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.

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