Kinky interactions for the D/s inclined

*the following was written for me and with me 9 years ago. He is since passed away. *

She was quite a contrast. A quiet shy redhead, well spoken intelligent and articulate. She was also very specific in what she wanted and what she didn't. I only spoke with her on the telephone from a blocked number, or online. We never met in person in the traditional sense. I was never allowed to see her face.

When we met she always had her head covered and her back to me. She loved to be spanked hard and slowly, as if he savored each stroke of the belt. She wanted to be penetrated but only with a glass toy which she provided.

In fact we met once a week for four hors. I had to stop by a local coffee joint for a prepaid drink. My instructions were always in the cup. We meet for four hours once a week and never in the same place twice.

When I arrived she is already naked bent over a crude and rough table so her body is forming a 90 degree angle. I always feel during our sessions there is some one there watching but I don't have any proof.

She always talks with me, we have a great rapport, and talk about a wide range of topics some personal but never specific. There is an easy air about her, cautious and restrained. Sometimes I think this is a sort of therapy for her, a release, I look forward to these meetings as I know she does......

 

 



She does. She needs this. The anonymity adds to the thrill.

Each week, she changes the meeting place. Attempting to dissuade him from contact that would compromise her integrity. She starts planning their next encounter before he ever leaves the room.

While she controls the time and place, she knows that the beating is all his. His to issues as he wishes. A belt? A hand? A whip? It is not for her to decide. She presents her ass and accepts what he offers.

She needed no aftercare. He was with her. He would never leave. Their connection went beyond the moment. It was more than visual. It was a mental connection that drew them together. A physical connection that she could handle emotionally. He was there.

And as she heard the door close behind him, she closed her eyes and felt his lips on her forehead. The words he couldn't speak, for she had forbidden it. "You are mine."

Mr_Milton
The mental connection that initially drew them together , had morphed into more. A physical connection then an emotional one.... It was all very compartmentalized, but nonetheless existed in various intensity levels.

He had never been part of such an interesting but decidedly different relationship. A relationship that revolved around the administration of pain; spanking switch various implements...

Was it therapeutic? Yes I believe for her it definitely was. I found the interaction to be very interesting and a chance to study her: reactions, emotions, body posture, the way she abosorbed blows, her conversational topics, Yes this was extremely interesting.......
 


She took the time to recover, get dressed and pick up her belongings. The soreness accompanying her moves made her smile.

This one will last more than a few hours she thought to herself as she got into the car and winced.

She headed back to the office. Her original intent was to go straight home and work the rest of the afternoon there, but something pushed her to go back.

She wasn't superstitious but she was following her instincts as she took a variety of turns that were not enroute to her office. Normally when she scouted a location, it had to do with privacy, this time felt different.

When she stopped her car, she left the motor running and simply stared. The blood drained from her head and she felt faint. It was exactly like in her recurring dream.

No. No. No. No! No! NO!!!!!

She flung the car door open and dry heaved. She wasn't ready. He wasn't the one from her dream. .... was he?

Whatever she tried to control in her real life was lost in this moment. Her façade was cracking and crumbling before her very eyes. Because the truth was, it was her waking dream as well. She could never admit that, even to herself.

Yet here. now. Her desire was bringing her face to face with her unspoken fantasy.

It didn’t take all that much planning. Liza knew Mr. Leash and CWM (Charles Winchester Milton) had become friends and were planning on attending a **private play party.** She wasn’t exactly qualified to be an exotic dancer but she thought the basics were obvious. Shaking her breasts, seductively touching herself, rubbing up against them.

This was the plan. They would be attending the function without submissives of their own and Liza would make them feel the pain of an unreleased erection. She was going to make them as hard as possible and leave them hanging; waiting for more. The thought made her laugh to herself.

With one last glance at the full length mirror, and a small sigh at wishing she had more to work with, she grabbed a coat and left the house.

***************************************************************

“... and she came before I even had a chance to remove the second clamp!” Mr. Milton said and the two men laughed.

They continued to exchange stories of subbie mishaps as they gave their drink orders to the submissive behind the bar. She was wearing a deep red half corset that allowed her breasts to hang in front of her. Princess enjoyed the approving glances and compliments she received when ordered to wear the skimpy garment along with her silk thong panties. She was a servant for this event and not permitted to wear shoes. In actuality, she would be spending more time on her knees than on her feet anyway.

