Owned ~ Bdsm fanatsy

Bounded woman and fucked from behind

OWNED | Art by Samarel

Heat invades my slumber
Strong hands grabbing, squeezing
Shattering dreams
Waking me to ragged breathing
You exhale fire on my neck
Nerves jolted awake
An inferno under my skin
Molten liquid flows
From my throbbing center
You breathe deep
The scent of my lust
Growling your pleasure
Solid heat molds itself down my back
Cradling my round buttocks
Twining with my legs
Rigid passion
Nestled in my private crevice
Fuels my desire
A fist in my hair
My head pulled back
YES!
More…please, more
Slapping, Squeezing
Pinching, Sucking
Biting, Pleasing
You draw me deeper
Into the consuming passion
Pleasure and pain
Push me forward
Closer to that sweet release
I cherish every stab of pain
Each tender caress
I am being consumed
Burned alive with ecstasy
You force your hardness
Deep into my tight satin slit
Thrusting, Pumping
Bruising, Thrilling,
Pleasing, Possessing
Your ice blue eyes lock with mine
Intense gaze burning deep
Branding your name on my soul
I am yours
I am
OWNED

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Painful lesson – part 2

Rough sex bdsm art
A Painful Lesson by Jolie Cain –
Part 2
(Click here for part 1)

Aroused, aching, I began rubbing myself against his lap. That’s when I noticed something long and hard prodding me in the stomach. He had an erection! Should I have been repulsed? Offended? I don’t know. All I do know is that just the thought that he was as excited as I was made me even hotter! The blows continued, more painful now that my skin was so sensitized by the previous hits. But I didn’t mind. In fact, I was enjoying the stinging slaps. My moans became louder, even through the gag. I was squirming, rubbing, trying to find some relief. I no longer even felt like myself any more. I felt like some desperate, mindless creature. I knew a climax was not far away. I was actually going to orgasm from a spanking. If I had been able to think, I would have been shocked. Perhaps even appalled. Instead, I wanted only to reach that peak that seemed to hover just out of my reach. Never had I become so aroused so quickly. Never had I felt such intense need to cum.

At last the spanking halted. Stopped just as I felt myself approaching orgasm. I shook my head. Tried to tell him keep going, but it did no good. I wiggled my hips. Arched up. Anything to let him know I wanted…no, I needed more.

He chuckled, obviously understanding the message I was trying to convey. “Poor little one. Is there something you want from me? Something you need? Perhaps this?” His hand soothed across my sore and stinging ass, not helping at all. Rather, it ratcheted my need higher, and I squirmed more furiously, parting my thighs to let him know where I needed his hand, his fingers. Another chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart, what a delightful little surprise you’ve turned into.”

His hand moved then, to my legs. He stroked upwards along the tender flesh, higher and higher until his fingers just brushed against the moist hair at the apex of my thighs. I groaned and spread my legs further. Oh, God, I needed a firmer touch. I needed his fingers inside me, pumping into me. He obviously understood the forces that were driving me much better than I understood them myself, because his fingers began a more thorough investigation of my tender flesh, spreading my nether lips, brushing across my clitoris, and finally pushing up into my slick channel. One finger at first, then he added another, over and over he pulled out and pushed back in. He was not gentle, and I did not care. 

I was so wet I could feel the moisture on my thighs, and I could hear the squelching noise it made each time his fingers plunged into me. I should have been embarrassed. That thought hovered on the edge of my consciousness, but I ignored it. There was no room here for embarrassment. Only need and lust and a hot, hot excitement. 

He pulled his fingers out, again postponing an approaching orgasm, and I moaned in denial, but he ignored me. He pushed me from his lap and steadied me as I found my balance. Then he pressed down on my shoulders until I was kneeling before him. His hands came up to remove the gag, tossing the handkerchief and bandana onto the floor, and then he began unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. “I cum first. Do you understand, little one? And if you’re very good, then you will also get to cum.”

