I remember once, when asked by someone only slightly less experienced in this thing that we do, "What is aftercare?"
I snorted and said that is when he tells you to get up and cook something for him to eat. Well, it may have been more pithy than that, maybe something like, "Make me a sandwich."
That "something" happened tonight. I had been good, put on my collar and wrist cuffs, but had not put on the ankle cuffs because I was still doing chores around the house and had on some warm boots. He picked up my wrists and eyed the cuffs and then shot a meaningful look toward my ankles. I mumbled something about not having them on and he pointed toward my room, where they were.
I pulled off my boots and then my pants and buckled the black leather cuffs around ankles and then stood looking at him, not sure yet if the something was really going to happen and what the something might be. He reached out and snagged a nipple, grabbing and pinching hard and walked out of my room, still gripping hard. I trailed after, gasping and giggling. The sharp corner and the staggering dance down the stairs only twisted and tightened the vice-like hold he had on me. By the time we were at the door of his lair, the giggles had stopped and the yelps and yips had started.
He pulled off my panties and tied me face down, spread eagled and spent a lot of time making sure the ropes were short and taut, making sure I could not move. I made sure to work my head under a pillow, today I did not want to watch, I wanted to close my eyes and watch the play of light behind my eyelids. I wanted to sink below the barrage of blows, the surging tide of pain and lose myself in the sensation.
I did not cry out much... or laugh. I whispered and hummed. I groaned and sighed. It was a song punctuated with the staccato sound of the strikes on my body. Naked from the waist down, he played a symphony on my ass, legs and feet. And I was flying.
In the end he freed one of my hands and placed my vibrator in it. His hands were heavy and hot on me, his voice in my ear, "Gonna come, bitch?" And yet, each time I tensed, each time I began to shudder with the pending explosion, he would hit me again, twist my flesh in his hands and say it again, "Gonna come, bitch?" He spread the cheeks of my ass out and I knew he was staring down at me, at my ass and cunt, pulling open to his eyes and he gave me a little shake, "Gonna come, bitch?" His fingers worked their way deep into me, filling me, stretching me and he asked one last time, "Gonna come, bitch?"
And I did. Exploding, fighting the ropes that held me stretched and spread, screaming to him, for him.
And then he took my free hand and tied it once more, tightening the binding ropes one last time and he left me there. Limp, panting, with a soft, lazy smile on my face. This, this being left tied to the bed, unable to move, that was aftercare.
Though it was only a little while. He needed his dinner after all.
Q and A
18 hours ago