My first submission of erotic literature. More will follow, should reception be positive.
Self Destruction. That’s what I wanted. Release from being wound too tight; like a coiled spring, like a tensed muscle. I just wanted freedom. To let go, to breathe deep and long. I wanted to cry wet thick hot tears. I wanted to scream. I wanted agony. Pain releases us, it purifies us. For those few moments in our lives when we are truly in pain, nothing else in the world matters. For that infinitesimal percentage of our existence, we become animals again. Cro-Magnon Men, Self-centered, inconsiderate, egocentric little creatures. We become a world of one. One creature and their pain, wondering when it will end but secretly hoping it won’t, because for those short intense little moments we are truly alive.
The old saying goes that that our body is a temple. I want mine to be in ruins. Like those Sun-God monuments lost deep in the jungle. A shrine to some lost forgotten deity, worshiped by a long dead tribe. Merely a gap-toothed stone foundation; fallen pillars, green moss-covered, weathered, rounded, cracked misshapen boulders. A fallen headless idol worn nearly unrecognizable, laying across a cobbled floor split by overgrowth and little burrowing animals. If my body’s a temple then I wanted to be reduced to rubble, and wasn’t going to get there sitting in a Starbucks sipping a five dollar latte.
I’m a coward, though it certainly doesn’t seem it at first. I have an important job. I hold the respect of my subordinates, I make hard & fast decisions all day; managing other people’s finances with a calm and straightforward manner, never hesitating, never worrying, never second-guessing. I hate my work, but I go about it like it is my passion. I am in control, and I loathe it. More and more often I catch myself becoming distracted. Looking at internet porn on the job. Reading erotic literature over my bag lunch at the parkbench in front of my office. Staring without shame at every tight-skirt-clad executive assistant who strides past me in her high heels and her perfect makeup and her no-nonsense hairdo. Never do I speak to them, never do they speak to me. Just a blank smile or an impersonal nod.
Walking back to the pay lot where I park my car, a block or so from the office, I don’t remember exactly what motivated me or what crossed my mind, but I decided to leave the car and to keep walking, at least for another block or so. The night was warm, the streets were empty, it was late, I was tired, and I simply couldn’t face the possibility of climbing into my car. That stuffy little glass and steel coffin, lined with leather and plastic and carpet, the recycled filtered air from the A/C, the dull drone of the motor, the blank stare of the dials on the dash. I simply couldn’t face it again, not yet. So I walked past the car, and on into the city.
Eventually my calves hurt and I began to worry about the trip back to the parking lot, so I decided to turn back. I spun on my heel, braced for the journey in the opposite direction, and then a glimmer of amber light caught my eye. Down a short alley, off from the main street, a small sign; “Solaris.” A bar. Or a night club, a dance club. The little yellow sign in the shape of a tribal sun had just the one word. Solaris. I approached. The door was steel, painted dark brown. A deep throbbing bass beat from behind. I pulled the handle, a thick waft of warm air poured out, carrying the scent of a thousand brands of perfume, cigarettes, cloves, hash, sweat, and alcohol. I walked in, found myself submerged in a deep red and orange light, just enough to see the immediate area around me, but darkness and haze hid the walls and ceiling Giving it a sense of infinite space. The whole room seemed ethereal; a whole plane of sensual throbbing music, writhing bodies on the dance floor, small round tables with packs of beautiful women and beautiful men, engaged in conversation- or whatever; lips to ears, lips to lips. Those who weren’t engrossed with one another cast their lusty eyes toward the dance floor, animals overtly scanning for carnal prey. Nobody was pretending that this place was anything less than a hunting ground. There was something refreshing about the honesty in that. Honesty like that can be intimidating, terrifying.
And before I’d even realized, I had been spotted, tracked, separated from the herd, chased, and brought down. She’d spotted me standing there, in my white buttoned-down cotton shirt and silk tie and pleated trousers and alligator shoes. I stood like an idiotic little beacon in that leather, vinyl, and fishnet crowd. I could feel her stare, even in the din and the smoke and the dance club lights, I could sense her eyes on me. I scanned the club for the source of this notion that I was being watched & found myself staring back at the predator. As a rule, I never approach women. I’m a flight animal, not a fight animal. I was ready to leave, I wanted to leave. I had to get out of there. All I needed to do at that moment was to walk right back out that door. She knew it, too. She simply shook her head “no” and then tilted her head to the empty chair at her table. And just like that, walked over and sat down.
