Twins

Friday nights always felt festive, perhaps welcoming the start of weekend time together. Time to explore our unadulterated pleasures, test limits and surpass boundaries. Tonight was no different as the chilly night breeze blew gently through the house. It was his birthday, and the sounds of old jazzy love songs resonated off the walls of our bedroom.

As the night grew darker I pulled in the windows, noticing how beautiful the sky looked, illuminated by the fullest moon and twinkling stars. Comforted by the warmth of our bedroom I slipped off my black lace nightgown and let it slide seductively to my ankles, though there were no eyes on me. I glanced at myself in the mirror and proceeded to lay on the bed horizontally, propped up on my side facing the arm chair in the room, as instructed.

As I hear the water in the shower turn off, I shuffle to find the most comfortable spot on the bed, also ensuring that my body was positioned to look most appealing to my Master.

Two days ago he punished me for my disobedience. To my surprise, he instructed me to bring the sad box of matches that was only used for lighting scented candles. As I stood in the living room, confused, I had to light three matches. The first two had to be blown out and touched on each nipple. The third was to be extinguished, still lighting, in my cunt. I trembled and cried as my fear was two-fold; the fear of fire and the fear of the unknown pain I was about to feel. But as his eyes pierced into me, I burnt my nipples and then shoved the last match between my cunt lips, which lasted a nanosecond as I jumped back at the sharp jolt of pain it sent through me. My both breasts ached at their torture for the rest of the day and that evening while bathing, I felt a sting in my cunt. I leaned over and spread the lips, only to find a small white spot, traced by redness to the right of my clit, evidence of my punishment.

This morning he simply smirked and said that he was going to make its "twin" tonight, and left for work. I had no idea what was in store.

He emerges out of the bathroom fully dressed and goes to the kitchen, returning with a cup of coffee. He sets it down in the room and walks over to me, his crotch at eye level. He looks down at my face, cupping it briefly with his large rough hand and smiles as we make eye contact.

I look on silently as he unbuttons his pants and his already hard cock springs out in front of me. I gaze at its perfect head and could almost see the blood pumping in its blue bulging veins. He grabs hold of the shaft and begins passionately stroking it. Up and down its length I see his fingers tightly gripping it and thwarting it to that pleasurable peak. It continued, interrupted by the occasional rubbing of his hand over the head, as I gazed on lustily and felt wetness between my thighs but knew touching was forbidden.

He tensed up and I felt a warm blob land on my face; that made a diagonal stripe across my two cheeks and nose. Four other strands landed. The second and third made me squeeze my eyes together, and the fourth moistened my lips and the fifth extended onto my hairline.

He grunts in approval and steps back, seating himself comfortably on the arm chair, grabbing his drink. I decide to open my eyes and look at him, to avoid the cum drying and gluing my eyes shut.

I knew the routine well. He had ejaculated on my serene, pretty face and was going to sip his coffee and look on at his restrained queen for as long as he wanted, watching the thick strands of sperm liquefy and trickle to the blankets. A most exquisite and unique fetish, but that was a reflection of the many and varied tastes of my One True Master. Soon my mind wandered to how things had developed between us.

He was older than me, highly intelligent and discerning. I don't know exactly when it happened, but I think it was the day I thought I had offended him with one of my fantasies. He assured me that there was no chance that I could offend his delicate sensibilities-according to him, his sensibilities were "quite the opposite of delicate." He confessed or perhaps lured that at times, the "darkest" and most "outrageous" thoughts engorged his cock with blood and resulted in the angry purple head spewing with the utmost force and pleasure. It was that moment that a delightfully wicked flame sparked in my mind, making my masochistic body throb with anticipation. The repressed sexual deviant within me was awakened. As he spoke on, my mind was black but reeled, as I heard him say words like "bittersweet" and "torment."