I answered softly, “Yes, sir.” I did indeed understand. I understood that he had somehow turned me into someone I did not know. Because as he pulled his erect cock, long and curved slightly upward, out of his pants, I wanted to taste it more than I had ever wanted anything before. My boyfriends in the past had wanted me to suck them, and I had done so reluctantly, refusing to swallow or even to allow them to cum in my mouth. But now…now I licked my lips in anticipation as I saw the bead of pre-cum on the tip of his cock. God, I wanted to taste him.

I brought up my hands, which were still bound together with his belt. I thought he would unfasten them, but he did not. So I reached for him as best I could and directed his cock toward my eager mouth. I used my tongue at first to delicately lick off that bit of fluid. 

“Yes, sweetheart. You like that?” he murmured.

I looked up and nodded, and then bent my head again. Using my tongue, I traced each inch of his erection, working my way down one side and up the other. I became entranced with each vein, each pulse, the warm and delicious scent of him. I used my spit to coat his length and then engulfed his head in my mouth, sucking gently until he pressed down on my scalp indicating he wanted more. Deeper and deeper I pulled his cock in, until it bumped against the back of my throat, causing me to gag slightly. 

Immediately he pulled me off a bit. “Careful, little one. Not too much.” 

Brushing my hands away, he used his own fingers to mark the point on his cock where I had begun to gag. Then he pressed down again. I took him in as far as I could, to the point he had marked. Then I pulled back, sucking hard, which I know pleased him because he moaned, and when I looked up, I saw he had leaned his head back to rest against the back of the chair. Again I lowered my head down over his cock and pulled back, speeding up as his hand directed me into the pace he wanted. Again and again, my head bobbed up and down on his hardness.

“I’m about to cum, sweetheart,” he gasped out finally, and his hand tightened in my hair, holding me in place just as his cum spurted into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat in a hot jet. I swallowed. Every delicious drop. I swallowed it all. And when he was finished, I used my mouth to search out any stray speck that I might have missed. I didn’t know I would enjoy it so much, not only the taste of a man’s cum, but also the knowledge that I had brought him to such pleasure. I felt, in that moment, as intensely feminine as I had ever felt before or have since. And I learned that the power of a woman is in her ability to create in a man the need for that which only she can give him.

At last, the professor spoke. “Now, little one, it’s your turn. You have definitely earned your reward.”

Standing, he pulled me to my feet and released my hands. He drew me toward his desk and lifted me so that I perched on the top, legs hanging off. His hands went to the buttons of my blouse. “I want to see your breasts, your nipples. Okay?” As if I could deny him anything? 

“Yes, sir,” I replied. 

He began unfastening the buttons on my pale pink shirt. Once he had them all undone, he pushed the sides apart. My bra was not sexy. Just a plain, basic white. It fastened in back, so he reached up and peeled down the cups. The bra acted as a brace, lifting my breasts up towards him as if in offering. My nipples were a dark, aroused pink, which had tightened into hard little points. 

His hands reached up to hold each breast, molding and squeezing. He bent, his mouth fastening over one eager bud. His tongue circled around and around the point before he bit down with a slight but firm pressure and tugged. His left hand continued to play with my other breast as well, his thumb brushing back and forth over that aroused tip. The double stimulation on my breasts shot straight to my pussy and increased my need to orgasm. “Please, sir. Oh, please.” Almost incoherent, I begged him. He just ignored my pleas, however. Releasing my breasts, he stood up to admire his handiwork–the dazed expression in my eyes, my lips parted and panting with need, my nipple gleaming with the wetness from his mouth. 

Then he pushed my thighs apart, so wide that it would have been humiliating had I not been in the state I was in. I felt myself falling, so I reached back to recline on my elbows. He bent suddenly and fastened his mouth on my clit, sucking, sucking so strongly that, almost before I realized what was happening, I had cum, hard, my body bucking upwards with the strength of my orgasm. He petted me through the spasms of my climax. When it was over, I thought he was finished, but he didn’t stop, just thrust his fingers back up into me and continued sucking, forcing me again to begin the climb into orgasm. God, it hurt, but it felt so good. I closed my eyes. The need was burning in me, overwhelming me. I came over, and over, and over, collapsing backward on his desk as he relentlessly stimulated my already swollen and aching clit. How many times I reached climax, I do not know, but I was a trembling mass of flesh when he finally stopped. 

