margaret
08-31-2007, 06:32 PM
She slumped forward in the hard-backed chair, held semi-erect by the ropes binding her arms through the back of the chair and by the stiff boning in her corset. The gag forced her mouth open beyond what she had previously thought endurable, but the hard rubber did not let her jaw relax. Her loose, light brown hair fell haphazardly over her face, obscuring the blindfold that covered her beautiful eyes so that only brief flashes of blue silk showed through. The cool breeze from a fan iced over her unprotected skin, forcing her nipples to harden as they peeked out over the top of the corset. The plug, the only part of her outfit hidden from view, vibrated slowly in her ass as it was forced in by her weight over the chair.
She had been held in that position for what felt like an eternity with no sign of him. As she sat, she pondered just how she had come to be here, dressed in such a sexual costume and bound to a chair, physically captive to the man who owned her heart. She had come home from work that day as always, taking the long drive home to mentally prepare herself for the visit. She pulled in through the privacy fence, a tall hedge blocking the lower level of the house from view, and was surprised to see him standing in the doorway holding a plain muslin bag in his hands. He never beat her home – his hours prevented it, and she had not been kept late today, so he must have been planning this for a while. She parked the car and hurried up the drive to greet him, trying to elicit a smile from his stern face. “I did not expect you back so soon, Master,” she said when she reached the door, coming forward to hug him.
His hand landed firmly in the middle of her chest, keeping her an arm's length away. “Did I ask you to touch me, slut?”
She paled. “No, Master,” she answered, her eyes downcast. He never refused her touch except as punishment, and she could think of nothing that she had done wrong. Hot tears filled her eyes; she hated disappointing him, hated herself for not being the perfect woman he deserved.
He slapped her. Shocked, she looked up at him. “Please, Master, what did I do?”
“What is the style of greeting?” he asked, referencing a protocol they had established early in their relationship.
“A girl will greet her Master naked and on her knees, ready to serve,” she responded immediately, almost as if by rote. He remained silent, staring at her, as her heart sank. “Please, Master, I didn't realize – you were here before me -”
“And why are you not greeting me now?” he asked in a tone that would appear conversational to anyone unfamiliar with him, but she detected the strength in his voice and correctly interpreted the threat it contained.
“I'm sorry, my Master,” she said, and tried to walk into the house, but his body filled the doorway and he would not let her through. “Here?” she asked, her eyes pleading for mercy.
“Yes, slut, here. You did not greet me properly initially and I forgive you for that, but you will do so now or I will have to forget my earlier forgiveness.”
She trembled in anxiety. Even though she knew that the hedge concealed their door, people could still look over it from a high window. She knew, though, that she had to do as he desired and she started to strip off her work clothes. The sweater came first – in March, a day could turn from scorching to freezing in under two hours, and she always had a sweater, just in case. Next came her shoes, small kitten-heeled pups that were low enough to fit in at the conservative firm but high enough to accentuate the curve of her legs. She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, her hands quivering with anxiety, and she looked up at him pleading for help with her eyes. He shook his head, though, and she forced herself to undo the buttons and remove the shirt. The bra she had chosen for that day was a pale pink lacy confection, one that she knew he loved. The skirt, conservatively covering her knees came next, pooling around her feet as she removed her stockings. Her panties matched the bra, and her hair danced loosely around her shoulders as she finally removed her undergarments to stand before him completely naked. She knelt then on the front porch, naked and exposed to the world before pulling his cock from his pants. She sucked it into her throat, engulfing him completely. She moved back a little then, to swirl her tongue around his shaft and flick at the head with the tip of her tongue, continuing to tease and suck him until, with a groan, he pushed her back off of him. He grabbed her wrist in his hand and pulled her into the house, slamming the door shut and dropping the bag to land on the floor next to where he had dropped her. “Get dressed, slut,” he ordered.