From the other end of the room, the men turned their head at the sound of giggling and laughter. “I see Jane has made the trek out to this end of the country. Who is that man talking to her?” Mr. Leash asked his companion.

“Well, considering how terrified she is of sadists, I’m sure it must be that English guy from the Bay Area. If anyone can catch her and force her to give up her control, it’s going to be him.” answered Mr. Milton.

*************************************************************

The evening progressed and various scenes began. The two gentlemen were still engaged in conversation but it had moved from anecdotes to fire play. They were deep in conversation when the lights lowered and the music changed.

Def Leppard’s *Pour Some Sugar on Me* began to play and the men’s attention was drawn to the end of the room.

Trapped!

She'd have to think very carefully before her next move. Being in the middle of the ocean didn't provide a great many opportunities for escape.

Her father's merchant ship had been overrun by the pirates. They had killed nearly everyone on the ship. She and a few of the crew were spared. Those that were allowed to live agreed to join the pirate crew and replacements for the ones who were killed in the short-lived battle.

She had insisted on going with her father this time because he was headed to India. She had been fascinated by the scents, sounds and sights from stories she would hear from other travelers. After all, she was 19 and more than capable of handling herself, right?

While in India, she was enthralled by the market center. She bought so many new and wonderful things. Saris, head scarves, bangles for wrists and ankles, rings, and this lovely chain to wear around her waist. She loved the cold touch of it against her skin each time she put it on.

Now she was trapped in the captain's quarters with no visible means of escape. He came into the room as she was just starting to search for a weapon that would keep the animal from attacking her to fulfill his vile, animalistic desires.

The captain was no small man and stood over 6' tall. She could see he held several of her scarves in his hand. "Disgusting beast", she thought. "I'll have to wash those 10 times to get his stench off of them."

He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed her wrists behind her back and rapidly secured them with the dark purple scarf. Then he took the yellow one and blindfolded her.

"Ye can't run, if ye can't see, poppet." he said in a bemused tone. "Now, I'd hate to ruin that pretty garment of yours. If you put up a fight, luv, I'll slice it off of you with my blade. If you relax, I'll take if off all nice and proper for ye."

He gave her a moment to weigh her options. The thought of destroying her favorite emerald dress was too much. "I'll be still you filthy pillager." She may not fight physically to preserve her clothing, but that didn't mean she would comply verbally.

"There's a good girl, pet." he laughed at her insolence.

He kept her hands bound while he undid the lacing and ties that seemed to have her wrapped better than egyptian mummy. But he had to remove the scarf around her wrists to get it off completely.

She couldn't see him, but she could hear him humming. She could smell him, too. Surprisingly, he must have bathed because his odor was clean and manly. As he got close again, she smelled something else. Rum! "Drunken sot." she thought.

He pushed her onto the bed and straddled her body. There was no way she could get away but she struggled anyway. He grabbed one wrist and pulled it over her head to attach it to the headboard with the scarf. She hit him with the other until he repeated his process. Even though she was naked, blindfolded and couldn't move her hands, it didn't stop her from using her legs to kick and thrash with all of her might.

After some time, she was breathing heavily and realized he wasn't even within kicking distance. He had let her wear herself out by her futile struggling.

Suddenly, she felt his hand grab her ankle and rapidly secure it to the foot board. This caused her to be reinvigorated and attempt to connect her heel with his genitals; lashing wildly in any direction she could. He made quick order of securing her final appendage.

She could hear him still humming softly, standing next to the bed. "You are a disgusting beast of a person. I shan't even call you a man for that would be too much of a compliment. You don't even deserve to live among swine in their pens."

This got a soft laugh out of him. "Ye think ye won't take any pleasure from this, miss? I think ye be mistaken." With that his hand moved slowly up her thigh and his fingers slid into her with ease. She could feel her own wetness begin to spread on the covers. She was humiliated and turned a bright shade of red. "Yes, miss, I can see that ye think so poorly of this lonely pirate." again he chuckled.

"It's been a long time since this sword was sheathed properly, pet. This first time won't last as long, but don't you worry your pretty head. We'll take care of ye right and proper before we drop you on shore." he whispered in her ear.

He shed his clothes quickly and moved between her legs, again stroking her wetness and spreading it all over her. Her breathing became heavy and ragged but not because of exertion this time.

