The room is darkened, lit only by the flickering of candles sparkling from the depths. In the distance soft music plays hauntingly. Earlier this silence was punctuated by the demanding clangor of the telephone. Picking it up, before I can even say hello, I hear your voice, quiet yet with an air of command, advising me to prepare myself for the arrival of my Master tonight.

Now I sit, heels to buttocks, thighs slightly spread, chin raised, eyes down cast. The perfect picture of slavely submission. My breathing is slow and regular, my posture one of quiet repose. The only thing that moves besides the rhythmic rise and fall of my chest is my mind. I have no idea what you will expect of me tonight. I am certain however that you will find no fault in my obedience. Certain that in all things will I be pleasing to my Master. Mentally I check the list of requirements I have learned at your knee. My posture is pleasing, my back arched slightly so that my full breasts jut forward. My gaze is demurely downcast, never rising above knee level as I wait patiently upon the thick carpet. I have bathed carefully, making sure that each secret hiding place is spotless and sweet smelling. With long, slow strokes I have perfumed my skin, rubbing in rich lotions designed to soften the flesh to the texture of fine satin. My nipples have been roughed with a course towel until they stand erect and flushed and my cheeks and lips are rouged ever so slightly. Finally, around each ankle, each wrist, intricate woven strands of gold encircle my limbs with tiny chiming bells. Clothed only in my nakedness, I wait.

The soft sound of a door opening and closing, the harsh click of a deadbolt being sent home echoes from somewhere within the house. A shiver of excitement courses through my body as I hear the firm sound of your heels stalking across the highly polished wooden floor. I wait, knowing that the flicker of candles within this darkened room cast a glow across my skin and that you will have no difficulty finding me. With a soft sigh, the door swings open and you stride across the room. Your steps are muffled as you make your way across the thick carpet. I watch the dark leather of your boots as you circle my body, never lifting my eyes to your face even though I long to gaze into your eyes. Unconsciously I arch my back a bit more, raise my breasts a bit higher, lift my chin slightly. I feel your gaze rake my skin as you pause before me and I wonder if you find me pleasing.  The tip of your boot comes out and catches me between the thighs, urging them wider. I feel myself opening to you as my thighs are kicked wider. Grazing the hard, shiny leather roughly against my lips, wedging them apart, you withdraw your boot and gaze down at the toe. Dry. Not even a smudge of wetness mars the shine of that leather. I hear an intake of breath, then the release of it in a irritated sigh. I tremble. Not knowing what I have done, I still know I have done something to displease you.

I hear your voice, hard and cold, "girl, did I or did I not tell you to prepare for your Master tonight?"'
Not daring, even now, to look up, I confusedly answer you. I tell you that I followed your commands to the letter. I stammer as I frantically search my mind, trying to find in what manner I did not obey. I can find nothing. In one swift movement, you grasp both my wrists in your hand and yank me to my feet. Stumbling, I try to keep my balance as you drag me toward the bed. Trembling, I can feel the tears welling up and threatening to spill down my cheeks. Your unexpected anger and disappointment wounds me as displeasing you is as painful to me as your discipline. In one smooth move, you seat yourself on the edge of the bed and pull my body across your knees. The rough material of your jeans scrapes my bare breasts painfully as you drag me into position. My wrists are still pinioned by your strong fist and you stretch my arms out above my head. You coldly command me to leave my arms where you place them, your voice like whip steel. I feel your other hand cruelly slap my thighs telling me to stretch them out straight behind me. Hastening to obey, I arch my back and straighten my legs, coming up on my toes. Your hand tangles in my hair, grasping the back of my neck and holding it firmly. I feel your other hand run roughly up between my legs, spreading and exposing my sex. I gasp as your fingers delve into my cunt, penetrating it deeply. A violent shudder shakes my body as you plunge your fingers in and out a few times.

As a trembling sob breaks from my lips, I hear you growl, "How can you say you are prepared for me, my slave, when it is your place to be ready to serve me always? Where is the proof of your desire, girl?" I realize what I have done wrong. I was not wet, not excited, not prepared to serve my Master’s needs. A hard knot of tears gathers in my chest and I know that I am going to be punished for this neglect.

