flogging

It’s a warm summers morning and it’s going to be a very hot day. I’m having a hard time concentrating on the questions you keep asking me. My mind is focused on the things I plan to do to you today. Unknown to you, I have packed a picnic basket and my big toy bag. Both are sitting in the trunk. I turn off the paved road, and you ask “Are we going to the cabin?”



“No, just for a hike and a picnic.”



You giggle and reply that you love picnics.



“You’re going to love this one,” I mutter. I pull into the spot I had found earlier, so no-one would see the car. I open the trunk and hand you the picnic basket as I pull out the toy bag.



“What’s in that big bag?” You ask.



“Just things we need for the hike and picnic.” I lift it to my back.



“It looks heavy,” you say, “and it sounds like you have chains in it…” I just point in the direction of the trail.



After a good half hour of weaving through the dense forest, we come to a big clearing with a little stream.



“This looks like a good spot, right here at the edge of the trees” I say. I get a blanket from my bag and lay it out in the shade of the trees. It’s good to be in the shade; it must be ninety degrees and it’s only 11:00 a.m.! You open the basket and lay out the contents.



“There’s is enough food here for lunch and dinner.” You say. I tell you to just get the bottle of wine, the sandwiches and the grapes. You start to open the strawberries and I slap your hand lightly, telling you that those are for later. I take my t-shirt off and lay it to the side. You giggle, and in a flash you’re down to your bra and panties. I watch you with wanton desire as you take off your bra and expose those lovely tits. I stop you before you can remove your panties. You whine that you want to get a full tan, but you know how much I like watching you in just your underwear. We lie there eating, drinking and watching the few light clouds pass by. Well, you are looking at the sky. I am looking at-and dreaming of-you. You point up at the two trees that we are lying under.



“What are those bolts doing in those two trees?” You ask.



“Oh, you’ll find that out later on.” I reply. I reach over and lightly brush your nipples; they instantly become hard. Lightly pinching and pulling on them draws a moan from you. Leaning over, I suck on your right nipple while rolling your left nipple between my finger and thumb. Licking and sucking, I move to the tender underside of your breast. After covering every inch of your breasts I slowly start licking down your sexy stomach. Stopping to play with your bellybutton, I can smell your intoxicating pussy. Removing your panties, I can’t help but hold them to my face and take a deep breath. It’s enough to make my cock jump and make a wet spot appear on my shorts. I move between your long legs, lifting and spreading until your knees are up by your chest, leaving you totally open to me.



I begin to nibble and lick your inner thighs. Then I lick and suck your lips, being very careful to avoid your clit. You are moving your hips, trying to push your clit onto my tongue, so I slap your ass and tell you to stay still. You start whining, saying that you need to cum, but that just makes me want to tease you more. Using just the tip of my tongue, I tickle you between your pussy and asshole for a minute, then I move down to run the tip around that little pink asshole. With your hole all slicked up I move back up to suck on your sweet juices. You are begging me to make you cum, so I insert two fingers into you. I suck hard on your clit and bend my finger up to rub on your g-spot. I let go of your legs. You clamp them around my head and your pussy clamps down on my fingers as you cum.



When you finally let go of my head and fingers I reach over and pull ankle and wrist restraints out of the bag, putting them on you. I quickly take out the four locking pulleys and clip them to the four eye-bolts attached to the two trees. I grab you under the arms and stand you up to clip the wrist restraints to the two upper pulleys and the ankle restraints to the two lower pulleys. I lock the two lower pulleys so your legs are spread apart as far as you can stretch them. Then I do the same to your arms so you are locked in a big X. You watch as I dig in the toy bag and pull out lube and a small butt-plug. I make sure you see what I have.



Stepping behind you, I pour lube down your ass crack, and reaching between your legs I slide my fingers up, meeting the lube at your asshole. I rub the lube up and down your ass crack, then I insert a finger. I whisper in your ear that I must get you well lubed. I don’t want to make it to easy for you to keep the butt-plug in. Pulling my finger out I insert the tip of the lube bottle, before squeezing the whole bottle into you. You let out a moan. I quickly remove the bottle and shove the plug in. Not expecting the sudden insertion you let out a little yell. I pull it back out-past the bump-and then push it back in again and you start moaning. I stop and tell you not to drop it. It’s small, so you will have to keep a grip on it.



I get the ball gag, blinders and headphones out. When I have the gag in place I remind you of the safe signal when you can’t talk-one hand with crossed fingers to slow down and both hands with crossed fingers to stop. You nod your head and I put on the blinders and the headphones. Trying to get you to drop the plug, I grab both of your tits hard and twist. You yell past the ball gag but you keep a grip on the plug. I spank your pussy five times with my hand.



“Let’s see if you can handle a flogging.” I start at your calves, switching from one leg to the other. With every hit of the flogger you tense up, afraid to relax in case you drop the plug. I vary the intensity of the hits; from a feather-light touch to a very heavy thud that turns your skin red immediately. I continue up your inner thighs, ass, lower back, shoulder blades, and to the end of each arm. Then I move around to the front. I start at your thighs, skipping your pussy and going straight to your stomach. I work over your tits and pussy for about ten minutes, all the time keeping a watch on your fingers.



When I stop, you’re so tense; every muscle in you body is straining. I smile at the drool that has dripped from your chin, watching it run down between your tits, all the way to your pussy to mix with your juices. I check to see that you have not dropped the plug. Your ass cheeks are so tight you could hold a dime!



