Dishevelled

Once upon a time in a faraway land, a prince with a whip had a present to give.

Monday night.

I am kneeling and my stomach is laid flat against the length of a weight lifting bench. My arms are stretched out in front of me; my hands wrapped securely together in rope are tied down. My knees just reach the floor but any movement I might possibly have is cut off by the coarse hemp rope securing my waste to the bench. I can’t move and it turns me on.

His hands run over my ass, he kneels in closer to me, his cheek to my butt check

"God I love this ass."

He leaves and I lie there, waiting, wondering, horny.

He comes back, keeping out of view and I hear the heavy clatter of equipment hitting the table.

"It’s time to bring the pain back. You’ve got off easy lately, haven’t you slave?"

I feel the familiar thud of my favorite black flogger. I love this flogger, its heavy, with long, tough black leather. It looks so good hanging on our wall and feels even better against my skin. He has perfect access to my back, ass and thighs. He uses it. Hard blow after blow fall on me. I tense, I intake sharply and I love it. This isn’t the pain he was talking about, this is pure pleasure. He knows it too, the flogger doesn’t scare me enough, it hurts but I can take the worst it can give me. This is a warm-up.

He pours our bag of clothespins of the table.

"How many should I give you?

It’s rhetorical.

“All of them of course."

They are going on my ass. They bite into my skin with sharp momentary pain that lingers and slowly dulls into an ache. I wish I could turn around to see them; it must look so ridiculous, me lying there with 20 or 30 odd clothespins attached to my ass and thighs. This hurts, not unbearably but I know with each moment he leaves them on it will be worse when he takes them off. He grabs me by the hair and pulls my face up off the bench. He kisses me long and hard, and walks away.

I lie there trying to figure out how many clothespins are on me from the spots of pain. It’s hopeless. I love this feeling, the pain is unavoidable, I can’t move, can’t take them off, all I can do is lie there and accept it. I feel myself drifting into my submissive state and I am horny as anything. I am anxious for him to come back, not so he can remove the clothespins but on the off chance he lets me have an orgasm.

He returns. I can hear him walking up behind me. Suddenly I’m not thinking, its blinding pain. I’m cursing, kicking, gasping. It lasts only a few seconds but it takes me a lot longer to collect my breath and calm down.

"Shhh, he whispers, stroking my hair. It’s ok"

He had flogged them off, now that is real pain. He starts slowly fingering my drenched pussy. Pain does that to it. I’m already close and he makes sure he doesn’t go fast enough for me to cum. He teases, getting me to ask to orgasm and then withdraws, nice and hard and, then

"nope, you’re not getting that yet"

Finally he pounds his fingers into me, hard and fast, my sure fire recipe to release. And I cum, letting out my trademark database of swear words only accessed during sex.
He assures me he is just getting started as I lay there exhausted from the orgasm. He brings out our collection of canes and I feel my adrenaline start to rise. I love canes because I fear them. They can do damage to whatever level he wishes. I have to lie there waiting to find out what today’s menu is. He holds them in front of me and has me select one with my mouth. I do.

He varies, hard with lighter, sensitive skin with tougher and long pauses with short pauses. There is no rhythm and I am struggling

to regulate my frantic breathing.

"10 more, keep your thighs open"

My inner thighs are brutally sensitive. The last thing I want to do is open them

My freshly caned ass

when he is holding a cane. I quickly obey. He nails 2 hard ones right after another and I gasp and swear and snap my thighs together. The burn this time lasts over a minute. Those two will welt.

"What’d I just tell you? Those two don’t count"

We start again. Suddenly it’s just pain, there are no pauses. The burn compounds upon itself. I am thrashing my head back and forth, swearing and kicking my legs to the best of my ability. He hits me one strike after another, hard without the merciful pause while the pain dies. Finally the blows stop but the pain lingers as I try to compose myself. He runs his hand over my marks and then trails his lips over them. My now tender flesh trembles beneath him.

"Lift your head, I want to see your tears."

I obey, lifting my tear streaked, blotchy, sweaty, matted hair framed face to him.

"God your beautiful"

...