Showing posts with label forced masturbation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label forced masturbation. Show all posts

Sunday, June 5, 2011

I Bit Him


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…

…bit him. 

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.       

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Monsters of the Night?


It started out just like any day.  There was nothing to suggest that it would end so spectacularly.

Work was manageable.  The only thing that stood out was I was sitting at a computer in the library during out weekly staff meeting and idly playing a mindless game and our principal caught me and asked me if I had any opinions about what was being discussed, clearly hoping to catch me not paying attention and wanting to embarrass me in front of everyone.  I did not look up from the game.  I just said clearly, “We aren’t discussing anything at the moment.  Kaya and Dennis had just finished talking about the assembly.  I don’t have an opinion about that.  Then Dennis asked you if you had any items for the agenda.”  Did not miss a beat on the game.  Did not look up from the computer screen.  Gotta love having what is the auditory equivalent of a photographic memory.  Did not add that by morning I would most likely not remember because I did not care.

Home was quiet… A walk in the cool night air…  Left overs for dinner…  NCI reruns and then the Daily Show… eyes starting to droop by the Colbert Report… When I reached for my blanket and Master gave me a sharp look and said, “OH, HUH UH!”  and sharply pointed me toward my required bedtime routine.  So off I trundled to get my vitamins and brush my teeth.  All normal, all expected, the same things that happen nearly every night.

I stood looking at the mirror with my electric toothbrush buzzing away in my mouth.  He saunters in and stands behind me and his sharp brown eyes meet my sleepy blue ones.  I idly comment around the tooth brush about my out of control mop of curly blond ringlets… “bzzz ver’ bzz ‘qirrely hair t’day bzzz spit bzzzz”.  He smiles possessively and gathers it up into his fist, carefully pulling every lock into an improvised pony tail and as I still focus on brushing each tooth exactly to his strict requirements he begins to tip me backwards… and then leans down and bites me on the corner of my neck.  A deep body encompassing rush of heat, tingles, pain and something more, something primal makes me groan. 

Over and over he bites me, neck shoulders, back… more than once I lose my balance and he has to catch me, using my hair to lift me back to my feet.  And strangely, I do not stop brushing my teeth.  When I finally spit and put away my toothbrush, (only once knocking everything off the shelf it goes on with fumbly hands).  I comment how bizarre that was, being gnawed upon while brushing my teeth. 

But he did not released his grip upon my hair and he used it as a leash to push and steer me down to bed.  He did not let me go as I undressed and I do remember carefully slipping my fingers over his… reaching up under my top and holding the hair so he could release me and I could pull off my shirt and then returning my hair to his control.

He pushed me face down onto the bed and I could feel him reach to the jumbled up pile of implements kept within reach of where I sleep.  The strap cracked down on my ass and I couldn’t help but buck against his grip.  But he just shoved my face down harder against the bed and once again leaned down and began to slowly deliberately bite me.  After that things got blurry… biting… spanking… biting and spanking at the same time… him straddling my back holding me down with his hand still fisted in my hair.. his teeth in my shoulder, the strap being used like he is spurring on a galloping horse…  then the strap being dropped, my head lifted up and a nipple captured, cruelly pinched and yanked in the opposite direction of my hair… it was too much to bear…

I remember panicking and wildly struggling and being pushed down again, his weight on my back to hold me down, my arms and legs paddling, flailing…

His voice was low and loud in my ear… “Ready to play with your toys?”

“Toys… osys… oys…”

I blink and debate… he wants me to masturbate now…. Now… now… I am wildly over stimulated… awash with sensation… drowning… and yet I am not aroused… not sexually… I am already limp and panting as if I had had a dozen orgasms… but I knew it is not really a request, it was required.  I made an inarticulate gurgling sound and nod.  Only then does he let go of my hair and I attempted to crawl under the blankets.  I was sweaty, damp and now the first shivers of chill were starting to make me shake.

