Predicament 1

She lay on the bed, bound and gagged with tight ropes that bit into her skin. The tightness she could deal with though, it was easier than the discomfort provided by the position she was in. A hog tie with crotch rope. She could relieve one part of her body at a time, making it an extremely difficult position to hold for as long as she’d been in it. To make it harder, he was stroking a pinwheel all over her, she shook, which jostled the ropes, and brought tears to her eyes. He taunted her all the while, alternating between threats, and encouragements, using all her favourite filthy pet names, knowing that as she got more and more turned on, the blood flow to her clit increased, making her ever more sensitive to the rope biting it. And she was sensitive, she couldn’t take much more, but she wanted to please him so much. Just a little longer, just a bit more, come on H you pussy, you asked for this, you know the second he unties you, you’ll be wishing you’d taken more. She berated herself, her internal drill sergeant pushing her onwards. The rope bit into her mouth, and her pussy was screaming, even the tug on the ropes that breathing caused was starting to hurt. She took shallow breaths, and tried to control her tendency to shake as he held a knife to her throat and growled sweet violence into her ear. It was a source of never ending amazement to her that such treatment could have such a lubricating affect on her cunt, not the growling, that was no surprise, but the pain, the torture, she confused herself for a second, as a thought flitted across her blood starved brain. She would have been asking him to cum if it hadn’t hurt so much. Then she shivered, she couldn’t stay still whilst cumming, she’d give herself rope burn on her clit.

The next thing he whispered in her ear made her eyes widen in shock.

“Do you realise, pet, that you’ve been humping the bed for a good five minutes, you must really be enjoying this, you little slut.” His words were soft and dangerous, and growly, like a panther, full of sleek grace, but deadly if you got on its bad side. He ran a finger up each side of the rope in her crotch, and laughed at how we they were. “Would you like to cum pet?” She nodded, then winced as the nod pulled the rope in her slit, he laughed again, and suddenly there was a buzzing noise, and then she moaned as he held the vibrator to ropes, just on top of her clit. Her moans grew frantic, she couldn’t help but writhe a little in the ropes that held her, she tried to control herself, to keep still so she wouldn’t injure herself, but she couldn’t, and when he started counting down from ten, she knew she was lost. By the time he reached five he was holding the vibrator still and letting her do the work, positioning it perfectly and grinding her hips just slightly, getting closer and closer, so that by the time he was at two her whimpers of desperation were just adorable, he made a mental note to torture her like this more often, he paused at one, and let her squirm for just a moment before growling “Cum” into her ear. She couldn’t refuse, couldn’t stop herself, her back arched, and her head snapped back, and then forwards, making her pull hard on the rope, making her shriek through the rope in her mouth, and tears run down her cheeks, but she was still cumming, and she couldn’t stop herself. She moaned and sobbed, then realised that sobbing pulled on the rope and tried to stop, and finally, when she thought she couldn’t take any more without it killing her, he untied her hair, then her mouth, then gently removed the crotch rope, and put it in her hand to show her how wet she’d made it. When she was properly untied, he held her on the bed as she thanked her Sir, and he kissed the tears from her cheeks.

She wriggled a moment later, and writhed down the bed and took his cock into her warm, wet mouth, loving the half moan, half gasp that escaped from his lips as she swallowed his head. She worked her lips and tongue up every inch of him, loving him with her mouth, then pausing, looking up at him, one hand gripping his cock.

“Please Sir, would you fuck your slut’s ass?” He moaned as her innocent green eyes looked up at him, pleading. He sat up, flipped her over, pushed her legs back over her head, and slid his cock straight into her tight little ass, she squeaked in pain as he drove in hard, but she soon adjusted, and in no time was asking him to fuck his slut harder, and then “Oh, please! Please Sir let your slut cum! Please!” He growled out a ‘Cum!’ and she obeyed, without hesitation or reservation, she came hard, scratching his back, grabbing at the bed, eyes rolled back in ecstasy, he came with her, holding her hips tight, burying himself inside her before they both collapsed on the bed, spent and happy.

(bold type supplied by the one who calls me pet. Italics by yours truly.)

The door almost broke off its hinges as she flew through it.

In mid air, the seconds felt like hours and she was completely aware of her body. Her back was on fire from where it rammed through the closed door and made the lock give way. Her neck felt as if he had been in a car accident. The force of her head being jarred that quickly made her wonder if this was what whiplash truly looked like.  She could feel the sweat on her face make her hair stick in some places, and flail around in others. Speaking of flailing, she discovered that she had no control whatsoever on her decent. She couldn’t direct the fall; couldn’t mitigate the damage. But the thing she felt the most, more than her clothes and stockings ripping as she hit the ground, more than the skin peeling away in lines and drops of blood coming to view all over her limbs, even more than the bruises taking shape as she bounced on the concrete floor, was the point of the first… the only impact.