I drop the flogger and pick up the crop. I give each of your nipples about a dozen flicks ranging from light to hard that make you scream past the gag.



Still no crossed fingers.



I start working on your pussy with the crop. It is spread wide open and your clit is big and hard. I can tell you are on the edge of cumming, so I reach out and pinch a nipple. You scream and cum hard, every muscle letting go; you drop the plug and go limp, letting the restraints hold you up. I drop the crop and hug and kiss you. I take off the headphones, blinders and gag and just hold you until you catch you breath and your legs steady themselves.



I untie one of your arms and give you a drink of water, asking you if you are okay and ready for more. You drink the whole bottle and say you think so, with a big smile. I free your other arm and run a rope from both upper eye-bolts to your waist. Standing in front of you I tell you to open my paint and suck my cock. You bend at the hips and just about rip the buttons off my pants getting to my cock. You play with my balls as you lick and suck me. Oh, it feels so good; I just want to grab you and fuck your mouth. When I can’t take any more I pull away and step out of my pants. I clip your wrists to your ankle restraints and stand behind you. As I slowly enter you, I marvel at how how hot and tight you feel. When I am in all the way I hold still and enjoy how your pussy grips and squeezes my cock. I start pump in and out slowly, not wanting to cum too soon, but my desire takes over, and I start going faster and slamming into you harder and harder. I feel you cum, but somehow I hold off and pull out. I step back in front of you and feed you my pussy-coated cock. As soon as I feel your mouth on me I start to cum. You swallow it all and suck me clean.



When I think I can take a step back (and not fall down), I unclasp your wrists from your ankles and clip them back onto the upper pulleys, pulling them tight. With you back in a big X I get fully dressed. You ask me if we are done, and if I will untie you. I tell you that I’m not done with you yet, and I will be back later.



Before I leave I give you some accessories. I get out a big butt-plug and lube it up. Spreading your cheeks I slowly push it in. When it gets to the widest part, your hole is stretched to it’s limit, but then it passes through and your sphincter slams shut, leaving just the stop-ring sticking out. Next I find the headphones and blinders and put them on you. I kiss you and taste the mix of pussy juice and cum that is still on your lips.



I walk back down the trail and find the hole that I had dug last week, knowing that I would need to hide the toy bag and picnic basket. I knew I was going to have to carry you back out after what I was putting you through. After finding and uncovering the hole and tarp I return to the clearing. Approaching you from the rear and seeing you all tied up and naked makes me realize how lucky I am that you love and trust me so much, that you allow me to play with you this way. Taking the long feather tickler silently out of the toy bag, I sit down in front of you and just admire your beauty. Not being able to see or hear, you have no idea that I am right in front of you.



With the feather, I lightly touch your arm. You scream and jump, pulling on the restraints, but they hold you tight. You softly call my name. After a minute you call a little louder. You start to plead with me, begging me to untie you because you have to pee. I look at your fingers just to make sure you’re not signaling your safe word. I smile to myself knowing that you are fine. I can see that you must have to pee badly by the way you are squirming.



“Oh, piss on it.” You mutter and you start laughing and pissing. For some reason I find it really sexy, watching you pee. I can see on your face how pleasurable it must be to let go from having to pee so badly. When you stop, I lightly tickle one of your nipples with the feather. You flinch and the last few drops of pee trickle out. When I tickle your other nipple they start to become hard. You shake your tits, not knowing if there is a bug or something on you. But when I tickle your armpit you scream and know it’s me.



Next I lube up the big set of BenWa balls. They are about an inch and a quarter in diameter. I insert all four, and with every movement you make they bang together and vibrate. I start tickling you again. With your movement, the balls are making you wet and they start to fall out. I use my finger and shove them back in and you moan. I take the headphones off and tell you to hold onto the balls.



“If you drop them I’ll use the cane on you.”



You still can’t see where I’m going to tickle you. I can tell that you really have your pussy clamped tight, holding the balls. With your legs spread like they are it’s taking a lot of control. I start tickling your inner thighs, then move up to your sides. You’re moving around and laughing, and you let one ball slip out. I take a second feather so I can tickle you on both sides. Another ball pops out and you are begging me to stop, but you still don’t mention the safe-word. I move to your arm pits and a third ball pops out. With the weight of the three balls swinging and pulling on the last one I know you can’t hold any longer, so I stop. As I shove the three balls back in I kiss you and tell you that you did good. I step back and I can’t believe how wet you are. You have cum so many times you are dripping, and there is a puddle in the dirt underneath you.



I can’t wait any longer; I have to have you.



I reach around and put my left hand on your pussy to hold the balls in, before grabbing the butt-plug ring. I tell you to relax and I slowly pull on the plug. With all the lube I used earlier it comes out with a pop, and I immediately replace it with my cock. You let out a scream of pleasure and I hold still, sheathed in you. My right hand is playing with your tits and two fingers on my left hand are buried in your pussy, playing with the balls and rubbing your clit. I slowly start pulling out and when just the head is left in you, I slowly push back in.



You are feeling so much pleasure; tits, clit, balls knocking against the walls of your pussy and my cock in your ass. You yell “Harder, fuck me harder!” and I do. I pull out and we slam back into each other, over and over. When I know we both can’t take any more I press hard on your clit and pinch your nipple. You cum hard as I shoot blast after blast of hot cum into your ass. When I can move, I unclip you and we fall to the ground. We lie on the blanket spooning until we fall asleep.



