kneel9er
12-18-2007, 05:44 AM
This is my first posted story. It needs a couple of edits yet, but I want to hear what others think. Thanks.
F/m, BDSM, cbt, consensual, humiliation, real, serious, caning, chastity
.................................................. .................................................. ....
Chapter One
HER DAY
He squirmed down under the covers, moving carefully. She did not like to be awakened prematurely. His nose was filled with their scents, trapped within the quilts and warmed by their bodies. He felt his cheek graze her butt; he slowed his descent of her body and turned his head. Gentle as a butterfly's landing, he pressed a kiss to each cheek of her ass. His morning ritual completed, he slid from the bed and stood naked. He rubbed his hand across his ass, tender from last night’s forty cuts with the slender bamboo rod. Today being her day, it had begun last night, would continue throughout the day and finally end tomorrow. He would suffer; he would serve. He would persevere.
But now, there were chores to be done. He walked through the house and opened the front door. As usual, no one was coming from either direction. Shivering in the morning cold, he crossed the yard and road to the sheds. The animals gathered around him: cats, two dogs, and a flock of chickens. Living a simple subsistence lifestyle worked well for them the man thought. The remoteness mixed with ownership of a small acreage, allowed a great deal of freedom in how they lived their daily lives. She likes me naked; he smiled to himself.
Feeding the animals, mixing in some attention to the dogs, and an occasional cat that desired it, was soon done. Anything else would have to wait until tomorrow, even forgoing the egg collecting tonight. It was her day. He returned to the house, giving a last look around to see all was as it should be. As he crossed the yard, she appeared in the window of the bedroom. He stopped. He stood until she waved a hand, and then proceeded on to enter the house.
"7:30. I'll have just toast and jam this morning. A light breakfast as my exercise will start at 8:00," she said. A smile and a wink lit her face. It also carried a twinkle of mischief.
"Yes, 8:00." He went to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast as she sat to watch the weather report on the TV. At 8 the beatings would begin for the day. With the forty strokes last evening and the forty to come tomorrow, a total of five hundred and seventy were left for today. It was the highest number ever allotted for a single occasion. She seemed to be anticipating it more keenly than usual.
He brought her food to her. While she ate he slid a large oblong hassock crosswise in front of her usual chair. He laid a slender bamboo rod about the thickness of her little finger on a table next to the chair. She had ordered the rod to be cut thirty inches in length. He sat down on the floor next to the hassock to wait.
"It's time," she announced. He spread himself across the hassock, his butt aligned at a right angle to her chair. She placed the rod on his ass, and then withdrew, readying the cut. "Count," she ordered.
"40," He yelped, the first always a shock. "39," as the next struck. She had him counting, and always downward. 'Keeping him in the game she called it.' Not allowing him to zone out. "38 ... 37...36... " And so it went. Her day, "35 ... 34... " Was underway.
"2 ... 1." He drew in a shuddering breath. His ass burned.
"Housekeeping now,” she said. "Soon 8:30."
"Right away," he replied as he regained my feet. He proceeded with my housekeeping chores. Bussed the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen and made the bed. The sheets had to be tight, so it took a while, as he had to almost strip the bed to make it proper. He checked the rest of the house. All was ok, but tomorrow he would have to dust and also clean the bathroom.
"Five minutes," she called out, a lilt in her voice. He hurried back to sit by the hassock.
"It's time."
He assumed the position again, and again ...
"30 ... 29 ...28," He counted, less now as she started to work on my ass. "27," his body shuddered. Her aim was a careful aim, she had once laughed to him. "Never hit the same stripe twice, till all has been covered." The count would continue to drop ... "26 ... 25,” until the evening when all hell would break loose, at least that was what if felt like to him. "24 ... 23..."
"2 ... 1." It took more than one breath this time to settle within himself.
He started to move over when she spoke. "Use the pillow."
He opened the top of the hassock and removed a vinyl-covered throw pillow. He put it on the floor by the hassock. This is where he would sit today. The cheap pillow fulfilled two purposes for her. One, it made his butt sweat. Two, it clung to the skin and irritated it. Both served it increasing my discomfort. Her use of the pillow so early was a portent of the pain to come. He sat and felt the vinyl adhere immediately. He would now wait until ordered to do otherwise. He felt myself beginning to sink, to drop.
