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. 

Attitude Adjustment

“Get downstairs!”

“What for?” My question was information seeking, not challenging. As I got up and headed for the basement, I was genuinely puzzled. Not sixty seconds before he had said we were going out, just running errands; bank, grocery store, and maybe hardware store. And I was doing it. I really thought he had thought of some last minute chore that needed doing before we got into the car.

“Don’t ask me why!”

He shoved me hard face down onto the bed. Ohhhh, oh, okay. I get it. I had been pouting a bit. I've been better, a lot better, but still fragile, still not quite as sure of myself. And he had been pretty gruff all morning, and with each growl, each heavy handed correction I had gotten quieter, more distant, shrunken up deeper inside myself. A little attitude adjustment seemed to be in order.

I was already wearing my cuffs and collar and he wrenched my hands behind my back, tried to thread some rope through the rings and growled in frustration when the rope was too thick to fit through. I giggled and commented that I had not had ropes in mind when I designed these cuffs and crawled over to the side of the bed and reached for the toy bag and handed him a couple snap hooks. And then on impulse I slipped on a blind fold.

My heart was racing, it has been months and months since he has done any kind of bondage. I still wasn’t sure exactly what he had in mind. The last few times it was just goofy. Tie her up and see if she could get loose. Nothing rough or even sexual, just experiments to see what knot would hold.

He ignored the snaps for a while, still fussing with the rope and then picked up a snap and clipped my hands behind my back. Then he proceeded to tug at my arms and lift up on the waistband of my pants and I lay there trying to figure out what the hell he was trying to accomplish, not fighting but not particularly cooperating either, mostly because I just couldn’t bend that direction. After a while he snarled at me to get my ass up in the air and unsnapped my wrists and refastened them behind my knees. Another Ohhhhh moment.

He laid into me with a cane, hitting me exactly on the crease between my thighs and ass. It hurt a LOT. I didn’t know if he was hitting me harder than usual (though looking at my ass now… I know now that was exactly what he was doing.) but at the time I wondered if I was just feeling as physically sensitive as I had been emotionally. I howled and squirmed like crazy, tipping over from my knees to my side and as he continued to hit me, striking that same place over and over I continued to struggle and eventually rolled over onto my back and tried to hide my ass.

He dropped the cane and began to tug on my pants, forcing then slowly down over my hips exposing my ass inch by inch. Oh fuck, I knew if it hurt that bad over my clothing I was in deep shit if he got access to my bare ass. I was babbling, pleading, “You don’t want to do that. You don’t want to pull my pants down. It will hurt too bad. Please, don’t.” My pleas only seemed to spur him on. He took his time, selecting various implements of ass destruction from his armory. The strap was crazy, then that new narrow paddle, then the cane again, various floggers. I was squirming, gasping, screaming, yelling, giggling… more than once getting my fingers caught when I would reach down to somehow protect myself. And nothing hurts worse than taking a hit on the back of the fingers. Then, bang! Something crashed into my pussy, my bare tender exposed pussy. I think I got airborne with that one. As I thrashed on the bed, screaming louder and louder as the pain swelled and grew, blanking out my mind, he casually trailed the legs of the homemade flogger I have named ‘the squid’ over my tenderized ass.



I was breathless, “You did NOT hit my pussy with that????!!!!!”

He chuckled evilly. And I protested, “You will break my pussy!!!”

He did not say anything but when I felt a soft cloth dabbing at my labia, I asked incredulously, “I’m bleeding?”

“Just a little.” And then he chuckled, again!

“Oh you evil bastard, you broke my pussy. I just know it. You broke it.”

I had both hands clamped over my pussy. I did not care if he broke my fingers. I was not allowing him access to my pink parts again, EVAR!!! He grabbed my ankles and tied them up over my head. I think my squirming had made him accidentally hit my pussy and he wanted to hold me down a little better. I did not resist but I had not let go of my pussy either.



