Thursday, April 23, 2015

Unfettered, Part VI

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.


I'm stretched out on the bed, that beautiful four-poster, and Master has just finished binding me. My hands are bound together at the wrists above my head, and my ankles are each tied to one of the posts. My legs, quite obviously, are spread open to allow him easy access to my pussy and inner thighs.

After the scene out in the barn, he'd given me a bottle of water, for which I was grateful. I'd felt wrung out, and so, so tired, and very sore. We'd made our way back to the house and he allowed me a nap. I needed it. And honestly, I needed some quiet time to process the intensity of the scene. I wasn't kidding when I said I was doubting my sanity. When I'm in pain like that, I can't help but wonder why the fuck I allow that to happen. And then I have to process everything that happened and reconcile it.

Which brings me here, bound to the bed. I'm pretty sure he's not going to be gentle with me, despite what he'd put me through earlier, and honestly, I'm feeling pretty fragile right about now.

His persona now is quite different that what he'd shown me while we were in the barn. I have no blindfold, no gag, there are no floggers or canes or clamps in sight, just he, and I, and these mild restraints. I'm actually feeling pretty comfortable, despite the lingering bruises on my breasts and general body aches - the kind you get when you've overexerted yourself, when your muscles are sore but you know you've worked them hard, so it's a good kind of sore.

He sits on the edge of the bed so that he faces me, with his body slightly turned toward me. He regards me for a moment or two, long enough that I start to wonder what he's looking for. Without saying a word, he reaches a hand between my legs and begins stroking his property, pressing on my clit, then dragging his fingers down my pussy, then sliding one finger inside me. I sigh, because it feels good, and because he's being very gentle right now.

"There's more than one kind of pain, you know," he says, conversationally. "You did pretty well, earlier, my whore; let's see how you do with another."

I'm a bit startled, to be honest. The last thing I want to endure is more pain. I was actually hoping he would bring me to climax now, as a reward for earlier. I can't imagine what he's trying to accomplish, or teach me, or whatever his thought process is. Haven't I been good for him? Haven't I cooperated, and not fought him? I close my eyes and try to beat back a wave of disappointment. In my head, I know that I have given him control; I have agreed to be obedient and submit to his will to the best of my ability, but oh, God, this is hard to accept.

I open my eyes, and when I catch his glance, he bends his head and captures my nipple in his mouth. I suck in my breath on a gasp, because it's really sensitive - not painful, really, but I feel the peak pebble up immediately and a frisson of slow desire rolls through me. My back arches, pressing my breast up into his mouth, and I tug on my bound wrists. There's really nowhere I can go, of course; I simply must lie there, quiescent, accepting his attentions as he sees fit to give them.

His fingers continue their questing exploration of my pussy, stroking and gliding and pressing, and his mouth feasts on my breast, his tongue laving over the nipple, his lips suckling me. It's good, really, good, and I'm wet, and I can hear a squelching sound when he pumps his fingers inside me. My hips try to rock against his fingers, but tied as I am, it's a futile attempt. His fingers do some little twisting thing, and I gasp, then moan loudly, squeezing my eyes shut and arching my back. Holy hell, that was amazing, and my level of desire immediately kicks up a notch. Well, several notches, really.

His sweet torture continues, his fingers dipping and rubbing and sliding, his mouth hot and wet and occasionally nipping me. Even tied and positioned as I am, I can feel a trickle ow sweat snake its way down my back, and my breaths are coming in short pants, my heart driving a quick beat in my chest. I squirm, and moan, and arch, and yes, yes, I'm close, so close, feeling my climax drawing nearer ....

Master pulls his mouth off my nipple with a soft pop, and I whine in disappointment at the loss.

"What's the matter, whore?"  His voice is soft, but his tone is not. I barely hear him, caught up in the razor's edge of desire that I'm currently balancing on.

Through panting, stuttering breaths I say, "Wanna cum, Master. So, so close, so close. Please, may I cum? Please, Master, please?"

He leans closer, speaks even more softly. "Awww, does my whore want to cum? Does it hurt, whore?"

"Yes," I hiss, and it's not untrue. The ache between my legs is past the fun happy kind and rapidly approaching the too-long-denied, deep-throbbing-ache stage. I shift and pull against my binds, and give a sharp cry, because he's keeping me right on the edge and it hurts, and I wanna cum, dammit.

"Please, Master," I try again. "Please, it hurts, please can your whore cum now?"

And then, incredibly, his fingers slow, then stop, and he pulls them free from my pussy. I give another cry, of disappointment and not understanding and incredulous stupefaction - I am aching fiercely, here! Hello! I tug at my bonds again, but Master merely brings his juice-soaked fingers to my lips. I open my mouth automatically and suck them clean, in between my panting breaths. When he deems his fingers clean enough, he sits back and looks at me.

"I am your Master, aren't I, whore?" he muses. I can only look at him, and blink, and lick my lips, and ache, fiercely, a deep inner burning and need and longing surging through my body. I groan in frustration. He ignores that. "You have given yourself to me, and I use you for my own pleasure, correct?"

I nod, still panting, still squirming, and I can feel my legs trembling now. Funny, I hadn't noticed that before. I whine again before I can help myself.

"I have decided that I don't want you to cum right now," he continues. "In fact, you are not to cum until I say so."

I'm sure I'm gaping at him. But he merely reaches up and loosens the bonds at my wrists. I bring my arms down - my shoulders are aching, too - and rub my wrists against the ghost feeling of the bindings. He walks down and unties my left foot, then comes around the end of the bed and unties my right foot. I try to curl up in a ball, squeezing my thighs together to help relieve the deep, nearly painful aching, but he stops me. He tells me get dressed and go downstairs, and mechanically, I roll off the bed, stumbling on shaky legs, then gather up my clothes and pull them on.

I go to the door, slowly, feeling that terrible deep ache and need with every step, though truth be told, it is beginning to fade just the tiniest bit. He merely raises one eyebrow at me, so I go out the door and down the stairs to the living room, where I curl up on the couch. I have to believe there's a reason, but damned if I know what it is.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Unfettered, Part V

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk. 


Master leads me outside, and I blink rapidly against the strong morning sun. I still don't know how he managed to find this house, in this isolated location, but whichever direction I turn, I cannot see another house, or a road (other than the driveway), or any sign of population. In my own searches for vacation rental properties, I haven't been able to locate anything this isolated. 