It was the right side, above her breast that it happened. When the hit came, it was like lightning and fire and will were focused into the head of a sledgehammer and driven through her soul in on stroke. Of course her body recoiled so totally with the hit. Her spirit had already been dominated when the punch connected. In her mind and heart, she was already kneeling. The strike was a command she obeyed instantly. The muscles were just catching up.

As she lay there, body not moving, the pulsating pain in her chest her primary focus, she slowly became aware of him coming through the door.  She could hear the steady sound of him walking.  He was moving with purpose, every motion weighed and calculated. Her sore body allowed her just enough just enough movement to see his boots walking up to her. She could tell he was taking his time and planning his next move. That was when the fear gripped her. This was all from his opening move. The thought of what he would follow it up with had her shuddering for the entire minute it took him to walk up to her kneel over.

He looked her over again, making sure she could see he was doing it. And then he stared at her hard and cold. She gasped then as he raised his fist and looked at it, and then back at her. He spoke then, in a deep soothing voice that she know would make her walk to the piers of Hamlin and leap off, “That… was ten percent” He smiled at her then, as his fist became an outstretched hand and he reached for her. “Care to try fifteen?”

She looked back at him, still shuddering, pain erupting all over her body, a tear rolling down her cheek, and lust welling between her legs.

“…Fifteen, Sir”

She flinched as he pulled back his fist as if to strike, and he paused.

"You ready slut?" he said, and she nodded, her eyes sparkling, smiling as she bit her lip, the look that said 'born ready'. He didn't give her the 15% straight away though. It wasn't a case of making her wait, or even making her work for it, he had his pride, not to mention his reputation to consider, he wasn't going to start hitting people when they were expecting it, where would be the fun in that?! He stood instead, and kicked her legs apart before gently nudging her cunt with the toe of one boot. She moaned and tried to push herself harder against the smooth, hard leather, he tapped her clit, rhythmically, gently at first, but harder and harder until her moans turned to bitten back sounds of pain, his boot was slick and shiny with her juices, and he started to put a bit more swing into his kicks, still looking into her eyes as she looked up at his, her expressions ranging from pain and pleasure every time his boot connected, to the look that said she was ready for more, almost a challenge, she had her pride too, and though she wanted him to break her, to leave her crying and begging for mercy, she wasn't going to make it easy for him to take her there. 


He paused for a moment to watch her hips still grinding on the floor, and then stopped her, putting his foot down hard over her cunt, she felt the tread biting into her soft skin, and moaned again, she couldn't help herself. He changed up then, no longer kicking her cunt with the toe of his boot, but using the tread, grinding it into her tender soaking pussy, stomping on it and almost laughing at the way she pushed upwards, meeting the underside of his boot hard, until he stopped, she was enjoying this way too much, and that wasn't what tonight was about. His SAP gloves were heavy with ball bearings, and he dropped to his knees the better to punch her cunt, just once, hard, she pulled her legs together, and he laughed at her, suddenly there was a rope in his hand, and he pulled her legs apart, tying them quickly, hard, there was no softness here, just the roughness of rope designed to hurt. She struggled, tugging against her bonds to make sure she wouldn't be going anywhere, he'd tied one ankle to the leg of the bed, and the other to her hair, leaving her pussy completely vulnerable to another punch, and the way her neck was twisted to relieve the tug on her hair, she could barely see what he was doing. Even better. His fist landed again, and she cried out, caught off guard. He straddled her then, and, around the leg tied above her head, threw a wave punch at her so hard she felt herself sinking into the hard floor. She moaned at the pain, and breathed deeply, controlling herself, bringing herself back to center, and looking up at him again, ready for more. He untied her ankle, and used the rope to tie her hands to her hair behind her head, leaving her chest exposed to his fists, and her already rosy cheeks to his slaps. He slapped her face until both cheeks were soaked in tears, then kissed her hard, loving the surrender of her kiss as he forced his upon her. He hit her again then, and she could tell he'd been practicing the famous machine gun punch, the air was knocked out of her and she was left reeling, glad she was already on the floor. He grabbed her breasts then, taking fistfuls of the soft flesh to lift her from the ground, and then dropping her, before flipping her roughly over, and pulling something she couldn't quite see out of his pocket. She found out what it was when it connected with her ass and forced a cry out from between her lips, the small, heavy wooden paddle, she knew that hadn't been anywhere near full force, and now she was scared. It was what he'd been going for, he knew just how to do it. Tonight had been planned for some time, she'd asked for him to take her down and rape her and hurt her, she'd wanted to go further than they ever had before, she'd told him she wanted him to break her, and now she was scared, scared that he really might. He brought the paddle down hard again, and again and again, harder and harder until she was wailing, the tears streaming down her face, he didn't give her time to think, didn't give her time to compose herself, he just brought the paddle down all over her ass and thighs, terrifying her with the sheer force he used, the complete absence of mercy, she could feel the anger in his blows and that scared her, he started to talk then, telling her, in between the smacks of the paddle, exactly what he thought of her, exactly what his opinion was of her, such a little slut, whore, she needed to be taught a lesson, did she realise how much he held back every time they played? Did she realise that this was everything he'd stopped himself from doing all those times? Did she realise that he was using his left hand right now? 