When I wake, the sun is setting over the hills. I hurriedly pack everything up and bury it all in the hole before returning to dress you. Picking you up, I realize it’s going to be a long hike carrying you, but you deserve it and you will be pampered as thanks for your trust.

She’d waited all day for this. Squirmed in her seat on the bus, at work, at lunch – any time her thoughts wandered to the evening she was hoping would unfold. And now, it was time. She’d showered, shaving under her arms and her lower legs, but leaving the soft, downy hair of her thighs untouched. She’d taken a trimmer and carefully ran its blade over her vulva, cutting her pubic hair short, and then smothering the area in sweet smelling lotion. She dressed quickly, with a little make up and let her hair dry naturally. She wore no underwear, of course.



Their scene was to begin in just a few minutes, and she sat at the bottom of the stairs almost trembling with excitement and anticipation. He unlocked the door at exactly seven o’clock and stepped inside. Wordlessly, she crawled forward on hands and knees and, as he leaned back against the door, took his soft cock out of his trowsers and began to suckle.



He leant forwards a little, and held onto the back of her head.



“Such a good girl…” he muttered, stroking her hair as she felt him begin to harden in her mouth. He reached down and pulled one of her breasts out of her dress and squeezed it in rhythm with her sucking. Once he was fully hard, he pushed her gently away by the shoulders and walked around to lead her to the curtained lounge.



He sat on the sofa, and patted the seat next to him.



“Hop up, baby girl.”



She took a seat, being careful to arrange her dress so her bare thighs and pussy touched the fabric of the settee. She stroked his hard cock lazily as they both settled in.



“Now, today, I’m going to carry on training your bottom. I need to be able to be inside it whenever I feel the urge, so we have to get you ready.”



“Yes, uncle.” She replied, a slight shudder passing through her.



“You know why we have to have sex this way, don’t you?”



“Yes, uncle.”



He reached down below the sofa and pulled out a large, plastic box.



“Bottom in the air. Now.”



She swivelled around and bent forwards, so her whole body was on the long settee. He let the warm air of the house waft over her for a second, before grabbing a tube of lubricant.



“Hold your cheeks apart.”



Her hands went back, leaving her face down and in position as he inspected her tight little hole, brown and puckered. The lube was cold, and she giggled a little as it squirted inside her. He took the smallest plug, and applied lubricant to that, too.



As she felt the tip of the plug press against her bum she took as deep a breath as possible and pushed herself open, quickly taking in the first inch or so. He withdrew it and pushed again, then discarded it quickly.



“It seems you’re doing much better than we thought, dirty girl,” he said. “Have you perhaps been playing with yourself a little?”



“No, uncle, I swear.”



“Well. I want to try something different.”



She tensed. “What?”



A quick, hard spank quieted her. She could hear rustling in the plastic tub, and then the order to sit up.



“These should help, as a distraction.” He was holding two nipple clamps, each a little weighted, and as she turned he began pulling and tugging at her nipples until they were fully erect. As he closed the clamps sharply over her left breast a small, mewling sound left her throat.



“There, take it girl. Just one more.” They hung, pulling her tits downwards in an extremely pleasing fashion. “Now, scoot down and bend your knees. Show that pussy to me.”



Once she was fully exposed, lying back with her knees bent and opened wide, he took his newest purchase out of the box. It was a large plug – larger than anything she’d yet worn – but tapered to a very small point. He saw her eyes go wide as he began to lube it up. He placed it at her anus.



“Push out, like you’re doing a shit.”



She felt the pressure of the rubber against her anus, demanding entry, forced by the strength in his arms. After the first couple of inches were in, the wideness began making her little arsehole sting.



“Uncle, it’s starting to hurt.”



“I know, baby girl. You can take it.”



“I don’t think I can, Uncle, God, it hurts.”



“Sweetheart, one more complaint from you and you’ll have something that really hurts.”



He shoved in another inch, feeling her sphincter protest the intrusion, but her eyes were free from tears.



“Breathe through it.” He gently pulled out and then pushed in the length he’d already inserted. “You need to be able to take all of this.”



She nodded, her thighs clenching. He reached into the box and grabbed a vibrator with his left hand, before applying it to her clit.



“Oh, yes!”



Another inch went in. He smiled to himself, moving the vibe a little as he started to fuck the butt plug in deeper and deeper.



When her arsehole popped closed over the base of the plug, she was ready to come. But that would have to wait. He turned the vibe off, and ignored her pout.



“I want a beer, now. Crawl.”



She gingerly sat up, feeling behind herself for the plug he’d just inserted. It felt hard and huge as she moved forward off the sofa, and crawled into the kitchen, nipple clamps swinging with every move. When she returned he was sitting stroking the flogger in his lap, the strips of leather falling softly over his hard, exposed cock.



After several beers, and a few episodes of his favourite TV show, he felt like he’d made her wait long enough.



“Crawl upstairs. I want you bent over the bed.” She left a wet patch on the sofa’s fabric.



Excitement tingled inside her as she climbed the stairs and situated herself in position. He picked up the flogger and the lube and made sure to step heavily on each stair in turn. He wanted her ready.



His fingers went to her pussy as soon as he reached her, and of course it was soaked, puffy and swollen. The urge to fuck it was very strong, but instead he gave a few short strikes with the flogger, eliciting a low moan from his niece.



As he covered her arse with stripes, he stroked his cock, bringing himself back to full hardness. It would be so good to finally get inside her bottom. When her bum reached a nice, glowing red, he wrapped his fingers around the plug’s base and began to pull.



