"Yes, that's very good, slave." Slowly, lingeringly, the crop is withdrawn. Hopefully, pleadingly, I gaze into Sir's eyes.
"Beautiful slave, you please me very well."
I blush with the ecstasy his praise always invokes.
Removing his hand from between my legs, he gathers me to him and lifts me smoothly from the table. Up I rise, high over his shoulder. I feel the heat seep into my face as he maneuvers me so that I hang helplessly, head and bound hands resting near the back of his waist, welted rump raised high in the air by his head, my feet dangling near his hipbones, legs kept in lewd splay by the spreader bar still anchored to my ankle cuffs. His hand caresses my ass at leisure. Gently he traces the raised welts left by his attention and he kneads the rosy flesh in such a way that, though his fingers don't approach my pussy, still, my pouty lips are manipulated in altogether maddening, luscious little tugs that leave me gasping.
"Yes, love, soon now, you will be relieved of your suffering. But first, your reward, for being such a good, pleasing dirty little slave-girl."
Carefully he lowers me to my kneeling cushion, keeping his hands on my shoulders to steady me until the dizziness passes and I am able to kneel up before him without swaying.
"Hands behind your neck, slave."
Shakily, I raise my bound wrists and place them behind my neck.
"Good girl. Now, I know you're in distress. I know you feel you cannot bear the fullness of your sex even a moment more without it bursting like an over-ripe fruit. I recognise that you've borne your suffering with no complaint and only the prettiest of pleas, and I should be satisfied with your surrender in this. But you see, sweet, I am not satisfied. Not yet. I would have you suffer more for me."
I tremble with the depth of my vulnerability to him, to his will - even while I feel weak with gratitude for it. "Yes, Sir," I manage to whisper, "Please, use me for your pleasure."
"Ahh, such a compliant, compellingly submissive sweetmeat you are," he comments, as he casually pulls a deceptively innocent-appearing golden chain from his pocket. I swallow hard as he swings the chain like a pendulum slowly before my eyes.
"You remember this, don't you, slave?"
"Y-yes, Sir." I cannot keep the shake from my voice.
Smiling he reaches into his other pocket and pulls out two wickedly-toothed clamps. "Yes, I thought you might, slave," he remarks, as he affixes the clamps to either end of the chain.
I am unable to find my voice, so only whimper in response.
Bending toward me, he flicks at my right nipple with his forefinger. The traitorous nub rises proud and stiff as the best-trained soldier.
"I wish you to wear these for me, girl. I know they pinch at you terribly, but it pleases me to hear the way they make you moan and gasp and pant. You understand this, don't you, love?"
"Y-yes, Sir." I understand that he loves to hear my soft cries, that my meek acquiescence in the face of my deep reluctance to endure this pain inevitably turns him hard as granite. I feel a trickle of desire against my thighs and I shudder weakly.
"Gooooood girl, " he soothes, as he flicks at my other nipple, coaxing it into conspicuous display as well. Satisfied by their prominence, he instructs me quietly, "Deep breath, now, slave."
Eyes wide, I draw in as much air as I can. The clamp bites gently at my right nipple. Sir smiles into my eyes as he tightens the screw and the jaws grip my sensitive cone harder. Tighter. Ohhh! I gasp. I flinch. I whimper.
"Steady," he intones, "Just a little more now, sweet. Take it for me."
Tears gather in my eyes and my lower lip quivers. I cannot! But I will. I do. I pant against the stinging pain. My nipple throbs. It burns! I moan, deep in my throat.
"Yesssssss...." he approves, as he finishes with the first clamp and reaches to set the second. "Deep breath."
I gulp in air, but it doesn't seem to help and I wince as he clamps me much faster, with far less care, this time. My eyes close as the tears spill down my cheeks and I keen softly. My nipples, caught in a vise of fire, feel seared. My breasts ache dully. My pussy pangs and floods. I tremble and moan as Sir tugs lightly at the chain to send sparks of flame shooting through my nipples and down, down into my belly and slick, pulsing sex.
One-handed, Sir unzips his jeans and takes his cock in hand, holding it only inches from my face. He strokes it, long, firm, gliding strokes. "See what you do to me, slave. Your suffering has brought me to this. Your pain is my pleasure. My cock down your throat is your reward."
Eagerly, my tongue slips out, wetting my lips with anticipation. Desire swells. His cock, so beautiful, fully erect, purple-headed and bulging with veins, twitches in testament to his physical state. Guiding himself with his hand, he presses his flesh, hot and throbbing, just between my parted lips and sighs his pleasure.
I can hardly think with the sensations assaulting me. His cock, at rest, lying in patient wait between my pursed lips; my breasts, full near to bursting; my nipples, seared with sharp needling pain; my vulva, beating with its own moist, throbbing pulse.
"Take my cock, slave, and give me suck," he growls, twitching the chain running to my nipples.
Breathing raggedly, I afford him entry, pouted lips parting silkily to his prodded insistence. Opening my mouth invitingly wide, I bid him warm welcome with wet tongue and satin lips. Tasting deeply of him, I dab solicitously at the crystalline tears that begin to weep from his slitted eye. I feel him twitch again and my throat vibrates with my shaken moan.
His fingers flex in my hair and his breath hisses as my moan dies. Fluidly I sculpt his sensitive glans with my tongue. Holding him wrapped in my bathing warmth, I begin to suckle upon his hard shaft.
With one hand in my hair he tilts my head back, elongating my throat to accommodate him, while his other hand clenches on the chain he holds. Fire darts like quicksilver from my nipples to reverberate deep inside my womb. I feel my drenched sex quiver. I tremble.
"Move faster on me, girl," he bites out, at the very instant he slides himself out to the very tip. "Suck me hard!" he rasps, working himself back in.
His hand clenches into my hair, and sliding my head up, then down, he pulls himself almost free before driving forward in a fluid thrust that just nudges my throat. Back and forth, over and over, he penetrates me. It is almost primeval, the way he pumps me, with resolute, cruel, forceful strokes - self-gratifying thrusts meant solely for his own self-satisfaction. My lips swell painfully against his savage ravishment. Yet I suck upon him willingly - even greedily - driven by my own primordial beast to fulfill my purpose and thereby find my own sweet pleasure, the pleasure I find in serving him. Matching his strokes, my own hips pump in futility, as my breathless moans hum along his pistoning cock.
His barked order jerks me back from the brink. "You will not climax, slave! Do not come!" His hand wraps itself painfully into my hair and his fingers twitch cruelly on the chain. My nipples would scream if they could, but instead only silent tears spill down my cheeks. They dribble from my chin onto his tensed balls.
"That's better," he breathes harshly. "Now, you will swallow all of me, slave."
Lifting my chin farther up and back, he lengthens me to the limit for the full impaling he intends. My eyes widen as his cock glides past the back of my throat. Smiling ruthlessly, he casually feeds me more until I am finally, deliberately transfixed on his thick heat. Breath held in check, my lashes flicker, then flutter softly closed. My tight swallow ripples around the hardness filling my throat and my dripping sex throbs plaintively. He holds me arrested there, hand firm in my hair to keep me still, eyes boring intensely into mine. The seconds pass. I can do nothing but yield the harbour he insists on, deep in my throat. Fighting my mounting distress, I surrender myself to his will, for his pleasure. At last, he smiles his satisfaction, loosens his merciless hold on my head and draws languidly, almost liquidly in retreat. I am permitted no more than a deeply gasped breath, a desolate whimper, before he sinks himself smoothly, deeply, fully once more.
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