The day continued, the count as low as fifteen on the half hour. Each cut of the bamboo was now precise, measured. The blow fell firm. He felt her hand at the end of the rod, pushing each stroke to not just hit but to remain in place. Tears filled his eyes, not of pain, but of wonder and peace. He gave thanks for her strength.
"My lunch, now," she interrupted my reveries. He rose to make and serve her a salad, using the time between to grab a sandwich for himself. He ate in a corner of the kitchen. She had turned on the TV; soaps were coming on.
"1:00 o'clock. On the bed. Naptime, " she stated each with precision. It was her day; her hands were on the reins.
He entered the bedroom. Naptime was her euphuism for bondage and torture. He lay down on my back, spread-eagled, while she bound each arm and leg tightly to the corner posts of her bed. It had ceased being his bed years ago and he was allowed in to strictly fulfill her needs and desires. She continued by slipping a small nylon rope ring over his balls. The end of this she draped over the turned post that topped the footboard of the bed. She did the same to his cock, tightening the ring behind the corona. This too was draped over the horizontal post. Next iron weights were attached to each rope, stretching his cock and balls. She twanged each like a guitar string then left to watch her shows. He knew he was here for an hour, at least. The weights were heavy, but at present, did not pull enough to be painful. He knew from experience that would change over time. The rope, or rather, line, as it was not thick, was made of nylon. It was fine in texture and soft. But it was woven, and small movements would cause a shift in position. As this continued, the skin of his cock became abraded. Like the old schoolboy trick of twisting the skin of your wrist in opposite directions, yelling 'snakebite', it soon started to burn. Sometime during the second half hour he knew he would be moaning. On a particularly unlucky day, he would scream. And so he settled to wait. And see.
He stared at the ceiling, the pain lapping at the edges as he sought stillness. The murmur of the television reminded him of her presence. He smiled. The cock weight tightened, the steady pressure gaining enough to slip further over the post. He grimaced as the burn intensified. Panting now, he struggled to maintain the silence, delaying the music. Her music, the sounds of my suffering. She wanted it, but he held it, not to deny, but to allow the pain to fully blossom. For her, always for her.
"Aggh." Then the pain was there, sinking its bite into my cock. He moaned again, "Aggh."
"Ahh, it begins," she called out to me. "Sing for me."
And he did. The pain continued to grow. His moans increased in frequency and volume. And it went on and he started to scream, no longer any hope or desire to squelch, but to let it ring out. He cared, he didn't care, and he HURT. And it went on and on. He got lost in the pain, just taking and taking and giving.
A last scream as she lifted the weight pulling on my cock. Next the weight pulling his balls, which were very tender.
"I was so enjoying myself, there will not be time for you to do my feet today. We have to get on with the whippings." She released me from my bonds, pointing me back into the living room.
He felt a sense of loss at missing his time at her feet. He had come to enjoy the massaging and the cleaning of them with his mouth and tongue. What first was humiliating had turned into a satisfying ritual. But it was gone for today.
"It's time, oh yes, it is time." Her sense of joy was infectious. He was light-hearted as he spread himself across the hassock once again, beginning the second half of her day.
And each hour was twenty strokes, then clean up from lunch, and prepare dinner, clean up after dinner, then 6:00.
"6:00 o'clock. It's time and I want to see your ass."
He climbed across the hassock. He felt her hands move across his butt, a light burning wherever she touched.
"Ah. All done. Evenly red, top to bottom, side to side. Every cut from now on is for fun."
He sensed her leaning back. He made just the tiniest gesture he could with his ass pushing it out from the hassock.
She laughed, "You are trying to kiss the switch, how sweet. Thirty this half hour. Enjoy." Twack.
"30 ... 29..." and we kissed and it was sweet until it hurt and hurt and I kept count, "28 ... 27..."
And so it went, each half hour increasing in intensity. She would pause when he couldn't get the number out for a second or two, and then continue.
"9:00 o'clock. Forty strokes."