“Push it out, now,” he ordered, enjoying the little noises it made and the gasps as her anus could finally relax. There was some gaping, the first he’d seen with her, and he could easily fit a finger inside, but nothing more than that.



He lubed up his cock, wrapped her long hair around his fist, and placed his cock at her arsehole.



“I’m going to fuck your bum now.” He saw the clench as her hole tensed, then relaxed. He pressed on, loving the feel of her wet, oily sphincter closing tight on the head of his cock.



For her part, it felt so fucking dirty. She knew her uncle shouldn’t even be seeing her naked, let alone putting his penis in her, but he kept her in such a state of arousal with his demands that she couldn’t ever find it in herself to say no.



Now he was at least halfway inside. His cock wasn’t long, but was so thick and hard, it felt like a ridged, velvet-sheathed glass bottle was forcing itself into her. The pain was worse when he moved, sawing himself in and out and grunting in pleasure.



“Uncle, it hurts,” she whined, twisting her hips a little to try and find a less painful angle.



He spanked her left, then right bum cheek hard, and continued fucking her.



“I know it does, my dirty girl, but I have to do this, you know that.”



She stayed silent.



“You know why don’t you? If I don’t put my cock in here, I’ll have to put it in your pussy, and you can’t get pregnant. The baby wouldn’t be right.”



“I know, Uncle. It just… it’s sore…”



“My poor girl, I know it’s sore, but it’s your own fault.” He let out a deep groan. “Uncle has to do this to you for your own good. You need to be prepared.”



Her arse felt like it was on fire as he fucked her hard, pushing her hips into the bed.



“Take it, girl, good girl. Take your Uncle’s cock in your little bottom, that’s it, girl.”



He felt his cum streaming into her arse, as he reached under her, pulling and tugging on her poor, abused boobs, causing her to scream out. He loved hurting her just as he shot his load.



He lay for a second, squashing her into the bed, then as he pulled out, he reached for the plug and pushed it fairly easily back in.



“You will keep my cum inside you for the next four hours.”



She whimpered in response. He grabbed the vibrator and a dildo and lay back on the bed.



“Now, you may come if you can fit that dildo in your cunny.”



She crawled up the bed and gingerly lay on her back.



As soon as the vibe touched her pussy, her body began to respond again, and the electricity she’d felt earlier returned. The dildo was big, but she persevered and forced the head inside herself. Her uncle watched, spellbound, as she began to hump it.



“Come whenever you’re ready. You’ve earned it. Then you have a two minute break and are to make yourself come again.”



As she began to cry out her grabbed her clamps and pulled.



“Come through the pain. Fuck yourself through it.”



She squirmed and gritted her teeth as she felt her first orgasm overtake her despite the agony in her tits.



“Yes, Uncle, I’m coming! Thank you!”



It wasn’t very intense, but the distraction would decrease as her pain threshold improved.



It was just a matter of time, and she knew this evening wouldn’t end any time soon…

As he stood beside the examining table with flames raging in his cheeks, he submitted to the doctors unexpected request of full nudity. With his clothes neatly piled on the adjacent chair, he laid his bare body against the cold blue plastic and took a deep, calming inhale before letting it slowly ooze out his nostrils.



“Why … is it I have to be naked?” he asked sheepishly, already knowing it was a question of no use.



“Don’t worry Steven,” Dr. Will replied in a damp Irish accent. “It’s standard practice for full examinations. Just relax and we’ll have a good look at you.”



The softness of her voice licked across his frigid skin as he closed his eyes, letting himself drift along the waves of her words. The red of his lids brightened as a summer sun smiled through the window, laying a blanket of heat atop his flesh. While the doctor laid her hands upon him, prodding and squeezing, his mind brought him on a tranquil journey to an unexpected abyss of delight.



He was naked inside a cave looking out to the sea. The sun shone brightly and the tepid air filled his being with passion. He was suddenly joined by the doctor who also stood naked. She dropped to her knees and took his sex into her mouth, never losing his gaze as she graciously stared into him. Laying him down, she persisted to pleasure him. Her wavy brown hair tickled his skin as she moved her mouth around his shaft, circling her tongue around the helm. Reaching his hands out and placing them atop her head, he fisted her hair and fed his cock deeply in her throat.



And with a sharpness at the base of his sex, Steven awoke with his fists full of the doctors brown wavy hair. As his consciousness began to clear, he immediately released his grasp. Dr Will stepped back, red faced and teary.



“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Steven?” She wiped her mouth, panting, her gaze not moving from the stunned man on her table; his erect eagerness wilting.



“Steven, answer me this instant,” she demanded.



His words had retreated and betrayed him. He could only sit, abashed and torn, as the doctor regained her composure and left him sinking deeper and deeper within his denial.



“Well, Steven, since you are clearly incapable of stringing a few words together, I will see to it that your silence remains.” She walked over to her door, locking it, as Steven desperately tried to salvage his dignity. Attempting to step down from the table, he was swiftly interrupted by a hand on his throat.



“Tut tut,” she said snobbishly. “Lay down. Move and I will have you arrested. Understand, boy?” She looked him with a frosty stare and his face shrivelled.



“Boy!” She exclaimed.



“Yes, OK I hear you.”



With an abrupt rage, she brought her hand across his face, filling the room with a sharp echo.



“You will answer yes, or no. You will address me as Mistress. You will do everything I say and you will like it. Do I make myself clear, boy?” And with meek capitulation, he forced out the words which would change his life forever.