Once he had me tied down a little better, he was back at it, making sure that no part of my ass went unpunished, no tool or toy left off the agenda, from heavy leather flogger to nasty narrow gom jabbar. I remember him commenting once that he loved the strap best of all, because I had bought it for him. I do know he kept returning to it. He would stop and tease me, walking around the bed, touching my face, poking at my pussy and anus with the sharp tips of various things while I squealed and screamed and twisted and begged. I was raw, bruised and just a little bloody by the time he finished.

Then he walked away, leaving me blindfolded, bound, contorted, my legs up over my head, my hands still clutching between my legs, protecting my sore pussy. I lay still, puffing, listening, wondering what he had in mind now, what item he needed that he did not have at hand here in his room. I slowly, gently, tentatively ran my fingertips over my sore ass and pussy, as far as I could reach with my wrists still bound.

I had never really mellowed under that rain of sensations, he had made sure that nothing lasted long enough, predictably enough, changing up the pain too quickly for me to start to fly too high. But now, now finally left alone to feel the echoes of sensation, the afterburn? As it were? I could feel my body finally relax and the rush of my blood through my veins.

He made no effort to hide the sound of his feet on the stairs as he came back down. His voice was a little surprised, “You have not moved.”

“Was I supposed to?” My voice sounded a little foggy, distant.

He laughed and began to untie me, working his way from bound ankles and clipped wrists, ending with pulling the blind fold off. “Come on, we need to get going if you are going to get to the bank before it closes.”

Oh god, he expected me to just jump up and run those errands. Okay… okay… He is driving so I can do this… can do this… can do this. It was funny how everything seemed blurry around the edges, echoed in my head. I had to hold onto the stair railing tight as I wobbled up the stairs. When my vision cleared enough I peeked at my ass.

I am tattooed, marked, striped, and speckled. Black marks, blue marks, red, pink, and purple, my ass looks like an impressionist (snort... pun intended) painting. I bent over and check out my girl parts… was it broken???? The bite of the squid was unmistakable. A cluster of purple red contusions, sort of raw bruises the size of about two silver dollars reaches from my inner thigh up and across my labia. I am so impressed I run a fascinated finger across the sore and uneven surface, each mark raised up and tender. I hiss and cannot help but touch it again.



Even now, hours later, I can feel the sting, the ache and I remember those moments taken out before running errands. He has been an amusing mixture of pride and embarrassment. Attitude adjusted, both mine and his.

Bad weather and oil spills

Work yesterday was nucking futs. We had three people out in my most intensive classroom, including the teacher. And all three subs had never been there before. It is nearly impossible to teach someone how to do this job if you aren't already juggling monkeys (code for dealing with a very disabled child that needs a 100% of your attention). So I am in there, sort of careening from one disaster to another.

Long story short, I was overjoyed when the school buses finally arrived. Whew! I made a half pot of coffee and sucked down about two cups first thing after I got home to give myself a bit of a jump start. Then I made a delicious beef, broccoli, mushroom stir fry. Double yum. And I was good and did not over stuff myself. I have not been very good lately... so it was step in the right direction. Master made lots of appreciative mmms and grunts as he woofed his plate down and filled it up a second time.

After eating I got up and asked permission to visit. Visiting means climbing up into his lap. I put my knees on either side of his, straddle his lap and snuggle up close. He held me close and asked if I needed to talk about anything... and it is true that when I really need to say something, I do "visit" but today I just wanted a snuggle and I told him, "no, not really" and burrowed my face into his neck and inhaled. I may have said this before but that man just smells right.

He ran his hands down my back and held my ass... and gave me few gentle swats. I sat up and gave him a boiling hot look and he laughed, "Oho... now that is a look..."

I blinked and purred, "Look?"

We played a bit, him pinching my nipples, me protesting just enough to make it fun. And then he commented, "I like this. I am having fun." He looked over at my shoulder at the TV news and made a tired face. "The only thing on the news is bad weather and oil spills."

I wiggle on his lap and agree... "That is the only thing on the news for that last month." Then I purred again, "...turn it off ...play with me."