She opened the bag. Inside she found a black corset with a brilliant blue covering the casing for the boning. Silver laces shone against the smooth, satiny fabric, and she pulled it on, tightening the laces as best she could. Next came a black garter belt with garters the same bright blue as the corset's trim, and a pair of sheer black stockings with a line of rhinestones trailing up the back. She pulled them on, carefully adjusting so the rhinestones were straight, before attaching the garters to the tops of the stockings. She slid her feet daintily into the spike heels he had provided, wobbling for a moment as she grew accustomed to the height. Finally, a small plug was left, and she carefully inserted it as far as it would go into her ass. She stood carefully then, mindful of her heels, her hands clasped behind her back so he could inspect her.
He paced around her silently, examining the fit of the outfit. “Are you afraid?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she answered, keeping her eyes on the ground.
“You should be, little one.” he replied. “Breathe,” he commanded, tugging on the laces of the corset until she couldn't fill her lungs completely. “Sit,” he ordered again, and she did so. He produced a brush and she tensed, waiting for the first blow to land, and wondering where it would. Instead, though, she felt the bristles run through her silky hair, smoothing it against her head as he brushed it up into his hand. With the other hand, he produced a scarf in the same blue as the rest of her outfit and covered her eyes with it, tying it under her hair and checking that it completely obscured her vision. He jerked the hair he held upward sharply, so that she jumped up to it and yelped. “Sluts don't speak,” he warned, forcing a hard rubber ball into her mouth and fastening it, like the blindfold, under her hair. He then took the control for the plug and switched it on, so the plug began to vibrate slowly within her.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. He wanted her to feel helpless, like she couldn't get away. And indeed she couldn't – she could hardly keep up with the rapid pace he set, not with the spike heels under her threatening to give way should she step on anything other than solid ground. Even though he knew she knew this, and that she didn't want to try to get away, he also knew that his hand around her wrist would trigger some instinct in her that would send her deeper into her submissive state.
Her heel caught then in the carpet and she stumbled forward. With her hands in his grip, she collapsed to the floor, but couldn't manage to get her feet under her to stand. “Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly, not showing the concern he felt, and when she shook her head to show that she was unharmed, he flung her over his shoulders so that her legs dangled over in front of him and her butt rode high in the air, mooning the ceiling. She whimpered helplessly, crying at her failure and her helplessness, until he set her down roughly in a chair, the same chair she was sitting in now, with its high, straight back. He laced her arms through slats in the back of the chair, lashing them together with a length of rope that had been dyed blue especially for tonight, and tied her ankles to the legs of the chair so she couldn't stand. He stepped back to admire his handiwork and the beautiful girl in front of him. Tears stained her face, and a thin rope of drool trailed down her chin. He took out again the hairbrush, running his hand over it before running the smooth back over her breasts, which peaked out over the top of the corset. She stiffened as she felt the brush, in anticipation of what was coming. “You could not keep up with me, slut,” he said, “and you must be punished.” He let the brush hang in the air for a minute, watching her breath come quicker and quicker with anticipation before bringing it down on her left breast. Pain stung into her, thousands of tiny needles driving deep into her breast and touching the nerve endings that brought both pleasure and pain. Again and again he hit her, until she was left sobbing and gasping around the gag. “Is there something you would like to say, slut?” he offered, and she nodded her head slowly. He moved back and unfastened the gag to let her speak.
“I'm sorry, Master, I'm sorry for disappointing you. Please, Master, forgive your slut,” she begged
“You are forgiven. Is there anything else?”
“Master please, what are your intentions?” she mewled.
He refastened the gag around her head, noting with pleasure that she opened her mouth and accepted the ball willingly. “I am having a party tonight, and you, my dear slut, are to be the guest of honor, the star of the show.” With that, he walked away.
