I could have said no or stop or “red!” at any point. Knowing that always helps me relax. I could have, but I didn’t. That’s how you find yourself lying spread eagle on a bed, wrists and ankles tied to each corner, unable to move - you could refuse the sexy punishment, but you don’t.
I didn’t expect the ball gag this time. Or the crop and flogger.
For an hour, he’d teased and tortured me in the most delicious way. Red marks covered my breasts and stomach. He’d tap-tap-tapped against my pussy until my clit was swollen and my labia were pink and puffy. Not enough to be excruciating but more than enough to make me squeak around the gag.
Drool dribbled out of the corners of my mouth and over my chin. My hair was wet with that and sweat. A pink flush covered my entire body. Between the thoughts of “Could I take it” and “Would I be able to handle it” was an overwhelming desire. He’d tickled the bottoms of my feet with both a feather and a Wartenberg wheel. He’d rubbed the handle of the crop across my slit, holding it still when I’d humped it in response. It had been awkward, only my hips able to move, but I’d been unable to stop myself. He’d run the strands of the flogger over my mound, teasing my clit in the process.
This was all when he wasn’t landing blow after blow on my body. My thighs bore red marks and might even bruise (one could only hope!). I’d strained and pulled against the bondage ropes, not thinking about the marks they would leave. None of the sexy punishment had been enough to scream in pain or use my safe signal. A snap of my fingers would stop everything while the gag was in. He’d used just enough force to make every nerve tingle and fill me with a need I wasn’t sure he’d fulfil.
Lots of fun tools for that sexy punishment session.
I watched as he set aside his toys. He put them away without a word. Part of me was disappointed the sexy punishment was over. That was all we were going to do? He walked around the bed, checking my bonds, asking for a nod of my head if I was okay.
“Good. You’re warmed up.”
Warmed up?! I was on fire. I wanted him to mount me, fuck me, fill me with cock. Grind into my clit until I exploded into a million pieces. I wanted him to pull my hair, slap my face, and call me dirty names. We were way past warmed up after that sexy punishment. My head spun, but I stayed still, waiting. He had something planned. It would be good, but it would probably break me - at least temporarily.
“You’ve let me play and have my fun. You’re my good girl, and good girls deserve rewards.” Can you preen and grin like a fool while tied up and gagged? I tried. I was his good girl; it’s all I wanted to be. Maybe I would get fucked after all. He held up the heavy-duty massager. It’s my favourite vibrator but we have a love-hate relationship. It makes me come, but it hurts, too. Each climax is ripped from my body, taking my breath away, convincing me I can’t survive another one. I moaned around the gag. I shook my head. I tried to pull away. I did not snap my fingers. I could have, but we both knew I wanted this.
In a few easy, practised moves, he had it attached to my vulnerable pussy with a bit of rope, pressed firmly against my clit. Anywhere I moved, it would follow. Squirm and writhe all I wanted; I wouldn’t get away from it. That was the whole point.
He turned it on and stepped back, watching from the foot of the bed. He had a control in his hand, a knob that let him change the intensity. Thankfully, it started low. It felt good against my bare skin until...electricity streaked through my body, up my legs and into the centre of my body. My clit responded faster than I expected. My nipples tightened. A sheen of sweat covered my body. I screeched from behind the gag, my eyes wide and wild with the intensity of the orgasm barreling down on my body.
“Come for me, girl.” He turned the dial up. “And keep coming.”
Kayla Lords is a freelance writer, sex blogger, and a masochistic babygirl living the 24/7 D/s life.
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