At last he rose above me, and my eyelids fluttered open to peer up at him as he looked down at me, his face wet with my fluids. Raising his arm, he dragged his sleeve across his mouth, wiping away some of the wetness. My eyes followed his hand when he lowered it again down, down, down to grasp his cock in his hand. A cock that was again hard and swollen and an angry red. 

My eyes widened, and he grinned. 

I stammered, “You just came. I didn’t think…I mean…isn’t it too soon…”

He just chuckled and stepped into the cradle of my thighs, directing his hardness to my pussy. I felt the pressure as he pushed forward into me, not as easily as I would have thought considering how wet I was. But I was also very swollen, so my pussy was tight and reluctant to accept this new invasion. He pressed forward, gripping my hips and angling my body to allow easier access. Slowly, inch by inch he moved forward until finally he was completely imbedded inside me. “Damn, little one, that feels so good. This is going to be fast. I won’t be able to last very long. You’re so small. I feel like I’m fucking a virgin.”

He held himself still as my body adjusted to his. Then he leaned over me, bracing himself with one hand as he pulled my leg up and over his other arm. Finally he started fucking me. Long, slow, deep thrusts at first. On each stroke he had to work his way carefully back into my swollen channel.

I focused on his face as he began to speed up, his path becoming easier with each 

entrance. His eyes were narrowed, almost closed, as if he were lost in deep concentration. Sweat beaded on his forehead, wetting the hair that clung there. His jaw was clenched, and I could see the muscles tense in his neck with every thrust, the heartbeat throbbing in his neck. As he moved faster and faster, pounding into me harder and harder, he began to let off little grunts of exertion. His total focus was on me. All of his concentration, all of his energy, were mine. In that moment, no one was more to him than I was. For a brief flash of time, I was his world. And he, of course, was mine.

Suddenly he dropped my leg and pulled his cock out. With a few quick strokes of his hand, he climaxed, his cum spurting up and hitting my belly, my skirt, my breasts. He stood there, eyes closed, as the seconds ticked past. Then he opened them and his eyes gazed down into mine. We didn’t speak. What was there to say?

He reached over to get some tissue from the box on his desk. Carefully he wiped his cum from me, and then I sat up and helped to clean him up. He lifted me down from the desktop. “Are you all right?”

I bit my lip. Nodded. I felt awkward and uncomfortable and embarrassed now that the passion was gone. I looked around for my clothing, began gathering it together and dressing as he began straightening himself up. After I had finished, I quickly turned toward the door to leave. He stopped me. “Wait.” I turned to look back at him. He walked over and stopped in front of me. Once again I had difficulty meeting his gaze. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. 

I shook my head. “I’m not.”

He nodded. “Good.” His hand came up to briefly caress my cheek. Then he went back to his desk and sat down, putting on his glasses.

My hand reached towards the doorknob.

“Have the paper on my desk by Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir.” I exited the room quickly. 

As I walked down the deserted hallway and out of the building I realized that I was not the same person who had that room entered not so very long ago. My life had taken a strange and interesting turn, and even as young as I was then, I realized it. Paths that I had laid out for myself, hopes and dreams I had for the future, all that had changed. I learned that I was not the person I had thought I was.

A painful lesson, indeed.

Painful Lesson | Spanking bdsm fantasy by Jolie Cain

whip_her_ass
A Painful Lesson
Part 1

Twenty years ago, and I still remember it like it was yesterday…..

I sat uncomfortably perched in the hard chair as I watched my American lit professor talking on the phone. I had a really bad feeling about why he had asked me to come and see him this afternoon after class. He was my favorite teacher, but he was known for being quite tough on his students, never accepting less than 100% effort. And I knew that lately I had not been giving him that. I hated the idea that I had let him down with the work I had done recently. But I had been overwhelmed with so many demands on my time that something was bound to suffer.