I pictured us in a snow globe, trapped by its thick walls. The inside is celestially beautiful with hints of brooding dark pleasures. I am at the edge of the glass, pressing my hands against it and looking through with seemingly scared eyes. Suddenly, my body slips down the glass edges as I am dragged to the ground by my feet, bound by shackles and chains. As I am roughly pulled away, the onlooker sees that I am being held against my free will, being pulled by my captor and afraid of the unknown dark tortures that lie ahead. But on closer look, I am smiling, with devious excitement in my eyes. As the months flew by I saw us delve deeper into the snow globe as we explored our darkest fantasies, mostly instigated by him as he made me into his well trained and obedient fucktoy.

He looks on at me, taking sips of his coffee in between as I feel the thick cum harden and then soften and tickle my face as it leaks down. A torture in itself as I dare not wipe any away.

I imagined an hour passed as he surveyed. I heard the playful, yet haunting voices of Sarah Vaughan and Earta Kitt come and go as his eyes glazed over me from head to toe. His restrained queen was splayed out regally in front of him. Jet black thick wavy hair, pulled to the side of my face in a tousled shiny mess. Hair that framed my round almost childlike face, with too large hazy brown doe eyes, and a small mouth and pink lips that could hardly be forced on his 8 inch cock. I was often conscious of my 140 lb, 5 foot frame. But he loved my firm, full, round caramel mounds of flesh that ended in dark brown nipples. My belly that was neither flat nor flabby but gave me a soft, feminine appearance. My perfectly symmetrical, thick lipped cunt. My thick thighs and shapely legs that led to my tiny size 6 feet.

My mind wandered again. I smiled faintly as I realized that as the relationship progressed he had created me, his restrained queen. Restrained in the sense that I wanted to be owned, controlled, denied, used and abused in any way that he pleased. I was his pain slave and I loved every minute of it. I had experiences with other Doms before him, who I addressed as Sir. I sought to meet their vanilla pleasures, perhaps because of my natural submissiveness. But my satisfaction was short lived until I met him, he was the only one who deserved to be called Master. A perfect man in my eyes, his appetite for sadistic desire matched only by mine to be ruthlessly tortured.

Yet I was his queen, his prized possession. He loved me with such intensity that it was almost obsessive, he would not let anyone strange near me, let alone touch me. I was his property. Despite all the cruel suffering that my body endured, I looked to the outside world a happy, beautiful, well taken care of woman. Needless to say he had my heart, but he also had my soul. And the thing about giving your soul to someone is that you are forever connected to them. It was as if our thoughts vibrated harmoniously despite age, space and time. We existed perfectly in our disgusting sexual deviance.

My thoughts are interrupted by his first words for the evening.

"On your back, spread, stretch it wide open."

I turn my body with my feet towards him, and lay nervously on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Without looking at him I open my legs slowly, as his eyes lower to the space between my legs. He must have noticed my wet slit that made my lips glisten.

I reach down one hand and pull my cunt lips apart, revealing my swollen clit. I feel a cold draft on it as it emerges from its warm hiding place, to be exposed for several minutes as I see him smugly rolling a cigarette.

I picture the whole scene in black and white. With his eyes still between my legs, he lights it and smokes while I watch the tip glow cherry red. He looks down with an intense dominating glare, while I quiver in anticipation, desperately wanting to know what such a large burning surface can do considering what the match did.

Almost in slow motion, I see him shift to the edge of his seat, hold the cigarette between his two fingers and pull it out his mouth. The red tip draws closer to me and he touches it on to left of my clit, opposite the existing mark made by the match. He holds it there on the cunt he owns to make its "twin" while he prepares to enjoy his queen's pain song.

I see myself being shocked into another plane of existence, my body accepting the pain despite screams, writhing and violent sobs. I see his face, moving from a smug look to a smile to one of unbridled satisfaction as he jerks off his seed on my exposed clit, as a burn cream to my fresh wound. As he releases, I also close my eyes and slip into a euphoric state of calm, as I hear the faint sounds of Julee Cruise's haunting voice.

This is ultimately what I had learnt, what I wanted and was addicted to. Once he had said it, a faint whisper in my ear. "An unpredictable variety of stimulations and torments keeps a submissive in sense of turmoil - wanting what is next without knowing for certain what it will be, yet secure and safe in the knowledge that the trust they have placed in their Master is correct."