He paused. Untied her other leg, and dragged her by it to an A-frame in the center of the room. Suddenly there was a gag in his hand and her eyes widened, she shut her mouth tight, looking at it in fear, and he held his hand across her mouth and nose to cut off her air properly. He looked into her eyes until he felt her chest rising and falling desperately, she tried to struggle, and just when he knew her fear was ripe, he removed his hand and forced the gag between her lips, fastening it tightly and slapping her face again. Next came something that scared her more than the gag had, a hood, she struggled, she wouldn't be able to see, he wouldn't be able to see her, a thousand 'what ifs' filled her mind, what if something went wrong, what if she couldn't take it, what if, what if. Blackness then, she couldn't see a thing. She felt his rope then, her arms, still behind her head, were tied to her ankles, so that she was effectively folded in half, and then, using only these ties, he lifted her into the air, it was painful already, and she was so exposed, she felt she understood punch bags now, and sure enough, her thighs were treated to a volley of blows. He spun her round then, and flogged her back with something much harsher than his usual floggers, something with hard ends, knotted tips perhaps, she couldn't wonder much what it might be, her tears were flowing freely now that they were hidden, and she sobbed around the gag filling her mouth, She was spun around again, and suddenly there was a feeling she recognised, she froze, terrified, the thin, smooth, cool, hard thing could only be a cane, and suddenly she was struggling, shaking her head, pleading with him through the gag. He held her head still, and then, with his mouth by her ear, whispered to her.
"Make me proud pet, just 10, count them." He gave her a moment to breathe, and then started. One came hard, and she felt the fire rise along the stripe it left. He paused, and three came close on each other's heels, he dragged them out so that 10 felt like an eternity, but it came, finally, and then he pulled the hood off her head, and the gag from her mouth, and he held her, still in the air, and the words he whispered in her ear made everything better. "I'm so proud of you pet, you've done so well, I'm so proud of you, my sweet pet." He untied her then, and carried her to the bed. He spread her legs, long and slender, and still pale where they weren't red, and he slid his cock inside her soaking slit, and she moaned, and wrapped her arms and legs around him and pulled him deeper into her, and he made love to her, knowing that she liked her sex fast and rough, he took her so gently it drove her crazy with need, he fucked her until she was begging to cum, he could feel how close, how desperate she was, and he denied her, "not yet." She moaned in pain and he could see the effort etched across her face. 


He slid into her tight ass next, easing himself in slowly, before starting to fuck her so hard she thought she couldn't stop herself.
"Please, please Sir let your slut cum" He smiled.
"Ten" he said, and she knew what was coming, he counted her down slowly, teasing the hell out of her, watching her struggle, "one," he paused, on the edge himself, "Cum!" She came hard, and he came with her, filling her ass as she milked him dry, she writhed under him, her legs wrapped around his body, pulling him deep into her the noises she made were primal, no words existed any more. 


Finally they collapsed on the bed, her legs still wrapped around him, and, after a second to catch her breath and remember what words were, thanks poured out of her lips, "Thank you Sir, thank you for letting your slut cum, thank you Sir..." her eyes closed in ecstasy, aftershocks rippled through them until exhaustion overtook them, and, shifting, he lay on his back, she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat returning to normal, his arm wrapped protectively around her, and she rested hers across his chest.

A Love-Hate Relationship

I have very mixed feelings on the subject of pain. Sometimes I love it, I want to be hurt until I can't take any more. And sometimes if you try and spank me with a feather duster I'll whine and bitch at you until you give up. Sometimes it brings me closer to a person, sometimes it makes it clear that I should keep my distance. Sometimes it makes me grouchy, which is awful, but at other times it can break me down to such a pure and perfect state of being that the tears that roll down my cheeks are ones of happiness as well as pain. 

