by Fulani
Even so, the idea of allowing herself to be examined quite so clinically was adding to her levels of anxiety. And anticipation. And, she had to admit, to her excitement.
Leo was quick, expert. Before she even realised what he’d done, there was rope around her body, looped under her breasts and then over them, and holding her arms to her sides. When he pulled on the rope she staggered back against him, yelping softly. He took that slight exhalation as an opportunity to pull the ropes tighter and place her hands behind her back. He didn’t tie her wrists; the ropes went around her forearms and were cinched tight, but of course she was unable to move her upper arms outwards to free herself.
‘You know the thing about safewords?’
Ruth shook her head. Wasn’t following his words, because the ropes were creating interesting, slightly conflicting sensations of being restrained and somehow, therefore, able to be freer in herself.
‘The idea of a safeword is, you can say anything you like to me, ask me to take the ropes off, plead with me, shout at me, and I won’t do it because that’s part of the whole rope play thing. But if you’re freaked out, one word, usually “Red”, means the scene stops dead and the ropes come off. You understand? You’re happy with “Red” as a safeword?’
She nodded, seeing the purpose of it, wondering how far he was going to push her. But she was distracted because the ropes were continuing their travels around her body. They went over her shoulders and down between her breasts, pinching the ropes together above and below the breasts to create more pressure there. And then they returned over her shoulders, tied somewhere at her upper back – he moved her hair gently out of the way – and were fed between her arms and ribs, and around the earlier loops that encircled her upper arms and breasts.
‘Believe it or not, this is a safety thing. It stops the turns around the body moving upwards to end up on your neck.’
The pressure of the ropes around her was … curious. She was now at his mercy and that was definitely a turn-on. Her knees shook like they hadn’t done since she was a teenager. Her inclination was to go down on her knees, expecting to receive his cock into her warm mouth and work on it with that pierced tongue.
‘Oh, not yet,’ he said reprovingly, holding her upright. ‘I haven’t finished.’
The next rope went around her waist, pulled tight, and the end fed down between her legs. Leo took some time working out the exact point at which he wanted to put a knot in the rope so it sat precisely against her clit. The long end of the rope seemed to feed back over the waist rope, and only then did he guide her down to a kneeling position. And used the end of the rope to tie her ankles together.
‘You’ll find,’ he remarked casually, ‘that if you rock back and forth – as you would if you were giving a blowjob – the knot on your clit will tighten and relax, tighten and relax. It will stimulate you gradually. Rope is often about building sensation slowly.’
It was true. The knot did press more determinedly into her clit as she moved, while the tight ropes around her breasts definitely made her hot and bothered.
‘Hmm … at the same time, we can accelerate matters …’
Clothes pegs. One on each nipple, and one on each of her labia. Tight enough to be a severe sensation, not so tight they were actually painful. Ruth was conscious of a flush spreading slowly across her chest, neck, face, as she grew more excited.
The question that began to grow in her mind was whether she’d prefer his cock in her mouth or her pussy. To start with. An image fluoresced in her brain: his cock in her mouth, huge and sloppy with her own juices after being fucked. She gasped involuntarily.
‘Blindfold?’
Ruth looked up at him, startled by the question.
‘You’re looking a little lost in your own thoughts. Sometimes a blindfold helps.’
She nodded mutely.
Found herself lost in the embrace of darkness. In a literal sense, because she couldn’t see, but maybe in a metaphorical sense as well. The blindfold seemed to magnify every sensation. Then Ruth discovered her mouth was open, waiting and wanting to receive cock.
A soft, low chuckle. ‘I think you might enjoy a gag as well.’
She received the ballgag, allowed it to be secured in place, found the inability to use her mouth and the pull of the strap against the back of her neck took already-intense feelings and pushed them hard into the stratosphere. She rocked back and forth, feeling the knot on her clit, the pegs on tender skin, excitement bottled, contained, fizzing inside the ropes. Pressure building. She was at the brink of orgasm and about to explode.
When Leo began to play with the pegs, bouncing and twisting them gently, her entire body felt like a hair trigger. Ruth no longer knew or cared where she was or what he was doing. If he even so much as breathed on her, the additional sensation would be enough to detonate the climax.
He didn’t breathe on her. What he did was loosen the rope and the knot pressing against her engorged and ravenous clit, take yet another peg and clamp it right there.
She detonated. And kept on coming, hard, for longer than she’d ever known before.
At some point he took her, laid her gently on the bed. She curled into a foetal position, not caring that the pegs on her labia and clit were pulling cruelly, not caring about anything. Still in the moment. On a high that felt like some kind of drug. Shaking and shivering with it.
Eventually his soft voice in her ear broke through her consciousness.
‘You may not have realised it but you moan and whimper beautifully with the gag in. I would remove it now, except what I’m going to do will probably make you scream.’
What he did was remove the pegs. The shock of blood returning to pinched flesh was instant, incandescent, agonizing. Yet within a couple of seconds, the adrenaline rush kicked in, her mind was spinning out and she was no longer able to distinguish between pain and pleasure. Ruth did indeed scream through the gag, but the complicated sensations took her straight back to the brink of orgasm at the same time. She squirmed on the bed, trying to coax his fingers to press against her clit. Just a little more … a little more …
He left her unfulfilled. Empty. Hollow. Needy.