I yelp as your hand connects loudly across the cheeks of my ass. Biting down on my lip to keep from crying out, I steel myself for your discipline. The flat of your hand flays my butt and although I try to stay still, I can’t help but writhe under the blows. Precise slaps rain down, first one cheek, then the other. The incongruous silvery chime of the bells about my wrists and ankles seem to highlight my submission to you. My buttocks begin to sting , the skin on my ass quivering with each slap. Harder and harder, the loudness of the smacks to my tender skin hurts almost more than the actual blows. My hips buck and contort, trying desperately to avoid your hand. As I writhe against you, I feel your cock growing hard beneath me and my own excitement begins to mount. I feel my cunt swelling and heating. The spanking seems to go on forever broken only by occasional pauses as you dip your fingers into me, stroking and testing. My clit twitches and aches. I can feel the hard kernel of my desire centering in that little button. Your fingers smear my juices over the pout of my inner lips and focus briefly on the tip of my clit. A groan escapes me and the sound of my agony  appears to inflame your desire. Breaking into heartbroken sobs, I feel your hard rod pulsing and throbbing, pressing into the soft skin of my belly. My panting and deep-throated moans are counterpoint to your quickening breath. I hear it becoming ragged as blow after blow brings the skin of my ass to an exquisite shade of deep red. Your hand plunges between my thighs once more testing my level of desire. With a final slap followed by a cruel pinch to the stinging skin of my ass, you swiftly rise and throw me on the bed behind you. I scramble to rise, my desire driving me past prudence. My skin is on fire from your hard hand, tears flowing unbidden down my cheeks, whimpering sobs breaking from my throat. Falling to my knees before you, I kiss your feet, your calves, your knees, imploring your forgiveness. The ache between my legs is unbearable and I can feel the slow flow of dampness creeping down my thighs. I am so afraid you will leave me this way, all heat and no fire. Over and over, I sob one word: Master; praying you will hear my petition and bring me release from the desire you have created.

Looking down, you tangle your fingers in a rope of my hair, twining it about your hand gently, lovingly. This gesture is so tender that it is almost more than I can take. I know you have forgiven me, just as I know I will not disobey you in this manner ever again. Reaching down, you raise my chin, surveying my tear ravaged face. Taking my wrists once again, you raise me to my feet and clasp my hands behind my back. Holding them firmly in place, you enfold me in your arms and gently kiss the tear stains from my cheeks and nuzzling my neck. At the touch of your mouth on my skin, my nipples crinkle past firmness to a painful hardness. I whimper, pressing my mound against the bulge in your jeans, seeking to slake this hunger. With a wicked chuckle, I hear your voice soft against my neck telling me what you want of me tonight.

“My darlin’ slave, tonight you will perform for me. You will be the performance and I will be your audience of one. Watching your pleasure will be my pleasure.”

I feel the heat of blush creeping wildly up my chest and across my cheeks. Shaking my head in mute appeal, I hope you will realize how difficult this will be for me. To find trembling release under your hand, to writhe against your body, directed by your pleasure is easy. But to know you watch from a distance, unattached while I bring about my own release is almost more humiliation than I can bear. To be put on such display, to be reduced to base animalistic needs and drives. This is too hard. Surely you will not demand this of me. I do not deal well with embarrassment. I hate to have my pride broken. But you know this about me. Just as I know that you enjoy watching a girl pleasure herself. In this act you will accomplish a number of things: you will get pleasure, you will allow me release from my desire, and you will further my instruction in my submission to your will. I sob pitifully as I realize you will not give way in this. Even as I am sobbing and begging to be allowed some other manner of service to you, a deep pool of calm wells inside of me. I feel the rise of passion, my mound and lips pulsing and swelling with heat as I think of your eyes on me in this most intimate of moments.

Pulling a large, overstuffed chair into position you have seated yourself, as if in a theater, waiting for the performance to begin. Miserably I turn from you and crawl into the middle of the bed. As my hips turn to you, my sex is exposed, ripe and pouting, barely shielded by the damp light brown curls. My buttocks quiver still with the heat of your hand and the high pink of the skin accents the deep rose of my nether lips. I hear a purr of pleasure drift from you and know you are enjoying the view. I take my position, stage center. And the performance begins.

ACT I:

She lays in the middle of a large bed. Her long dark hair is tossed wildly across the pile of satin pillows. The deeply quilted coverlet cushions her lush body. Aimlessly her hand drifts back and forth across her nakedness. Her eyes are unfocused, as dark as midnight and as secretive as that night sky. She rolls to one side and her full, firm buttocks are briefly displayed. They are deeply splotched with pure white and deep red marks. Here and there across that tortured skin, the clear outline of a hand print can be seen. Moaning softly, she rolls back onto her back and it is obvious that even the softness of that quilted coverlet is a delicious agony to those punished cheeks. Her right hand drifts upwards toward one breast. Grasping the nipple between her finger and thumb, she begins to roll it back and forth, tweaking and pulling at it until it is stiffly erect. With a sigh of pleasure, she closes her eyes and loses herself in her own body....

