It takes a couple of seconds for my mind to register that his hand has stopped landing. My body continues to tense and move, working through the sting that’s still lingering deep in my heated flesh. My body gradually stills, but is far from calm as I begin to feel the freeze of delicious apprehension.
I can feel his eyes on me, enjoying the color he’s brought out, enjoying my vulnerability as I lie there so completely exposed. I want to turn to look at him, question him with my tear filled eyes, but I keep my face down and the tension continues to build. My body gives me away, twitching expectantly, as I suffer the excruciating wait to see what he has in store.
I feel the bed sink beneath his weight as he comes to my side. Goosebumps flower up across my skin. Must I really invite him like this? So terribly shameless of me, but I can’t help it really. I ache for more just as much as I’m frightened by the prospect of it. I tell him all this in his favorite language; the one he and my body have learned to speak so fluently.
“Reach your hand beneath you and touch yourself”.
I’m far too drunk with need for anything more than a modest show of reluctance as I slip my hand beneath my tummy. Cradling my pussy, it melts instantly against the touch. My fingers glide effortlessly along the slick, warm folds of my sex, teasing and dipping into this velvety mouth so hungry for him that my fingers are gripped tight. I push deeper inside, needily and I moan as I stroke this throbbing heat. My hips rock and twist, my heated cheeks rising up and down giving him the show I know he loves to see from me.
I think of a time this would never have been possible and my body rocks all the more feverishly in gratitude for the freedom he’s given me. I become almost frantic, my body gyrating with wanton frenzy, heat beginning to wash through me promisingly, taking me towards climax.
“Are you ready to come for me?” He asks, his voice such a delicious blend of power and tenderness I whimper out loud at the sound of it. My mind begins to spin as I try to focus. I writhe uncontrollably, riding the cruel edge that at this moment is no more than a track that won’t let me derail.
“Put both hands where I can see them!”
I hurry to comply, dazed and somewhat disoriented from the sudden disruption of building pleasure. I whimper and my bottom flinches reflexively as I hear the sound that makes my stomach flutter-the sound of leather being pulled along sturdy fabric coming to a quiet halt as that belt is freed from its hold. My bottom, already sore from his hand, flinches. My flesh holds the memory of the distinct sound of that belt being folded in half in preparation to be wielded down on my tender flesh.
If he told me to cum for him this moment I’m sure I would. I feel so deliciously powerless and overwhelmed. I’m beyond shame and the deviance of my desires and his desires for me feel anything but unpleasant at this moment.
His hand rests on the small of my back, and with no further warning the first crack of leather against skin fills my ears. I only feel its impact, the heat and sting yet to come. It’s a cruel delay that gives you false hope that it might not be quite as difficult to take as you recall. It doesn’t land too many more times before I am reminded how truly powerful that belt is in his hands. I cry out, clutching pitifully at the bed, determined to be obedient as my hips tremble.
Somehow, I finally manage to comply with his orders to keep myself offered up as a target. Through the pain, I remember in some wordless way how much he adores the sight of me struggling to be a good girl for him. The knowledge of how much he loves watching as I force my body to beg him for more is all that allows me to do so. I’m now dancing and singing for him as my hips rise and fall beneath his belt and the cries escaping me sing his favorite song.
He’s stopped again. This time its taken me only a short moment to realize that his belt is no longer landing as the sting I was prepared to feel fails to erupt. I’m still writhing, my hips twisting, my bottom thrust up and quivering, blooming still with the pain that’s built up to the point of a pulsing throbbing burn. I feel as though my cheeks are swollen, although I’m sure they’re not. I cry into the crook of my arm, having trapped it there to prevent myself from reaching back to defend myself. Again, my body starts to still, but only for a moment.
I can feel the intensity of his desire in the sound of his voice as he orders me to return my hand to my pussy. I scramble to comply, taking no time to tease, rocking into my hand furiously as I thrust my fingers inside, hips raised up and thighs open wide for him to see.
Why do I fight it? Why do I become so frantic? Why is it that I can’t accept that I need more? I already know I will fail this time around, and I start to cry even before he orders me to stop trying. Why? Because it hurts. It burns. It stings. It welts. It reddens. It makes me cry. It makes me buck and kick and flail shamelessly. It makes me feel like his little girl. It melts my heart that he’s not even close to finished with me.
How do I know? Because there’s still so much more flesh to redden and so many more tears to cry and so much more pain he wants to give me. So many more tools to skillfully use, so much more of me than I ever knew to reach into. Besides, when he’s ready I’ll hear the only words that send me flying off the tracks and out into the wild chaotic free fall of pleasure.
“Cum for me little one”.