We wander back behind the house into a nice-sized yard, well-maintained, with a stepping-stone walkway which meanders toward the back of the yard. Master directs me onto the path, and as I near the treeline at the edge of the yard, I see a patch of white daisies dancing in the shadow of the trees. That makes me smile.

I duck into the trees, following a faded but still visible trail. It's a bit cooler here, out of the direct sun, but the trees aren't very thick, so sunlight dapples the ground. After just a few minutes I reach a clearing, of sorts; I come out of the trees into a cleared area, with mowed grass and, of all things, a small red barn. It's exactly the stereotypical little red barn, complete with faded white trim and a hex sign painted on its side. The door is thrown wide, so I wander inside.

It's quite small: 3 stalls for hoses along one side, a small tack room opposite, and a large bin which must have been used for storage of oats or other feed. To my right, a set of stairs along the wall leads up to what I assume is a loft. Spaced evenly in the center of the hall, supporting the loft, are two stout beams. The beam closest to me catches my eye; on the floor surrounding its base is a soft-looking blanket. Well, I don't know for sure it's a blanket, but it sure looks like it from here.

Master comes in behind me, passes me, disappears into the old tack room. He emerges with a small black duffel bag - I have no idea when he managed to secrete it here -  and walks back toward me, stopping next to the closest beam. Then he tells me to join him.

Actually, what he says is, "Come here, whore." My feet are moving before he finishes his sentence.

I stop before him, tilting my head up to meet his eyes, but I stay silent. He considers me for a moment.

"Position I," he says. I shimmy out of my clothes and toe off my sandals, then kneel on the blankets (there are two, I see) with my head bent and my hands resting palms-up on my knees. I hear a zipper as he opens the duffel, and I close my eyes. I try not to listen as he roots around, pulling out whatever he's pulling out, and I focus on keeping my breathing steady. I shift on my knees, because even with the blankets, the barn floor is really hard, and my knees aren't too happy. Master comes to stand before me, grasping my chin in his fingers and pulling me to my feet. I stumble a little, but manage to keep my balance.

Master is still holding my chin. His fingers are squeezing, digging in, and I'm uncomfortable. "Who owns you?" he asks.

"You do, Master," I say.

He seems satisfied with that, at least for now; he tells me to close my eyes, and when I comply, he places a blindfold on me. I feel it when he picks up my collar, running his fingers along the chain. He lets it drop back to my chest, then presses a finger on the charm, so that the edges of the metal disk dig into the skin over my sternum. I can't help wincing; it hurts when he does that. His hand grasps me by the throat, and my heart leaps. I'm sure he can feel my pulse thrumming madly under his fingers.

He shoves me backwards, still gripping my throat, and my feet stumble backwards three or four steps. Then my back hits the beam and I jolt to a stop. My head bounces off the beam, then, and I swear quietly ("Ow! Dammit!"). There's a splinter or something poking my lower back, and I squirm, trying to shift my position and get away from that offending sharp piece. Though honestly, a splinter will soon be the least discomfort I will feel.

"Hands above your head," he orders, and I raise my arms and rest the backs of my hands on the wooden beam. He steps close enough that I feel his body leaning against me as he wraps what feels like soft rope around my wrists, winding it around each hand and then around the beam, until my hands are held securely to the beam. I give an experimental tug; there's not much play there, enough that I could probably twist my body to face the post, but not nearly enough to take a full step away.

"Open your feet," he commands, and I shuffle my feet apart, opening my legs, leaning more of my weight against the unforgiving roughness of the beam. "Open your mouth," he says, and he slides my bit gag between my teeth. Ugh. I drop my head forward so he can fasten the buckle holding the bit in place. I bite it, gently, testing it; there's not much play here, either. So I'm bound, blindfolded, and gagged; I cannot see, speak, or move more than a step in any direction. My heart is thudding wildly in my chest, my breathing quick and shallow around the bit, my ears straining for clues as to what's coming.

I hear the tell-tale rattling and clinking of the clover clamps, and I wish to God he won't use them again so soon .... he steps in front of me, one hand grasping my left nipple, rolling it, teasing it, and I can feel it tightening, growing taut. He attaches the clamp and I groan around the bit; I hate hate hate these things, they just hurt so much. He drops the other clamp, and its weight pulls painfully against my clamped nipple, forcing a stifled scream from me. Fuck, but that hurts. I hiss around the bit, because the free clamp is swinging, and every movement of that chain pulls against the clamp on my nipple, and it just never. stops. hurting.  

He picks up the free clamp and teases my right nipple; I think he has to work a bit more for this one, since my body isn't quite so eager right now. Soon enough he attaches the other clamp, then tugs on the chain to test the tightness of the clamps. Fuck, fuck. I drop my head back against the beam and just moan pitifully. God damn, but I hate this. It's only been a few minutes, but I'm already questioning my sanity - and my ability to endure.

Suddenly, a sharp sting lashes across my upper legs. I jump, and cry out, though it's muffled by the gag. I suspect he's using the flogger, but I'm not really thinking clearly; not only am I feeling the residual sting from his strike, but I've jostled the clamps, and they are biting fiercely into the tender flesh of my nipples. That hurts far worse than the flogger, in my opinion, and it never stops, never lessens, never eases, it just goes on and on. I try to prepare myself for the next strike, but when it falls, I flinch, sucking in a harsh breath before moaning. He brings the flogger down on my thighs, my stomach, my calves, varying the placement with each strike, and I moan or scream or whimper every single time. I am trying to hold myself as still as possible, hoping to minimize the pain in my nipples, but I can't see where he is, so I can't tell where his next strike is going to fall, so I can't really steel myself not to react - so I jolt and twist and buck every time, and the clamps on my nipples bite and dig and hurt so very much, and then finally I just kind of - give up. It hurts so bad, and I hang my head and cry, shaking, which of course jostles the clamps, which hurts more, so I cry harder, so I shake more - it's miserable. 

Right now, in this second, I hate him. And I despair for my own sanity, agreeing to it in the first place.

Eventually I hear a muffled thud, which I think means he's dropped the flogger. I'm sure I look a mess, with the tear tracks on my face, and my nose is running. I sniffle, and wince, because no matter how hard I try to be still, I keep shifting/moving/twitching, and the clamps keep biting me. Master's hand touches my cheek, startling me,  and I flinch, and wince, and moan yet again. He takes the clamp off my left nipple - none too gently, I can assure you - and I scream around the gag at the huge flare of pain that causes. He removes the right clamp, and I scream again, and fresh tears cascade down my face. I just hurt so, so much, and what I really want is to be able to wrap my arms over my poor abused breasts and hug them to me, but of course, I'm bound and I can't move.