We hardly spoke. A few words, shared our names, made pleasantries, mild flirtations. We ordered drinks. Gin Martini, up, with an olive. We stared, her hand on top of mine on the table, her red-red painted nails scratching little patterns into the back of my hand. In the club’s meager light her skin looked like porcelain; flawless, smooth, impossibly white. Thick red hair in loose curls rolling down to bare shoulders, a strapless abyssal-black dress. Glossy candy-red lips, full, firm, perfect.
We drank. Our eyes hardly left one another’s; as if I were afraid to look away, for fear the other would take advantage and attack. No, not as if. I actually was mortified. She wasn’t. She knew she had me. She leaned in to say something to me, right into my ear, the music was loud and this is the only way, besides shouting, that two people could communicate in a place like this. As she leaned in, so close I could feel her breath on me. I expected a thank you; good night, thanks for the drink but I really must get going, work in the morning, you understand, it was nice meeting you. Instead, she asked simply “I know what I need. Do you?” I felt like a cannon ball had been dropped on my chest. How does one reply to a question that? Um. Yes, I think so. “Then let’s go.”
I followed her out of the club and back into the alley. She walked with purpose; long hard strides. Her high-heels making a Tok Tok Tok sound across the pavement. I followed, watching her ass bob left to right in that tight black dress. Her legs long and smooth, the single black stripe of the seam of her nylons perfectly straight. She glanced back over her shoulder. I hurried to catch up beside her. We crossed the street, down another alley to the next block, through a paved park of public art, across another street and into the glass lobby of a high-rise apartment building. Classy.
Into the elevator and the doors closed. I stood at the back, she stood in front of me, watching me in the reflection on the polished aluminum doors. Under the bright lights of the elevator I was finally able to take in the finer details of this magnificent specimen of a woman. A lace-work of pink freckles dappled across her pale shoulders. Her makeup: flawless. Her hair: perfection. Her dress: not a stitch out of place, hugging her curvaceous figure as if sewn specifically for her. I don’t know if was the rise of the elevator or simply nervousness, but I felt a weight in my stomach as if I– and before I could finish my thought, she was on me.
She spun around and slammed her body against mine with enough force to drive me into the back wall. Her lips on mine, her hands on my chest, her hip dug into mine, her knee sliding up my inner thigh. Our lips parted and her tongue darted into my mouth, flicking at mine, and out. My tongue reflexively chased hers back into her mouth, and her teeth clamped down. She yanked her head back, scraping her teeth the length of my tongue until the tip popped out and her jaw snapped shut. She let out just the slightest growl, teeth clenched and bared, I jerked my own head back from her as far as I could, which wasn’t but an inch- being pinned against the wall. I only succeeded in rapping the back of my skull into it. Ow.
She leaned in further, nibbled on my chin, ran her tongue up my jawline and to my ear, wriggled it around the lobe and licked, making smaller ans smaller circles around my fear. Chills shot up my spine, goosebumps popped across my neck. She pressed her body into my right side, wrapped her arm around my shoulders, her hand slid around and over my throat, gripped and pressed. I couldn’t breathe. She whispered: “I get off on pain…” Hot breath across my wet ear. I felt her other hand making its way down toward my hardening cock. Down over my stomach, past my belt, resting on top of the growing bulge in my pants. She squeezed, hard. “…giving it. I get off by hurting men, inflicting… terrible pain. It makes me–” and the elevator chimed. Ding. Our stop. Her floor. She released my neck and manhood, stepped back, turned, and the doors opened. She stepped out. I was frozen in place, gasping for air. She leaned forward and whispered. “If you’re sill sure of what you want, come along.” And she proceeded down the hall.
Risk assessment. What did she mean by terrible pain? Was it worth it to find out? Would I regret if I went? Would I even live to regret it? How often does a chance like this come along; what are the chances that a woman as beautiful would ever invite me into her world again? She’d nearly bit my tongue off, strangled me, and did I even know her name? Claire. Her name was Claire, She told me at the bar. She was walking away. I’m still not moving. Elevator doors closing. Now or never. I stepped into the hall & followed.