He shuddered. Between 9 and 10 there would be one hundred twenty strokes. He also knew he could expect no mercy. This would be make or break time for him. Oh, he knew he'd scream and make noise, which was all right. No, what he could not do was beg for relief. He must take it. He would suffer, he would serve and he would persevere.
He wept continuously now, my cheeks wet with tears, snot covering my lips. Shame burned deep but..."9," he hollered ...not near so deep as each of her unrelenting strokes. "8." His body quivered as he fought to hold on, a screaming in his head, 'I will, I will.' "7." Oh God oh God oh ... no, not God only her. "6." A scream again, then peace. "5." The pain unbearable but it was his. He held it ... "4" ... it bit deep, but he grasped it ... he waited for it, wanted it, needed it, "3 ... 2 ... " and she held it, and he raised my ass seeking its kiss, and she laughed and gave it to me. "1."
A box of Kleenex hit the floor by my head.
"Clean your face before you get up. I do not wish to see your face that way,” she snapped.
.................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .............................................
Chapter Two
The towel laid spread just below the edge of the pillows. A place for my head, a protection for the bed. He followed her instructions, lying down on the bed. His feet lay splayed as if reaching for the corners of the mattress, hands at his sides. His head was on the towel. “I want to come,” her words to me. “Prepare to eat me.”
He lay waiting, the room dark now, except for the light over the mirrored headboard. Out of the corner of his eye, her naked form slipped into view. His heart quickened. The single light threw shadows across her body, hiding then revealing as she moved. He felt myself harden. It would be in vain.
She climbed on the bed, knee-walking her way until next to him. She lifted one leg over his chest, straddling me. He looked up at her. She smiled. “Twice, I think. I want to come twice,” she said. She edged forwards until her pussy was over his face. “I have been wet? Can you see?”
“Yes.”
“Clean me off before we begin. Start with the hair; use your tongue and lips. Make it glisten.”
He started. First the dried juice from earlier in the day. He would lick it until it was wet, and then suck it dry between my lips. When all was gone, he moistened the rest of her pubic hair with his tongue. He stopped.
“Finished, then do the pussy, the outer edges first, then the inner. Go on, I’m waiting.”
He pushed his head deeper in the mattress, attempting to see any spots. The only dried now was on the outer skin and lips as she was becoming wetter again. Like a cat with a bowl of cream, he lapped at the skin around her cunt, then the lips. He soon felt the wetness of new lubricant flowing. He stopped.
"All cleaned up?"
"Yes," he answered.
"Then, time to mess me again. Eat me till I come. Use your tongue, while I use your face. God, sounds so good. NOW!"
He pushed his tongue into her cunt as he felt her lower it over his face. As he wiggled it about, pushing in and out, he felt her grind down wetly on his face. At times, she would stop just smothering him, then move, leaving him gasping for breath as he continued to work at her pussy. His cock throbbed, but remained untouched, as it would. He had fifteen days left in mandatory chastity mode, as she so delicately put it, laughing as she did so. Then he felt her spasms begin, a quivering in her pussy. She pushed down hard on his face, grinding --"Your tongue, take it out, purse your lips!" -- smearing her cunt on his lips, her clit rubbing against his nose. Her orgasm started. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled it tight against her. He struggled to get his breath, his nose and mouth buried within her now, held tight. She jerked on top of him, the orgasm seeming to build. Then she screamed, a cry of release. He knew she had come. Her hands loosened and he panted, desperately seeking air. She groaned.
"Another," she said. Grabbing the headboard with her hands, she slid further forward, her ass now over his face. "Use your hands. Spread my cheeks." He did so. "Lick my asshole now. Lap it like you did my cunt." He did. Back and forth, slowly, firmly. "Nice," she murmured, "more." He settled in, enjoying the subjugation, enthralled by her control of him.
"Now, ring it with your tongue, round and round. Then squeeze your tongue up my asshole, far as you can. Take your time, work at it."
He did as she said. He felt each bump of her anus as his tongue passed over it, the texture of it teasing with its tightness. He pushed into it, penetrating only a little. Withdrawing to the tip of his tongue, he pushed again, again the tightness, but further this time. The asshole clenched as she played with his tongue, first tightening, then opening some as she pushed out. He felt his tongue drive deeper.