He removes the blindfold then, and I blink several times, both at the brightness of the light in the barn and to try and clear the film of tears still clouding my vision. Next he unbuckles the bit, and I work my jaw, trying to relieve the stiffness in its joints. He bends his head and captures my gaze.

"Who owns you, whore?"

"You do, Master." My voice is thick, and unsteady, even in my own ears, and I have to fight against my instinct to drop my eyes.

He gazes at me for several long seconds, then straightens and begins unwinding my bonds. When I am free, I drop my arms and stretch out my shoulders, which ache from being in that position for so long. And then I do cross my arms over my chest and press against my tender, still-hurting breasts. I wipe my eyes, scrub my hands over my cheeks - and then, without being told, I again assume Position I. I know he is not done with me, so I wait for him to tell me what's happening next.  



Sunday, April 5, 2015

Unfettered, Part IV

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.


I wake in the morning, and stretch languidly. I'd indulged in a long soak in the tub last night, so I'm not feeling too sore this morning, thankfully. The bruises on my breasts are a lovely deep purple now; I will bear those marks for several days, perhaps longer. I like them very much.

I roll quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb Master, and head to the bathroom, where I quickly take care of business, wash up,  and brush my teeth. Master like to be awakened by my mouth on his cock, but I can't abide doing it when my teeth feel furry from sleeping all night. Eewww. So with my now-minty mouth, I take a deep breath, and tiptoe back tot he bedroom.

Master is lying partly on his side, partly on his back, with the sheet kind of twisted around him. I climb back on the bed - I can't help it now if I wake him - and gently tug the sheet away from his body. He stirs a little, and I bend down, bracing my weight on my arms, and pull his cock into my mouth. I breathe shallowly, acclimating myself to his musky scent, and stroke the tip of my tongue along his length. I gag, then, because I always do, but it's a little one, so I don't stop what I'm doing. My arms are getting a little tired already so I shift my position a bit, changing the angle of my mouth, working now to pull him as deep as I can while his cock swells and lengthens in my mouth. I know that soon enough I won't be able to take him all, so I do it now while I still can.

He groans softly, and shifts more to his back, so I follow, not allowing his cock to slip past my lips. He pulls in a deep breath and says, "Good morning, whore."

I pull away just long enough to reply to him, "Good morning, Master," then immediately latch onto his cock once again. He's harder now, almost too thick, and my lips stretch wide and my jaw pops as I try to accommodate his size. I whine in response to the jaw pop, cuz that smarted quite a bit. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head and I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to relax as he presses my head toward his groin, forcing his cock all the way to the back of my throat. That makes me gag, hard, and I have to fight with myself to remain still and not pull away. I am rewarded with a husky "Good girl."

He lets go, and I resume bobbing my head, pulling his cock in and letting it slide out, over and over again. "You are a good little cocksucker, my whore," he murmurs. I gag again, and this time I feel my stomach lurch, so I pull away and cough, my eyes tearing. Ugh. I hate when that happens. When I bend down again, he tells me to give him his pussy. I pivot on my knees so that he can easily reach his prize, then turn my attention to sucking his cock once again.

His fingers are questing, pressing inside me then pulling back out, and I open my knees wider for him. I find it difficult to concentrate on sucking him while his fingers are pounding inside me, and when he rubs my clit, it's with so much pressure that it's not pleasant at all, but uncomfortable. I squirm, pulling away from him, and he smacks my ass hard and tells me to stay still. Now I am trying to give him a good, thorough morning blow job, but his fingers are still pressing so firmly that it almost, almost hurts, and I don't like that at all. I close my eyes and chant to myself, "OK, OK, OK, OK..." It helps a little, but really, my jaw has locked and hurts like a bitch, my clit is not happy, my pussy is beginning to feel sore, and my arms ache from holding myself up.

I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and start stroking him in time with my sucking. I hope he allows me to make him cum; that would be a fine start to our day. I feel him shift position again, and his hand drops from my pussy and grasps my leg. Then, he starts speaking - or demanding, really.

"Do you like sucking my cock, whore? Has my whore missed my cock?"  I hum agreement without letting loose of him - "Mmm-hmm, mmmm, mmm, " - and stroke him faster, swirling my tongue over him while I pull and slide and push. He bucks his hips up, nearly gagging me yet again.

"Do you want my cum? Do you?"

This time I do lift my head to answer him, rubbing the side of my cheek all over his cock while I reply.  "Yes, Master, yes, I do." And I drop my head and pull him right back into my mouth, sucking him as hard as I can, wanting his cum, wanting to swallow his essence. He begins thrusting his hips up, fucking my mouth, and I lean back just a bit, just to prevent myself from gagging, as this is definitely not the time for it.

"If you want it, you need to take it," he says, and his voice is deep and fierce. I know he's getting close, and I want nothing else in this moment but to have him spill himself in my mouth. My heart is racing, my arms trembling, my knees sore, and if my mouth were not otherwise occupied, I would be panting. "Are you ready, whore? Take it, take it, take every drop, take it," his voice is commanding, and then his body stiffens and he groans. Thick spurts of cum fill my mouth and I swallow, and swallow, and swallow, my hand still wrapped around his cock, my tongue still working his shaft in between bursts. He slowly relaxes into the mattress, and still he's cumming, and still I'm swallowing, because I really do not want to miss any.

At last, he's finished, and I carefully pull my mouth away, coating his cock with my tongue, careful to lap up any drops of his precious essence as it oozes lazily form his spent cock. I have to lick him several times to capture it all, and when at last every drop has been consumed, I flop on my side, panting harshly. I'm covered in sweat, my body is trembling, his taste still on my tongue. I lean forward to rest my forehead against his knee, content to rest here beside him. And I say, gratefully, "Thank you, Master."   



Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Unfettered, Part III

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk. 


I don't know, really, how long we've lain here, but gradually I become aware that there is a crick in my neck, my arm and shoulder feel numb, and the sweat on my body has dried, so I feel chilled. I shiver, and yawn, and Master's hand stops carding through my hair and rests on my shoulder. It's so very warm, his hand. My stomach chooses that moment to growl rather loudly, and Master chuckles. He shifts, so I pull away and sit up.