As he spoke quietly into the receiver, I studied him carefully. He was quite attractive for an older man, I thought. Probably somewhere in his late thirties, he looked quite distinguished although somewhat pale-skinned, like someone who spent a lot of tine indoors grading papers. The hair at his temples was just beginning to silver, and it was neatly combed, as always. He had a square-jawed face that wasn’t a pretty-boy look at all, but quite fitting for a college professor. His suit jacket had been draped over the back of his chair. He had loosened his tie and the collar of his shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up. A light dusting of dark hair was scattered on his forearms. I could see his long fingers fiddling with some papers that rested on his desk, and my heart almost stopped when I realized exactly what it was. The last paper I had turned in to him. The one from Friday. 

Oh, God. Last week had been a nightmare. I had been so busy that I hadn’t had time to write that paper. I had complained to my roommate who had advised, “Just go to the library and find some dusty old book no one’s used in a million years. Copy your paper from there.” She had laughed at the expression on my face. “What? Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes never cheated on her homework? Give me a break!”

“But…that’s plagiarism. If I get caught, I’ll be expelled. My parents would kill me.”

“Oh, bullshit! You won’t get caught. I do it all the time.” She had been quite adamant and so, against my better judgment, I had allowed myself to be persuaded.

And now here I was. A feeling of inevitability overtook me. If the professor had found out…if he knew what I had done…oh, God, what would I do? My scholarship money, the GPA I had been struggling to keep at a 4.0, all my plans—gone. I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt and shifted nervously in my seat, unable to remain still any longer. The creak of the chair drew his attention, and I froze as his deep brown eyes focused on me unblinkingly while he concluded his phone call. 

After he hung up the phone, he picked up his glasses and put them on, looking down at the paper he held in his hands with a frown. The ticking of the clock was a loud accompaniment to the pounding rhythm of my heartbeat. I thought I would scream as the silence drew out and the minutes passed. Finally, he reached up to remove the dark-rimmed glasses, placing them on his desk. He pressed his fingertips against the bridge of his nose, as if to soothe a small ache there. Then he sighed and stood, the paper still clutched in his hand. Walking around his desk, he came to a stop in front of me. The office was not large, and I felt somewhat intimidated as he loomed over me.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, I kept my gaze trained on the buckle of his black leather belt. The moment stretched. 

Again he sighed, and I got the impression that he was uncertain of how to proceed. He paced back and forth for a few moments, then stopped and propped himself on the corner of his desk, giving me a bit of breathing room. 
Hesitantly I finally raised my eyes to his. He set the paper down and then gestured towards it. 

“I think you know what this is, don’t you?”

I just nodded.

“I also think you know why you’re here.”

My eyes fell. I could hear it in his voice. The disappointment. My eyes focused this time on the grey wool of his pants, the shiny black of his shoes, the watch that encircled his wrist, anywhere but at his face. I bit my lip and could feel my face turning a bright red as he waited for my answer.

“Well, sir…I…”

“Let me make this easier for you. The paper you turned in last Friday was fascinating. Particularly so since I had read it before, in a critical analysis of Robert Frost’s poetry written by Dr. Andreas Brodell, a noted poetry critic.”

My heart sank like a stone. I couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. This was it. All my plans–ruined over one stupid, stupid mistake. And the worst part was…I had known better. Why, oh why had I listened to my roommate? 

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Reluctantly, I nodded, feeling tears begin to well in my eyes as he proceeded to express his disappointment and to explain the university’s position against plagiarism and cheating. The policy was clear. Suspension with a recommendation for explusion. 

The first tear began its slow slide down my cheek, and I surreptitiously raised a finger to brush it away, hoping he hadn’t noticed. How humiliating to break down into tears and cry like a baby in addition to having been caught cheating. Finally I just tried to tune out his words as I thought about the possible repercussions of what I had done. My father would be furious. And my mother…oh, God, my mother would be crushed. It had been her dream for me to go to college because she hadn’t had the opportunity. I just hated letting her down. My tears began to fall faster and faster.