She heard him leave, uncertain of what to do. She was conscious of her near-nudity – she did not have much experience in the way of exhibitionism and her face flushed bright red with the thought of being left exposed for all the guests to see, and maybe touch – she did not know what limits he had set with them. She hung her head, trying to hide her breasts with her hair,
before realizing that that would be equivalent to disobeying him. He may not have said so explicitly, but his intention was that she be on display, and to try to hide herself would be to disobey him. So she sat straight against the back of the chair, until she could no longer stay upright and, in the absence of noise from a party, allowed herself to slouch forward and rest. And this was how she had been left, to ponder the events to come and how she had found herself in this predicament.
Light flooded the room; she could tell this through the blindfold. She instantly sat straight up, and then she could hear them, people, standing all around her. She could not make out what they were saying, but knew that they were talking about her, knew that they were laughing at her shame. She began to pull away before fighting again to sit proudly – she was her Master's pet, she knew he would not pick someone unworthy of admiration. And then it happened. The many tongues of a flogger landed squarely between her legs, causing her to jerk in the tight bondage and forcing a squeal around the gag. Pain overwhelmed her as she tried to close her legs, but found herself unable to do so. She knew it had to be her Master; he would not allow anyone else to beat her. See her, touch her maybe – but not beat her. The next blow landed across the tops of her thighs, harder this time than before, raising welts across the garters. Three more strokes in quick succession left her moaning and moist, and her embarrassment at being seen so aroused by the number of people who must be in the room only intensified her arousal. “You are a slut,” he commented in an offhand manner, loud enough for the world to hear. “I wonder just how slutty you really are,” he mused. “Shall we see?”
She knew the question was rhetorical; even if the gag hadn't prevented her from answering, his tone was not that of someone asking for consent and he was already unfastening her from the chair. Before she could react, he had moved her over to a table, where he tied her on her stomach. Again, she felt the whoosh of the flogger through the air before it hit her, this time on the buttocks, and again she shrieked at the impact. This time, though, without the chair's assistance, her body reflexively expelled the plug. She could her sniggers all around her as the people laughed. He spanked her barehanded in disapproval. “I have a way to keep you from doing that,” he warned, and then she felt something icy cold pressing against her asshole. It slid in easily enough – this plug was smaller than the last – but it was cold, as though it had just come out of the refrigerator, cold, and then -
Hot! Heat burned through her, searing away at her intestines, and she writhed against the bondage, convinced she was going to die, right here in front of all of these people. She whimpered and moaned, sobbing furiously as he flogged her backside. The next hit landed in the crevice where her thighs joined and became her ass, and she arched her back to try to relieve the pain. As he spanked her, when she tensed she pressed harder into the horrible plug, and when she didn't the pain from the flogger increased exponentially. “Isn't ginger a wonderful thing, my dear?” he asked softly, for her ears only. “I can tell you are enjoying this very much.” And she was – the fire from the ginger only echoed a different fire, one that was smoldering in her belly, and expressed a need that she desperately wanted filled. “Would you like to come, my slut, in front of all these people?” he asked again, and noted with pleasure that in her arousal she had overcome her shyness, as she was grinding furiously against the hand that had dipped between her legs to check just how aroused she was. “Good, then,” he said., “you may come when I do, and not a moment before.” With that, he put away the flogger and began simultaneously massaging her clit and running his hand furiously over his cock, aiming at the new welts across her buttocks. With a quick sigh he came, and saw that his aim had been true – his semen landed on the welts and she bucked, screaming into the gag at the pain from the salty liquid in the fresh wounds and the pleasure at finally allowing herself to come. She continued to quiver as he untied her and removed her blindfold and the plug, and then turned off the stereo, eliminating the noise from the party. She gazed around in shock at the empty room before looking up at her Master, her eyes asking the question her mouth could not.
“No, my pet, there was nobody her but me. You did well, my love,” he said as he undid the gag, cradling her in his arms as she came down from the adrenalin high and the shock that it had all been an enormous fiction, a lie that had allowed her to face her fear of crowds.