I sprinted to catch up, but something in her body language told me to stay back a few paces. She didn’t look back, did she even know if I’d followed? The soft carpet absorbed our footsteps. Dead silent in this hall, All I could hear was my own heart pounding away in my head. My imagination; who can hear their own heartbeat? Was I really that nervous? She slipped a keychain from her purse & stopped at her door. Turned the lock, swung it open. My last chance to bail out. She walked in, left the door open behind her. I followed in, closed the door. She reached past me & turned the deadbolt. That victorious little twist of her wrist spoke volumes. What had I gotten myself into?
“Take off your tie.” It wasn’t exactly an order, not a command. A request, maybe. The way she said it made me want to pull it off, as if doing so would please her, and pleasing her would be good for me. I tugged the knot to loosen it. “Not all the way undone, let me.” she grasped the loosened knot, slid it down, until the loop was wide enough to lift the tie over my head, and removed it. She put it over her own head, lifted her hair through it, let it lay loose around her neck. Her long, elegant, slightly freckled neck. The tie draped over the pale fleshy tops of her breasts and hung down between, against the black dress. Burgundy tie, black dress, alabaster skin, red hair, pink freckles, and she made it look like that tie belonged on her, as if it were the highest fashion; to wear a fifty dollar tie with a who-knows-how-expensive designer dress. She slid open the frosted glass door of the coat closet and dropped her purse inside, then bent over to open a shoebox on the closet floor. Bending like that made her dress ride up, past the tops of her stockings. More porcelain skin. Garters & suspenders, and oh that perfectly round ass.
She found what she was searching for in the shoebox and stood back up. If she knew I was staring (and I assume she did) she didn’t show it. She simply turned to me and held out her hands. A leather strap, long and slender in her left hand. In her right, a black leather collar with a shiny silver ring and buckle. She waited for me to react. Did she want me to put it on? I reached for it. She pulled it away. I took two steps forward, now directly in front of her. She reached for my neck and reflexively I dipped back. A chiding look crossed her face. I took a breath and leaned forward. Around my throat the collar felt cool on my skin. She pulled it just tight enough to feel uncomfortable, but not painful. I could breathe at least. In a moment it was fastened and with a metallic click the leash was attached to the ring. She stood back to admire the fit. I felt awkward.
She hung the leash’s hand-loop over the closet’s doorknob and slid open the drawer of a little table and pulled out a tiny elastic band. with a flick of her wrist, with the grace of a cat, she rolled her gorgeous hair into a tight bun at the back of her head. With her hair pulled back tight like that, her demeanor completely changed. More stern, more authoritative. She lifted the leash with one finger and strode deeper her apartment. I followed (not much choice).
The living room was decorated in the contemporary style; chrome pipe-frame chairs with black leather, broad white-cushioned sofas, glass tables, colorful Pop-Art strategically hung on the stark white walls. The occasional hunk of distressed wood dark-stained and cleverly fashioned into a bar-top or mantle piece. It was tasteful, but cold. It didn’t seem like she actually live here. It felt more like the waiting room for some big corporate executive office. Impersonal. Nonetheless, I noticed the trademarks of habitation; a soft throw blanket cast across the sofa in case she was chilly, a book half read & left on the table, along side a coffee cup and television remote control. It was obvious she spent time here, and if she was as cold and detached as her decor, then I might be in trouble.
She led me by the leash to the chaise and sat. I stood before her, not sure what to do with myself. She tugged the leash, forcing me to stoop over, face to face. Her mouth was on mine again, her fingers dug into my hair, our tongues met and danced, mine cautious for fear she may bite again. Her lips tasted like strawberry and wax- that dark red glossy lipstick melting between our mouthes. Her fingers were beginning to hurt; pulling my hair, digging her nails into my scalp. Both of her hands full of my hair means she must have dropped the leash. Not that I was going anywhere. I place one of my own hands on the bare skin above her dress, upon her left breast. Warm, soft. I slid my fingers downward, under the top of the dress. She froze, jerked my head away, smacked my hand off. Pulled her dress back into place while glaring at me. I’d angered her. I’d crossed a line. Taken too much initiative. It was made clear an that moment: I was meant to follow her lead and not take liberties. I could tell she was turned on though. Her neck and chest were flushed, the freckles blending into the heated reddening skin. She was breathing heavy.