So wrapped up was I in my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed the professor had stopped talking until I felt a hand under my chin nudging my face upwards. Startled I glanced up, and he began wiping the tears away with a tissue. His expression was carefully blank, but there was a gentleness in his touch that comforted me.

When he had finished wiping my face clean, he leaned over to toss the used tissue away. The he asked, “Why did you do it? You’re one of my brightest students. I know you’re perfectly capable of writing this paper. It’s been apparent to me from the first that you are a gifted writer. So why take the easy way out? Just tell me that.”

As if a dam had burst, my words began tumbling out. Things I hadn’t even realized were worrying me. I told him about my family’s precarious financial situation, the thrill when I’d gotten the scholarship that would allow me to attend such a prestigious university, the pressure to keep my grades up, my father’s doubts in my ability to succeed, my boyfriend’s lack of sympathy, my troubles at work…I just went on and on and on. Finally, after I don’t know how long, my words slowed and then trickled to a stop.

After several long moments, he signed. “I’m not unsympathetic to your situation, my dear. However, you have to understand that I cannot just let this go with no consequences. But,” he continued, “perhaps we can come up with an alternative to my reporting this incident to the dean.”

My heart leapt with hope. “Oh, yes, sir. Please, I’ll do anything…anything to keep from being expelled, from losing my scholarship.”

An expression that I couldn’t decipher gleamed in his eyes briefly at my rash statement. “Anything? Are you sure?”
I nodded eagerly, so grateful for this opportunity to somehow salvage my college career from my own stupidity that I didn’t care what he would demand of me.

“Well, first of all, you will have to rewrite the paper. And this time, use your own words, please.”

I quickly nodded in agreement. That was more than reasonable.

“And as for a punishment…well, it will have to be something fitting. Something that you will remember. Something to remind you not to do anything so foolish ever again. Don’t you concur?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

He stood contemplating me for a several minutes before seeming to come to a decision. “Very well then. I think I know just the thing.” He walked over to the door and turned the lock with a loud click. Then he turned to look at my face—to see my reaction to what he had just done, I supposed. It began to occur to me how rash my statement of saying “anything” might have been. All sorts of dark and perverted scenarios began running through my head. Then he said, “I think a spanking might be the perfect punishment for such naughtiness, my dear.”

I know my eyes must have revealed my surprise, because he smiled. Just slightly, the corners of his mouth crooking up a bit, although his eyes remained stern. 

“A spanking?” I squeaked. That was the last thing I had expected him to say. I hadn’t gotten a spanking since I was nine years old, and I had spilled my mother’s favorite expensive perfume on the bedroom carpet. 

“Yes, my dear, a spanking. It’s a perfectly good punishment, you know. People have used it for centuries. And a sore bottom is a good reminder of the misdeed that has been committed.” His gaze sharpened. “Of course, if you’ve changed your mind, we can still let the dean handle this matter…”

“No! Oh, no, please. Okay. A spanking is fine. That’s just fine.” I quickly agreed to the unusual suggestion. Anything to avoid the other. He smiled and straightened from where he had been leaning against the door. “Good girl. Well, then, stand up.”

“What?” I was startled. “You mean now?”

“Well, yes. No time like the present, don’t you agree? If we postpone the punishment, it will just be all the harder. You will worry yourself sick about it. Best to just get it over with.”

I stood up slowly and glanced around, not exactly certain what he expected me to do next. I looked over to where he stood by the door. He smiled, a somewhat wicked little smile, and said, “Take off your panties.”

My eyes flew to his in shock. But from the expression on his face I knew I had not misunderstood. I froze as long seconds ticked by. Patiently he waited for the command to sink in before he spoke again. “Now, please.”

Realizing my options were slim, I reached down towards the hem of my skirt and began inching it upwards, just enough to be able to reach under and tug down my panties. Wriggling my hips slightly, I parted my legs and pulled the panties down. I stepped out of them, and picked them up from the floor. “Give them to me, please,” he reached out his hand. 