“Yes, Mistress.”



She raised his legs perpendicular to his chest. Retrieving some rope she tied his ankles, hooking the adjoining section underneath his head so that his ankles were almost touching his ears. His sex was nicely exposed atop his bare and open bottom and his arms were then tied underneath the table.



“Have you ever been fucked, boy?”



“No … Mistress,” he replied, hesitantly.



“But you’ve fantasised about it, haven’t you?”



After a short thought, he quietly acquiesced and confirmed her statement with the appropriate reply. He had often thought about being taken by a man but had never yet ventured into the physical reality. The man in his dreams was invariably muscular, a visage of beauty with golden skin. The man would furtively join him in the shower and with his strong arms, would hold him cross legged and wrapped around his powerful waist. Kissing passionately, the mysterious man would push his bulging helm inside of Steven’s unexplored bottom and thrust until filling him with his thick juices.



Sharply slapping his rigid cock with her right hand, she slid two slippery fingers from her left hand softly into his anus. Just as she was about to speak, a knock bellowed from behind the door to her consulting room.



“What is it?” she shouted as the door handle flinched.



“Sorry to disturb you doctor, but it’s late already and I have to catch my train,” replied the voice.



“That’s fine, Barbara, I’m just finishing up with Mr. Ward. I’ll lock up tonight.”



“Ok, if you’re sure?”



“Lock the door on your way out. Goodnight, Barbara.”



The footsteps grew faint until they faded completely.



“Right, boy,” she said, through an insolent smile, “where were we?” She lowered her face and took his cock in her warm mouth, swallowing him completely. Watching his reaction, she suckled him strongly until she felt he was ready to release himself and abruptly stopped.



“Do you know what naughty little boys get for forcing themselves into the mouth of a Mistress?” she asked rhetorically. Fetching a leather flogger from her drawer, she brought it down unhesitantly and with great force upon his sex. The room was immediately infused with the shrill of Steven’s pain as she unrelentingly drove the cruel leather tentacles to his cock and his balls.



“What shall we do with you, boy?” She mused, pausing for a moment with her finger to her lips. And just as instantly as she stopped, inspiration hit. She dragged the length of the table away from the wall and lowered the upper platform where Steven lay his tear trodden face. Dragging him from underneath his arms, she pulled him so that his head barely hung off the edge, leaving enough room for a person to stand in front of him.



She undressed fully and took another item from her drawer before returning to stand before Steven’s face. Crouching down so that her face was level with his, she looked into his eyes and brutally scraped her nails across his chest.



“I’m going to bask in your suffering, boy,” she whispered through a grin. She stood over his face, forcing his mouth in her sex, and commanded him to lick the wetness from her sodden cleft. Taking his cock in her grasp, she tightened her grip and violently thrusted his shaft until he was throbbing. And while she rubbed her vagina on his face, his thick tongue desperately sifted through the folds of her lips, stabbing into her hole at every opportunity. She relinquished his cock and slapped it with force. Moving her pelvis forward, she ordered him to drive his tongue in her bottom as she wetted the thick plastic penis she earlier retrieved.



“Deeper,” she demanded. “Put your tongue in deep and lick my insides clean, you disgusting boy.” As instructed, he slid his tongue as far as it would reach into the depths of her anus — and with as much vigor to make his Mistress moan aloud, her joy speared his cock with a tremendous shot of satisfaction.



With his face buried inside the cheeks of her beautifully curved bottom, she pierced his soft puckered opening with the lubricated plastic shaft. Forcing it forward without haste, his tongue retracted giving birth to what could only be described as an inward grunt.



“Use that tongue or pay the price,” she hissed. “I’m not done with you.”



As he hung over the tables edge, she grated her sex against his face and used his nose to tickle her little nub of lust. Her passion whirled with such impact that she assaulted his anus with much hostility. And while spanking his stiff cock with antagonising slaps, he groaned into her vagina pleasing her all the more.



As the momentum formed to a steady tick, her cleft simmered with heat. And glowing with the beginning of her orgasm, the entity climbed into the very core of her, pushing her to an aggressive grind against his face. She plunged his bottom with such verve — using her two hands — that it elevated her orgasm, exploding with such force that it sent an undulated spasm across her entire being.



Releasing her grasp of the plastic shaft, she fervently held his face into her, keeping him still between her trembling thighs so as to soak up the last tendrils of ecstasy. She gathered her breath, freeing him, and dressed herself.



“Twist the lock to the left and let yourself out,” she uttered with a touch of frost, as she turned her back to him and continued her work.



Dressed and breathless, Steven sorely ambled out of the small practise with a smile in his eyes, for he knew he had pleased his Mistress well.

Swallowtail is a novel that traces the narrator’s gradual acceptance of submission.



Previously: The relationship between Dex and the narrator has crossed the line and it looks as though the pair might be finished.




***



This time it is I who stay away from Dex. Although my strange liaison with her has never been easy or predictable, her absence feels like a death, a hole in my life, a salted piece of land. With Dex, there was always an anticipation of the unknown. Now there is nothing. I tell myself that it’s for the best. It becomes my mantra, filling the space that she previously occupied. I am still unnerved and bewildered by the violence that I might have perpetrated had Dex chosen to resist me. It’s as though she had expertly peeled away my layers and revealed a kernel of ugliness and violence that lay at my core. I hadn’t expected to find it. I’d thought myself better than that. And even Dex, for all of her unreasonable demands on me, deserves better.



