Sir and Sub - Part 1

January 14

Sir's eyes, burning with desire, followed Sub's every move as they left the elevator. The opulent hallway led to his suite, the anticipation palpable. Inside, the lingering scent of their meal added to the seductive atmosphere, a prelude to the carnality to come. The grandeur of the room, the velvet curtains whispering secrets, the panoramic city view – all contributed to the charged energy. His command, "Strip for me," was a declaration, not a request. Her obedience was a dance of power and submission. She shed her clothes, revealing crimson lingerie, a reflection of her desires. His gaze devoured her, his silent approval evident in the darkening of his eyes. Her exposed breasts, heaving with each breath, and the glimpse of her dampened thighs intensified his desire.

Naked and ***, she stood before him, her eyes downcast. His fingers traced her jawline, lifting her chin to meet his intense gaze. "Stand for inspection," he commanded, his voice low and hoarse. She complied instinctively, hands behind her head, feet shoulder-width apart. He began his inspection, his touch a trail of fire as he moved down her spine, across her back, and up her stomach, to her throat. He prodded her mouth with a finger, the taste of oysters lingering.

He directed her to the wall, her legs spread wide, arms raised and crossed above her head. His breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine as his hands guided her arms higher, her breasts thrust forward. His fingertips traced her arms, cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples before moving to her stomach, then lower, circling her mound, drawing deliberately to her clitoris. Her breathing deepened, her desire escalating. He withdrew his hands, a cruel tease, whispering, "You haven't earned that yet."

A silky black blindfold shrouded her, plunging her into darkness, heightening her other senses. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of his clothes – each sound a symphony of anticipation. His hand returned, stroking her bottom, tracing the curve of her hips and thighs. His touch grew firmer, digging into her flesh. "Do you know why you're about to be spanked?" he asked. She whispered, "Yes, Sir."

The flogger's soft leather kissed her ass, a surprisingly sensual sting. The sound of it cutting through the air was a rhythmic crescendo, her hips swaying involuntarily. He varied the intensity, teasing and demanding, eliciting gasps and whimpers. The flogger was replaced by a paddle, the sharp crack echoing through the suite. The impact was intense, the heat spreading from the points of contact. He continued with a steady rhythm, each smack a declaration of his dominance, her body responding with a wetness between her legs.

He stepped away, the silence amplifying the anticipation. A cold trickle of *** mixed with excitement. The crop appeared, its smooth leather brushing against her skin, tracing her spine, then her ass, and finally, her slit. He chuckled, enjoying her trembling anticipation. He tapped the crop against her inner thighs, the sting sharp and surprising. The teasing intensified, the crop making contact with her clitoris, a perfect blend of *** and pleasure.

"Does my submissive little whore like that?" he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. She nodded, unable to speak. He continued, the crop moving in a steady rhythm against her clitoris, pushing her to the brink. He stepped back again, the flogger returning, its strands ***ting her flesh in a mosaic of crimson and white. His strokes became erratic, unpredictable, her moans filling the suite. He varied the ***, sometimes a gentle caress, other times a harsh slap.

His hand replaced the flogger, massaging her tenderized flesh. "I want to feel what I've done to you," he said, surveying the welts on her skin. He then announced, "Well, that's our second entrée of the evening, are you ready to continue our sensory degustation?"

The crop returned, striking swiftly and precisely, the *** a lightning bolt through her body, followed by a pulsing wave of pleasure. He continued, his strokes deliberate and demanding, tracing her spine, then smacking her thigh. The crop danced across her ass and thighs, a merciless ballet of pleasure and ***. He paused, then struck both cheeks of her ass with a sharp crack. Her cry was a mixture of ***, pleasure, and primal release.

As the crop's dance intensified, her moans grew more desperate. Her orgasm built, a serpent of ecstasy waiting to be released. His hand replaced the crop, his touch gentle yet firm, soothing the sting. He moved his hand lower, his thumb brushing against her anus, then to her pussy, which was dripping with arousal. His fingers delved into her wetness, stroking her clitoris. He added a second finger, pumping them in and out, his palm rubbing her clitoris. She shuddered in his embrace, her orgasm cresting and receding, leaving her boneless and trembling. But even as she caught her breath, the hunger for more remained.