We Ate a Quiet Breakfast

We ate a quiet breakfast; fresh bagels, coffee and the Sunday paper. Sharon and I sat at either end of the living room couch amidst the green foliage, our feet and toes often touching. After she’d gotten up and refilled our coffees, Sharon sat at my end of the couch and languorously wound herself around me. We seemed to fit so well together, there were rarely those awkward ‘move your leg, no, the other leg…’ things.

What do you think, baby?” she asked. “is it time to go downstairs?”

Ah, the game was afoot!

“Just about time, pet. Here, lie against me and let’s see if your shave is in need of a touchup.”

Sharon lay back between my legs till my outstretched arms could reach her mound.

“Mmm,” I said. “you touched this up already. In the shower?”

“Yes, ”, she smiled sweetly “ to be ready for you.”

“You’re so good” I said “what reason will I ever find to punish you?”

“You needn’t have a reason. That you wish to whip me or cane me or hurt me (she smiled) is all the reason I need to give you those pleasures.” Her words seemed born of true conviction, she spoke calmly and without a trace of irony. She is a true submissive, a born slave.

“You need those pleasures too, don’t you?”

“Yes, but my deepest pleasure is making you happy.” She hadn’t lied.

My fingers sought and found the bud of her clitoris and the soaking wet lips below. Sharon moaned and pressed her pubis against my hands, her shoulders arching into my chest.

“Be still” I commanded and Sharon relaxed her arching body and I resumed my slow masturbation of my slut slave.

“What did I tell you we were going to do today?” I asked.

“You’re going to tie me to the new cross, ” Sharon said, barely disguising a moan beneath her words.

“What else?”

“Ohh,” she moaned audibly now as I turned up the intensity of my fingers on her clit.

“What else?” I asked.

“You told me you were going to tie me facing you…” she moaned again

“and…” I plunged a finger into her ass. Her hungry asshole swallowed it greedily and asked for more. It’s very important for me that my subs be highly anal erotic. Of course if they’re not when they meet me, they usually are soon after. But Sharon was very hot for anal sex of any sort. It was one of the many things about her that I loved.

“and you said you were going to whip and cane and torture me on my front side more than you ever had before.”

“and you’re going to wear the head harness and ball gag for me.”

“Yes, r” she said “and thank you.”

“For what,darlin’?” I began slapping her pussy, gently at first but harder and harder.

“For what you’re doing to my ooh pussy,. May I cum,please?”

“Of course not. Save your arousal for the painful things that I’m going to do to you on that cross.” I spanked her mound harder still.

“I could cum now and still bear those tortures for you,baby.”

“I believe that you could, slave but now…” I stopped what I was doing and pushed her up. “…now, go down and make ready in our dungeon.”

“Yes, sir. If she was frustrated she kept it largely to herself.

A few minutes later, candles lit, CD playing, Sharon emerged from the dungeon’s powder room…dressed, if that’s the word, in little except collar and cuffs, lace topped thigh-his and 5” black patent leather heels with their locking ankle straps.

“How do I look?” she asked. Ingenuously.

“Come here my sweet.” I said, crooked my finger at her, hooking it into the loop on her collar. “Do you need water before I put the harness and ball gag on you?”

“No, sir. I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are” I say emphatically/

With blindfold, head harness and ball gag in place, I led my sweet slave across the room. She thought I was going to put her right up on the cross but I threw her a curve and pushed her up against the wall, pressing her harnessed face against the plaster.

I hissed into her ear.

“You think you’ve taken tortures before? Well, today will push you past any limits you might think you have! Take these” I said and pressed one of the bells we use as safe words when Sharon is gagged into each of her palms. I reached down between her legs to see if this rough treatment was, as I expected, making her wet.

Wet would have been an understatement. I used my two fingers in her cunt to lead her to the new mahogany St. Andrews cross that I had only recently put the finishing touches on. Carefully guiding her in silence, I put each beautifully shaped foot on it’s footholds and hooked each to the nearest eye hook. Moving the back of each hand up her inner calves and thighs, the wetness between her legs was visible now and I stopped the action briefly to fan her own scent up toward her face with my palms. It was another powerful moment and I think we both reeled a little awed by the intimacy of it.

I chained her wrists at waist level - I planned to keep her on the cross for two hours or more and to move them later I felt might break the scene. Sharon’s smallish breasts did not lend themselves to rope bondage but then I had some evil hose clamps and copper wire bondage planned for later.

But first I bound her arms and legs to the cross. Some leather straps, some velcro straps and rope - mostly where the pressure of rope wouldn’t effect her extremities. I stepped back to admire my work. She was upright and as immobilized as I had ever bound anyone before. Sharon was already beginning to soar and I had to twice ‘remind’ her to resume breathing as the bondage had proceeded.