"Hungry, pet?" he asks. I duck my head a bit sheepishly, and affirm that yes, I could stand to eat something.  We clamber off the bed, and I stoop to retrieve my discarded clothes, but Master tells me not to get dressed, so I just step over them instead, and head downstairs. The wood floor is cold under my feet, but thankfully, most of the downstairs area in the house is covered with area rugs. I take a seat at the kitchen table (oh, my god, the chair is so cold against my skin!) while Master rummages through the cabinets for some cooking pots. In a surprisingly short time we are sampling succulent pork chops cooked with onions and apples, and tender mixed vegetables. As I've mentioned, Master is a terrific cook, and I eagerly eat what he's graciously prepared for me.

After the clean-up, we move to the living room, where Master sits on the couch to relax with some TV. When I try to join him, he stops me.

"Why, pet - do you think pets should be allowed on the furniture?"

I say nothing, but lower myself to the floor next to him, close enough to lean against his leg and rest my head on his knee. The floor feels very hard under the thin rug, and I have to shift position every few minutes to relieve the pressure. I wrap an arm around Master's leg, and he allows it. I sigh in contentment; I enjoy being quiet with him like this. We watch TV for a while, him on the couch, me sitting in the floor at his feet. I like it, even when my joints begin to tire from my cramped position.

Eventually, Master's hand pets my head, once, twice, a third time; then his fingers tangle in my hair, and he pulls my head back, so that I am gazing up at him.

"Are you enjoying yourself, pet?" he asks.

"Yes, Master," I reply.

"And is my whore eager to please and serve her Master?" he asks. My heart skips a beat in anticipation, tinged with just a hint of nervousness. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

"Yes, Master," I say.

He lets go of my hair and leans forward to shove the coffee table out of the way. Then he leans back against the couch cushions.  "I think my whore should suck my cock," he says.

I scoot around his foot to kneel before him, and lean forward to pull his cock in my mouth. I'm terribly conscious of the meal I've just had, and I'm a bit scared I'll gag myself enough to lose my dinner. I gag at least a couple times, every time. For now, though, I breathe as shallowly as I can, and focus on the way his cock feels as it fills my mouth, how it glides over my tongue, how it swells as I'm suckling him. I shift on my knees and wrap my hand around the base of his shaft, squeezing and stroking him while I continue to suck his cock. My jaw is tiring; I can feel it beginning to ache, and I'm having trouble opening my mouth wide. I do gag, then, and I pull away quickly, swallowing against the lurch in my stomach which threatens to bring up my recent meal.

Master take pity on me, then, and tells me to budge over, so I shift around his foot again so he can stand up. He tells me to follow him, and I start to stand - but he stops me. "No, pet. Crawl, please."

He heads for the stairs, trusting that I will comply and follow him. I get to my hands and knees - my poor aching knees! - and begin crawling after him. My knees are scuffed on the rug, and the wood floor beneath them feels almost like stone. The charm of my collar swings as I move, bouncing off my sternum and then swinging under my chin.  It's awkward, crawling up those steps, but Master is waiting for me, so I slowly make my way up, and up, until finally, I reach the top. My knees feel a bit sore, to be honest; I sit back on my haunches for a minute to rest them.

When I glance up, Master is watching me with a smile quirking his lips. I crawl over to him and halt with my head touching the side of his leg. I'm a little bit tired, so I'm glad for this moment of quiet.

Master touches my head briefly, and commands me to follow him again. He strides into the largest bedroom again, and I follow on my hands and knees. When I reach him where he stands near the bed, he bids me to assume Position III.  I stand up, swaying slightly on suddenly-wobbly legs, and clasp my hands behind my back, focusing my gaze on one of the ornately-carved bedposts. I can't help but remember what transpired in this room, with these very bedposts, mere hours ago, and I smile.

Master circles me, his hand trailing from my arm around my back and across my chest to my arm again. He comes to a stop in front of me, and puts his finger under my chin, tipping my head back until I meet his gaze.

"You have done well, my whore," he says. "You are not being punished; you are not in trouble. Remember that."

"Yes, Master."

With his eyes locked on mine, he cradles my right breast in his left palm, then raises his right hand and slaps my breast, hard. I let out a choked whimper as the sting registers. I can't honestly say it's incredibly painful, but it doesn't exactly tickle, either. He slaps me again, and I flinch. He gently runs his thumb over my nipple before allowing my breast to slide off his palm. I swallow, and blink rapidly. My flesh feels tender, and I'm sure bruises will be blossoming on my pale skin in just a few minutes. That, of course, is the whole point, a marking of his property, a claim of ownership. He cradles my left breast, and I tense, because I know what's coming - and yes, he slaps my breast hard,  once, twice, a third time. The last crack seems somehow fiercer than the others, and I flinch again.

"Good girl," he murmurs. "I can see such pretty bruises already."

I look down at my breasts, and yes, already I can see darkened areas which roughly correspond to the shape of fingers. I smile, then, because I do like to have a few bruises for remembrance, and these are going to be dark and lovely.

Master pinches my nipple, drawing a hiss from me, then steps back. He sits on the edge of the bed, and tells me to come stand before him. I keep my hands tucked behind back as I comply. He reaches out and takes hold of my breasts, lifting them slightly as he inspects them. I imagine he is admiring the effects of his work, the imprints of his fingers. He begins to play with the nipples, rolling them between his fingers, lightly pinching them, almost absently playing with them as he contemplates me.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"I am your whore, Master," I reply.

"Mmm, yes, you are," he agrees, then falls silent for a moment. His fingers are continuing their sensual assault, and the lingering sting from his earlier slaps has faded. All I feel now it the way my nipples have pebbled, and how they respond to his touch. And even though he's used me, leaving me slightly sore, and allowed me to cum twice already today, I feel a tendril of sexual desire stirring within me.

"And are you a good whore?" he asks. Before I can answer, his hand snakes down to rub across my clit, causing me to suck in a surprised breath and stumble over my words.

"Y-yes, Master," I gasp, and my head dips back involuntarily before I catch myself. His fingers on my pussy are driving and firm, delving deep inside me, and already I can feel my juices coating his fingers. He pumps his fingers, in and out, in and out, making my legs tremble. I shift my feet a bit further apart to try and give him easier access. His thumb brushes over my clit, and my whole body shudders as I moan softly. Then he pulls away and offers his fingers to me, touching my lower lip, so I open my mouth and suck them clean.

His fingers return to my pussy, stroking me, pressing inside me, pulling out again, and all the while I'm trying to be stoic, but I can't help the little whimpers and moans which break from my lips. My body starts to bend forward of its own volition, and he commands me to stand up straight. I try, I really do, but it's becoming difficult, and then he orders, "Recite."