He snatched the blankets out of my hands and I realized he was not going to leave me alone.  He was not finished.  As I fumble with cords and angles and switch settings he leaned down and sank his teeth into one nipple and pinched and pulled the other.  Over and over as I tensed and trembled and shook, he ran his hands over me, pinched… grabbed… pulled… and bit.  My arms, my breasts, my belly and legs… anywhere, everywhere… the sensations rising up from my body doing battle with the orgasm, it is like the sea surging and retreating.  Every time it rose high, every time as I arched and shuddered with my pending explosion, a lance of pain forced it back.  But it was sandbags against the raging river, eventually nothing can keep it from crashing over.  And I screamed as I come.

And only then did he pull up the blankets.

I remember looking at him from the corners of my eye in the morning, not sure exactly how I felt about such a strenuous and intense bedtime intervention.  I was more than a little lost in the shock and awe. 

In many ways I know that he is reacting to my words of the weekend before, talking about needing less predictability, more control… and one wonders if this is not another “be careful what you wish for” moment.

I know the next evening as I started my bedtime routine and he followed me into the bathroom I felt a rush of panic… panic and excitement.  And when he grabbed my hair and once again propelled me down the stairs I was wondering if I could handle another night like the last.  But he just used the convenient handle of curly blond hair to throw me down on the bed and brusquely said, “You are not getting anything more than this tonight.”  And he stood and watched as I stripped and slipped between the covers.

And as I closed my eyes and drifted down I felt the bed quiver, either an imagined earthquake or an echo of a dream… and I sat straight up and yelped in fear… not the fear of monsters of the night but the fear that he was there, creeping up on me. 

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Gonna come, bitch?"

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.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Shower sex and headaches don't mix.

He wanted to go for a cycle ride first. He usually does, claiming in that 'know for sure' voice that it makes the fucking better after some exercise. But his bike had a flat tire. I suggested going for a walk. I kinda miss going for walks sometimes but he ordered me directly to the shower.

I had been dealing with a nagging headache, well not exactly a headache, more a painful place on the back of my head, like a little man had had hit me with a hammer. It sometimes feels like that, a pop and zing, then if I reach back and touch, the very scalp and skull underneath hurts. It is most likely a tiny muscle spasm. And just when you get used to it, the pain starts to ease, the little fucker nails me again. POP... Zing.... I had hoped that the ride and rush of oxygen would chase it away but now I quickly popped some "Aleve" and stripped down telling myself that the drugs would work.

He was all up in my grill, watching me critically as I brushed my teeth, once again upping the expectations. He had me use one of his new electric toothbrushes... a sonic one again. I hate sonic toothbrushes, they make my nose itch. But there is no fighting it when he decides something. I met his narrow, gauging eyes with mine and tried my best to hold the brush at the exact angles he was dictating.

In the shower he hurried me through my washing and shaving, soaping my ass as I bent over to shave my legs. For years I was so humiliated by his "making sure my ass was clean"...like I was incapable of the simplest of hygiene, but then again, apparently I can't even brush my teeth without his guidance. I have learned since, that the act of washing my ass carries some very strong sexual trigger for him. And it worked just like it always does... in fact he got impatient and started to bend me over before I finished shaving... I think I have a 50/50 shaved pussy. (starting a whole new style). I got one side all smooth and nice, the other half still sports a 'stache.

He fucked me for a while and then the sharp tap on the shoulder to signal me to turn around quickly and make my mouth available. We proceeded like this, fuck, suck, fuck some more. Finally one of the peremptory taps turned into a grab and I was disoriented, hesitating, this wordless yank and push was not familiar. I sent a questioning look up to his face and he shoved me down on my back, flat on the floor of the shower, his words were short. "Play with your pussy." He knelt between my legs, looking down, lazily jerking off as he watched me. Then he began to stick his fingers into me, into my ass and pussy both, growling under his breath as I tensed and trembled, building closer to orgasm.

I came hard, crying out and thrashing around on hook of his fingers. But there is no rest for the weary, and he had me up and his cock deep into my throat before I even stopped spasming. By the time he tapped me with the "get up and bend over" nudge and slammed into me, coming what seemed like a gallon into my pussy. I remember still being bent over after he pulled out, watching the stream of come ooze out and run down my leg. He helped me to stand up and I leaned up against the side of the shower. The water had gotten cold, and I watched him lather up and scrub any possible contamination, any smear of nasty fluid from his skin with tired eyes.