She smiled at him, her body sore, her mind reeling, but happy and secure in his arms. “I love you Master,” she said, overjoyed that she belonged to such a wonderful man.
“And I you, my pet,” he replied, running his hand through her hair. And next time there will be people there, he thought to himself, chuckling.
*******
This is one of my first attempts at writing erotica, so any criticism is welcome.
She had been held in that position for what felt like an eternity with no sign of him. As she sat, she pondered just how she had come to be here, dressed in such a sexual costume and bound to a chair, physically captive to the man who owned her heart. She had come home from work that day as always, taking the long drive home to mentally prepare herself for the visit. She pulled in through the privacy fence, a tall hedge blocking the lower level of the house from view, and was surprised to see him standing in the doorway holding a plain muslin bag in his hands. He never beat her home – his hours prevented it, and she had not been kept late today, so he must have been planning this for a while. She parked the car and hurried up the drive to greet him, trying to elicit a smile from his stern face. “I did not expect you back so soon, Master,” she said when she reached the door, coming forward to hug him.
His hand landed firmly in the middle of her chest, keeping her an arm's length away. “Did I ask you to touch me, slut?”
She paled. “No, Master,” she answered, her eyes downcast. He never refused her touch except as punishment, and she could think of nothing that she had done wrong. Hot tears filled her eyes; she hated disappointing him, hated herself for not being the perfect woman he deserved.
He slapped her. Shocked, she looked up at him. “Please, Master, what did I do?”
“What is the style of greeting?” he asked, referencing a protocol they had established early in their relationship.
“A girl will greet her Master naked and on her knees, ready to serve,” she responded immediately, almost as if by rote. He remained silent, staring at her, as her heart sank. “Please, Master, I didn't realize – you were here before me -”
“And why are you not greeting me now?” he asked in a tone that would appear conversational to anyone unfamiliar with him, but she detected the strength in his voice and correctly interpreted the threat it contained.
“I'm sorry, my Master,” she said, and tried to walk into the house, but his body filled the doorway and he would not let her through. “Here?” she asked, her eyes pleading for mercy.
“Yes, slut, here. You did not greet me properly initially and I forgive you for that, but you will do so now or I will have to forget my earlier forgiveness.”
She trembled in anxiety. Even though she knew that the hedge concealed their door, people could still look over it from a high window. She knew, though, that she had to do as he desired and she started to strip off her work clothes. The sweater came first – in March, a day could turn from scorching to freezing in under two hours, and she always had a sweater, just in case. Next came her shoes, small kitten-heeled pups that were low enough to fit in at the conservative firm but high enough to accentuate the curve of her legs. She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, her hands quivering with anxiety, and she looked up at him pleading for help with her eyes. He shook his head, though, and she forced herself to undo the buttons and remove the shirt. The bra she had chosen for that day was a pale pink lacy confection, one that she knew he loved. The skirt, conservatively covering her knees came next, pooling around her feet as she removed her stockings. Her panties matched the bra, and her hair danced loosely around her shoulders as she finally removed her undergarments to stand before him completely naked. She knelt then on the front porch, naked and exposed to the world before pulling his cock from his pants. She sucked it into her throat, engulfing him completely. She moved back a little then, to swirl her tongue around his shaft and flick at the head with the tip of her tongue, continuing to tease and suck him until, with a groan, he pushed her back off of him. He grabbed her wrist in his hand and pulled her into the house, slamming the door shut and dropping the bag to land on the floor next to where he had dropped her. “Get dressed, slut,” he ordered.
She opened the bag. Inside she found a black corset with a brilliant blue covering the casing for the boning. Silver laces shone against the smooth, satiny fabric, and she pulled it on, tightening the laces as best she could. Next came a black garter belt with garters the same bright blue as the corset's trim, and a pair of sheer black stockings with a line of rhinestones trailing up the back. She pulled them on, carefully adjusting so the rhinestones were straight, before attaching the garters to the tops of the stockings. She slid her feet daintily into the spike heels he had provided, wobbling for a moment as she grew accustomed to the height. Finally, a small plug was left, and she carefully inserted it as far as it would go into her ass. She stood carefully then, mindful of her heels, her hands clasped behind her back so he could inspect her.