"Yes, there, hold it there. I like your tongue up my ass." She tilted her pussy down on my face and began to rock back and forth. "Keep you tongue up my ass!" She rocked away, beginning to work on her second orgasm. His head moved with her motions. Her cunt mashed across his face, smearing her juices up his nose, into his eyes, covering all it touched. He struggled to wiggle his tongue deeper.
Without warning, her orgasm started. Low, animal-like moans escaped from her. She stopped all motion and just sank down on his face, again depriving him of breath. She began to grunt, as if in childbirth, but instead delivering her orgasm. She came then, a long howl of surrender, her urges now satisfied. She lifted her body off my face.
"Slide down, take the towel with you." As he did so, she lay where he had been. "The towel, under my hips. Now wash me with your mouth and tongue. Soothingly."
"Yes," he answered, quietly, seeking to go with her mood. He began to lightly lick her crotch and cunt, and then as he felt the stickiness of their mingling melt under the ministrations of his tongue, he would dry the lushness with gentle puffs of warm air from his lungs. All the while his cock remained hard, sometimes throbbing. His bodies desire would go unrelieved.
"That's good. Tonight you will sleep at the foot of my bed. You will leave your face alone, let the juices dry. You will wait in bed in the morning until I wake. All understood?"
"Yes, I understand." He climbed out of the bed and stood while she slid under the covers. He took the towel, throwing it in a corner until the morning house chores. As he slid myself under the quilts at the bottom of the bed, he remembered her instruction to wait in bed in the morning. She wanted her ass kissed as soon as she awoke. 'My pucker to her pucker,' as she was wont to call it. The practice had a profound effect on the rest of the day for him, leaving him subdued, in awe of her power over him, and his need. He felt her feet reach for his body, one searching, then finding his still erect cock. She rubbed it slightly, then left her foot there, even as it throbbed against it. He would not fall into sleep easily this evening. But he would, and tomorrow would come with its forty cuts with the willow cane, then another day of service. His swollen cock was not satisfied, but his soul was at peace, with himself and his world.
F/m, BDSM, cbt, consensual, humiliation, real, serious, caning, chastity
.................................................. .................................................. ....
Chapter One
HER DAY
He squirmed down under the covers, moving carefully. She did not like to be awakened prematurely. His nose was filled with their scents, trapped within the quilts and warmed by their bodies. He felt his cheek graze her butt; he slowed his descent of her body and turned his head. Gentle as a butterfly's landing, he pressed a kiss to each cheek of her ass. His morning ritual completed, he slid from the bed and stood naked. He rubbed his hand across his ass, tender from last night’s forty cuts with the slender bamboo rod. Today being her day, it had begun last night, would continue throughout the day and finally end tomorrow. He would suffer; he would serve. He would persevere.
But now, there were chores to be done. He walked through the house and opened the front door. As usual, no one was coming from either direction. Shivering in the morning cold, he crossed the yard and road to the sheds. The animals gathered around him: cats, two dogs, and a flock of chickens. Living a simple subsistence lifestyle worked well for them the man thought. The remoteness mixed with ownership of a small acreage, allowed a great deal of freedom in how they lived their daily lives. She likes me naked; he smiled to himself.
Feeding the animals, mixing in some attention to the dogs, and an occasional cat that desired it, was soon done. Anything else would have to wait until tomorrow, even forgoing the egg collecting tonight. It was her day. He returned to the house, giving a last look around to see all was as it should be. As he crossed the yard, she appeared in the window of the bedroom. He stopped. He stood until she waved a hand, and then proceeded on to enter the house.
"7:30. I'll have just toast and jam this morning. A light breakfast as my exercise will start at 8:00," she said. A smile and a wink lit her face. It also carried a twinkle of mischief.
"Yes, 8:00." He went to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast as she sat to watch the weather report on the TV. At 8 the beatings would begin for the day. With the forty strokes last evening and the forty to come tomorrow, a total of five hundred and seventy were left for today. It was the highest number ever allotted for a single occasion. She seemed to be anticipating it more keenly than usual.
