Maid For Dessert Ch. 02
With a skill drawn from long experience, he keeps me teetering precariously on the fine wire that he has strung between utter surrender and wild panic. His absolute control over his own aggressiveness forces my world to tilt so that I am left whirling madly in the shockwave, goaded into near senselessness by the hard tool so mercilessly threatening me. Held immobile by his hands, with his straining cock buried deep in my throat, I am made completely feminine. Possessed by him, under his control, I am made utterly, irrevocably submissive. I am made undeniably his and that knowing nearly sears my soul to ash.
Strangling back a deep groan, he withdraws from me a final time. Ruefully he unwraps my hair from his fist and breathes in somewhat raggedly. "You know you test the very boundary of my control, with your glazed, teary eyes and those lost, desperate sounds you make, don't you slave?"
Adrift on a sea of raw, emotional, smothering need, I realize I've broken position only when I find myself sprawled forward with my bound hands desperately clutching Sir's pant legs. "Pleaseohpleaseplease," I hear myself whimpering almost incoherently.
I sense him bending over me before I feel his hand gently caressing my hair, brushing it back from my eyes. "Yes, that's right, you test me as much as I test you at times - but, it is my will that will prevail, slave." Resolutely he pries my fingers loose, sets me back on my knees and, lifting my arms over my head, places my bound wrists back behind my neck. "My will, slave! Not yours!" he hisses.
I haven't the wits to do anything more than gaze up at him imploringly and tremble violently.
"Do you understand me?" he demands in a quiet, strained voice.
Closing my eyes, I concentrate on repressing the tremors that shudder through me. He strokes my cheek and my trembling eases, but does not still. It is enough to enable me to draw the breath to chatter, "Y-Yes, S-sir. F-forgive me. P-please?"
"You are forgiven, slave. Your disobedience, while unacceptable, is not completely displeasing to me. I know you must be half-crazed with need for you to have forgotten your training and broken position like that, pet. Knowing you suffer to that extent pleases me greatly."
I could be, perhaps even should be, angered by his rationale, but instead I feel inordinately pleased by his roundabout praise. A deep flush of pleasure washes across my cheeks. "Thank you, Sir," I murmur adoringly.
He nods and casually tucks his tumescent cock back inside his pants. With a finality that wrings a quivery sigh from me, he zips himself away from view. With that one silent move, I am made to understand that his pleasure and my suffering have not nearly ended.
He smiles. "You obviously cannot be trusted tonight not to break position again. Therefore, I will prevent you from doing so." So saying, he takes a length of chain, with a clip at either end, from his bag. My heart pounds painfully as I feel him fasten one end of the chain to my joined wrist cuffs and the other to the eyebolt in the middle of the spreader bar between my ankles. I am effectively restrained, unable to remove my wrists from the back of my neck without risking tottering off-balance and toppling flat on my face.
"Now slave, I have a few things to do. You may use this time to repent of your disobedience and to renew your commitment to my will and my pleasure. I'm certain this little interval will also help ease some of your suffering - at least to the extent that you will be capable of bearing further torment without breaking until I am ready for you to break." He flashes a ruthless smiles as he stoops to retrieve his empty bag. "I will return in ten minutes, slave."
Time passes in an agony of conflicting sensation and emotion for me. It takes some minutes for the pressured throbbing in my swollen pussy to abate to the point that I am able to think of anything beyond extinguishing the fire that rages so hot in my loins. I am left still softly pouting, still sodden in my own juices, but bearably so now and the aching surfeit that lingers yet in my breasts seems lessened somewhat by the fact that my nipples no longer strain so terribly for the want of a warm, wet, gentle suckling. As my want tapers, I tumble into the deep chasm of submissive need carved by the wake of lust's savage visit. It is there that I wallow, swept away by my need to serve him again; engulfed by my need to pleasure him, to bear his will. Overcome by my need to suffer for him.
On his return, I am in tears. Great, racking sobs rend me and I hiccup between them as best I can that I want only to serve him, only to obey him. I vow that I will do anything to please him, that I will bear his will no matter how hard. "Please," I cry piteously, "please, Sir, may I suffer more for you?"
"Shhh," he croons, folding me close against him as he kneels before me and reaches around to release the chain that keeps me stiffly upright. I cannot stop shaking but my sobs die to sniffles as he runs the callused tip of his thumb along my cheek to brush my tears away.
"Shhh, my love," he purrs, "Of course, you may suffer more for me. Did you fear I might not allow it, slave?"
Near vanquished by the vulnerability threatening to consume me, I nod, then shake my head, only to nod again. Feeling as though I couldn't make a choice to save my life, I whisper in confusion, "I don't know, Sir."
"Poor, sweet, slave. You're still quite overwrought, aren't you?" he says, smiling indulgently into my eyes. "No matter, my pet. I will help you bear it."
"Thank you, Sir," I moan, shaking with the gratitude welling up inside me.
Silently he wraps his arms around my waist and pressing me close against him, he rises. He waits, the picture of perfect patience with his hands on my shoulders as I struggle to gain my balance. No sooner do I steady, than he guides me the few shuffling steps to the side of the table, where he leans to whisper into my ear, "Bend, slave. I want your torso lying flat on the table, arms extended over your head."
Meekly I comply, bending at the waist, so that my thighs abut the table's edge and my hips, tummy, and breasts lie against its quilted surface. I shudder, lost in the flowering excitement of what I expect is to come.
Something nudges my heels. Uncertainly, I glance over my shoulder.
"Step up and back, girl. I would have you at such a height that your ass is tilted up and your pussy readily accessible."
With Sir's assisting hands at each of my ankles, I carefully raise one foot and then the other, placing them on the low step he's placed behind me. I rest my full weight on the table as I feel Sir lift the step and move it slightly forward. The step has the effect of lifting my pelvis off the table, lending a deep arch to my back and presenting my pussy in what I know must be a delightful view.
Wide, fleece-soft leather strapping is laid across the back of my waist, the ends extending to each side of the table, where they are fastened to the eyebolts I know are screwed into the underside of the wood. Pinned thus, I am spread totally open and completely vulnerable to him, unable to escape even should I want to. I can't even begin to imagine wanting to. I moan deeply.
"Tell me, slave, what do you think I should do with you now?"
I cannot help myself. I beg. "Please, Sir. Please? Take me. Use me. Oh please, fuck me, Sir, I beg you. I need to come, so badly."
I hear his chuckle from behind me, followed quickly by the snick of his belt buckle being released. "I thought you wished to suffer more for me, sweet? To please me. Do you not wish to please me, slave?"
I feel the belt's raspy whisper along my spine, from nape to tailbone. I swallow hard. "Yes, Sir, I do. Please, allow me to suffer, Sir. Permit me to please you by bearing your will?"
The leather flicks its flat tongue against the fleshiest part of my ass. I gasp at its sting. Heat rises in its wake - a heat that leaches its way slyly forward to lodge itself inside my pouting sex. "Ohhh…." I moan.
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