“Strip.” She punctuated it with a dismissive little hand gesture, shooing me away from her, toward the center of the room. “Slowly. Belt first, then shirt, then work your way down.” Pressing a button on a small controller on the table to her side; “To the music.” a slow electronic ambient dance beat began to play. I don’t dance, I’ve never removed my clothes to music. Now here I was, about to perform before this woman, embarrassed, nervous, aloof. She released the leash and it dropped to my chest. I took it up. “Leave it. Don’t touch.” She whispered. I complied. My hands, slightly trembling, went to my belt, Unbuckled, loosened, pulled it off. She held out her hand, made a “give me” gesture. I placed the black leather belt in her palm. She sat back on the lounge, legs crossed, and nodded for me to proceed.
My shirt came off next, one button at a time, as much to the rhythm of the music as I could. I pulled it off my shoulder, folded it lengthwise & looked at her for instruction on where to place it. She pointed at the floor. I dropped it off to one side. Lifted my T-shirt over my head, pulled the leash through the neck-hole, dropped it onto the pile. Bare-chested. I blushed. She raised an eyebrow. I don’t go to the gym often, but I’m no slob. I have some definition, a little, maybe. I continued. Unfastened my trousers, drew down the zipper, slid them down. I realized that I’d forgotten to remove my shoes. I discretely pulled them off and then my slacks followed. Now down to my socks and boxers. She eyed the visible lump in my pants. “Turn.” She sounded fascinated, as if studying a lab specimen, or a gallery piece. I made a sheepish little rotation. She took it in; my ass, my back, my calves, whatever masculine feature that women admire or care to examine. She appeared interested, but seemed to be playing it off as detached amusement or half-boredom. I bent over to pull off my sock. “Ah-ah. Do that facing away from me, please.” I turned, and bent at the waste to pull off the sock again. She watched my ass. Then I removed th other sock, tossed them with the rest of my clothing, stood back straight, faced her. Did she want me to continue? I waited for her to say. She just looked me up & down. Was she waiting on me? Should I ask? Should I drop my shorts? I adjusted the bulge beneath them. Her eyes danced, seemingly amused. “Finish, I’m waiting.” I nodded, tucked my thumbs into the waste band, and pushed them to the floor. Tenderly, with my foot, I placed them on the pile. And stood before her. Naked.
Claire gazed at my half-hard penis as she sat back up at the edge of the chaise, uncrossed her legs, took a deep breath, and held out her hand. “Leash, please” I handed the loop to her. She gave it a tug, I stepped forward. She reached up, dug her long (and surprisingly sharp) fingernails into my chest and drew her hand down, leaving pinkish scrape marks. When her hand came to my cock, she gripped it and tugged. It continued to harden in her hand. Long and thick. “Good.” she stated, released her hold, and ran her hand around to my backside. She cupped an asscheek. Her eyes never left my erection. She drew her hand away, and then smacked it back down onto my ass. My dick jumped. She drew her hand back again. I winced & tried to brace for the impact. Her other hand gave my dick a cruel squeeze and tug, and then smacked again, on the same spot as the first. My ass began to tingle. She released my member and pulled the leash down hard, and I fell to my knees.
“Get on all fours, face that way.” I complied, now on my hands and knees, parallel to the chaise. She picked up my belt from her lap. Folded it in half, held it at one end, and drew her arm back for a strike. When it landed it felt as if I… well, as if I’d been whipped. Quickly another one came, then another. My butt was beginning to sting terribly. She alternated from cheek to cheek with the belt, occasionally hitting both simultaneously. Five more times the belt landed. My ass was beginning to burn. I was aware of nothing but the pain, my eyes were shut tight, my jaw clenched, my elbows locked, my head down. She had a rhythm down, and it seemed like it would never end. Another ten swats, and then it stopped. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. My butt felt like it was on fire, but the sting was already fading. “Turn toward me, please.” I complied, remaining on my knees, kneeling before her. Her legs were parted in a most unladylike pose. She appeared to be short of breath, and her upper chest was now flushed as bright red as her hair. With her knees parted, I could see up her dress. She noticed my stare and lifted her body just slightly, enough to hike her dress up over her ass. Black lace panties, matching garter belt. Her fingers dropped to the front of her underwear and traced a line up & down. I watched, licked my lips. The red fingernails made their way to one edge, pulled the lace aside. “I’m already so wet” she whispered. “Come and taste.”