Without warning, he pushed into her and fucked her hard. She felt like he was using a battering ram and couldn't discern the pain from being stretched from the pleasure of the feel of him inside her. His promise of a quick end turned out to be more of an idle threat. He thrust into her again and again until she could no longer hold back. Her orgasm released in floods around his cock and soaked the bedding beneath her. The spasms continued until he spilled his seed, marking her as his own.

Her humiliation returned. Not just because she released so much fluid over him; not just because she felt warm and sated; not just because of the pleasure she received and gave. No, her embarrassment stemmed from the burning desire to repeat the act, but only with him. She was ruined for any other.

Let's talk about sex baby ....

Did I miss the memo? Is the lifestyle only about sexual gratification?
What if I want more?
An intellectual and emotional bond that is all encompassing of the physical and mental.

I think you forgot who I am. I can't be that woman the one who spreads her legs for anyone. The one who submits indiscriminately . I can't be her.

I can't be her. I can't be the one who says yes to everything. I have my own mind and my own person and my own limits. Respect that and respect me.

What kind of submissive am I? I don't know. What I do know is this I want to obey I want to comply and I want to be yours. That's all I have to give.

I've always been moved by the power of words. Grammar and spelling are important to me. But it is the effect of those words that has become increasingly evident.

Books are wonderful. When well-written, I'm transported into the life of another person. Someone else's reality becomes mine. In a matter of pages, I can become a sex slave, an alien on another planet, a magical creature. These things I've always known.

What has changed recently is how ordinary words, linked in a single sentence or phrase, can transport me instantaneously from a confident, demanding, imposing woman into a feminine, soft, docile, eager woman. Every organ in my body responds to seemingly inane words. My heart stops, then it races. The blood drains from my head, then comes rushing back with ferocity. My stomach turns into knots, then it melts. My brain scrambles all thought into an incoherent mess, then it goes silent.

Simple words with a profound affect (not all inclusive):
~Good girl
~Good morning, little sub
~You please me
~Woman, STOP!
~Thank you for sharing, beautiful sub.
~Don't push me....
~Talk to me, sweet sub
~Look at me!
~You make me happy, sweetie
~You are a good pet
~Do you understand?
~You are mine
~Do you trust me?
~Get into position
~You are smart, sexy and beautiful to me
~Ask nicely

Simple phrases, simple words, mind blowing affect.

At this age, I had really hoped I had learned the hard lessons. Alas, it isn't so.

So often I hear (from women mostly), "I don't want to get hurt again."

Does anyone truly believe there is a way to invest your time, your energy and yourself with another person and not be hurt when it doesn't work? Even friendships exist with pain. Some you can get through, some you can't.

Maybe the better question is, how is the best way to handle the hurt?

I'll sit and struggle with this one for awhile. Only time will give me perspective and help me on the next encounter.

Count the minutes until you see me again.

Count the words in each message I send.

Count the steps in those high, high heels until you reach me.

Count the seconds between each breath you take.

Count the ways you may have disappointed me.

Count the links on the chain binding your wrists and ankles.

Count the beating from the wooden paddle.

Count the ways you belong to me.

Count the fingers inside you.

Count your devotion to me.

Count the seconds you go without air while my hand encircles your throat.

Count the ways you can please me.

Count the strikes of the whip on your back, thighs and ass.

Count the strokes of my cock inside you.

Count the times you cum.

Count the marks I've left on you.

Count for me.

I need to cum. It's not a "want" or a "wish". I need it.

My body is aching for release. Every muscle feels the tension building. Heat boiling from the inside out.

I'm swollen. Sitting is uncomfortable. The pressure is a torture all its own. *Please*

... and I wait.

Each breath spreading the need, fanning the flames.

My face is flushed. My mind confused. *Please*

... and I wait.

It would be so easy for you. Ordain it and it is so.

Your hand on my throat. Your low whispers in my ear. *Please*

... and I wait.

You've sentenced me. I've served my time. Release me.

I'd end my suffering now if it were within my control. I try and fail. I can't. *Please*

... and I wait.

Wait for the words. Wait for the command.

My body betrays me. It knows its Master. It won't respond to my pleas of mercy. *Please*

... and I wait.
... for that moment.
... for those words.

***Cum for me!***