“Keep. Your back. Straight.”
I thought I was. It’s difficult to know when you can’t see. I drop my shoulders and my head. Drool slides out from behind the ball gag and runs down my chin. I’m on all-fours, and the plastic curtain beneath me isn’t comfortable. My palms are sweating, making it hard not to slip. I still don’t know why I’m on this cold, slick surface, and I’m nervous about it.
You put a hand on my upper back and press down. I guess I’m still not straight. I bend, feeling the muscles in my arms strain. If I have to hold this position for long, I’ll be in trouble.
“If you let these fall, I will be displeased. Do you know how I will show my displeasure?”
I can’t really answer with the gag in my mouth. I give a little nod and do my best to mumble, “Yes, Sir,” through the gag.
“I’m sure you do,” you say. You’re smiling, I can tell. “Five, for each time one falls.”
One what?
And five of what?
I get my answer to at least one of those questions. Something rough scrapes along my side. It’s a paddle, the one I don’t like. It’s unyielding, and it has these little pyramids all over it. They leave pretty speckled marks, but they also throb. It’s a deep, pulsing, thuddy pain, and I am a stingy kind of girl.
“Ready?” you ask.
No, not really. But my arms are already shaking a little bit and the hard surface is hurting my knees. I’m not moving until we’ve had our (your?) fun, so I give another muffled, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good.”
I feel you place something between my shoulder blades. It’s very light. I can’t tell anything other than that for a moment, until I feel a chill start to sink into my skin.
Ice.
Slippery, slidey ice.
I take a deep breath and vow not to move. I do not like that paddle.
You place another two along my back, and then one right at the top of my ass crack. I hear you walk around me, then there’s a soft creak of denim as you crouch down.
“Perhaps I should have left the gag off,” you muse. “We could have placed another one right here.”
You run the ice around my lips, which are already wet and slippery with drool, then slide the ice cube up my cheek, under my chin.
I am glad for the gag. The thought of holding an ice cube in my mouth until it melts makes my teeth hurt.
I hear you stand up. I shift, ever so slightly. Fuck. I feel the slow, cool glide of ice sliding down my ribs.
“Already?” You snort a laugh. “I expected you to do better than that. Let’s just put this back.”
A moment later, the ice is back in position. I hardly dare breathe in case it falls again.
“Five for each time,” you remind me. “And we didn’t even get to the fun bit yet.”
The paddle scrapes across my ass then THWACK.
The first one isn’t bad. I close my eyes behind the blindfold and concentrate. Don’t move. The second one is in the exact same place as the first, and I let out a pained yelp. Fuck, I fucking hate this paddle. You shift to my other ass cheek for number 3, but four goes back to that right side. Your favorite. I curl my toes, dig my fingers into the shower curtain, as you give me number five, lower, managing to catch the back of both thighs.
“Good girl,” you say. A hand strokes over my ass, but the pain doesn’t reside. It won’t, not for a while.
Fucking paddle.
“Now, the fun part. Hold still.”
I hear a snick. I move to lift my head and then change my mind. The ice is already melting on my heated skin. The slightest shift and it’s going to be back to the paddle.
A curl of smoke drifts through the air.
What?
“Let’s start here, on the pretty pink bit,” you say.
Before I can work out what that might mean, I feel a light splat land on my right ass cheek. It stings. I flinch, but catch it fast. The ice cube at the bottom of my back wobbles but it doesn’t fall.
“Careful,” you remind me.
Another tiny sting, and another. It’s wax. Droplets of candle wax.
Relief rolls through me, along with pleasure. I love playing with wax. I love the heat, I love the tiny flickers of pain, I love the pretty, pretty colors. One time we painted my tits in a beautiful rainbow, covering every inch of skin. I almost came when you worked on my nipples. Would have, with just a few strokes of my clit. Then you used the crop to whip it off and fucked me into oblivion, wax splatters everywhere. I smile around the gag, remembering.
And forgetting where I am.
What my task is.
You manage to angle the candle so that a drop of wax hits the side of my tit. Sensitive skin. I shy away automatically and feel not one but two ice cubes slide down my other side.
“That’s ten,” you tell me.
I haul in a breath through my nose. Try to ready myself, but you’re faster.
One, two, three, four. Alternating sides of my ass. A tiny reprieve. Five, six, seven. I cry out. I don’t like it at all, but I really don’t like it fast. No time to recover in between blooming flares of pain.
“Don’t move next time,” you suggest.
Eight, nine, ten. All in the same spot.
I cry, coughing out little sobs around the ball gag. I can feel the deep, bruising pain down to my bones, and it pulses as it slowly, slowly ebbs.
“Come on,” you say softly. A hand strokes my hair. “You can do this.”
I can. I take a deep breath. Steady myself. The ice cubes go back in place and I hold as you splatter my shoulder blades, draw a line down my left side, polka dot my sensitized, tender ass. My feet, even my fingers.
“Next time, you need to be on your back,” you murmur. “I can’t access any of the fun places. I want to paint your pretty cunt.”
I quiver, imagining that, not sure if I love or hate the idea. (I love it.)
“Well,” you add, “not with the wax.”
A hand slides between my legs and I feel how wet I am. You know me so well. Put me in a predicament and I lose my mind. The tension, the anxiety. The determination not to fail.
I hear the sound of a zipper and raise my head a tiny bit. There is a quiet sound that I am almost positive is the sound of the paddle being put down (thank fuck), then I feel a hand on my hip. It guides me slowly back at the same time as your cock impales me. You slide easily inside and I moan happily.
You put your hand in between my shoulders and shove me down until my face is mashed into the shower curtain material. Droplets of drool that have slid from my mouth smear across my cheek. I feel all of the ice slide from my body and shiver. It's like cold fingers stroking over my skin.
Splat. Wax falls on my ass. You pull out and push back in. Splat, splat. More wax. In and out. Splat. I dig my fingers into the shower curtain and hold on for dear life. Wax and your cock.
Fucking heaven.
And it’s about to get even better.
You pause, just for a moment, then I hear a buzzing. Something is thrust into my hand. My wand.
“Play with yourself,” you tell me.
I must have been very, very good in a past life.
I hold the buzzing wand head to my clit and start moaning and crying out in a continuously pattern of ecstasy as you fuck me hard, one hand clamped on my hip to give you leverage while the other continues to coat my shoulders, back and ass in waxy droplets.
I come fast but I hold the wand in place because I know I’m not allowed to stop until you tell me I can. Besides, I want to come again.
My little whimpers become more helpless as you increase the tempo. Each jolt as you slam into me nudges the wand and I cum for a second time. You drop the candle (I hope you blew it out!) and grab both hips with your hands. I drop the wand and brace my elbows on the floor, knowing what’s coming. An absolute pounding. Heaven.
“Fuck,” you grunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Your thrusts lose rhythm and then you plant yourself hard inside me.
I hold for a second or do, then do what I always do: wriggle and writhe my hips back against yours, almost catlike, pressing against you. Thanking you. Feeling your cock piercing me for the last few moments.
You pat my side and pull out. I hear a sound that has me cocking my head. Was that the … paddle?
“Now,” you say, standing up. “Time to get this wax off.
Oh, f-