I crawled forward, my head between her thighs, and licked. Her scent was rich and intoxicating, and I basked in the heat radiating from her sex. I felt her fingers slide into my hair again, pushing me into her. Nose to chin, I was pressed against her wetness. I lapped at her pussy, first slowly, then getting a rhythm I went faster. She tasted salty, sweet, heady. I lifted a hand to dip my fingers into her. She clamped her thighs tight onto my head “no hands yet, darling” I continued just licking. I was making the most obscene slurping sounds, in between my ragged breath between her thighs, and I could hear her let out a sigh and a groan. Without warning the belt hit my ass again. I jumped, but her thighs’ iron grip and tight fistful of my hair kept me in place. The whipping continued as I sucked, slurped, licked faster. My lips wrapped around her clitoris as I flicked my tongue over the sensitive tip. She shuddered. Whipped me harder. I nibbled on her labia, slid my tongue down and circled her opening, then drove it in as deep as I could. My nose was pressing against the hood of her clit, she wriggled. I curled the tip of my tongue up, popped it back out of her hole, pulling a scoop of her wetness with me. It dribbled down my chin. I pressed a series of kisses up the length of her mound, then back down. She landed the belt onto my ass with each kiss. The pain barely registered, I was concentrating at the task at hand. My tongue was beginning to ache though, and I desperately needed a few free long breaths of air, which is difficult to manage with a face-full of hot wet womanhood. Finally her thighs loosened, her hand released, and I drew my head back. Her pussy was practically glowing in deep crimson with arousal, dripping and glistening with saliva and her boiling hot juices. I drew in a lungful of fresh air. Her wetness on my nose and cheeks and lips and chin quickly cooling in the outside air, her musky scent lingering on me. As I rose back up to sit back on my knees, she leaned forward and planted a deep kiss. Our lips parted, and she said in a shaky voice “Let’s get you cleaned up for bed.”
She stood up, me still kneeling directly at her feet, and she pulled & straightened her dress back into position. She lifted my tie off her neck and dropped in onto my pile of clothes. She then tugged at the leash, I stood and was lead into the bathroom. While I walked, I couldn’t help but notice how bad my bottom burned. Would I have welts from this? If walking hurt so bad, how would it feel to sit at my desk all day tomorrow?
Her bathroom was quaint; black & white ceramic tile, French blue walls, wrought-iron fixtures. Claire sat on a small padded bench near the shower, I stood before her. She slipped her foot out of her high heel shoe & raised her leg, toes pointed toward me, and unfastened the suspender clips on her garter. Gingerly, I grasped the top of the stocking & rolled it down her leg, over her svelte calf muscle, over her heel & off her delicious little foot. We did the same with the other leg. She stood & turned, and anticipating her next request I pulled the zipper down the back of her dress. She tugged the dress down off her hips and let it hit the floor. Her garter belt came next whilst I watched; admiring her curves and supple pale skin. Still facing away from me, she hooked her thumbs into the top of her panties and pushed them down over her luscious thighs. They fell to the floor and she stepped out & walked to the shower.
She hadn’t taken my leash so I wasn’t sure if I was meant to follow. I took the chance to admire her then, fully nude; her breasts were large but immaculately shaped, dappled with freckles and peaked with taut, light red nipples. Her tummy was flat and her waste narrow, and then her hips flared out again, forming an exaggerated hourglass shape. She had body fat, but it was in all the right places. Smooth, graceful curves. Perfection. Carved from marble. Between her thighs rose a small neatly-trimmed patch of fire-red pubic hair, and of course below that was the blushing little heaven to which I’d already become quite familiar. It was still reddened and puffy from my oral ministrations. Her snapping fingers brought me back from my stare, and I hastily stepped up to meet her. “Into the shower.” she ordered. I complied.