He flipped me over and in an instant had me over his lap, my head hanging down off the arm of his big chair and yanks my pants and panties down to my knees. POW, POW, POW... his spanks were hard and wonderful. I squirmed and squealed and yelped and called out to him... "Don't hurt your hand!" More of a taunt than a real concern, though he sometimes complains that his hand does hurt after spanking me.

After a while he pushed me off and ordered me to "Get my strap." I loved that he called it "his" strap. Though the mere mention of this made my heart race with fear. I scurried fast and soon was presenting it to him... and he said sadistically, "Assume the position," gesturing at his lap once again. Soon I was more than yelping, I was squalling, panting, screaming, cussing... and just as I was reaching that softer, warmer, relaxed place where the agony starts to give back rather than take from me. He stops and orders me to "Suck my cock!" I have to admit a bit of reluctance, the ouchies were just getting good, and my selfish little self wanted more, more, more... but I do love this new activity too... decisions, decisions. Actually he is the boss, so it isn't really a decision and I was soon on my knees and had him lodged deep down by my tonsils.

But that did not last too long... the next thing I hear is, "get your towel." (Code for we are going to take a shower, code for you are going to get your brains fucked out. Or maybe just a quicky... one never knows with Master but hope springs eternal.)

OOOOOOOHHHHH!!!! Oh holy fuck... I am going to get fucked... fucked on a work night... oh holy shit!!!! I was in the shower tout suite. And between continued sound spankings (My ass was scarlet!)I had a cock down my throat again and then was bent over in his favorite position. I swear, I really want to take a picture of this, my view of the act, my feet, sort of pigeon toed and straining up on my tip toes, nestled between his bigger ones... the shower water splattering all around us. It is how Master always fucks me... bent over in the shower. He will fuck me until he almost comes and then stop and mess around with me... and then start again... pushing himself to the edge over and over. Then when the water heater finally gives up its last drops of warmth, he pushes me out of the shower and we go down to his lair.

He had grabbed the strap and pushed me down onto my back and made me lift my legs up and began to beat me again. Hitting me on the tender backs of my thighs. After all the hot water and in this more vulnerable position I am instantly overwhelmed with pain and strangely the only thing I can do as I panic is violently slap at my own skin, somehow the sharp smacks from my own hands do battle with the tidal wave of pain, create a breakwater, and shelter me just enough so that I can keep the stringent position and not flip over and try to flee.

But he does not permit this for long... "Play with your pussy... Do it now!" And as I reach down to obey, he keeps beating me... snarling, "You better come!"

As I have pointed out, I am not a masochist. I like pain, I love subspace but it is not erotic for me and I plead, "Its hard... I can't focus when you hit me." But he does not relent. He grabs a big dildo and shoves it in me and pumps it hard, banging it deep against my cervix. He still hits me randomly, but his hands are full and he can't hurt me quite so bad. I grunt and tense, straining to force it, and as my focus turns inward my legs start to sag and he hits my foot with the strap. "Keep your feet up." Over and over as I get close, I forget and lose position and am shocked back by the sharp strike on my foot.

Finally I get there, and I groan out to him, "Coming, coming now." And as I writhe and cry out, he keeps pushing the dildo into me, levering it up against my g-spot and forcing me to keep coming for a long time. After he can't force another tremor from my sweat drenched body, he climbs up on top of me and begins to fuck my face, slowly, luxuriously taking his time. Finally when he is close, he moves down and plunges into my cunt and growls as he finally releases his come into me.

I look at him and smile a wide, slow, satisfied grin and giggle. I don't know why but after coming I just feel like giggling. He gives me a gentle smack and asks if I am going to go to sleep, but it is still early and I can feel the extra caffeine from the coffee still singing in my veins.

"No, not for a while."

And after I am upstairs, he growls at me this funny thing, "You need to clean your dildo." For some reason that totally cracked me up... but then after an intense scene, anything seems funny to me. I giggled the whole time I washed it off.

And this morning, it was more of the same, bad weather and oil spills, but after last night, it doesn't seem so depressing.