The headache had gotten worse. I don't know if it was the orgasm or the being bent over sharply, or the straining that comes with tightening up my cunt muscles on his cock, or the repeated violent gagging that comes with the rough face fucking... but I was trashed. Normally we start in the shower and finish in bed and afterward I can curl up under warm blankets rather than shiver under a cold shower. Normally I feel giddy and happy after a good fuck... but today I was sad and unusually irritable. My head hurt, I was tired... when Master touched me I froze and shrank into myself.

"You really don't feel good." It wasn't a question, but I wordlessly shook my head. I could feel that my forehead was crimped into a perpetual frown. After I made his breakfast he interrogated me as to my food consumption in the last 24 hours, pronounced that I should eat more protein. He sent me to bed with orders to take a nap... I think I lay there half asleep, half awake for a couple of hours.

I am still irritable. I miss that happy, warm, relaxed feeling I usually have after Master soundly fucks my brains out.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Clock Watching

An erotic story I wrote one day after Master did use me in the shower and told me to masturbate after he left for work... he did not tell to do what the Master in the story did, but it was a great fantasy.

I did have my noisy old vibrator turned on and propped in place as I typed. And the handle did get hot...

She looked at the clock, 8:47, thirteen more minutes until he said to start.

It has been a busy time for him. The holidays were always a busy time at his work, a spate of bad weather, and then an unexpected illness in the family had kept him preoccupied. Even when he did have a free evening, he was tired and irritable, more often falling asleep in front of the television rather than doing anything with her.

She knew better than to nag him, but as the days grew into a week and then two weeks she kept sending him those quiet longing looks. She told herself it was not her; that he still cared, he was just tired. He even acknowledged that he had been neglecting her, making apologetic comments about wanting to, but just not having the energy, muttering something about thinking of something to keep her occupied.

She tried to be patient, engaging in discrete solo play when he was not home to keep the needs at bay. It wasn’t the same but it kept the wolves from the door. Still it was no substitute for having him use her. She desperately missed feeling him inside her, taking his pleasure from her. He was very aware of her habits and did not usually object. Privately she held the opinion that he liked her frequent masturbation because it took some pressure off him.

Then this morning he had surprised her. It had been the first day of her Christmas holiday. He had ordered her into the shower with him and pushed her down onto her knees, pressing his cock into her mouth without any words. He had gripped her hair and used her mouth rough, enjoying the sounds of her gagging and gasping for air. Then he had picked her up and bent her over, taking her from behind as the water ran down her back and into her eyes and nose. She had gritted her teeth and tightened her cunt around him as tightly as she could. He had come quickly and then she had spun around on and taken him back into her mouth, soothing him, bringing him down from his orgasm. She was trembling with her own need but silently told herself that she could finish what he started once he was out the door.

After a while he stroked her face and looked down at her smugly, “Listen closely, today after I leave for work at precisely 9:00 a.m. you will get out your vibrator and masturbate to orgasm. You will look at the clock and note exactly how many minutes it took you to come. Write that down. You will do this again at each hour for the whole day. If you are unable to come within the hour, you will stay in bed, with the vibrator on your clit until you catch up or I get home.”

She looked up at him blinking. She knew that it would be difficult to do this. She was not readily multi-orgasmic, especially with only clitoral stimulation. Her body had a stubborn streak and would just not come after a while. He was well aware of this.

His next words sent a rush of fear and submissive delight through her, “For every orgasm you miss that will be a week of no orgasms for you.”

Her breath caught, “None?”

His hand tightened in her hair, lifting her face up, leering down at her. “None, in fact we will start with a week of waiting for that little question, and will add to that depending upon your success or failure.”

She swallowed hard, afraid to say anything more. “Yes, Sir.”

She looked at the clock, 8:55. She got out the big hand held vibrator that plugged into the wall. She knew which one he meant. It was the big one that could be heard just about anywhere in the house when she used it. He liked it because he could tell when she was using it. All others were off limits, reserved for his use only. Carefully taking off her pajama bottoms she slipped under the covers watching the big red numbers on the alarm clock.