The water wasn’t running yet, and I stood at the back of the stall to make room for her. She stepped in, pulled the curtain behind her. She unclipped the leash from my collar and tossed it outside the tub. Without warning she smacked my face hard. It was more surprising than painful, and I tried not to flinch when her hand came in for another smack. My eyes were beginning to water, my cheek stung. Two more smacks on the other side, followed by three more increasingly hard onto each cheek. My ears were ringing, my whole face burned, and I was even a little dizzy. “Kneel” and I did. Her lovely little mound was at eye level, and I leaned in to give it a kiss. She caught me by the hair and pulled my head back. She pulled the top of my head backward and down, tilting my face up so that I was looking straight upward, and she stepped in so close I could feel her pubic hair brush against my chin. From this angle, I could see her lovely face staring down at me, up past her belly, and between the undersides of her round breasts. An incredible view. She raised an eyebrow. I felt a warm sensation on my neck, then it flowed down to my chest, spreading as it went. Warm and wet. It took me a moment to realize she was urinating on me. I could smell it now; salty and a bit sour, mingled with the musky scent of her sex, and it continued to flow down my body, my stomach, my thighs, to the base of my dick, around my balls. She swayed gently as she relieved herself onto me, covered my shoulders and it ran down my ams. I was still staring up at her, and she had closed her eyes, her mouth slightly agape, she was becoming aroused from pissing on me, and I hated to realize that I was as well.
Once she had drained herself, she stepped back, turned her back to me, and started the shower. I remained kneeling, her pee dripping from me. I wasn’t sure what to do. The shower’s warm water sprayed down, covered her chest, flowed down her front. Her ass swayed gently left and right as she let the water run over her, and she slowly rotated to wet her back and butt. She was careful to keep her hair tightly bunned from getting wet. Her body blocked the shower from hitting me directly and as desperate as I was to rinse the urine off of me, I didn’t dare move. She handed me a bottle of body soap and a flower-shaped scrub pouffe, and I went to work washing her. It was divine labor, rubbing the soap onto her legs, back, butt, arms, shoulder, and so on, then gently scrubbing & rinsing it off. I had to stand up to reach her top bits, but she didn’t admonish me. Once I’d cleaned her thoroughly, spending a generous amount of time on her breasts, ass, and pussy, she took the pouffe from me, soaped it up and ordered me to get under the shower’s spray.
She carefully washed me, though she was a bit rough with the scrubbing. She seemed especially determined to clean my face, balls, dick (which was still hard and especially sensitive to he touch) and my ass crack. She saved that until last and used a copious amount of soap, running her fingers up and down, then deeper in, even jabbing a soapy finger into my asshole. Her fingernail hurt, and I jerked away. She gave my butt a smack. I turned in the flowing water to rinse, then she reached past me to switched the shower off. I held her hand to provide balance as she stepped out of the tub. She took a towel dried herself; slowly, sensually, blotting every inch of her skin. She handed the towel to me, and I dried myself. Not doing nearly as good a job as her at looking sexy while doing it. Not that it mattered- she wasn’t watching. She had slipped her heels back on & walked out the door. I hung the towel on the rail and followed her into the short hallway. She turned right- away from where we’d come in from the living room.
A woman’s body dressed in nothing but a pair of black high heels is quite an exquisite vision. Especially from behind. Into the bedroom I followed her. She switched on a small bedside lamp, casting long shadows throughout, The room was mostly adorned in dark cherry wood, with gray-striped walls and a dark burgundy duvet spread over a wide, high bed. Amongst the various dressers and tables stood a tall wardrobe-like cabinet, with two heavy wooden doors. It looked out of place; old and thick and heavy and rough, in contrast to the modern smooth lines of th rest of the furniture. It was at this cabinet she waited for me.
I came and stood next to her as she worked the latch & swung open the doors. Bright lights came on from within. “Hold out your hands.” I did. She placed a heavy steel tray on my hands, so big it took up most of my forearms as well. The tray had a mirrored finish, and suddenly I became aware again of our nudity, reflected straight up at us, exaggerated by the lights from inside the wardrobe. My chest, and hers. In the reflection I also noticed several odd and surreal shapes; items hanging in the wardrobe and on its doors. I looked up and immediately realized what they were. I shuddered. Claire was perusing over them, finger on her lip, as if she were trying to decide what to buy for dinner. Except these weren’t groceries. They were sex toys. Torture toys. An entire collection of rather terrifying devices for S&M pleasure. Many of them I didn’t recognize; strange harnesses, different sorts of utensils and tools. All were hanging as neatly and carefully as anexpert craftsman might keep his tools. The cabinet was lined in deep red velvet. Some items sat on glass shelves or little velvet pillows, others hung from silver hooks. The whole spread was intimidating.
