The Wolf at the Door

Pain. That's the thing that drags me back to consciousness. The ache in my shoulders is intense. My hands are bound together tightly and hoisted above me, chained to some unknowable point over my head. My ankles are crossed and similarly trussed. I'm kneeling. Well, almost kneeling. In fact, my knees are barely touching the ground, doing very little to take the pressure off my wrists and shoulders. I let my head drop down to my chest and study the ropes that bind my breasts. The rope is hemp, rough and scratchy. It's tied tightly enough that my tits are turning a deep shade of red. The lash marks across them stand out even darker.

I can't quite help the moan that leaves my mouth as I run a dry tongue over my swollen, bitten lips. I taste a little blood and wonder for a moment if it's mine or Yours, remembering how fiercely I fought You for as long as I could. Before I can pursue that line of thought any further, the heavy, steel door to my cell bangs open. My head jerks up and I do my best to gaze defiantly at You as You saunter into the room. There's a slight smile on Your face and for a moment I know how You must see me: A kneeling, broken, woman, stripped naked, bound, lashed, wet with sweat and cum. I pray the trembling that's started in my belly isn't evident to You. A vain prayer as it turns out...

You move slowly toward me, Your boots loud on the concrete floor and I bite my lower lip in fear, wincing at the fresh pain. You see it, I know You do and I curse myself for the millionth time. How many hours have we been here? Why the hell had I failed to set up a safe call? I figured I knew what kind of guy I was dealing with: Sweet, charming, funny. The kind of Dom who's more bark than bite. Funny analogy, considering His online nickname was Lycanthrope. A bitter edged smile touches my lips and I immediately feel Your fist tangled in my long, damp hair. You drag my head back, forcing me to look up into Your sharp, all too knowing eyes.

"Does something here amuse you?" You ask me.

"No."

Your grip in my hair tightens and You give me an irritated shake.

"'No', what? Have you learned nothing so far?"

Your voice is deceptively mild, as if my answer were of little interest to You. But that much I have learned, when You seem the most relaxed is when You're most dangerous.

I say nothing, dreading what my silence may bring but knowing that my answer is ultimately irrelevant. You will do with me as You wish. Begging doesn't change that. Silence doesn't change that.

"Very well," You sigh.

I hear movement behind me. I know You're examining Your rack of "toys". You've already used a crop, a flogger, Your hand (which was actually the worst) and a slender, single-tail whip that bit into my flesh like fire. But I'm still here, I think grimly to myself. I know there are only two ways out of this now, my safeword is one, acknowledging You as Master is the other. The first is a matter of pride the second is...something else. In the course of chasing down my BDSM dreams, I've called several men "Sir", but so far, I have called none, "Master;" that term I cannot use so casually, so temporarily.

You've made Your selection apparently and move to reposition me. My legs are slightly numb and my arms feel all but useless. You slide an upholstered ottoman in front of me and I feel You lowering my arms. I almost sob with relief.

"Lay across that", You say to me. Relieved to have the pressure off my shoulders I wordlessly comply. I'm kneeling now, draped over the stool and You re-tie my wrists to either side of it using the eyebolts sunk deeply into the concrete. You move to re-bind my ankles as well, spreading my legs wide, exposing my smooth, shaved pussy. My ass, I know, is also now perfectly exposed to You and anything You wish to do to it. For the moment, I don't even care.

I feel Your hand slide between my legs and my face burns with embarrassment when You profess surprise at my obvious arousal. You slip a finger inside me, then two, Your thumb rubbing against my throbbing clit. I moan and arch my back toward You feeling how quickly my climax is building. You know it too, and stop just shy of pushing me over the edge. A growl of frustration rumbles in my throat. Your hand is immediately at the thick, leather collar around my throat.

"No," You say sharply, "You know better than that. If I hear you make that noise again, I'll correct you in a way that will make you think today has been a picnic, by comparison. Do you understand Me?"

You've been tightening Your grip on my collar during this short speech of Yours and the pressure at my throat has made me light headed. That alone pushes me to the very edge of climaxing. Your last sentence is emphasized by a hard tug on the collar. When You release it and step back I can only lay there gasping and burning with shame. What kind of slut wants and needs this kind of treatment? I let the thought float through my mind but don't try to wrestle with it; what's the point?