At 9:00 she pushed the button and put the vibrating head against her flesh. Closing her eyes she let her mind drift back to the shower, the sensation of his cock so deep in her throat, choking her, the hard porcelain hurting her knees, the way his hand pulled at her hair as he fucked her face. Silently she writhed as the sensations built quickly, when she counted down from ten, remembering his voice in her ear as he so often had done before. Her climax was sharp and short, making her clit pulse against the vibrator.

She looked at the clock, 9:07. That had been quick, but his use in the shower and instructions had left her on edge. He had never spoken of restricting her orgasms before but it had always been a fantasy of hers. In fact he had never so controlled her masturbation before, usually leaving it up to her. The memory of his words, the look on his face as he had said the words had her hot as hell. She stretched and climbed from the bed and wrote down, 9:00… seven minutes.

At 9:45 she got out one of her favorite ‘dirty’ books and opened it up to a favorite scene. He had not said that she couldn’t use a little help getting her head in a good space. At 9:55 the phone rang, his voice was sharp, “Where are you?”

“In bed.”

“Already?”

“Um… I was just reading and watching the clock, Sir.”

“How many minutes did it take at 9:00.”

“Seven minutes.”

“Hot little cunt today, aren’t you?”

She could not help but grin at his harsh words. He knew how much it turned her on to be verbally humiliated. Her voice dropped an octave, “Yes, Sir.”

At precisely 10:00 she switched on the vibrator and started again. His voice over the phone was gloating, “How does that feel?”

Her voice gurgled a little, “Good, Sir.”

His tone was slightly mocking, “My hot little cunt, all the time riding her fucking vibrator. Enjoy it today because you will be missing it later.” And then he hung up without saying good bye.

It did not take much longer, his words echoing in her head, this time she counted down out loud, and right before exploding she groaned out, “Yes.” Opening her eyes she looked at the clock, 10:13. Her cunt ached and tingled and she was happy to pull the vibrator away. She knew it was only going to get harder. As she wrote down thirteen minutes, it never even occurred to her to lie to him.

It seemed like 11:00 came much too quickly. Her pussy was still burning and tired. She stared at the clock and made a pained face as she started. Holding the vibrator she reread the sexy part of her book, putting herself in the extreme scene that had always made her get hot. When she got close she propped up the book and pressed her hand tight against her chest, crushing her breast, tensing her whole body into a hard vibrating arc, fiercely counting down, but when she got to one, she hovered there, grating out the last number over and over, “One! One! One!” The book slid to one side as she groaned out the word, her tone agonized and pleading. Finally she pushed past the block and came hard, her orgasm shaking her whole body, making her collapse and convulse. She was breathing hard and drenched in sweat when she looked at the clock. Her heart sank, 11:33. Only twenty-seven minutes until she had to start again. She was tempted to fall asleep but she knew that she would probably oversleep and miss noon.

His instructions had been clear. There was no way to skip one and rest. His words had been clear, ‘if you can’t come during that hour, you will remain in bed with the vibrator on your clit’. She knew that starting at noon; she was not going to be anywhere but in the bedroom torturing herself according to his wishes.

She forced herself to get up and walk into the kitchen and got a pitcher of water with a lot of ice in it and a glass with a straw. She made sure to pee and then grabbed the rest of her favorite sexy books and some lube to help with chafing; she stood in her bedroom trying to think what else she was going to need. On impulse she took two aspirin and filled a wine glass up with her favorite Merlot. She made sure that her phone was within reach. She was pretty sure he would be calling again sometime soon to check up on her.

At 11:55 she stripped down completely nude and on impulse took an ice cube out of the pitcher and chilled her fingers a little and then gently slid her icy fingers over her swollen and aching clitoris. The cold was soothing.

At noon, she sighed and put the vibrator between her legs. She flinched, Jesus, it was more painful than pleasurable. Clenching her teeth and sliding down on the bed she lay there with her eyes clenched closed, focusing on the sensation, visualizing his hand on the vibrator. It was his command that had put her here. Even with him busy and at work, he was there with her. And she was sure she was on his mind too. She knew he had to be looking at his watch, that tight predatory grin on his face as he thought about her here, contending with his commands.