He brought her food to her. While she ate he slid a large oblong hassock crosswise in front of her usual chair. He laid a slender bamboo rod about the thickness of her little finger on a table next to the chair. She had ordered the rod to be cut thirty inches in length. He sat down on the floor next to the hassock to wait.
"It's time," she announced. He spread himself across the hassock, his butt aligned at a right angle to her chair. She placed the rod on his ass, and then withdrew, readying the cut. "Count," she ordered.
"40," He yelped, the first always a shock. "39," as the next struck. She had him counting, and always downward. 'Keeping him in the game she called it.' Not allowing him to zone out. "38 ... 37...36... " And so it went. Her day, "35 ... 34... " Was underway.
"2 ... 1." He drew in a shuddering breath. His ass burned.
"Housekeeping now,” she said. "Soon 8:30."
"Right away," he replied as he regained my feet. He proceeded with my housekeeping chores. Bussed the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen and made the bed. The sheets had to be tight, so it took a while, as he had to almost strip the bed to make it proper. He checked the rest of the house. All was ok, but tomorrow he would have to dust and also clean the bathroom.
"Five minutes," she called out, a lilt in her voice. He hurried back to sit by the hassock.
"It's time."
He assumed the position again, and again ...
"30 ... 29 ...28," He counted, less now as she started to work on my ass. "27," his body shuddered. Her aim was a careful aim, she had once laughed to him. "Never hit the same stripe twice, till all has been covered." The count would continue to drop ... "26 ... 25,” until the evening when all hell would break loose, at least that was what if felt like to him. "24 ... 23..."
"2 ... 1." It took more than one breath this time to settle within himself.
He started to move over when she spoke. "Use the pillow."
He opened the top of the hassock and removed a vinyl-covered throw pillow. He put it on the floor by the hassock. This is where he would sit today. The cheap pillow fulfilled two purposes for her. One, it made his butt sweat. Two, it clung to the skin and irritated it. Both served it increasing my discomfort. Her use of the pillow so early was a portent of the pain to come. He sat and felt the vinyl adhere immediately. He would now wait until ordered to do otherwise. He felt myself beginning to sink, to drop.
The day continued, the count as low as fifteen on the half hour. Each cut of the bamboo was now precise, measured. The blow fell firm. He felt her hand at the end of the rod, pushing each stroke to not just hit but to remain in place. Tears filled his eyes, not of pain, but of wonder and peace. He gave thanks for her strength.
"My lunch, now," she interrupted my reveries. He rose to make and serve her a salad, using the time between to grab a sandwich for himself. He ate in a corner of the kitchen. She had turned on the TV; soaps were coming on.
"1:00 o'clock. On the bed. Naptime, " she stated each with precision. It was her day; her hands were on the reins.
He entered the bedroom. Naptime was her euphuism for bondage and torture. He lay down on my back, spread-eagled, while she bound each arm and leg tightly to the corner posts of her bed. It had ceased being his bed years ago and he was allowed in to strictly fulfill her needs and desires. She continued by slipping a small nylon rope ring over his balls. The end of this she draped over the turned post that topped the footboard of the bed. She did the same to his cock, tightening the ring behind the corona. This too was draped over the horizontal post. Next iron weights were attached to each rope, stretching his cock and balls. She twanged each like a guitar string then left to watch her shows. He knew he was here for an hour, at least. The weights were heavy, but at present, did not pull enough to be painful. He knew from experience that would change over time. The rope, or rather, line, as it was not thick, was made of nylon. It was fine in texture and soft. But it was woven, and small movements would cause a shift in position. As this continued, the skin of his cock became abraded. Like the old schoolboy trick of twisting the skin of your wrist in opposite directions, yelling 'snakebite', it soon started to burn. Sometime during the second half hour he knew he would be moaning. On a particularly unlucky day, he would scream. And so he settled to wait. And see.
He stared at the ceiling, the pain lapping at the edges as he sought stillness. The murmur of the television reminded him of her presence. He smiled. The cock weight tightened, the steady pressure gaining enough to slip further over the post. He grimaced as the burn intensified. Panting now, he struggled to maintain the silence, delaying the music. Her music, the sounds of my suffering. She wanted it, but he held it, not to deny, but to allow the pain to fully blossom. For her, always for her.