I don’t attempt to call her and don’t answer any calls from unknown numbers. There are several of these, but no messages are left on voicemail. It may be Dex, but the numbers are all different and I don’t bother to return the calls to find out. If it is Dex, then for some reason she’s pursuing me now. In unguarded moments, I find myself hoping that she is, and then I push the thought away. Months ago, I would have reveled in the attention. Now it saddens me. I hope that she will soon lose interest and find someone else. No one deserves the brute I appear to be.



I spend the weekend moping around the house, listening to older Coltrane, drinking single malt and trying to sort through conflicting emotions. It’s my typical breakup behavior and I’ve wrapped myself in it like a hairshirt. If Dex and I ever had what could be called a relationship, this is the most difficult and confusing end I’ve ever experienced.



After finishing what’s left of my favorite bottle, I’m just as adrift as I was before. I wonder, for example, whether my sexual palate is ultimately averse to the kind of spice Dex has brought to it. I wonder whether I’m capable of bowing to someone else’s will as Dex appeared to want me to. Am I a lesser man for even considering it and then resorting to violence when it didn’t suit me?



***



Monday comes too soon. I arrive at the office early, wanting to avoid the usual Monday morning pleasantries with Sharon. The messages on the whiteboards in the lunchroom strike me as intolerably bleak. I close the door to my office and resolve to bury myself in the work that Dex so often distracted me from. My eyes are gritty and my soul is empty as I sit at my desk, sorting through the emails that have accumulated in my inbox.



A reminder of a lunch date surprises me when it flashes up on the computer screen. The hours have flown by. I debate cancelling, but then my stomach growls a warning that I know I’d better heed.



My friend is already at the restaurant when I arrive. Out of duty I inquire about his family, a disinterested wife, two surly teenagers, and an incontinent dog. There’s the usual litany of anecdotes, half funny, half depressing.



I ask him, in a way guys seldom do when there are safe things like sports and politics to talk about, whether it was all worth it—whether following the well-trodden paths from dating to marriage to kids has given him the sort of fulfillment I’m now afraid I’m incapable of.



He seems surprised. “I hope I’m not detecting any regret,” he says. “I’ve lived vicariously through you forever.”



“Oh?”



He leans back and smiles. “You’ve never lacked for women and I’ve never seen you pining for permanence. To me, your grass is greener.”



I tell him that I sometimes wonder about it.



He nods and sips at his beer. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s comfort in comfort. More often than not I’m happy. But there are moments when you wonder how the person you were became the person you are. You wonder how the marriage you had became what it is and whether it’s boredom or comfort or a profound lack of energy that keeps you from wanting to make it better. Then you get nostalgic for the good old days. You remember the beginning, when you were young and carefree. You’d go at it like rabbits then, with your happy rabbit fuck-faces and not a care in the world.” My friend sighs. “I miss the rabbit years.



“Then, before you know it, come the manatee years. You have kids now and you’ve let yourself go. You’re fat and ungainly and you wallow in warm, comfortable waters. You’re tired and distracted and you’ve obeyed the biological imperative and have seen where that has led you. If you take your vitamins or the little blue pill and get around to doing it, you have to do it quietly, otherwise you wake up the kids. You do it slowly, as though you’re underwater and anything too violent or unexpected is enough to cause you to float away from each other. You do it at the edge of the bed because the middle squeaks too much. You do it infrequently because you’re lucky to find yourselves in all the murk that surrounds you.”



He shakes his head and this time gulps his beer. “You’re one of the last non-manatees that I know.”



“Why manatee?” I ask.



“Have you ever heard manatees fuck?”



“No.”



“There you go then. They’re like parents—you can’t imagine anything so big and clumsy ever mating.”



“What happens after the manatee years?”



My friend looks genuinely surprised. “There’s something after the manatee years?”



***



I’ve made it through the week. I’ve gone through the motions, attended the meetings, made the decisions.



Only Sharon, my business partner, notices something amiss. “Are you okay?” she asks before I leave for the day.



“Sure.”



“You seem subdued.”



You have no idea how subdued I’ve been, I think. I merely shrug.



“Dex?”



“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”



“Okay.”



“Later, maybe. Not now.”



It’s Friday night again. On my way home I stop at the liquor store to replenish the stock that I’d put such a dent in the weekend before. I’m feeling marginally better now and regard my tumbler of whiskey as a friend rather than a crutch.



The house is cold and empty and I light a fire. It doesn’t do much to heat the house but it’s comfortable and the sight of it relaxes me.



The doorbell rings during an intermission of the hockey game I’m watching. I’m tempted to ignore it. I’m not expecting anyone and the third period is about to start. I top up my glass and listen for footsteps retreating down the driveway. There’s only silence.



With a pang I realize that it could be Dex. I get very little unexpected traffic up here. There are no neighbors. My street is slim pickings for salesmen. I’d bought the house ten years ago, attracted to the view of the town at the foot of the escarpment below and the protected forest behind. I’d been drawn by the promise of solitude and the proximity of what passes for civilization. The house stands alone and is far too large for one person. At the time, it suited my ego well. Perhaps it still does.



There’s still no sound from outside. Perhaps Dex, if that’s who it is, has left. Perhaps, I realize, she’s still standing there in the February cold.



I’m being an idiot. Again. If it is Dex, then she knows I’m home. My car is outside and there are lights on, everywhere, it seems, but my brain. I curse myself and my indecision. Dex is the injured party in this and here I am adding the indignity of leaving her on my doorstep like a beggar I’m too timid to face.