I begin slowly. First, trailing my red nails across my ribs and down my belly. A light touch where the line of pubic hair makes a sharp demarcation between belly and pussy.  Pausing briefly at this juncture, I tangle my fingertips in the curls, twisting and tugging at them. My breath begins to quicken, causing my breasts to tremble with the rise and fall of each inhalation. Reaching down further, I drag my hand up the inside of my thigh, leaving strawberry streaks where my nails mar the soft flesh. Shuddering, my knees fall gently to each side, causing my legs to spread and exposing the swollen pout of my lips. With light caresses, I tickle the tender skin that bridges the junction between thigh and cunt. My left hand cups my breast, pulling at the nipple in a sucking motion, as my fingers find their way into my slit. My legs spread wider and I grab one vaginal lip, pinching it cruelly. A sharp whine breaks from my lips as I tug roughly at my own flesh. Then to the other side, and another punishing pinch, another whine tears from my throat. I run my fingers down that silky slit now, spreading the pouring juices across my clit. With another downward stroke, I slide two fingers into my cunt. Pumping in deeply, my hips thrust upward against the hardness of my hand. As my fingers stroke in and out of my wetness, the hand that caresses my nipples, begins to twist and yank at them until they are painfully hard little stones. Each savage twist wrings a gasp of pain from me and my hips jerk upward causing my fingers to bury themselves deeper into my cunt. Dragging my hand from between my legs, I lift it to my mouth, tentatively licking the slick coating from my fingers. The taste is hot and tangy, a bitter sweet slickness that sends electric pulses from my throat to my crotch. I lap eagerly at the taste now, aware that I lick myself, taste my own juices, imagining what it would taste like to suck the combined juices of myself and my Master. Frantically, I suck each finger into my mouth, desperate to get all the sweetness from them, then I plunge my hand swiftly back into my pussy, pumping it in and out. Finally, I draw my fingers slowly out of my cunt. My hips are writhing and twisting, begging for more as I slip them up into the deep V where my lips meet and join behind a thick, thatch of hair. I feel the ridge, the root of that miniature pearl of pleasure. Laying one finger flat along it, I begin to stroke it. Back and forth I rub, slow, firm strokes, as if I were jacking at my Master’s cock. My hips begin to undulate, rolling from side to side, pumping up and down. Each breath I take ends with a whine, my voice pleading for the release that my fingers are sure to bring. My body thrashing in wild abandon, I release my breast and reach down between my legs to splay open my lips, holding them widely apart. I can feel the hungry mouth of my vagina opening and closing, sucking at the air in search of something to fill it. Spreading my fingers wider, I pull up and back. The hood that envelops the head of my clit slips smoothly away. My hand knows just what to do and I gasp loudly as my fingers make contact with that exposed jewel. Gently flicking the nub, I begin to torture it, feeling it grow hard and erect like a tiny cock. My breath becomes loud as my pace increases, the panting seeming to stoke some inner fire like a bellows stokes the hearth. Thighs trembling, spasms causing miniature quakes to ripple across the skin, my hips begin to perform that ancient siren’s dance to the melody my fingers play against my clit. Rising and falling, faster and faster, I pump toward the conclusion. Wave after wave of white fire rockets through my veins, my orgasm building to a peak. Writhing madly, wild groans keen upwards along the scale from low in my chest to high in my throat and a final scream is wretched from my body....

ACT II:

The chair is oversized and abundant, a lush throne of sorts. A cream leather that has been well worn to a delicious softness over the years. It is the perfect height for a man’s body, fitting snugly up under his thighs, supporting his body firmly, yet comfortably. He sits back in the chair, his thighs sheathed in jeans, his knees spread negligently to either side. The open legged posture is so casually commanding and so vitally male that it takes the breath away. He pushes his hair from his face, his eyes intent upon the scene before him.  A long fingered hand reaches up in an unconscious gesture to smooth his beard, drawing attention to a strong sensuous mouth that is far from cruel. To one side of the chair lays a finely tooled leather bag containing some of the tools of his desire. A fistful of soft, black leather bindings tumble from the open bag that has been tossed casually aside for later use. As the scene proceeds before him, his hand drifts to his crotch and unfastens his jeans. His cock springs free from the confinement and he wraps his fist firmly around its hard length. With slow rhythmic strokes from base to glistening head, he begins to encourage his passion. His balls begin to tighten, becoming uncomfortably full within the jeans that still hold them captive. Pausing at the peak of a stroke, he runs the ball of his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, smearing the slick droplets around it. Flicking his thumb back and forth a few times, his cock slips back into the vise of his fist and his hips begin to thrust into that delicious firmness. His breath is ragged and comes faster and faster as his hips pump harder. Reaching down, he tugs the tender pouch of his balls from his jeans, grasping the soft skin just above the testicles tightly and pushing them upwards along the underside of his cock. Reaching to one side of the chair, he grabs a wide swatch of soft leather and quickly and efficiently binds his balls to his cock, cinching them both tightly together. The feel of the leather confining his balls into such a small space, the tightness encircling his cock is almost past pleasure. He shudders deeply as his hand returns to the head of his cock. The tip is deep red, the veins standing out in bass relief, cording the hard rod. With each downward stroke, his hips rise to meet his fist, and his cock pulses, throbbing wildly in his hand. The sounds of the woman’s pleasure vibrate through the room and her increasing passion drives him harder. He watches her closely through half slit eyes, measuring her level of passion, caressing his desires closer to culmination along with her.  An animal groan breaks from his throat as he hears her climbing that final peak. Standing swiftly, he grabs a handful of the leather bindings, covers the distance between the chair and the bed in three short strides.....