He paced around her silently, examining the fit of the outfit. “Are you afraid?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she answered, keeping her eyes on the ground.
“You should be, little one.” he replied. “Breathe,” he commanded, tugging on the laces of the corset until she couldn't fill her lungs completely. “Sit,” he ordered again, and she did so. He produced a brush and she tensed, waiting for the first blow to land, and wondering where it would. Instead, though, she felt the bristles run through her silky hair, smoothing it against her head as he brushed it up into his hand. With the other hand, he produced a scarf in the same blue as the rest of her outfit and covered her eyes with it, tying it under her hair and checking that it completely obscured her vision. He jerked the hair he held upward sharply, so that she jumped up to it and yelped. “Sluts don't speak,” he warned, forcing a hard rubber ball into her mouth and fastening it, like the blindfold, under her hair. He then took the control for the plug and switched it on, so the plug began to vibrate slowly within her.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. He wanted her to feel helpless, like she couldn't get away. And indeed she couldn't – she could hardly keep up with the rapid pace he set, not with the spike heels under her threatening to give way should she step on anything other than solid ground. Even though he knew she knew this, and that she didn't want to try to get away, he also knew that his hand around her wrist would trigger some instinct in her that would send her deeper into her submissive state.
Her heel caught then in the carpet and she stumbled forward. With her hands in his grip, she collapsed to the floor, but couldn't manage to get her feet under her to stand. “Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly, not showing the concern he felt, and when she shook her head to show that she was unharmed, he flung her over his shoulders so that her legs dangled over in front of him and her butt rode high in the air, mooning the ceiling. She whimpered helplessly, crying at her failure and her helplessness, until he set her down roughly in a chair, the same chair she was sitting in now, with its high, straight back. He laced her arms through slats in the back of the chair, lashing them together with a length of rope that had been dyed blue especially for tonight, and tied her ankles to the legs of the chair so she couldn't stand. He stepped back to admire his handiwork and the beautiful girl in front of him. Tears stained her face, and a thin rope of drool trailed down her chin. He took out again the hairbrush, running his hand over it before running the smooth back over her breasts, which peaked out over the top of the corset. She stiffened as she felt the brush, in anticipation of what was coming. “You could not keep up with me, slut,” he said, “and you must be punished.” He let the brush hang in the air for a minute, watching her breath come quicker and quicker with anticipation before bringing it down on her left breast. Pain stung into her, thousands of tiny needles driving deep into her breast and touching the nerve endings that brought both pleasure and pain. Again and again he hit her, until she was left sobbing and gasping around the gag. “Is there something you would like to say, slut?” he offered, and she nodded her head slowly. He moved back and unfastened the gag to let her speak.
“I'm sorry, Master, I'm sorry for disappointing you. Please, Master, forgive your slut,” she begged
“You are forgiven. Is there anything else?”
“Master please, what are your intentions?” she mewled.
He refastened the gag around her head, noting with pleasure that she opened her mouth and accepted the ball willingly. “I am having a party tonight, and you, my dear slut, are to be the guest of honor, the star of the show.” With that, he walked away.
She heard him leave, uncertain of what to do. She was conscious of her near-nudity – she did not have much experience in the way of exhibitionism and her face flushed bright red with the thought of being left exposed for all the guests to see, and maybe touch – she did not know what limits he had set with them. She hung her head, trying to hide her breasts with her hair,
before realizing that that would be equivalent to disobeying him. He may not have said so explicitly, but his intention was that she be on display, and to try to hide herself would be to disobey him. So she sat straight against the back of the chair, until she could no longer stay upright and, in the absence of noise from a party, allowed herself to slouch forward and rest. And this was how she had been left, to ponder the events to come and how she had found herself in this predicament.