I open my mouth on another moan and begin speaking the seven stanzas of my devotional, my daily verbal affirmation to the ideals of submission that Master has set for me. Partway through the second line, my voice breaks as a strong wave of desire spears me. I shift my weight and try to twist away from the torture his fingers are causing - trying to be all subtle and unobtrusive about it, but of course, he knows what's happening and refuses to allow me to get away. I continue my recitation, my voice sometimes catching, sometimes rising, once even squeaking because the buildup of need and desire is stealing my breath. I finish my recital and he immediately orders me to recite again. The second recitation is breathier then the first, disjointed, and sometimes my voice breaks or I have to suck in a huge breath in the middle of a word. I'm swaying on my feet, battling to remain upright, because my body wants so badly to bend forward, trying to relieve the pressure of his fingers. I finally stumble my way to the end of my devotional, and fall silent - well, silent other than my panting and whimpers.

 "Who are you?" he asks again.

"Your whore, M-master," I reply, and pant, and shudder. Honestly, I know I came twice already, but my pussy is dripping wet and I feel like I'm on fire, the need to cum is becoming urgent and I would really, really like to ease that fierce aching.

"And ...?" he prompts me.

I whimper again, then say, "Your sub, your pet, your slut, and your kitten, Master." I twist my fingers together behind my back; my arms are aching from being held behind my back for so long, and my legs feel like they're made of Jell-O, all wobbly and unstable. My head drops back and my eyes close, and I bite my lip to contain yet another moan. God dammit, I really want to cum.

"What's the matter, whore?" he wants to know. Oh, he's being evil. And God help me, but I kinda like it. 

"Nothing's the matter, Master," I pant. No, really, I'm panting for real now, having a little trouble catching my breath, and my heart feels like it may hammer out of my chest. I straighten up as best I can, and twine my fingers together.

"No? All right," he says, and his fingers are fucking me as I stand there. If it is possible to writhe when standing, I'm doing it now, and I choke on a loud moan, because he has just brushed my clit again and honest to God, I think I may explode if he does that one more time. I shudder violently, almost losing my balance.

He plants his free hand against my back and pulls me closer, leaning up to capture my left nipple in his mouth. I drop my head back again and there's no containing the long, loud moan which breaks from my lips now. He leans back, capturing my nipple in his teeth and stretching my flesh as he pulls away, finally letting go with a quick nip. My body bucks as I suck in my breath, and I am trembling on the edge of climax right now, and it hurts, it's so consuming, and I really, really need to cum, now.

"Who owns you?" he demands, and his fingers, if possible, plunge deeper, stroke faster, press inside harder, and I give a sob of frustration and unmet need. He likes to do this, to bring me to the edge and force me to hover there, and it hurts so goddamn bad right now.

"You! You do, Master," I say, but my voice sounds strange in my ears, all thick and gravelly. "I am your whore, only yours." I'm panting like I've run a race, and my heart is pounding in my ears.

"MY whore," he says, and his voice is both triumphant and possessive. If I were not drowning in a maelstrom of my own desire, I might feel a touch of triumph, myself.

But finally, finally, Master decides I've endured long enough, and he leans in close once again. "Cum. Now."

My orgasm breaks over me, pulling me under and tossing me violently sideways, like the undertow in the ocean. If he were not bracing me I really think I would have fallen. I throw my head back and wail, my voice sounding a long, winding cry as my entire body tenses and then explodes. I have never experienced a blackout orgasm, like other people have described, but this one comes damned close, leaving me dizzy and almost disoriented when it passes. I find myself panting in great gasping breaths, my body shaking visibly, my head resting on Master's shoulder, though I do not remember leaning forward - or maybe I fell into him? I really don't know.

His hand is stroking my back - I love it when he does that - only I can't remember when he started. I just know that he is. I feel wrung out, and suddenly exhausted, and (this thought makes me laugh tiredly in my head) I think that this climax will hold me for a while. Master shifts so that I can basically fall onto the bed, and I curl up with my knees drawn up nearly to my chest, lying there next to him, panting and still trembling and utterly worn out. Perhaps in a while I'll have energy enough to go try out that amazing tub, and I will admire my bruises and soak away my soreness, but right now, I don't want to move even an inch.

Master draws up a light blanket and covers me with it, and I mumble a tired "Thank you, Master." And I mean it - not just for the blanket, not just for the orgasms, not just for my pretty bruises, but for the care and concern he shows as he guides and mentors and owns and commands me.

 







Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Unfettered, Part II

This is an adult blog, containing detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Some situations are drawn from real life, and some are spun from my imagination. Read at your own risk.


I stretch languidly, rolling to my back from my side, my arms reaching above my head. Obviously, I fell asleep. Huh. I didn't realize I was that tired. I crack a huge yawn, feeling my jaw pop, and then I hear Master chuckling beside me.

"Have a nice nap, pet?" he asks. I roll back to my side, facing him, and lean my forehead against his chest. His arm comes around me, and I feel his hand (so warm, so warm) stroking my back in long, slow slides. I love it when he does that. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and allow myself to melt into him.

Several long minutes pass, during which Master indulges me by allowing me to rest against him while he continues to stroke my back. But at last, Master nudges my shoulder, pressing me onto my back once again. I shift to a comfortable position, and look up to catch his eyes. While holding my gaze, he reaches across my chest and grasps my right nipple between his fingers. He squeezes it, firmly, then rolls it in his fingers. My back arches and I suck in a deep breath. Damn, that feels far more good than it should. His gaze is intense, not letting me go, and he pinches my nipple again, causing me to arch up once again. My breath hisses between my teeth and my eyelids flutter, as I fight to keep them open.

Master shifts his position a little; his hand trails down my stomach and he plunges his fingers into my pussy at the same moment his mouth closes over my left nipple. Had he not been leaning over me, I think I might have arched clear off the bed. Holy hell. His fingers in my pussy are rough, on the very edge of painful as he finger-fucks me, and he alternately nips and then licks my nipple. I let my legs fall farther open, hoping to better accept his pounding digits, but my right hand is fisted in the quilt and I'm having a hard time not tensing against the assault on my tender flesh. God, am I ever going to be sore later.

He bites me, and it hurts; I moan, but it isn't a happy sound, there's definitely pain laced in it. I turn my head away and bite my lip.