I hurry to the door and heave it open. An envelope falls to the floor, carried by the frigid night air that eddies around my bare feet.



I look for her. She’s nowhere to be seen but I can sense that she’s around here somewhere watching me.



I open the envelope and withdraw a card. I glance up again but there’s nothing.



I read: Forgive me. Please.



My heart gives a lurch. The breath catches in my throat. She’s apologizing? To me?



I look at the words again. I really, really don’t understand this woman. It’s almost as though, behind the sturdy battlements of her aloofness, she genuinely cares for me. It hadn’t occurred to me. I’d convinced myself that I’d been an easily replaced plaything for her. An experiment. Certainly there was nothing in our last meeting to suggest otherwise.



I still can’t see her. “You can come in,” I say into the darkness.



Nothing happens for a moment. Then a shadow detaches from an oak that stands naked and solitary by the driveway. The lonely streetlight out front lights her from behind. She seems small and fragile as she crunches through the snow at the edge of the driveway. Her steps are slow and deliberate, as though she shares in my apprehension and uncertainty. She enters the halo of the light that spills from the house. She’s all goth tonight—dark make-up, dark clothes, and clunky boots. I’m reminded of how different we are and of how much we’ve shared. At that moment, I realize that I’ve been with no one more beguiling.



Without pausing her approach, she’s in my arms. At the touch of her, I relax.



“I’m sorry too,” I whisper.



She leans back and places a finger softly to my lips. “No words,” she says.



A command again. The tone is different now than the last time. Less imperious. I nod and pull her gently into the house.



In the light of the living room, I see how tired she is. Dark make-up can’t quite hide it. I move to her and she places a hand on my chest and takes a step back. I stand and watch as she unlaces and removes her boots, losing four inches in the process. She looks almost self-conscious in what she is doing. There’s no brazen exhibitionism, only a subtle vulnerability that I haven’t seen from Dex before. She unzips the dress she is wearing and steps out of it. She stands motionless and naked before me. There’s no sultry pose, just Dex, arms at her sides, small feet spread shoulder width apart. Our eyes lock. I can’t quite read her but am aware that something significant is happening.



At length she approaches me and begins to unbutton my shirt. Still no words pass between us. My hand finds the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her soft, smooth skin and I gently pull her to me. She doesn’t resist but does look up at me with an uncertain smile.



I’m soon as naked as she is, standing in the middle of the living room.



She takes me by the hand and leads me to the bathroom.



Things seem easier between us after we have taken a shower. The hot water has washed the residual tension away. We’ve touched everything there is of the other that there is to touch, explored each other without sexual imperative. Without words.



Now we’re back in the living room. She’s naked, reclined unselfconsciously on my sofa. I see the swallowtail tattoo low on her abdomen. She picks up my forgotten tumbler of scotch and eyes me speculatively.



“What now?” I ask, uttering the first words spoken since she entered my home.



She shrugs. Her eyes are wide and dark. “What do you want?” She’s not dodging my question for a change. She wants to know.



This could be a new beginning. I’d like for it to be. She’s leaving it to me, allowing me, perhaps, to set the ground rules. I’m not even sure that I weigh the consequences before the words are out of my mouth: “I want to be with you.”



So few words to describe what I want. I want more. More of Dex. More than just the occasional visit. More accountability. More of what I’ve come to crave. I want the opportunity to atone.



She takes her time before answering. Is she thinking of what I’ve left unspoken? She looks at me, unwavering. I see that she understands. Her voice is quiet but intense. “I want that too.”



I take the tumbler from her hand and study her. Her body is pale and inviting against the dark brown leather of the sofa. It becomes clear to me. It takes me a bit longer to assemble the pieces than it has for Dex. The price of being with Dex is to accept her rules. It’s not something I can pretend only as long as there’s something in it for me. That’s what I’ve been doing—pretending. Strip away the thin pretense of acceptance and I’m a brute. Truly accede to her, accommodate her demands, and… who knows?



Accept her as she is and all this and more can be mine. Someone to please however I can. Someone to please me. Whatever her pleasure, I know that I want be the one to provide it. Whatever pleasure she grants me, I’ll gratefully lap it up. We’ve both made mistakes and crossed the fuzzy lines that have loosely defined our relationship. They’re less important now, these lines. They seem more flexible and less like tripwires. If I allow it, I’m confident that she can navigate us along or over those lines as she chooses.



I take a small sip of the smoky liquid and press my lips to hers. Her tongue insinuates itself between my lips and tastes it and I let a small amount pass to her.



She smiles.”That’s good.”



I ask her to lie still and pour some whiskey onto her belly. A small pool of it forms in her navel. An amber rivulet spills over the edge, halting and proceeding in time with her breathing. The leading drop disappears between her legs.



I dip the tip of my tongue into the quivering pool, displacing some of the whiskey and sending another trail to follow the path of the last.



Something has changed. Despite the submission that Dex has always asked of me, I feel less diminished at the prospect now than I did before. I could enjoy pleasing her. If I allow it and she takes the reins, we can be good together. We can be better together than apart. I feel that we might be capable of some perverse balance.



I can trust her.



I follow the glistening trail of whiskey and lick it where it has moistened the margins of her pussy. I’m in no hurry. I lap up the smoky liquid until its taste is replaced by that of Dex alone.



She sighs contentedly and raises her legs, perching her feet on my shoulders and opening herself up to me.