With trembling fingers, I did as I was told. He looked at the white cotton for a moment. “Very practical,” he smiled. Then he tucked them into his pocket. Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief. “We don’t want anyone hearing you in case you cry out, do we? I’m going to put this into your mouth to muffle any sounds you might make, okay? Luckily most everyone is gone for the day, since our appointment was so late, but we don’t want to take any chances of being overheard, do we? It might raise some embarrassing questions…for both of us.”

As he walked toward me, he wadded the handkerchief into a small ball. He pressed it to my lips, which I parted for him, allowing him to insert the cloth into my mouth. He rummaged in a desk drawer and pulled out a bandana, placing it over my mouth and quickly tying it behind my head with an ease that made me realize this was not the first time he had done this. Then he unfastened his belt and I almost panicked. Was he going to whip me with that? Apparently he saw the fear in my eyes. “I’m just going to use this to secure your hands. Sometimes people reach back to try to stop the blows and get hurt. We don’t want that happening, now do we?” 

I shook my head no. He ordered me to hold out my hands in front of me, and he wrapped the belt around my wrists, securing it tightly. When he was finished, he stood back and studied me for a moment, nodding his head as if pleased at what he saw. Then he led me over to the chair I had occupied earlier. Sitting down, he tugged lightly until I was stretched across his lap, my hands dangling below me on one side and my feet on the other.

He used his left hand to hold me securely in place while his right hand began to push my skirt higher and higher until I could feel the cool air on my flesh. I quivered as I realized how I must look to him, draped over his lap, my skirt up to my waist, my bare bottom exposed to his gaze. How I would look to anyone who walked in on us unexpectedly. 

“Are you comfortable?” he asked. 

I thought it was an odd question. Comfortable? Not hardly. 

But I nodded. 

“Good. Good. I’m going to give you twenty licks. Try not to tense up as it will make it more painful. Understood?”
Again I nodded my head. Not tense up? Was he kidding? But I nodded as best I could with my head dangling to the floor, my hair a curtain around me.

I waited for the first blow, trying to prepare myself. Trying not to tense. When he struck, though, it startled me. I jumped, more, I think, from the surprise than from actual pain. It stung, but wasn’t too terribly bad, and I began to relax a bit. The next blow was much harder. And the next. As he continued with the spanking, his blows rained down on both of my rapidly heating cheeks. Some harder than others, but all of them triggering something in me that I had not expected. Arousal. 

I tried to suppress it. Tried to deny it. Tried to hide it. But it was impossible. My hips began to raise themselves towards the next strike rather than trying to avoid it. And I could hear myself beginning to whimper, the sounds muffled by my gag, as the blows continued to fall.

Moisture was gathering between my thighs, and I squeezed them together to give myself some relief from the throbbing that was becoming stronger and stronger.

To be continued…

Desire – by Jolie Cain

couple in 69 position artAt what point does desire become compulsion and compulsion become necessity?

Flickering candles cast dancing shadows, and the scent of lavender fills the air. I stand nude in the middle of the room, my hair tied up, awaiting your command. You walk around me, not speaking, not touching. My eyes are cast down, not daring to meet yours, and my cheeks are flushed with aroused excitement. The dark wool of your pants fills my vision as you halt before me. I feel your gaze on me, my breasts, my thighs, and I long to see your face, your expression. But I know better.

You move to the side and pick up the glass of whiskey you had set there earlier. Then you cross to a large, winged chair in the corner and sit down. I peek beneath my lashes, tracing your movements, as you take a sip from the glass. I stand still, but the chill in the air brings my nipples to hard points, and the anticipation, the expectation, of what might happen next has wetness trickling down my thighs. Are you watching me? Surely you are. Do you like what you see? What are you thinking?