"You are just soaking," he says, and I can admit to that; God knows I can feel the evidence coating his fingers and dripping between my thighs, but I do not actually enjoy pain, and this is too close to that for me. I give another muffled moan, and then I feel him slowly pulling his fingers out of me. And that is uncomfortable, too, but I'm relieved, and I turn my head back and lie there, panting, waiting, to see what he'll come up with next.

He moves off the bed and rummages through the duffel back yet again, then comes back with - wait, what is that? I can't quite tell - oh, okay, now I see: a small black chain, a metallic clinking sound. He's pulled the clover clamps out. I close my eyes briefly and swallow. Yeah, I'm not the biggest fan of these things.

Master climbs back on the bed and leans over me again. His mouth on my breast is gentle now, slow, careful, and his tongue laves over the peak. I whimper, and this time it really is because it feels so good. A tiny thrill of desire shivers through me, and I feel my nipple hardening, pebbling on his tongue. He pulls away, and positions the clamp over the nipple, allowing the clamp to slowly close over it. I wince and whimper as the tiny teeth dig into  my tender flesh. Damn, damn, that hurts. Master sets the other clamp as well, then tugs the chain to test it. Goddamn! I whimper again, more loudly. I don't tolerate these things very well, and already I'm fervently wishing they were being removed.

And oh, lucky me, he has a second set of clamps. He winds the chains together, then attaches the clamps to my pussy lips, where I swear they dig deep furrows in my skin. Ow, ow. He says the chains and clamps look nice; I maintain (in the privacy of my head) that they are simply evil. He tugs at the entwined chains, causing all four clamps to bite harder, and I moan loudly at the flare of pain. Now, the true evil of these things is, when they are twisted together like this, any move I make causes the chains to tug and the clamps to bite, so basically, I'm being treated to new flashes of pain almost constantly.

Master's fingers begin questing in his pussy again, bumping the clamps where they are attached, and every little brush against them makes them shift, which again, makes them hurt. He rubs at my clit and slides a finger inside me, and now I am caught between the pleasure of his fingers and the pain of the clamps. When my body arches or bucks or shifts, the chains tighten and the clamps bite, and it's a tossup as to which sensation is prevalent at any one time.

Eventually, though, my body gives in, and I cum around his fingers. Yes, the climax feels good, but immediately my body also arches involuntarily, and the wave of pleasure is instantly speared and deflated by the clamps as they bite me. I give a sob, because this really is not fun anymore, and these things Fucking Hurt Already.

Master, I think, senses that I'm reaching the end of my tolerance, and he pulls his fingers free and holds them to my lips. I open my mouth and suck his fingers clean, and then - thank you, thank you - he removes each clamp. I can't help gasping and whimpering and outright groaning and flinching as each clamp comes free, because they hurt, again, coming off, but shortly I am blessedly clamp-free, and I can finally start to relax. My nipples are so, so sore, I really just want to cross my arms over my chest and curl into a ball to protect them. I feel wrung out, honestly.

Master sits with his back to the head board, and I scoot around so I can lie my head on his knee. He pets my head, carding his fingers through my hair, which I find soothing.

"Good girl," he says. "You did well."

And I, with my sore nipples and aching pussy, smile against his leg. "Thank you, Master," I say.



   

 

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Unfettered

This is an adult blog, containing detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Some situations are drawn from real life, and some are spun from my imagination. Read at your own risk.



Master has arranged some time away for us, a chance to focus solely on each other and leave everything else behind for a bit. It's been a while since we've had an opportunity like this, so I am quite excited about it. I'm also a bit nervous, as this promises to be an intense experience; I've been told that he has much planned for me.

I'll be honest - we have just emerged from a bit of a rough patch, and while I feel more settled and sure of my choices, I also have some lingering, niggling fears in the back of my mind. What if he asks something of me I cannot do? What if I am inadequate to the tasks he sets before me? What will happen if I fail?

That's the biggest fear I have. I'm not perfect; I'm flawed and prone to doubts and unsure of myself and sometimes, I don't trust myself - or him - enough. Still, I can look back to the beginning of my journey, and I can see how far I've come, and what things I accept and comply with and revel in, when just a couple years ago they were foreign and uncomfortable. 

But for now, I'm determined to put all that aside, and do my best to obey and please my Master.

The place he has chosen takes my breath away when I first see it: a small house tucked at the base of a verdant hill, far from its neighbors and seeming to blend in with the surrounding trees. The drive to the house is lined with - are you ready? - the cliched white picket fence, and widens to a half-circle as it approaches the house.

I step out of the car and take in the covered front porch, the faded green shutters, the riot of flowers lining the front of the house. It's utterly charming, and my lips curve up in a genuinely delighted smile. I ascend the steps and approach the front door; it's painted the same green as the shutters, also slightly faded, with a painted wooden sign which proclaims, "WeLcoMe" in bright white letters. The door opens into a small foyer. To the left I see the living room; to the right, a sunny kitchen. Master is an excellent cook, and if I'm lucky, he might treat me to a meal or two. 

I walk through the kitchen and find, at the back, a staircase to the upper story. The kitchen leads me back into the living room, but other than a quick glance through the room, I ignore it. Instead I head upstairs, finding a smallish bedroom and a study, a decent-sized bathroom with - oh, this is awesome! - a real claw-foot tub. I can already imagine myself soaking in it. Mmm. I pass the bathroom into the last room, a larger bedroom with a beautiful oaken four-poster bed. I can't help touching one of the the skillfully carved bedposts, running my fingers over the detailed renderings of wheat sheaves and corn stalks. My imagination runs away with me, then, and I'm daydreaming about being bound to that bed.

Oh, I certainly hope I will be.

A noise startles me, and I spin around to see Master watching me with a bemused smile on his face. I feel self-conscious and silly, but he's not making fun of me. I have a sneaking suspiscion that he knows exactly what thoughts have been flitting through my mind, and, dare I say it, I think he approves.

He approaches me, almost stalking me, and I feel a thrill of anticipation run through me. The game has begun, and I am almost quivering already. He stops right next to me, and I have to tip my head back to see his face properly. In the quiet which hangs between us, I'm aware that my heart is beating too fast, and my breathing is too quick. I lick my lips.

He reaches out and tangles his fingers in my hair (which I keep short, at his request) and pulls my head back just a bit further. "Hello, pet," he says.