 ACT III:

....Writhing madly, wild groans keen upwards along the scale from low in my chest to high in my throat and a final scream is wrenched from my body. My hips rise high against my hand, my thighs tense as my toes curl into that pounding release that begins to rage through me. Suddenly my hand is wrenched from between my legs and I am left straining on the edge of release. Rolling my head to one side, I open my eyes and meet your  implacable gaze. A gasping sob breaks from my lips as I frantically yank at my hand to try to free it. With a sardonic grin, you drags my hand up above my body and quickly and efficiently fastens it to the bedpost at my head. In short order you have my other wrist just as firmly bound to the opposing post. Kicking wildly, I struggle to free myself from the bonds. Laughing softly, you roughly spread my thighs, forcing my legs to bend at the knees. Slipping your warm hands up my calves, you cup the back of each knee, pressing them out and away from my body. Panting, I watch you work swiftly and silently. My hips continue to writhe of their own accord seeking to satisfy the heat between my legs. I can see your cock rising rampant from the open crotch of your jeans and I lick my lips as if I can already taste the salty flow. Wide bands of leather are secured around my thighs just above my knees and then anchored to the rings that are affixed to the bed frame for that purpose. Lastly my ankles are bound to the lower bedposts. I am tied firmly to the bed, my lips exposed and gleaming with the moisture from within. You step back and survey your handiwork and seem satisfied. There is a deep, aching throb coming from my cunt and I can feel it pulsing in search of some relief. Each strap that you have fastened to my body seems to only make the ache between my legs more intense. Reaching out, you take a hard nipple between your thumb and forefinger, pinching it and  rolling it back and forth until the exquisite hardness becomes painful. Whimpering, I try to twist away from you. Reaching up, you take my chin firmly in your hand, stroking the skin of my cheek with your thumb. Capturing my gaze, you let me know that I am not allowed to cum unless you give me permission. And you have not given me permission. You only said I was to perform for you, not that I was to cum for you. I sob, thrusting my hips as high as the bindings on my legs will allow. Your hand has been resting on my breast while the other continues to hold my face so I will have to look at you. Now you trail that hand down my chest, and across my belly. Pausing at the golden brown thatch of pubic hair, you lightly comb it with your fingers, gently teasing me. I whimper as I press against your hand. Gently, your eyes never leaving my face, you slip a finger into the damp slit and begin to stroke my clit. As my hips begin to dance under your touch, I try to turn my head away.  Holding my chin, you  force my eyes to meet yours. As my moans grow wilder and wilder, you continue to search my face, watching the changes in it as my passion rises. Your fingers continue to torture my clit, playing my body like fine tuned instrument. I can feel the flush rising from my breasts and creeping up my cheeks. I feel more naked and exposed with your eyes watching my face so intently than any lack of clothing could possibly accomplish. Little cries of excitement escape my throat and with each breath I get closer and closer to my orgasm. Rocking back and forth against your hand, I begin to keen, whispering over and over.Please, Master. Please. My hips tense and my mound rises to meet your hand as the waves of heat wash over my body. And you stop. I strain upwards, wriggling frantically trying to get your hand to continue. But you sit there and smile into my eyes, watching, watching. As the flush of orgasm begins to recede from my skin, and my breathing becomes less frantic, I feel your hand slip back between my thighs. You always said you loved the teasing most of all. I know now as I look into your eyes, as your hard cock brushes back and forth along my body, as your sweet fingers begin to play tantalizingly in my wetness, that tonight is going to last an eternity. I sigh softly, contentedly, knowing that I please my Master, then I begin to rise toward bliss once more..
 
 
 

                                  IndexOnward