“Breathe, baby” and I would tighten some part of her bondage “breathe”.

I fanned her fragrance up toward her nose again and went to the toy closet to get a weapon or two. She moaned slightly and swayed imperceptibly in her bonds. I started with a small ‘rubber band’ flogger - a pussy whip really - like a modern horse hair flogger, and moved from her chest to her arms, to her thighs, to her bare mound; varying the touch between the slightest brush, to the stringiest the short whip could be and then moved on to the next - a medium length suede flogger - Sharon’s actually. I began merely draping and dragging its tresses over her trussed up form and then without warning, stepped back to ‘thud’ her a few times. When I had developed some rhythm I began to intersperse harder strikes until I was using most of the suede flogger over most of her front; breasts, arms, belly, thighs, even calves taking literally dozens upon dozens of thudding strikes. I stopped for a moment, to listen for her breathing.

“Breathe, baby. You’ll never make it through if you don’t breathe.”

I wanted to raise the ante a bit now, before the hose clamps and the copper wire and the needles so I grabbed both the plastic bead flogger and the mini singletail. The flogger I knew would both warm her further and push her toward the pain that was to come and the mini single tail would provide real pain of the kind she adored. A thousand wasp stings for Sharon. And she would love him for them.

I began again softly with the beaded plastic toy. All over again…breasts, belly, thighs, mound. Her skin was beginning to redden in a nice even way. She was beautiful, so beautiful in her bondage, in her pain. It made me want to turn up the volume. I pondered how for only a moment. There were so many ways.

First I grabbed two pairs of clover clamps and knelt in front of my slowly writhing bottom. A small whimper escaped her gagged mouth as she realized what the sound meant. I blew my breath lightly at her pussy then pulled the left side of her labia out to accept one and then two clamps. Sharon moaned

louder. I pulled down slowly, firmly on the chains. Sharon’s moans were almost a cry as I moved to the wall to get some weights. She was drooling around the gag and her chest glistened with it. I put an eight ounce weight on each chain and held them for a moment before letting their weight begin the awful and relentless tugging . Sharon’s groan seemed to come from fathoms deep inside of her. I touched her face with the backs of my fingers and repeated…

“breathe, baby. Breathe”

and with that I set the weights swinging as an evil laugh escaped me. Sharon began to sob. I wanted her tears so much then and grabbed the ‘zippers’ that I had recently constructed and began to apply them in circles around her breasts. Sharon’s head sagged forward and her shoulders and arms shook. I knew that she was cumming and I reached through the tangle of clover clamps and found her clit. Sharon’s shaking and moaning doubled and doubled again and when I let go of her crotch, some kind of huge spasm passed through her.

It must have lasted a minute or more. Her body had sagged in its bondage on the cross and I raised her chin a little with my hand to see her eyes.

Sharon’s heavy lidded eyes sparkled with the inner light of her endorphin packed orgasm and the tracks of her tears ran down her flushed cheeks.

“Ready to continue?” “Sweet thing?”

Good. I took one small beat for a pause.

I pulled the zipper on her right breast, hard with my left hand. Sharon’s moaning and shaping returned at twice their previous intensity.

Through the gag I could hear her,

“Nnnnnnnoooooooooo!”

I began pulling the zipper on her left breast then continued with exaggerated slowness.

An amazing transformation came over Sharon. She straightened herself on the cross and became calm and quiet, settling back on the cross instead of fighting the restraints. She was flying.

I pulled another clothespin. She jerked slightly in her bondage and moaned softly. I rocked the weights between her legs. Sharon made a high pitched keening sound through the gag. I pulled hard on the rest of the zipper. Sharon fairly screamed. I heard only joy and surrender in that sound.

After her shaking and spasms subsided, I removed her gag strap and wiped her chin with a soft cloth. I let her sip some cool water through a straw and then prepared to replace her gag. She shook her head and grunted “NNNnnnnnn” afraid to speak, perfectly in her subspace.

“Speak”, I said

Sharon took a deep breath and pursed her lips,struggling to find her voice. “I hate to drool, Sir. It’s sooooo humiliating. Please, I’ll be quiet”. Sharon looked a me and I knew she would be quiet…or as quiet as she could be. I set the gag strap on the dresser.

“Thank you, Sir”.

“You said you’d be quiet,” I said. “Be Quiet.”