She began to pick out the implements presumably she planned to use on me; dildos (of various shapes & sizes), vibrators, a bullwhip, a paddle, a flog (or cat o nine-tails, I think), a polished wooden dowel, some shiny silver clips of some sort, a strange little silver handle culminating in a small wheel of nasty little needle-sharp spikes, a switchblade, a rubber ball, various belts and harness, a coil of rope, some chain, and bottle of lubricant. Having made her selections, she closed the cabinet door. The tray was getting heavy. Looking over its contents, I was becoming nervous. She lifted a small leather and steel harness of sorts from the tray and held it up to the light. It was built around a thick metal ring, with a few strips of studded leather woven around it in sort of a crude basket shape, with another leather loop at the front. Some smaller silver rings were riveted at certain points to the leather. “Stand still.” she commanded, and then knelt before me. Under the tray, I could no longer see her or the strange harness. I felt her hands on my genitals. My cock had softened while she was loading up her tray, and I was a little shy about it. Nevertheless I didn’t move. Her hand grasped my scrotum tightly and pulled down. It hurt. I felt her single out one testicle and feed it through the larger metal ring on the harness, and then my other ball was pulled through. She then took my soft prick and forced it through the same ring, so that when she had finished, the ring rested firmly against my body, balls and dick beyond it. My scrotum was fed into the little leather basket, and the leather loop fitted around the shaft of my penis. Then warmth and wetness enveloped me. Her mouth was on my cock, I could feel her tongue glide down the underside, her lips wrapped around tight. I began to harden instantly. Despite the ache in my arms from her tray, despite the uncomfortable steel and leather contraption on my package, I was becoming aroused. Her mouth glided down and back up to the tip of my dick, then made a naughty little wet pop as she released her suction. The rush of cool air on the head, and then the heat of her mouth on it again. Claire sucked hard, it stiffened more, so hard now it was painful in the stirrup, and she was having difficulty keeping her lips around it. She released it, came back out from under the tray and stood up. A look of satisfaction on her face as she pointed to a table at the foot of the bed and I placed the loaded tray down upon it, careful not to spill its contents.
“Hands” she commanded. Her voice in a sort of sultry, deep whisper. I held my hands out to her again, hoping it wasn’t for another tray. She grasped my wrist and lifted a leather wristband off the tray. She buckled it onto my wrist, tight, then did the other wrist the same. The wristbands each had a metal ring on them, and onto these she attached two ends to a heavy chain. At the middle of this, she attached another length of chain, thus forming a “Y” shape. The bottom of the Y held a hook, which she fastened to the silver ring on the top of the leather dick-harness. This forced me to hold my hand down in front of my stomach, if I tried to lift them or turn them too far to one side, it would pull tighter the straps around my nuts, which hurt like hell. I stood still.
Claire walked a slow circle around me, stopped between myself and her tray of toys. I was facing away from her, didn’t see what she’d picked up next. I soon felt it though. The paddle. It landed flat across my ass at full speed. A deafening pop as it hit me. Searing pain shot through, Instantly my butt felt like fire. She landed another one, then an third. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. Two more, even harder. Every time the paddle hit, my arms would reflexively jerk upward, yanking my harnessed package with it, answering the pain with more pain. I was drowning in agony. All I could think of was the pain. Five more strikes in a row, and I was getting dizzy. I let out a scream. More of a guttural groan, really. I’d lost control of my capacity for speech, I made an inarticulate plea for mercy. The paddling stopped. She returned it to the tray. I let out a deep sigh of relief.
She took me by the chains, unhooked the bottom end from the cock-harness, and led me to the side of her bed. Pushed me forward, and I crawled onto the mattress, none too gracefully. She guided me forward to the head of the bed, looped the center chain around the top metal rung on the headboard and hooked it into place. My face and knees laid flat on the bed and my tingling burning ass raised up in the air. I felt the bed move as she climbed on with me. Back to her tray she reached and then I felt a cold fluid down my ass-crack, her fingers smearing it onto my sphincter. My heart began pounding furiously. Her finger penetrated me. I yelped. She slid the finger back out fed more lube, and then the finger back in. Deeper this time. Then back out. The next penetration wasn’t a finger. Something bigger, firmer, tapered. A butt-plug. Slowly she fed it into my ass. It felt huge, stretching me. “Relax. It will hurt less if you let it in. Just relax.” Her voice was soft, soothing. I did my best to comply. I let out a long ragged breath. It went in deeper. Stretched me wider. Then it reached the zenith and pulled itself into position. I felt full. It felt strange, foreign. Uncomfortable, but not terrible. “Good” she said. “Very nice.” She gave my ass a gentle pat.