When the first blow lands, my body goes rigid with shock. The pain is like a dark flower, opening slowly, building until a choked gasp leaves my throat. Before I can even comprehend what's happening, the second blow lands, neatly parallel to the first. Some detached part of my mind coolly informs me that You must be using a cane of some sort. You know exactly how much I dread and fear them. But that's what tonight is for; pushing limits. I knew it but never dreamed You'd actually do it.

By the fourth strike I can't help the hoarse scream that bursts from my lips. You pause a moment and I hear You softly chuckle. I want to curse You, I want to plead with You, I want to prostrate myself at Your feet and beg for mercy, for the comfort of Your hard, thick cock using me, my throat, my cunt, my ass. Anything to make it stop,I think. But it's too late, the next strike of the cane is already whistling toward my brutalized ass and I know there's no escaping it.

By the 10th stroke I know I'm lost. I'm babbling now, an incoherent stream of pleas and screams. I've never descended to this level of subspace before, yet my anguish is nothing in the face of my arousal. The absence of the next blow shocks me enough to quiet me. I hear You throw down the instrument of sublime torture You've used on me, and the next thing I know You're there beside me, stroking my hair oh, so gently. Hope flickers through me. You won't push this any further, I'm sure of it. You release my wrists and rub them gently; loosening the ropes and checking to make sure my hands have not grown cold. I can feel a slightly triumphant smile creep over my face. I'd done it. I'd made it through the worst You could throw at me without using my safeword and without acknowledging You as anything more than, "Sir".

So it's something of a shock when You move behind me, pull my arms behind my back and bind them together once more. No, I think, no, no, no, no. But I don't say it, I won't say it. I'm still on my knees, staring straight ahead at nothing, until Your crotch is in front of me, Your hard cock clearly outlined against the denim. You unzip Your jeans and pull it out.

"Open", You say. I don't even think about disobeying You at this point. My mouth is open before the word has completely left Your lips and You waste no time feeding me the length of Your cock. You are not gentle. You hold my head firmly in place and slowly, deeply fuck my mouth, burying Yourself to the hilt until I'm struggling for a breath. Mercifully, You ease back a bit, allowing me to drag air into my lungs.

"Who owns you?"

I want to answer. I really do. But I can't, I can't. Panic stricken questions race through my mind. What if? What if it's a trick? What if that's all You really want? Just the admission, then maybe You're done with me. The thought fills me with dread; there's no safewording out of that.

Tired of waiting for an answer, You slap my face with Your cock and my mouth eagerly drops open again. I want this. I want You to fuck me any and every way You can think of, until I can't think anymore at all. You use my mouth until I'm sure You must be close, then stop. You move behind me, shove me back down on the ottoman and fuck me harder than You ever have before, one hand fisted in my hair, dragging my head back and forcing me to arch my back. I'm sobbing now as a powerful orgasm sweeps through me, leaving me limp as a rag doll. You're not done yet, though.

"Lucky for you, you're such a juicy slut", You growl, and pull out of me. The next thing I know, Your cock is pressing against my anus. The resistance is momentary and soon You're pounding my ass as hard as You've pounded my cunt. I moan as another climax rolls over me.

"Say it. I know what you're afraid of and you shouldn't be. Say it," You whisper these words into my ear and suddenly I just don't care anymore. Not saying it doesn't make it any less true and the need to say it out loud is an ache in my chest.

Just as I feel You cumming, deep inside me, the last shreds of my resistance fall away. "Master", I murmur, quietly.

"Again", You tell me.

"Master, Master!", I can't help myself now, and I don't want to either, the word spilling out of me louder and louder as You shudder against me, gripping my shoulders, biting my neck and filling me with your cum. You collapse against me with a deep throated growl of satisfaction, Your weight on my back sweet and heavy.

After awhile, You release my wrists and ankles and gather me to Your chest. i cling to You wordlessly. You are my destroyer and my salvation and the tears sliding down my cheeks are silent testament to the power You have over me.

You pick me up with amazing tenderness and carry me over to the large bed in the corner laying me down carefully on the coverlet. i curl up on my side, my eyes never leaving Your face. You slide into bed next to me, gather me up and begin to kiss me. The gentleness of Your kiss soothes me and the warmth of Your body is bliss. With a sigh i relax against You knowing i'm the luckiest kind of slave there is. One who is valued for exactly what she is. The next morning, You tease me a bit, telling me i fell asleep with the stupidest smile on my face. "Yes Master," i murmur the word contentedly, knowing now the simple, exquisite truth of it.