***



I wake to sunlight streaming into my bedroom. I must have forgotten to close the blinds last night. I then become aware of a weight across my chest and realize that it is Dex’s slender arm and that she’s pressed to my side.



I close my eyes again to block out the sun and to enjoy the simple pleasure of her unexpected presence.



Dex is perched on a stool at the kitchen island. She has washed away the makeup and looks younger. More inviting and open. Almost wholesome and innocent. She’s wearing one of my dress shirts, mostly unbuttoned, and nothing else. I like the look.



I set down our mugs of coffee and regard her for a moment. “Why did you come back?” I ask.



Dex takes a deep breath. “It was a bad way to end. I was arrogant and selfish and I made a mistake with you that night. I couldn’t leave it like that. I wasn’t sure that it had to end. I didn’t want it to end.”



“We were good last night.”



Dex nods and looks off into middle space. “We were.”



“Is there a ‘but’?”



“Has good ever been good enough for you?”



It’s too early for this discussion, too soon after the night before. I haven’t even finished my first coffee. I know where she’s going though. I’ve had it good before. I have played the lover, the housemate, the affianced. I have remained deaf when others have heard Wagner.



Life has a habit of settling into routines, patterns of behavior that lull you into numbness by their very predictability. I’d seen it in my parents and too many of my friends. I’d been numbed by it too, when life and love adopt such a predictable, banal choreography that you want nothing more than for the actors to take a bow, for the curtain to fall.



“There’s a time and a place for good,” I say. “Last night was a good time and place.”



Dex nods. “It was. But good gets boring eventually. You know that. We’ve both had good and it’s not enough.”



“I know.”



Dex pours us another coffee. I enjoy watching her move around my place. She looks comfortable here and I’m glad for it. “You give me too much credit,” she is saying. “I’m feeling my way. I don’t know anything.”



“You know well enough. You have me going places I wouldn’t have dreamed of a couple of months ago. I think you know more than you’re letting on.”



She returns to the table and sets down the mugs. It’s good to be talking this openly. We’ve never done it before. I have a hunch and play it. “Were the roles reversed?” I ask.



“Huh?”



“Before… With your last partner.”



She nods so faintly that I almost miss it.



“That guy at the tattoo parlor?”



She nods again and averts her eyes. “That’s when I learned what lies beyond the play. I learned what it takes to be good and fair. Or I thought I did.”



“You do. We just took a bad turn. That’s all.”



Dex laughs. “It’s funny how just when you think you’re at the top of your game, life throws a wrench in the works and you’re back to square one, relearning the lessons you thought you knew. Making you humble.”



For some reason my heart is hammering in my chest. I want the conversation to stop, afraid of where it might lead. Instead, I ask, “So what did you learn?”



She sits down opposite me and cradles her mug in her small hands. “There has to be trust and understanding and creativity. Ego is an acid. I thought I knew it before but I guess I didn’t. Even before that night, I was guided by ego. I thought it was independence but…” Dex shrugs. “I know it better now. I’ve been floating along on assumptions and arrogance. And you’ve been going along with it for whatever reason, though I’ve done nothing to earn your trust.” She sips her coffee. “Why have you gone along with it?”



It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for months. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”



Her eyebrows rise a fraction.



“It’s been new.” I’m stammering now, hunting for words. “You’ve introduced me to things…”



“Awakened appetites that you didn’t know you had?” she asks.



“Something like that. I like the challenge. The unpredictability. I don’t like the frustration. I don’t like the not knowing.”



Dex sips her coffee and stares off into middle space for a moment. “I’ve been doing some thinking,” she says.



“Okay.” I’m wary.



“I think we can work well together.”



“I agree.”



“But there have to be some ground rules.”



“Okay.”



“It may be time to formalize things or go our own way.”



I’ve never negotiated a relationship before, at least not like this. Relationships are negotiated by a multitude of tiny decisions over time, each one building on the other until the relationship has a broad shape and texture. Given what I know of Dex, she has a definite shape in mind and I’m apprehensive now that Dex seems intent on laying it out.



Her last words echo in my mind though. Go our own way. I have a choice, it seems. A relationship as Dex wants to define it or nothing.



“You’re trying to make me some kind of slave. Is that it?”



“No.”



“Bullshit.”



Her eyes narrow. “A slave has no say in the matter. You have. You’ve accompanied me every step of the way when you didn’t have to. You did so of your own volition.”



“So what does that make me?”



“Not a slave.”



“What then?”



“A submissive. Or someone who could be.”



The word has been spoken. Her wishes and expectations of me have been reduced to three simple syllables. We’ve been dancing around it so long that the word itself is anticlimactic. I’d more or less come to the same word myself last night. Now that the word has been spoken, carrying with it a weight of implication, I’m not sure that I can carry it, despite the fact that I’ve followed her this far.



“Submission is a choice,” continues Dex. “Slavery is not. Submission is a gift that has to be earned. With the right master, it can be liberating. Done right, there’s no greater bond.”



I’ve had a taste and now that taste has a name. Submission. The concept of submission as the cornerstone of a relationship makes me uneasy. It’s one thing to consider the idea in the abstract and to dabble in it, quite another to have it on the table as something concrete and neatly labeled. I’m all for being tied up and played, but in the end there’s comfort in knowing that it’s just an act. What Dex is proposing is entirely different, I realize now. It’s less a role than a mindset.

Categories
April 2017
M T W T F S S
« Feb    
 12
3456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930
Categories