Her weight shifted on the bed; She’s reaching for the next fresh hell from her tray. Something tickled my thigh. I felt it again on my lower back. It ran up and down my spine, brushed over my shoulder. The cat o nine-tails. A few dozen little strips of leather, culminating at a heavy woven leather handle. She gently whipped up and down my back. Each strike a little harder, a little lower, closer and closer to my still reddened ass. She built up a fast rhythm as she went; harder, faster, lower. The first hit to contact my ass felt like a thousand needles. Then another hit, and another. She moved down my thighs, my calves. She worked the entire length of my body; down one leg, up the other, always the hardest swings saved for my poor aching ass. She also took time to concentrate on my shoulders; a couple dozen floggings each. It wasn’t as overwhelming a pain as the paddle, but the swift repetition; over & over again in the same spots, the irritation kept building up, until it was unbearable. Then she dropped the flog. Her hands ran up and down my tingling skin.
She grasped me by the arms, guided me to flip over. On my back then, and suddenly aware of the plug still in my ass as my own weight drove it a tad deeper, my face wet with tears, her beautiful silhouette looming over me. My cock was still hard; the ring at the base kept it from softening too quickly, despite my suffering under the flog. I had never experienced a cockring before. It was a bit disconcerting, not having direct control over my state of arousal. She patted my stiff member gingerly. “We’ll get to that soon enough. I have so much more to do yet” She leaned forward and gave me a deep affectionate kiss, then climbed off the bed. I watched her open a nightstand and remove a Zippo lighter. She lit two candles on that stand, then circled the bed and lit two more on the other. I could see her easier in the added light. She could see me easier as well, in my helpless prone position. At the foot of the bed she picked out a handful of items and came back to the bedside. She spread them out beside me.
The little metal clips, that spiked wheel thing, the switchblade, she lined them up in a neat little row. One of the clips came first. With one hand she pinched my nipple, gave it a tug, and her other hand snapped the clip into place. Excruciating. My other nipple received the same cruel treatment. I was writhing in pain. She took the lighter’s flame to the end of the right nipple clip. The steel quickly transferred the heat onto my pinched flesh. I gasped, groaned, cried out. The raw skin on my back rubbed against the duvet. My whole body felt like it was on fire. Claire gave my left nipple a harsh smack, a jolt of agony, and she chided me, “Stop squirming.” I tried not to move. Deep breaths. Clenched fists, curled toes. She nodded, watching my attempts to compose myself and ignore the anguish. “Don’t shut it out, love the pain” No. She’s crazy. “Embrace it. Live for a change, darling. Let it in.” The lighter went away.
Her little wheel of needles skated across my stomach. I jumped. She ran it up my tensed arm, I could feel each little pinprick into my skin. Down the underside on my other arm, across my chest, multiplying the sensation of the clips. Southward the wheel rolled. My waistline, the sensitive skin around my cock, and then my inner thigh. It left an itchy trail behind it as she explored my body; up & down, tracing out muscle groups, meandering from one sensitive spot to another. “Tell me you love it.” I couldn’t respond. My silence appeared to please her. “Then you’re not there yet.” The snap of her switchblade punctuated her sentence.
The cold blade slid across my skin, down the groove between ribs. She didn’t press hard enough to cut, just scrape & scratch. Claire slowly ran the edge of the knife up and down my left side, I didn’t even realize I had contorted my body to the right to avoid it. A few strategic pokes with the knife-point into my right side manipulated me back into position. I was horrified. At any moment she could decide to cut me open; and here I was, tied to her bed, with this dick-harness, and this ass-plug, and these nipple clamps, allowing her full access with that knife. She seemed to be taking great care not to break the skin, It still felt like she did with each jab. I expected t feel drips of blood from whee she’d pricked, but there was none. The point of the blade danced across my body, I flinched with every poke. Down my legs, the bottoms of my feet, then my palms, then the underside of my dick. I bit my lip to stifle a yelp.