I kissed her then, long and deep, pulling the breath from her lungs with mine. She was smiling, sparkling and suddenly alert as I pulled away and as I knew from our previous play that she was really in Need now; needing and wanting more and more stimulation to keep that orgasm monster happy. Fathoms deep her need, sometimes she almost scared me with the bottomlessness of her NEED but tonight her bottomless NEED was permission to explore my darkest urges. I would beat her and make her bleed with my needles. Tonight, I would let the Sadist in me have his way. Tonight I felt the limitless possibilities of our love only in strange, intense ways that Tops and bottoms who know and trust one another experience.

Sadist Rising indeed. I pushed the weights on her labia that she had forgotten were there. A rush of sensation then the sharpening of the dull pain of the clover clamps.

Then real pain, huge, demanding.

I knelt before her then and Sharon, knowing or guessing my purpose broke her vow.

“Noooooo” she squealed as I took the clover clamps off of her pussy lips, one at a time but quickly and then unexpectedly, I think, I buried my face in her mound licking and pulling and rubbing her sore labia.

“Give it to me, baby. Give me your pain. It’s mine, really. Give it to me, it’s mine.”

And I swear I could feel her pain, her love and her devotion pour into my outstretched hand and flow through me. My hard cock bore testament to the truth of this moment.

The Sadist Rising in me moved quickly as Sharon once again sagged, sobbing in her bondage.

I grabbed the buggy whip and began a rapid assault on her breasts and belly and thighs, red welts rising brightly on her fair flesh…her moans, gasps and sobs more music than any music I had ever heard, her erratic breathing told me that she was either close to cumming or, more likely, continuously cumming. I kissed her then, Sharon, hating me in that moment would not kiss me back and I grabbed a handful of

breast and squeezed hard, twisting her flesh until I was “rewarded” with a hungry kiss. I grabbed her by a handful of her hair and slapped her face hard, as quickly as I could. I grabbed her lycra hood and slid it over her face.

“Bastard” I heard her say. I deserved the praise and I let her epithet go unheeded.

She would repeat it soon enough.

Even with her sight restricted by the hood, I knew that she could hear and know what I had planned next. The rattling of the cellophane around the needles was a giveaway. But tonight I savored her suffering and apprehension. What size? What gauge? How many?

I had once dragged a single needle over, under and around her breasts while she had been bound and blindfolded, never actually piercing her flesh and Sharon had thought that I had pierced her dozens and dozens of times. Tonight, however, I planned to pierce her at least 20 times.

I bound her breasts with plastic wire ties, using my bandage scissors to cut off the excess. I pulled the ratcheted plastic tight and her breasts swelled angrily. I slapped each breast one time and rubbed my hand through her soaking slit. The spasm that followed was brief but beautiful.

The welts from the buggy whip still stood proudly on her pale skin. I ran my fingernail along the most prominent marks, emphasizing them and admiring them.

Then I opened the 22 gauge one inch needle I’d been holding in my teeth and stabbed her left breast with it. Sharon gasped, more from shock than pain, then settled quickly into the flood of fresh endorphins which the needles always brought. In and out, then grabbing flesh between my thumb and forefinger. I used the same needle to pierce her properly – in and through and back in – to cover the point with flesh; to pierce her a third time with each sharp shiny thing.

I worked my design – four one inch x 22 gauge needles in each breast, two inches from the nipple, counter clockwise around the swollen globes.

Then ten 25 gauge x 5/8” points, straight into the flesh of her breast, closer to the nipples but not in them.

Sharon remained silent, deep in the quiet center of her subspace. I heard her breath. Deep, slow, elemental. It was wonderful.

The last four needles would go North-South and East-West through each nipple beneath her nipple rings. These were much longer and thicker – 18 gauge x one and one half inches long,

Since the first time I had done a play piercing, I had loved the rush that came with the act of consentually piercing another person.

I took the vibrating egg and placed it against her clit – a single clip through two of her rings held the egg in place.

This I returned to my final four needles, determined to make the experience last a long time.

“You know where these last four needles go, don’t you darlin’? Are you ready for them?” Sharon grunted. I took that as consent. “Your breasts look so beautiful, baby. Just the tiniest bit of blood” I said, smearing the warm liquid around her left breast, careful to touch and tap any and all of the nearby needles.

“First the North-South, then the East-West.” I announced, apropos of nothing or just to give her something to think about while I undressed the pink-capped 18 gauge devils.

I grabbed her right nipple behind her ring and pulled it toward me. I set the bevel of the needle quickly and then slowed down to appreciate the resistance, the pain of piercing that tender female flesh.

Ahh!!!! Why is that feeling so wonderful to me?

Sharon’s moans and twitches alerted me to the bevel emerging from the lower part of her nipple. One down. Three to go.