"Hello, Master," I reply, and my voice sounds breathy in my ears. He smiles, a genuine smile, and bends his head. When his breath washes over my ear, I close my eyes and shiver. His hand leaves my hair and slides down to grasp my neck, his fingers spanning my throat and squeezing just a hair, forcing my head to stay back. God, I love it when he does that. He murmurs into my ear.

"And is my whore ready to serve her Master?" 

My breath catches in my throat, and I shiver again. Honest to God, all he's done is grab my throat and whisper in my ear, and my knees are already threatening to buckle. I feel a flame of desire sweep through my body, need beginning to burn between my legs. "Yes, Master," I manage to whisper, but it's much harder than it ought to be.

"Position I," he commands, stepping away from me. I hurry to strip out of my clothes, then drop to my knees before him, bending my head and laying my hands palms-up on my knees. I'm very grateful there's an area rug, as it provides some protection from the wood floors. It's not a very thick rug, though, so the floor still feels hard and unforgiving under my bent legs. I wait, as still as I can, and the moment stretches and stretches as he contemplates my bent form.

Then I feel his hand touch my head, sliding down my face and gently tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "I think it would be a very good idea for you to suck my cock, " he says. "Don't you agree, whore?"

"Oh, yes, Master, indeed," I say, and we both reach to remove his clothing. He pulls his shirt over his head, leaving most of the buttons fastened, then toes off his shoes before stepping out of his pants and boxers. I sit up on my knees, stretching the already-tired muscles, and run my hands up his legs before leaning forward and capturing his cock with my mouth. He's not yet hard, so I can take all of him, down to the root, and suckle him on my tongue. His scent fills my nose, so I breathe shallowly, acclimating myself to the musky scent. It's like I have to relearn his unique smell all over again, every time. Soon enough, I can feel his shaft swelling in my mouth, growing on my tongue, and I start to slowly bob my head, pulling him in and letting him slide back out, the warmth and wetness of my tongue bathing his cock with every glide. 

I let my left palm rest on his leg, lightly bracing myself, while my right hand cups his balls, gently kneading them in my palm. I hear his intake of breath and smile to myself, sucking him harder, sometimes swirling my tongue around the head of his cock, sometimes pressing him to the back of my throat. I'm not very skilled at it, and I end up gagging myself pretty harshly, but I don't pull away. My jaw begins to ache, my knees are terribly sore, and his cock is so swollen and full that it stretches my mouth when I pull him in. I shift on my knees and grasp the base of his cock with my fingers, and I can feel his leg shake under my palm.

"That's enough, pet," he says, and I slowly, reluctantly pull away, suckling his cock as I pull my head back, and daring to lave the tip with my tongue as I let him go. I'm panting a little, as I always do - I swear, giving oral is a workout. He tells me to stand, so I do, wincing as the blood rushes to my lower legs, and I wobble as I stand.   

"Turn around," he orders, so I shakily turn to face the foot of the bed. He gently pushes me, so I walk the few steps it takes to reach the bed, then stop, and wait. My calves are prickling, still, and I shift my weight from foot to foot, hoping it eases soon. Master comes to stand beside me, and I tilt my head to look at him.

"Aren't these bedposts pretty, my whore?" he asks, and I agree - they certainly are. The foot board is rather low, and I imagine I could fairly comfortably lean forward to rest on the bed. He takes my right hand and stretches my arm out so I can touch the bedpost with him. "Wait right there," he says, and I nod my head, and he walks out the door. I can hear him descending the stairs and moving around on the first floor, then his footsteps come back up the stairs again. I crane my neck to look over my shoulder and catch sight of him coming in the door.  He's carrying a duffel bag, which he drops near the bed. He unzips the top and pulls out a long length of rope. My heart skips a beat, and I can't help the small smile that teases my lips. I adore being bound, and he knows it. 

He takes his time, not saying a word, but begins winding the soft rope around my hand, the one still flush with the bedpost. He loops the rope around my wrist, securing me to the post, but I have room to wiggle my fingers. The rope then winds up my arm in a loose spiral, around my back, under my left breast and across my right shoulder, then under my right breast and across my left shoulder. I give up trying to trace the path of the rope then, and merely stand still and quiet, allowing him to truss my breasts. It's a little uncomfortable, but not actually painful, and finally the rope loops along my left arm and ends up securing my left hand to the opposite bedpost. My arms are stretched out about as far as they can go.

He steps up behind me, his arms coming around me, and cups my breasts in his hands. I suck in a breath at the contact and lean back against my bonds to rest against him. "You should see yourself," he murmurs. "All tied up, so pretty." His thumbs are rubbing over my nipples and my knees are feeling weak again. I let my head drop back against his chest and close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his body, the raspy feel of his thumbs, the heat of his palms. He pinches my nipples, hard, and I shudder and gasp. Yes, it hurt, and no, I don't really love it, but oh man, I can feel the wetness between my legs now, and I would really, really love for him to finger my (his!) pussy. I whimper, and shift against him, and he pinches my nipples again, more sharply, and I can't help the whispered, "Ow," that escapes me. 
   
"Ow," he mocks me, and I flush, embarrassed, but again, he's not really making fun of me, so I force myself to relax. One of his hands strays from my breast, down my stomach, and the muscles there contract and quiver as his fingers brush over my skin, down, down, and finally (finally!) his hand cups my mound and his fingers rub against my clit. It's almost like an electric shock, with how my body convulses and the immediate blaze of need and desire that sweeps over me. I pull against my bonds and moan, it's that good, and I shift my feet further apart to better allow him access. 

But just as I do, he pulls away, and my moan this time is mixed with a whine of disappointment. No, no; please, come back! my mind protests, and I stumble back as he steps away from me entirely. I close my eyes and try to rein in my breathing; I'm gasping slightly, pulling in erratic puffs of air. I can hear him rummaging around in the duffel bag, but I don't try to see. I'm busy standing on shaky legs, my heart beating furiously in my chest.

Suddenly, without warning, a sharp sting lands across my ass, and I jump, my eyes opening wide, a protesting "Hey!" falling from my lips. I immediately realize that he's using the flogger, and in that same instant I go from "what the hell??" to "oh, this is gonna be good." Even so, I can't help tensing in anticipation of the next blow, and it falls, sharp and heavy, across my ass. I jump, again, even though I was expecting it, because damn, it stings like crazy. With my arms bound to the bedposts, I can't move much, other than to bounce on my feet a bit.    

