Vanilla Twist Ch. 02

It was three days since she had seen him and she had time to ponder. She had been confused. Not by what had been done to her but by what had not.

Before he so unceremoniously removed her clothes, she'd held mental images of painful whippings and clamps squeezing her most delicate of parts but none of that happened. She dreaded it when they began and she was certain it was coming but she felt some sort of disappointment when it didn't happen. A yearning.

This girl was no masochist. She'd heard the term "pain slut" and she knew she was nothing of the sort. As she had been kneeling in front of him, exposed after he so casually sliced her clothing off, she expected to feel stinging blows. Wasn't this the image always portrayed? Wasn't this what it was all about? Wasn't this dominance? She'd been thinking about the event for days now.

Instead he was almost gentle. Well, maybe that was the wrong word. He was amused. He appeared to enjoy her discomfort. He walked slowly around her and smiled slightly. He held her chin and raised it so he looked her in the eye and then , after a moment, pushed her head down as though instructing her to refrain from looking at him again. He momentarily removed the ball gag and he ran his fingers around her mouth and shoved two of them deep between her lips, passing her tongue and eliciting a slight gag. He softly said " We'll have to work on that." He roughly replaced the ball, tightening the leather retaining strap tighter than before.

He put his hand around her throat and squeezed a little more than gently. She felt a bit of panic race through her and it increased as he used his other hand to pinch her nostrils closed. He held her like this, her staring complacently downward and and increasing urgency to breath building inside her. He seemed to understand the exact instant that terror took over her thoughts. She knew he understood that instant because he held on for another two seconds. She gasped and tears began to flow as she regained her composure. He quietly used a little finger to scoop a tear off of her cheek and quietly taste it. His smile deepened as he did this.

All the time she was exposed. This was someone she knew but only in an academic and friendly way. The discussion of this type of intimacy had been one that seemed distant and yet here she was. Open to him. Available. She would later learn just how much he loved that word. Available. Always available. She was proud of her breasts and extended nipples and tried to suck in her belly which was ravaged by time and babies.

Thinking back she wondered if it was then that she began to have the desire. The want. The need to feel. More.

She said she didn't like pain. She felt that it was always something put up with in a lifestyle of pretend subservience and submission. During these moments as his hands freed up her throat she began to fantasize about what a rush of emotion would flow through her body if she were to feel a blow upon her soft skin. As on cue, he brought forth a riding crop.

She'd seen them but only in the context of jockey's and equestrians. She'd never seen anything so fearsome or beautiful. Like many of his toys, she would find it to be hand made. By his hand of course. A black leather wrapping which covered a powerfully stiff and yet flexible carbon fiber shaft. The handle was laced in red leather and red leather tendrils hung off of the business end. She tensed and awaited a stinging blow not knowing where it might land. Her eyes closed and her tears welled up. And nothing happened.

Nothing at all. He waited. He waited until she opened her eyes and then he so slowly dragged the tendrils across her left nipple. A nipple which immediately became so engorged she felt that any more blood flooding to it would surely burst the skin. He dragged it across her breast and circled the soft white flesh. It was summer and she couldn't help notice how deep he was within the tan lines. "No man's land" , her husband had called it. She wondered what her husband would be thinking if he knew what was going on now. Her tormenter continued to refuse to torment her. Slowly she was beginning to crave what she feared and the feeling was one of pure delight and confusion. Why didn't he strike her? She wondered if it would be gentle or brutal. She wondered how she would react. She was determined to be stoic.

She knew he had given her a "safe word" and that she at first thought it was for her protection. He had told her that, while it might protect her, it was her silence or non use of the word that was his permission and that he would never ask. Ever. She found she didn't want him to ask. She crazily did not want him to hold back. She didn't know how she would explain any bruises to her husband but he had been easy enough to avoid anyway. He didn't understand her. She didn't understand herself. She only knew she was exploding with desire for something she would have found abhorrent just a few minutes ago. Confusion raced through her. She wanted to look up at him and beg him to strike her. She could not understand the desire and she knew that, without a word, he had instructed her not to look at him directly.

The riding crop slid down the valley of her cleavage which was now damp with sweat. It paused and bounced lightly on the ribs. Much too lightly and she thought she might have heard him chuckle a little. Then it began a predictable tour of the other breast.