Light flooded the room; she could tell this through the blindfold. She instantly sat straight up, and then she could hear them, people, standing all around her. She could not make out what they were saying, but knew that they were talking about her, knew that they were laughing at her shame. She began to pull away before fighting again to sit proudly – she was her Master's pet, she knew he would not pick someone unworthy of admiration. And then it happened. The many tongues of a flogger landed squarely between her legs, causing her to jerk in the tight bondage and forcing a squeal around the gag. Pain overwhelmed her as she tried to close her legs, but found herself unable to do so. She knew it had to be her Master; he would not allow anyone else to beat her. See her, touch her maybe – but not beat her. The next blow landed across the tops of her thighs, harder this time than before, raising welts across the garters. Three more strokes in quick succession left her moaning and moist, and her embarrassment at being seen so aroused by the number of people who must be in the room only intensified her arousal. “You are a slut,” he commented in an offhand manner, loud enough for the world to hear. “I wonder just how slutty you really are,” he mused. “Shall we see?”
She knew the question was rhetorical; even if the gag hadn't prevented her from answering, his tone was not that of someone asking for consent and he was already unfastening her from the chair. Before she could react, he had moved her over to a table, where he tied her on her stomach. Again, she felt the whoosh of the flogger through the air before it hit her, this time on the buttocks, and again she shrieked at the impact. This time, though, without the chair's assistance, her body reflexively expelled the plug. She could her sniggers all around her as the people laughed. He spanked her barehanded in disapproval. “I have a way to keep you from doing that,” he warned, and then she felt something icy cold pressing against her asshole. It slid in easily enough – this plug was smaller than the last – but it was cold, as though it had just come out of the refrigerator, cold, and then -
Hot! Heat burned through her, searing away at her intestines, and she writhed against the bondage, convinced she was going to die, right here in front of all of these people. She whimpered and moaned, sobbing furiously as he flogged her backside. The next hit landed in the crevice where her thighs joined and became her ass, and she arched her back to try to relieve the pain. As he spanked her, when she tensed she pressed harder into the horrible plug, and when she didn't the pain from the flogger increased exponentially. “Isn't ginger a wonderful thing, my dear?” he asked softly, for her ears only. “I can tell you are enjoying this very much.” And she was – the fire from the ginger only echoed a different fire, one that was smoldering in her belly, and expressed a need that she desperately wanted filled. “Would you like to come, my slut, in front of all these people?” he asked again, and noted with pleasure that in her arousal she had overcome her shyness, as she was grinding furiously against the hand that had dipped between her legs to check just how aroused she was. “Good, then,” he said., “you may come when I do, and not a moment before.” With that, he put away the flogger and began simultaneously massaging her clit and running his hand furiously over his cock, aiming at the new welts across her buttocks. With a quick sigh he came, and saw that his aim had been true – his semen landed on the welts and she bucked, screaming into the gag at the pain from the salty liquid in the fresh wounds and the pleasure at finally allowing herself to come. She continued to quiver as he untied her and removed her blindfold and the plug, and then turned off the stereo, eliminating the noise from the party. She gazed around in shock at the empty room before looking up at her Master, her eyes asking the question her mouth could not.
“No, my pet, there was nobody her but me. You did well, my love,” he said as he undid the gag, cradling her in his arms as she came down from the adrenalin high and the shock that it had all been an enormous fiction, a lie that had allowed her to face her fear of crowds.
She smiled at him, her body sore, her mind reeling, but happy and secure in his arms. “I love you Master,” she said, overjoyed that she belonged to such a wonderful man.
“And I you, my pet,” he replied, running his hand through her hair. And next time there will be people there, he thought to himself, chuckling.
*******
This is one of my first attempts at writing erotica, so any criticism is welcome.