Master changes tactics then, choosing to caress my back with the flogger instead of popping me with it. I close my eyes and moan softly, because really, the feel of the tails dragging over my skin is so, so sensual, and my insides are turning to liquid fire with every touch. He allows he flogger to trail over my shoulder and down over my bound breasts, swirling over the nipples in turn, and I buck against my bonds and groan. Oh my God, I just want to cum already, I ache so very fiercely. But he denies my release, keeping me trembling and on edge, and just as I throw my head back and sob, once, he smacks the flogger against my ass again. And I jump, again, and my desire shivers and trembles, but it's not so all-consuming as before.

Several strokes later, Master steps back to admire his handiwork. At least, I assume he does, based on his next comment - "Such pretty stripes, my pet." And even though I've done nothing to warrant praise, save stand there and complacently accept his flogging, I say, "Thank you, Master." I'm trembling, aching, my knees feeling like jelly, my shoulders aching from being stretched out for so long, my pussy weeping - I can feel drips rolling down my inner thighs. Master reaches down and plunges two fingers inside his pussy, letting loose a sigh of approval and saying, "Oh, you are SO wet, aren't you, kitten?" I can only moan, and writhe on his fingers, and hope he'll allow me release.

He steps closer, fucking me with his fingers, and his thumb presses against my clit. I cry out, and buck, and I want to cum so very badly, and he leans down and whispers in my ear - "Cum for me, pet." I pull back against my bonds and let go, and my climax shatters me, absolutely tears me apart, and if not for Master's body behind me and the ropes holding me to the bedposts, I would fall down. I can do nothing but endure, and be thankful for the ropes and Master's strength. Finally, the surge ends, and I almost collapse.

Master carefully unties the ropes around my right hand, unwinding them from my wrist, my arm, and my arm falls down and tingles, while I shake it and wiggle my fingers, helping the circulation come back. He works to unbind my breasts, and finally my other arm, and I'm suddenly so tired, yet I'm greedy enough to want more. I can see the red marks where the rope has bound me, and I'm oddly proud of them.

Master presses his hand between my shoulder blades, bending me forward, down, until I'm resting face down on the bed, my feet still on the floor, and spread, my ass in the air. I keep my arms tucked fairly close to my sides, my shoulders still sore and tired, but I'm so, so happy. I hear Master fumbing through the duffel bag again, but I don't look; I'm content to rest there, and wait, until he tells me what to do.

In a few more heartbeats, I feel his finger, slick and cool, pressing inside my ass. I try to relax, to help, but he works methodically, carefully, first one finger, then two, stretching me. It feels - weird, not painful, really, but decidedly odd. Eventually, he deems me ready, and then I feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I try to relax, even more than before, and he slowly, slowly presses and pushes and forces his way inside. It burns, and hurts, and sometimes feels like he's going sideways, but eventually he slides all the way in, and stills, letting me adjust to him. This, then, is the moment I've craved, when Master is joined with me, when this body provides him pleasure, when he can fuck his whore with abandon and let himself go. 

And he does, his cock pounding into my ass, my lower half sliding back and forth across the end of the bed with the force of his thrusts. I'm sweating, trapped beneath his body, my ass stretched and open, and I know I'm going to be sore - but I don't care, Master is using his whore, and I am reveling in it. At last, and all too soon, with a grunt and a great shuddering sigh, he climaxes, filling my ass with his cum and stretching up to bite my shoulder. I give a choked cry at the flare of pain, which then turns into a whimper as he pulls out. He rubs my ass soothingly, and tells me to get up on the bed and rest for a bit. I climb up on top of the covers and pull a pillow under my head, smiling drowsily at him when he lies beside me. And this, too, is a moment I've craved, when he is pleased with me, and he calls me his good girl.   

      
     

    
 

    

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Boon

This is an adult blog, containing detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Some situations are drawn from real life, and some are spun from my imagination. Read at your own risk.


So Master surprised me last night by telling me that I was allowed to cum, twice, before bed. I was not expecting that, so I considered it a gift.  :)

His only caveat was that I had to cum while I was repeating my devotions. So as I lay in bed preparing for sleep, I began reciting my 7-stanza devotional, as I do every night; my right hand snaked down between my legs to play with Master's pussy and clit, again, much like I do every night. Only this time, I was going to be able to climax.

My voice began speaking, quietly, but strong, as my fingers rubbed circles on my clit, gently, slowly, even leisurely. As I progressed through my lines, my fingers picked up speed, and as I neared the end of my first recitation, I dipped my fingers inside my pussy, gathering some of my juices and spreading them all over my pussy area. I began my second recitation, my fingers stroking faster, pressing just a bit harder, my hips beginning to move in response to the coaxing of my fingers. My voice sounded a little uneven to my ears, as the words became caught in my throat and I started gasping a bit.

As I finished my third set of stanzas and began the fourth, I knew I was close. I slid my fingers inside my pussy once again, coating them really well with all the wetness there, and opened my legs wider, bending my knees so that the soles of my feet pressed together. My voice broke and skipped over the words I was speaking, my hips bucking up under the pressure of my fingers, my heart beating fast in my chest, and oh, that burn of desire, that fierce aching need to cum, a relentless march from excitement to arousal to tightening spiral; and then, finally, on the last stanza, I broke through and came, my back bowing up from the bed, a glorious trembling in my legs as I rode the wave of my climax.

My fingers slowed their dance, but didn't entirely stop, as Master had specified two orgasms. I took a minute to let my panting breaths calm, for my pounding heart to slow, for the shakiness in my legs to subside; and then I began reciting my devotions over again, while my fingers resumed their quest to make me cum again. I raised my left hand to my breast and grazed my fingernail over the nipple. That sent fresh ripples of desire sweeping through me and I tipped my head back against the mattress, enjoying the growing feeling of need spreading through my body.

My voice wavered through my devotions, reflecting the building ache of need, and broke in the middle of words as I drew in gasping breaths. I tossed my head against the mattress and bore down with my fingers, all pretense of patience evaporating under the onslaught of desire demanding satisfaction. I felt the sheets beneath me growing damp from the flood of my juices, and my fingers were slick and hot against my clit. I let out a moan in between sentences, and my hips bucked up hard. My climax swept over me then, my muscles growing taut as my back bowed, and my legs tried to close of their own accord. I shuddered, and trembled, and panted, and slowly, slowly, my muscles relaxed. I rolled over and pulled the covers over myself, closing my eyes as I waited for my breathing to calm and my heart beat to slow.

Once I had recovered, I felt very sleepy, so I snuggled into my pillow and whispered "Thank you, Master" before I fell asleep.