Once the pain faded to a manageable level she clenched her thighs together holding the vibrator in place and began to read, deciding on not worrying about it so much. “Just relax and ride the wave.” Her voice trembled in time with the sensations.

At 12:15 her phone rang. His voice was teasing. “What are you doing?”

She had to swallow before she could talk, “Masturbating.”

He chuckled, “Having fun?”

Her voice quivered a little, but she struggled to sound light, “Oh yes Sir, lots and lots of fun.”

His voice darkened, “Have you missed any yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“How long did the last one take?”

“Thirty-three minutes.”

The teasing tone was back, “Not so hot now?”

A little wave of silliness rose up in her, “I don’t know. I think it is starting to smoke down there a little, much more friction and I might just burst into flame.” A small pang of fear shot through her. Sometimes he did not find her little sarcastic statements all that funny. More often than not she ended up regretting the impulsive little jokes. To her relief he snorted with laughter.

Her voice was a little plaintive, “Sweetheart, Sir, when do you think you are going to be home tonight?”

There was a hint of sadism in his voice, “I don’t know. I have a lot of things to get done here, and there are some guys talking about grabbing some drinks after work. Maybe I will join them.”

She forced the tiny whimper of protest from her voice, “Sir, I did not have time to plan anything for dinner.” Cooking dinner was the one the few domestic things he insisted on. He did not much care if the house was messy or not, but he had become very accustomed to having a hot meal waiting for him when he got home.

“Then maybe I will get something before I come home.”

This time she could not help but ask, “But do I have to keep doing this?”

His voice was sharp and hard, a crack of a whip, “Make that two weeks. Question me again and it will be four.” She swallowed down her next question. Oh god, he was going to figure this exponentially. She had not gone more than a couple of days without some kind of sexual satisfaction, now she had at least two weeks and it went without question that there was going to be more. The vibrator was buzzing merrily against her cunt but things were not moving along at all, in fact things were starting to go a little numb.

Her voice was defeated, “Yes, Sir.”

“Get busy, girl.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Again he hung up without saying good bye. She looked at the phone for a second. He had never had much patience for little social niceties. He never had much patience period. It was his impatience and stringent ways that had attracted her to him in the first place. It did not take long before his impatience and her craving for his control had pushed the power imbalance in his direction. And each step of the way she began to thrive more and more on his dominance.

She thought back to the first time he had physically punished her, spanking her and then beating her with his belt. She did not even exactly remember why he had punished her but the feeling of surrender; loss of control, had been amazing. It seemed like after that she had always looked at him with trepidation and awe. He had always been important but now his wishes were central to her existence.

The thought of that first beating seemed to wake up her numb and battered nerve endings, making her cunt clench and the feelings of heat and tingling running up her legs. She started to count but to her surprise the orgasm shot through her before she could reach one, her body almost spastic and uncontrollable. A low sob accompanied her orgasm. Turning she looked at the clock, 12:48. Blinking back tears she dropped the vibrator to one side and reached for a drink of water. After a long cool drink, she lowered the glass with its coating of cool condensation and pressed it to her throbbing cunt.

It felt jarringly cold but so good. She let out a long quivering groan. Her clit was doing this odd, throbbing thing. If felt like it was twitching spasmodically against the cold wet glass.

There was a kind of resignation in her mood and movements when 1:00 came up on the clock. She had an odd bored thought that it was too bad he did not allow a television in the bedroom. She sort of wanted something to do that took less effort than holding a book or focusing on words on a page. The idea of coming or not coming was too hard to think about. Closing her eyes she let her thoughts drift, trying to picture where he was, what he was doing. Thinking about Christmas next week, wondering what he had planned for them to do. She made a rueful face; one thing was sure, there would be no orgasms. Once he said something, he had never once changed his decision. And right now that was beginning to sound not so onerous.

She could tell she was getting sleepy; her body was getting heavy and her thoughts slower. Knowing that he would not accept sleeping as an excuse to stop, she reached down and found her underwear and awkwardly pulled them on. They were form fitting spandex and helped hold the vibrator trapped against her cunt. The angle was a little wrong but she folded up her pajama bottoms and wedged them under the handle strategically to force the vibrating head against her clit. Smiling at her ingenuity, she flexed her tired hand and arm, lay back down and let her mind float again.