"Breasts." That was the word she had been using when she fantasized but now she looked down and found that her simple lily white way of looking at the world was fading away as rapidly as her control. She was losing control of her body and he had hardly touched it. She wasn't looking down at her "breasts" any more. These were her tits. These were her throbbing fucking tits and that soaking area between her legs was her cunt. Pure and simple. That's what the world was becoming. Tits, Cunt, Holes, Availability. She shuddered and her fucking cunt got wetter.

The riding crop traveled easily to her belly. She had been trying to hold it in and she was failing. She could see that he was not just gliding over the area but actually poking it at it. She was not sure if he was testing it or simply pointing out that she did not have the flat stomach of a young girl or fitness model. He didn't seem to mind at all. He pushed into her flesh and she felt something very vulnerable and human. She was not going to be able to hide anything from this man. She was not going to need to hide anything from this man. She was going to be freed. Her mind raced back to the thought. When was he going to hit her. He knew, or thought she did, that this was a necessary part and now she began wanting? Desiring? Even craving it. She was so very confused.

As the crop traced the tops of her legs she wondered how he could avoid her now pounding cunt. Didn't all men want to go right there. She knew her husband had no interest in stopping anywhere else but this man seemed to avoid it or even disinterested for the time being. The sensation on the tops of her legs was extreme because the muscles were already pulled tight from kneeling and now the light tapping of the crop made her legs shake. But it wasn't just her legs. There was something else going on here. Something she had never experienced nor ever expected to. Something so strong racing through her she didn't know whether to laugh, cry, vomit, or scream. So she did what she should. She stared with a deferred gaze at the floor. She knew she had become a good girl.

The next thing she felt was his hand on the back of her head. She wondered if this was the time he was about to shove the cock she had never even seen down her throat. She initially wanted to show him her skill at giving a blowjob but now she just wanted to be fucked in the face. She got neither. So far she wasn't getting anything she wanted and she was getting so much more.

She felt the push. It wasn't even gentle. Tied with her hands behind her back and her knees under her she could do nothing but fall forward and she knew she was about to strike her forehead with the kind of pain that makes the world go white. She braced for it but it didn't happen. She felt, instead, the sharp pull on her head as he caught her inches from the floor with the grip on the back of her hair. She was surprised by the shift in expected pain. She was surprised that she liked it. Even craved it. Wondered how she could be so sick as to feel that way and was even more proud as she saw the tears drip to the floor. And still he had never struck her.

Now she was bent over and exposed. After the riding crop did its exploration of the back of her neck, down her spine, and bounced off the sides of her now hanging breasts- no, tits- it grazed her open and available asshole. God she hoped he wouldn't go there. Her husband was always nagging her about it but she felt it was not right and just too dirty. She felt it would hurt badly. She wouldn't allow it. Was she going to allow it now? Did she have a choice? She had a safe word and she could bring it all to a stop in an instant. Was that where she wanted to go? She didn't really even know him all that well. She suddenly realized she didn't even know herself all that well and that he might have known her better than she did.

This was three days ago and she was still trying to figure it out. He'd flipped the riding crop and passed that little rosebud in favor of her dripping cunt. He played with the lips and he rudely pushed it inside her. She was penetrated. Penetrated. Taken. Used. Available.

And then he took the well lubricated handle and put it on that place she protected so much and guarded even from her own husband and he pushed. And it went in. Not without some pain, but it went in and she felt a rush of humiliation. And a rush of pain, And a rush of joy. And a rush of pride. She was his. She was his good girl.

He walked around her knowing that she must look like some strange naked animal with a leather tail sticking out of her back side. She sobbed and shook. More than shook. She felt wave after wave of something that can only be compared to an internal earthquake and he knelt down and held her. He held her for a long time and it took a long time for her to come down. She had never been high like this before. She had never been in a space like this before. She was never going to be the same.

He held her. He eventually pulled the riding crop from her. He eventually snipped the ropes and quietly walked away. She didn't know how they would talk again. She didn't know how she would face her husband. She didn't know how she was going to face the world. She was a different person.

She lay with her head on the floor and her ass in the air for what seemed like hours and then pulled herself together. She was so grateful he had stayed with her through the strongest part. Grateful? Really? She was. And confused. And free.