaving your hips pressed hard against my own. These small movements reminding me over and over of the reach of your cock inside me. Your fingers buried in the flesh of my hips as you withdraw a little and thrust again. Each time growing bolder, withdrawing further.

Aggressive.

Paced.

I am terrified you are going to break me. And at the same time, I want you deeper. Harder. The weights on my nipples bouncing in time. Edging me closer to orgasm.

I want only to feel. Not to think. Not to think. Not to think. My groans encourage you. Nonsensical whispers, my mouth full of filth and prayers to your cock to take me, take me, take me. It is all I can do to meet the energy of your cock without collapsing. Goaded by the pursuit of your pleasure. My body braced by chains and the strength of your hands. Relinquishing myself to you, to fuck as you please.

And you are pleased.

You pound away inside me until I can hear your breath heavy from exertion. And then it is being held, a breath at a time. Your hands moving from my hips to my nipples, taking hold of the weights and tugging just that little bit more. Using my breasts as leverage as you bury yourself inside me. Your cock erupting, filling me with warm, wet trails of spunk. It is as you come that your fingers disengage the clamps, letting them fall from my flesh, now purple and aching. The rush of fresh blood is excruciatingly erotic. Your fingertips finding my nipples and milking the pain into surrender as I cum on your softening cock, caught between your fingers and fullness. Between gravity and heat.