Before her eyes drifted closed she looked at the clock, 1:34. She mentally shrugged and added a week to her projected fast. She lay there wondering what it would be like. Would it be easy or would she be totally horny? She wondered what it would be like to serve him without any prospect of satisfaction. She was not so worried that she would not be able to do it, would become somehow spontaneously orgasmic. Orgasms were perfectly possible but took some effort and concentration. But what would it be like to have none, none at all?

She shifted a little and the head of the vibrator settled a little deeper into her flesh, sending a sharp pang of agony through her. She winced and blinked a few times but the bedroom seemed too normal, too at odds with her predicament to bear and she closed her eyes once more and retreated deep into her mind.

She was amazed to feel the tension building in her body again, her thigh and belly muscles jerking. It was odd, she did not feel it all that much in her cunt, but somehow the messages were getting up to her brain and her body was trying to respond. Normally she did not find internal stimulation that helpful somehow her cunt felt empty and she wished he was here to fuck her. If he was fucking her she knew she would be able to make it happen again. Experimentally she reached down and slid her fingers into her cunt. She was not surprised to find it hot and very wet. Her fingers were cool in contrast and felt kind of nice. The heel of her hand was pressed down on the vibrator as she tried to force her fingers in deeper, searching for that illusive g-spot.

She had read about it, and once or twice found it, but only after extended sessions when she was too tired to appreciate it. He usually did not bother with her orgasms all that much, demanding she learn to come on his countdown but only as she had masturbated for him, and only engaging in this kind of play on rare occasions. In fact he seemed to prefer she not come while he used her. He did not have the patience to force her to reach this place like where she was now, very often.

She wished she had a dildo or something huge to shove up there, anything to make the empty feeling go away. She had mentioned perhaps wanting one once. He had said that her vibrator was all she needed, that she masturbated too much as it was and that a dildo would only make her do it more often. She also wondered if he did not like the idea of her having something that obviously phallic. It seemed like his use of her this morning in the shower was days instead of hours ago.

She worked her fingers inside her passage, massaging the inside walls and was rewarded by that deep achy sensation that was so close to needing to pee, but not quite. Softly she breathed out a triumphant, “Yesssss,” and felt her body begin to shake with a pending explosion. This time she did not bother to count her thoughts too clouded to think about anything but the building passion that was threatening to tear her apart.

Normally she was pretty quiet when she orgasmed but this time a loud harsh grunting scream was forced from her lips as she thrust her fingers in as deeply as she could, curling up and jerking with waves of blinding ecstasy. She was mindless, almost howling. It had never been so strong before. The vibrator was still going, compelling her body to writhe along with its demanding rhythms. She blinked and looked at the clock, 2:30. According to his instructions she had to leave it there.

She wailed in defeat, “Oh god, I can’t keep doing this.” But she knew she would. She knew that even if she were unconscious when he got home that the vibrator would still be there, battering her tender parts to mush.

Her hand shook so hard as she wrote the time down that it was almost unreadable. She reached for the glass of wine and slopped a little on the sheets as she took one deep swallow and then a second. There were still some ice cubes floating in the pitcher and she reached in and grabbed a couple and pressed them to her burning cunt. The sudden cold was agony and she let out a hoarse squawk but kept the ice pressed against her tortured flesh.

The cubes melted quickly and she reached for some more, ignoring the wide wet spot forming on the bed under her ass. The handle of the vibrator was getting hot and she carefully made sure that her folded up pajama bottoms were between her and the hot plastic. A tiny hopeful thought that maybe the thing would just wear out intruded into her mind, and she let out a tiny hysterical giggle as she visualized it melting in her hand or exploding.

When the second handful of ice cubes melted she let her hand fall to the side, letting her body sag limp and weak on the damp sheets. She was simultaneously chilled and too hot, her body shivering but at the same time sweating. Keeping her eyes closed she just tried to breathe and relax. Even if he hadn’t been serious about coming home late she did not expect him home before 5:30. Peeking at the clock she saw that it was only 3:14.