The tinkle of ice echoes in the still room as you take another drink. Then you speak. “Turn around.” The stern tone of your voice enthralls me, and I obey quickly, turning slowly so that you can see my body from every side, every angle. “Raise your hands above your head.” Another command. And eagerly I comply. Are my breasts pleasing to you? My waist? My hips?

Silence. Long moments pass. My desire builds slowly but surely. You do know all the right buttons to push, don’t you, Sir? You know what this delay, this hesitation, does to me. Finally, you move. You set down your drink and stand, making your way toward where I await in a pretense of patience. You step behind me and a blackness engulfs me as you place a silken scarf over my eyes. The scent of your cologne fills my nostrils—spicy and all male.

I feel your body—its heat reaches for me across the inches that divide us. Your breath shivers across my neck and dances like tiny ghost fingers over my skin. The loud tick of the clock echoes the thudding beat of my heart. Anticipation. Expectation. They rise in me like a drug coursing through my veins.

My nipples tighten even further, reaching for a touch—a lick. Where are you? Touch me, I want to scream. Taste me, I want to beg. Instead I stand still and silent, wanting to please you.

There…there…I feel the softest stroke of a roughened fingertip in a lingering trail down my back, over the curve of my waist, probing gently the crevice between the cheeks of my ass. Babyfine hairs lift in a chill trembling. It stops. I breathe in deeply. Release it slowly, wondering what you will do next. Then your hands grasp my shoulders. You guide me forward, step by step, until I feel the end of the bed bump against my knees. Your hands slide down my arms to my wrists, encircle them like soft manacles, and then you lift them, higher and higher, stretching them above my head. I feel the rough touch of rope as you bind my wrists tightly, the cold chill of the bedpost as my body rests against it.

A moment for me to adjust to this new position, and then I feel another touch—this time your tongue. It traces a wet path and I gasp, squeeze my thighs together, an exquisite pressure. I lean back, seeking your body. I moan. “Shh.” Your whisper chastens me to stillness, to quiet.

Hands push my thighs apart as fingers, knowing and sure, gather the moisture that has trickled slowly down my leg. A probing finger enters my passage, dipping into the languid heat, and my head falls limply back. I lick my lips, bite them, to hold back the sounds of pleasure that ache to spew from my mouth as your finger pushes in and pulls back, over and over. Then another hand reaches around. It seeks and finds the tiny bud of sensitive nerve-endings at the center of my pleasure.

A moan escapes; I can’t help it. You stop. Oh, please don’t stop, I plead silently. I want this, want you. Want what you do to me. What you make me feel. The heat of your body lessens as you move back and to the side. What are you doing? What are you thinking?

And then you strike, your palm hot and hard against my buttock. I cry out. You pet the spot, rub across it, soothing. Your voice whispers in my ear. “That’s a good girl.” Then another strike on the opposite cheek. And another and another and another. My cries and moans fill the room as you continue until my ass is red and heated. But always, always, you pause to stroke the marks with tenderness to ease the pain and to murmur words of encouragement. To stroke between my thighs so that the pleasure and pain meld into one entity.

You finally stop. I’m moaning and almost mindless in my arousal. A soft kiss, a delicate brush against the fiery skin. A lick. Another. You cover the painful marks with sweet tenderness. I ache. My body arches against the post, presses to ease the need.

You stand. I feel you behind me, hear the hiss as your zipper slides down, then the hard probing pressure of your cock as it enters me. It glides smoothly in, aided by the slick wetness of my own juices.

Your hand steadies me, rocks me, a finger rubs my clit with each stroke. Faster and faster you push me. I pant. I moan. Harder and harder you stroke. Unable to see, all my senses are focused on this one thing. This one goal. No longer myself, I have become animalistic in my craving for release. I moan. I beg. It hovers around me in the air like a great, thick cloud. I need this release. Need it so badly I can’t think. “Don’t cum until I say,” another command.

And I try. I try to hold back the pleasure that struggles to take control. I barely hold on. Barely. So close. I am so close. I ache with the need. Would do anything to attain it. Then…finally you shout in my ear as you explode inside me, “Cum now.” And I follow you down, down into ecstasy.