"Aggh." Then the pain was there, sinking its bite into my cock. He moaned again, "Aggh."
"Ahh, it begins," she called out to me. "Sing for me."
And he did. The pain continued to grow. His moans increased in frequency and volume. And it went on and he started to scream, no longer any hope or desire to squelch, but to let it ring out. He cared, he didn't care, and he HURT. And it went on and on. He got lost in the pain, just taking and taking and giving.
A last scream as she lifted the weight pulling on my cock. Next the weight pulling his balls, which were very tender.
"I was so enjoying myself, there will not be time for you to do my feet today. We have to get on with the whippings." She released me from my bonds, pointing me back into the living room.
He felt a sense of loss at missing his time at her feet. He had come to enjoy the massaging and the cleaning of them with his mouth and tongue. What first was humiliating had turned into a satisfying ritual. But it was gone for today.
"It's time, oh yes, it is time." Her sense of joy was infectious. He was light-hearted as he spread himself across the hassock once again, beginning the second half of her day.
And each hour was twenty strokes, then clean up from lunch, and prepare dinner, clean up after dinner, then 6:00.
"6:00 o'clock. It's time and I want to see your ass."
He climbed across the hassock. He felt her hands move across his butt, a light burning wherever she touched.
"Ah. All done. Evenly red, top to bottom, side to side. Every cut from now on is for fun."
He sensed her leaning back. He made just the tiniest gesture he could with his ass pushing it out from the hassock.
She laughed, "You are trying to kiss the switch, how sweet. Thirty this half hour. Enjoy." Twack.
"30 ... 29..." and we kissed and it was sweet until it hurt and hurt and I kept count, "28 ... 27..."
And so it went, each half hour increasing in intensity. She would pause when he couldn't get the number out for a second or two, and then continue.
"9:00 o'clock. Forty strokes."
He shuddered. Between 9 and 10 there would be one hundred twenty strokes. He also knew he could expect no mercy. This would be make or break time for him. Oh, he knew he'd scream and make noise, which was all right. No, what he could not do was beg for relief. He must take it. He would suffer, he would serve and he would persevere.
He wept continuously now, my cheeks wet with tears, snot covering my lips. Shame burned deep but..."9," he hollered ...not near so deep as each of her unrelenting strokes. "8." His body quivered as he fought to hold on, a screaming in his head, 'I will, I will.' "7." Oh God oh God oh ... no, not God only her. "6." A scream again, then peace. "5." The pain unbearable but it was his. He held it ... "4" ... it bit deep, but he grasped it ... he waited for it, wanted it, needed it, "3 ... 2 ... " and she held it, and he raised my ass seeking its kiss, and she laughed and gave it to me. "1."
A box of Kleenex hit the floor by my head.
"Clean your face before you get up. I do not wish to see your face that way,” she snapped.
.................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .............................................
Chapter Two
The towel laid spread just below the edge of the pillows. A place for my head, a protection for the bed. He followed her instructions, lying down on the bed. His feet lay splayed as if reaching for the corners of the mattress, hands at his sides. His head was on the towel. “I want to come,” her words to me. “Prepare to eat me.”
He lay waiting, the room dark now, except for the light over the mirrored headboard. Out of the corner of his eye, her naked form slipped into view. His heart quickened. The single light threw shadows across her body, hiding then revealing as she moved. He felt myself harden. It would be in vain.
She climbed on the bed, knee-walking her way until next to him. She lifted one leg over his chest, straddling me. He looked up at her. She smiled. “Twice, I think. I want to come twice,” she said. She edged forwards until her pussy was over his face. “I have been wet? Can you see?”
“Yes.”
“Clean me off before we begin. Start with the hair; use your tongue and lips. Make it glisten.”
He started. First the dried juice from earlier in the day. He would lick it until it was wet, and then suck it dry between my lips. When all was gone, he moistened the rest of her pubic hair with his tongue. He stopped.
“Finished, then do the pussy, the outer edges first, then the inner. Go on, I’m waiting.”