Hoping that if it were possible to come again, her body would wake her up, she pulled the sheet over her body and let her mind drift further and further until sleep took her. His weight making the mattress sag and shift is what woke her. Her eyes flashed open to see him sitting on the edge of the mattress looking down at her. Convulsing in guilt she gasped and stammered, “Oh god, Sir…” but he put his fingers over her lips, silencing her. She looked past his hand at the clock. It said 4:30. He was home an hour early.

She became aware that her hips and belly were jerking in what seemed to be an endless series of small agonizing convulsive jerks, her empty cunt clenching and opening spasmodically like the mouth of a dying fish. Her tortured flesh was curiously numb but sharp lances of pain were shooting up from her whole pelvic area. Looking up at his face she reached up and pressed his fingers even more tightly to her lips and then burst into sobs. He reached across to the dropped paper she had been writing on and raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want to try for one more or are you willing to just accept the extra week?”

Her voice was choked, “Oh god, make it stop.”

He pulled the sheet back and looked at the makeshift manner she had used to trap the vibrator in place. When he reached to pull it away, he exclaimed and jerked his hand away as the hot handle almost burnt his fingers, “Shit.” She looked down dully as he used the pajama bottoms to pull the heated item from her panties. He looked a little concerned and quickly turned off the vibrator and dropped it to one side. Quickly he pulled her panties off and spread her legs. “Are you burned?”

Her voice was confused and uncertain, “I don’t know. It hurts but it feels kind of numb too,” She paused, “like when your foot goes to sleep and is trying to wake up, sharp painful tingly numbness.” For the first time she wondered if she might not have injured her cunt.

He frowned and peered closely at her crotch. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down. Her cunt looked swollen and amazingly deep red but she couldn’t see any blisters or bruises. She asked softly, “Sir, would it be permitted to put some ice on it?”

He pushed her back down flat and muttered, “Stay there.”

When he came back he had some burn cream and to her relief an icepack. His touch was amazingly light and tender as he spread the ointment on her skin. His voice was a little gruff, “You should have called me and let me know it was getting so hot.”

The icepack was heavenly and she sighed. “Yes Sir, I guess I should have. I thought that putting the cloth around it was protecting me enough, but I should have informed you.” Then I mumbled, “And it sort of was numb and painful after a while. It was hard to tell if it was too hot.”

He chuckled at her confession, “Your poor pussy was all confused.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, and nodded in agreement. After she stopped holding the icepack against herself, her whole cunt continued to throb and tingle like the vibrator was still there and her clit had this strange tendency to randomly twitch, making her jump and wince.

He made her stay in bed all that evening, bringing her some take out Chinese food to eat. When she begged to be allowed to get up to use the bathroom she was shocked at how much it hurt to pee.

After dinner he made her spread her legs again and closely examined her flesh. Speaking briskly and clinically he commented, “No burns but it looks like it has been used hard.” Then to her dismay he leaned down and began to gently run his tongue over her tender tissues. She almost reflexively reached down to shove him away, but she stopped herself just in time. This was almost more than she could bear. He hardly ever lowered himself to perform this intimate caress.

He looked up and chuckled at the terrorized expression on her face, his tight sadistic smile on his lips, “Hands and knees bitch.”

Her eyes grew large as she realized his intent. But she obediently assumed the position, scooting down to the bottom edge of the bed to the place he demanded she take when he chose to use her. He opened his pants and shoved deep into her from behind, taking her hard and fast. Surprisingly it did not hurt as much as she had thought it might, but it still burned and the sensation of the skin being stretched and pulled back and forth across her clit was intense and she found herself heating and warming under his pounding.

He grabbed her shoulders and growled out, “Your cunt is so hot, it’s like fucking a volcano.”

She focused on squeezing as tight as she could on his cock, reveling in his growls and grunts as he plunged into her hard, his hips slapping into her ass. Softly she urged him on, “Yes, hot, hot for you.” When he shuddered and groaned with his climax, she found herself calling to him, “Yes, oh yes,” filled with emotion as she felt his cock flexing deep inside her, filling her with his essence.

He leaned down over her, his voice a little foggy, “You didn’t come did you?”

“No, Sir.”

His voice was a little triumphant, “Good, only six more weeks to go.”