I bite him. I don’t know exactly why I bite him now and then… a combination of playfulness and pure hunger. Inside me there lurks something uncivilized. I am not totally joking when I say I was raised by wolves.
It had been an evening much like other evenings. Master asleep in his chair. Me goofing around on my computer. When I got up to put in a fresh load of laundry he lurched up to sitting and looked at me with foggy, confused eyes.
“What are you doing?”
Strangely his tone was censuring… accusatory… like he had caught me sneaking around doing something bad.
I held out the full basket of my dirty clothes, evidence of my industriousness… “Laundry.”
Now for this part of the story to make sense… you need to know that I am not permitted to wash Master’s clothing. I have asked for that privilege. I have begged to be allowed to wash his underwear. But no… I am not permitted. So back to the story.
He growls… “Laundry… Do you have something to wear tomorrow?”
An odd question… one that warranted some amount to thought. Of course I have clothing to wear… but I had not decided exactly what I was going to wear… I stood there, staring at him, the squirrels in my head scrambling around like crazy. Clearly he wants to use the washing machine… but what was I planning to wear??? Jeans or slacks… leggings with a skirt? Yoga pants with a sundress? What was the weather going to be like tomorrow? What day was tomorrow? La la la la….
As I stood there, frozen, listening to the squirrels as they played, he lurched toward me… and grabs me hard… “I asked you a question.”
Yelps, giggles and flinches… “I am thinking… thinking… yes, YES, YES… of course I have something to wear. I have lots of things to wear. If you want to use the washing machine I won’t put another load in.” But it was too late and he was shoving me down over the arm of the couch. Several swats and then a yank back up to stand… and his arm was in front of my mouth and I… um…
I don’t know why. I wasn’t mad. Maybe it was the squirrels. Maybe it was just a primitive gesture of affection. I can’t even say it seemed like a good idea at the time… because I cannot honestly attest to thinking at that precise moment.
He yelped and shoved me away. The look on his face was priceless. You could tell he just could not believe I had done that… again. He stood there looking at me with this incredulous look on his face, rubbing the hurt place. I smiled and wandered downstairs to put the wet clothes in the dryer so he could do his laundry.
His lair is next to the laundry room and for some reason I was blithely unconcerned about that fact. And it was not many minutes before the gravity of my actions finally sunk into his brain and I was nearly hauled up off my feet and thrown unceremoniously over the foot of the bed… right next to the pile of sticks, paddles and whips that is his arsenal of ass destruction.
I stood in the correct posture. Legs straight, feet braced firmly on the floor, back sharply bent, my face buried in the blankets of the bed. I was wearing panties, nice thick, warm pair of leggings and a denim skirt. The layers of fabric softened the first few blows and I lay there… appreciating that very important fact. It provided a nearly unheard of warm up for what came after. He eventually figured out the puzzle of lift this up, yank that down that finally revealed my ass. (I think it is one of my favorite sensations... the peeling back of fabric... the sudden coolness that heralds my nakedness... my vulnerability.)
On top, I was wearing a warm hoody… and as he had thrown me down the hood had fallen forward over my head and for some reason I had my fingers in my ears, wanting to screen out all distractions. I couldn’t hear the whistle of the cane before it seared into the bare skin of my ass. He always aims for that one place where my thighs meet the curve of my ass… the sweet spot… the one guaranteed to make me jump and squeal. It hurt but it also felt right at the same time. Sharp, scorching… cleansing. Each snap sending a wave up, over and through me. I could feel my body undulate and I would exhale with each blow.
He would pause and take his time selecting the next thing he would hit me with. He was definitely in the mood for sharp, stingy things. But he was not pushing me too hard. He seemed satisfied with soft yelps and shudders. This time he did not demand screams or struggle.
Then one of the pauses went longer and I lay there savoring the warmth. He was doing something. I could tell he was standing there behind me but when I felt his cock pushing at me I was taken by surprise. Master hardly ever has spontaneous sex with me. And almost never mixes sex with sadism. I was not ready. (My pussy gets wet when I read stories about beatings, not when I get beatings.) He was having some trouble getting in… and he said this thing…
“Open up your hole, bitch.”
Now that made me wet. Just remembering it now, makes me wet again. And I reached down and spread myself open. It was hot… there is something amazing about sudden, selfish sex… fucking with your clothes on. He kept talking to me as he held my hips and used me. “Keep your ass up. Arch your back. Your ass is hot.” He fucked me with fast, rough jabs of his cock, pushing deep with soft, low growls. He came quickly and shoved me down with a callous, dismissing grunt. “You want to come… deal with it yourself.”
But he stood and watched as I masturbated. And as I got close he picked up a stick and idly poked at me with it… deliberately distracting me. But as I peaked and began to come he leaned down and kissed me on the mouth, a deep ravenous kiss.
I could not keep the impish grin off my face as I cleaned up. I bit my lip and gave him an appreciative look… “You keep doing stuff like that and I will end up biting you all the time.”
It definitely was not much of a punishment, but then it was not all that bad of a bite… it hardly left a mark.