He pushed his head deeper in the mattress, attempting to see any spots. The only dried now was on the outer skin and lips as she was becoming wetter again. Like a cat with a bowl of cream, he lapped at the skin around her cunt, then the lips. He soon felt the wetness of new lubricant flowing. He stopped.
"All cleaned up?"
"Yes," he answered.
"Then, time to mess me again. Eat me till I come. Use your tongue, while I use your face. God, sounds so good. NOW!"
He pushed his tongue into her cunt as he felt her lower it over his face. As he wiggled it about, pushing in and out, he felt her grind down wetly on his face. At times, she would stop just smothering him, then move, leaving him gasping for breath as he continued to work at her pussy. His cock throbbed, but remained untouched, as it would. He had fifteen days left in mandatory chastity mode, as she so delicately put it, laughing as she did so. Then he felt her spasms begin, a quivering in her pussy. She pushed down hard on his face, grinding --"Your tongue, take it out, purse your lips!" -- smearing her cunt on his lips, her clit rubbing against his nose. Her orgasm started. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled it tight against her. He struggled to get his breath, his nose and mouth buried within her now, held tight. She jerked on top of him, the orgasm seeming to build. Then she screamed, a cry of release. He knew she had come. Her hands loosened and he panted, desperately seeking air. She groaned.
"Another," she said. Grabbing the headboard with her hands, she slid further forward, her ass now over his face. "Use your hands. Spread my cheeks." He did so. "Lick my asshole now. Lap it like you did my cunt." He did. Back and forth, slowly, firmly. "Nice," she murmured, "more." He settled in, enjoying the subjugation, enthralled by her control of him.
"Now, ring it with your tongue, round and round. Then squeeze your tongue up my asshole, far as you can. Take your time, work at it."
He did as she said. He felt each bump of her anus as his tongue passed over it, the texture of it teasing with its tightness. He pushed into it, penetrating only a little. Withdrawing to the tip of his tongue, he pushed again, again the tightness, but further this time. The asshole clenched as she played with his tongue, first tightening, then opening some as she pushed out. He felt his tongue drive deeper.
"Yes, there, hold it there. I like your tongue up my ass." She tilted her pussy down on my face and began to rock back and forth. "Keep you tongue up my ass!" She rocked away, beginning to work on her second orgasm. His head moved with her motions. Her cunt mashed across his face, smearing her juices up his nose, into his eyes, covering all it touched. He struggled to wiggle his tongue deeper.
Without warning, her orgasm started. Low, animal-like moans escaped from her. She stopped all motion and just sank down on his face, again depriving him of breath. She began to grunt, as if in childbirth, but instead delivering her orgasm. She came then, a long howl of surrender, her urges now satisfied. She lifted her body off my face.
"Slide down, take the towel with you." As he did so, she lay where he had been. "The towel, under my hips. Now wash me with your mouth and tongue. Soothingly."
"Yes," he answered, quietly, seeking to go with her mood. He began to lightly lick her crotch and cunt, and then as he felt the stickiness of their mingling melt under the ministrations of his tongue, he would dry the lushness with gentle puffs of warm air from his lungs. All the while his cock remained hard, sometimes throbbing. His bodies desire would go unrelieved.
"That's good. Tonight you will sleep at the foot of my bed. You will leave your face alone, let the juices dry. You will wait in bed in the morning until I wake. All understood?"
"Yes, I understand." He climbed out of the bed and stood while she slid under the covers. He took the towel, throwing it in a corner until the morning house chores. As he slid myself under the quilts at the bottom of the bed, he remembered her instruction to wait in bed in the morning. She wanted her ass kissed as soon as she awoke. 'My pucker to her pucker,' as she was wont to call it. The practice had a profound effect on the rest of the day for him, leaving him subdued, in awe of her power over him, and his need. He felt her feet reach for his body, one searching, then finding his still erect cock. She rubbed it slightly, then left her foot there, even as it throbbed against it. He would not fall into sleep easily this evening. But he would, and tomorrow would come with its forty cuts with the willow cane, then another day of service. His swollen cock was not satisfied, but his soul was at peace, with himself and his world.