Sometimes I crave pain. Times like now, when tears of sorrow, or of anger threaten to fall, I wish for the cleansing, healing tears borne of physical suffering, of taking pain because I asked for it, and I know that the person giving it is doing so because I asked, and they care enough about me to give me what they know I need. I want pain now. I want to struggle to breathe because there's a heavy black boot on my throat, and the point of a knife is stroking my face. I want to be beaten until tears wash down my face and beyond, into the space of calm which follows tears and shrieks, the place where pain is beautiful, and peaceful, and you know that you are indestructible. I want to be the object of someone's undiluted rage, there only because they need a target and they need to see her break. I want pain at the hands of someone I love, or care for. I crave it. I need it. And it scares me a little, just how much.

MonogaStomp

Yes, you read that right, no typos, I am in a mono-poly relationship with a pair of boots. 


Not just any boots of course, to make *me* monogamous, they are a hitherto unknown brand of unique, special, beautiful, and lustful. Black leather, solid at the toe, laced up to mid calf, smooth, cool, hard leather, no fancy decorations, no funky colourful laces, no cute but oh so tacky charms hanging out of the lace holes, just plain black Doc Martens, with a tread I can't stop dreaming about. I'd cuddle up to them in bed if I could, but it's the man who wears them who makes them what they are. The man who looks down at me as I kiss his boots, as I caress them with my tongue, as I love them, as I drip with lust and anticipation, with the act of submission of loving his boots. 


I love these boots, and I love the man who wears them, who allows me to show my love to them as I do, before he wraps me in his ropes, ties me with the ropes that are an extension of his soul. If I love his boots, there are no words that can describe my feelings for his ropes. The way they wrap around me, the way they bind me tight, the way they make me feel so safe, bound so perfectly. He can hurt me with his ropes, he can soothe me with his ropes, he can change my mood from any degree of negative to blissful, heavenly happiness in an instant, just with his ropes. He doesn't tie with rope though. He ties with his heart. He ties with his love. They just look like rope. Rope as a manifestation of the soul. That is the man I call Sir. The man who calls me pet, as no other man ever will. 


He's in another city, far away, and I'm alone with my lust, alone with the desires burning my soul like fire.


I have an assignment from him. Every weekday (weekends I do something different, I have yet to find out what exactly) I must kneel, imagining him in front of me, picturing his boots, shining beautifully in front of me, his pants, pockets full of knives to hold against my throat, caribiners with which to suspend me from ceilings, from trees, from any number of assorted and convenient hard points. I see him standing there, looking down at me as I look up at him, loving him, waiting for his instructions. I am to clench my pussy muscles for one minute, imagining his hand inside me, picturing myself, feeling myself gripping his wrist while he fucks me with his fist, while he growls filth into my ear, tells me I'm his sweet pet, tells me I'm his filthy fucking slut, his little fuck toy. He knows that deep, growling voice in my ear makes me cream for him, instant lust, the second fastest way to make me beg him to let his pet, his slut, his property, cum. (The fastest way is to hold a knife to my throat while fucking me to breaking point. Did I mention I don't do soft and fluffy??) The minute ends. I relax for a minute.


Clench again, squeeze my cunt muscles tight, feeling his hand teasing my g-spot, two minutes this time, I look down at his boots, I feel his hand in my sweet, soaking pussy, I ride his smooth, cool boot, I put the shine on it with my juices, flowing freely already. Relax for a minute. 


Again. Three minutes. His fist is deep inside my cunt, I'm holding his wrist tight as his tongue teases my clit, drawing the begging words out of my lips, 'please' the word rolls off my tongue, a necessity even in my limited vocabulary at the point of orgasm, if I couldn't say the word, I'd never be allowed to cum, and that my friends, is the fate of a thousand screams of frustration. Relax. 


Five minutes. He fucks me, he owns me, he knows it, I know it. He fucks me like property, and I beg him to let his pet cum, I beg him to let his slut cum, I beg. I wish he was fucking my ass, I wish he was standing on my throat and fucking my ass at the same time. I don't know if he's that flexible, but I will find a way to make it work. Believe me I will. Him fucking my ass, hard enough to make it hurt soooo gooood! I beg, I beg, I hear him roar, the screams are torn from my throat as my orgasm rips through me, permission or no, he cums into my ass, I feel him pouring into me, he hold my hips so hard it hurts, he could be no deeper inside me. Relax. 


I need to go find a vibrator. Now.