He removed the gag, then the blindfold. Despite the soft lighting, the room felt almost unbearably bright. He seemed in no hurry to take off the ropes.
‘How are you feeling?’ Solicitous, caring.
Ruth’s answer was to squirm next to him on the bed, putting her head in his lap. Her lips sought the crotch of his jeans.
He didn’t help her. Didn’t unzip his fly and pull his cock out. Instead, one hand rested gently on her hip while the fingers of his other hand ran gently through her hair, until at last he balled them into a fist, holding a handful of her long black locks. He twisted his fist until her head had to follow the direction of the pressure he exerted. She found herself looking up into his eyes.
‘If you want to give me a blowjob,’ he said, ‘you can certainly ask permission and I’ll probably grant it. But you may remember, earlier, I gave you a challenge. In the bar, I told you I’d give you ten strokes of a cane for every coin that fell to the floor. And one fell. Ten strokes. I also told you it was your choice whether to accept the challenge as real and take the punishment. If you do accept it, now would be an appropriate time, before you ask permission to suck me.’
A sense of delicious horror flooded Ruth’s body, shocking every part of her. The back of her brain, her nipples, her clit, even her big toes felt as though an electrical charge was being applied to them. She shivered. Her options seemed to appear, almost like a menu, before her eyes.
She could ask permission to suck his cock. No man, ever, had insisted she do that. They’d always been grateful when her actions made it plain she wanted to do it. They’d always accepted instantly. They’d mostly taken it for about two minutes before deciding they’d much rather bury their cock in her pussy. And that had been the plan in her head. The idea of having to voice her desire, and that possibly he’
d just leave the ropes on and not fuck her pussy, seemed wrong. Challenging.
She could ask him to punish her. It wasn’t like he was saying ‘Now I’m going to punish you.’ It wasn’t like she had no choice. She could laugh it off, or ignore it. Or she could formally request him to inflict pain on her. That was another thing completely beyond any previous experience she’d had.
Or she could ask to be punished and then ask to suck him.
Or, she remembered, he’d given her a safeword at the very beginning of the scene. She could say “Red” and the whole game, the entire scenario, would stop instantly.
Ruth had absolutely no idea how much the cane would hurt. She’d never been caned. At the same time, she’d been taken to such a pitch – especially with the first orgasm, the denial of a second, and the challenge of the whole situation – that she didn’t much care any more.
‘You can cane me if you like,’ she whispered.
‘I’m sure you’ve worked out I would like it,’ Leo replied. ‘But that wasn’t the question. Do you want it? Is it your desire to be caned? Do you want to tell me it’s your wish, and ask me politely to thrash your arse?’
Ruth felt keyed-up, charged. This was a place on her personal sexual map that she’d never been before, and the idea of asking to be thrashed, expressing it as a personal desire, seemed way beyond surreal. Why would anybody ask to be thrashed, anyway?
And a phrase suddenly came to her, floating across the front of her brain: something she quoted at people she trained, when she was daring them to do something they’d never done before and get them to see things in a new way.
‘A Zen master once said that if you see a path that’s easy and a path that’s difficult, you should take the difficult path because the easy one probably doesn’t go anywhere. So yes, what the hell – please, thrash my arse? I’ll take the punishment. I wish it.’
Leo smiled.
It wasn’t a case of her having said the right thing, Ruth felt, but his pleasure at having been able to bring her to this headspace. Almost as if it was a ritual initiation.
Which, in a way, it was.
He positioned her kneeling on the bed, still in bondage, still with her arms behind her, the weight of her body and breasts resting on piled-up pillows.
‘I can gag you again, but it wouldn’t be so interesting. If you don’t want the gag, then try not to yell with each stroke. And count the strokes for me, one to ten. If you don’t count, it won’t count.’
‘No gag. I’ll count.’
She didn’t even see the cane he’d chosen to use on her. Later, it turned out that was a good thing. It was a whippy item in black, a couple of feet long and made of something like carbon fibre. It looked entirely business-like and wicked, more hi-tech than traditional schoolmaster, and for that reason alone it would probably have freaked her out.
The first strike across her buttocks, right across the centre of their rounded profile, was beyond any level of pain Ruth had expected. How could that be, she wondered abstractly, when she’d had no real expectations? Clearly she’d had some unconscious, kinaesthetic memory of what a cane should feel like, based on adolescent play with wet towels in the shower … But maybe it hurt more this time because she was in bondage and couldn’t anticipate or escape the blow.
‘Owwww! Fuck!’ She breathed hard, trying to recover herself. She was sure her arse would be striped red, though at the same time she was conscious of a red flush suddenly appearing on her face.
‘One, sir,’ she conceded. Sir? Leo hadn’t instructed her to call him that. Why had she added the word?
There was no time to even consider it because the second strike drilled through her entire body. She gasped, then shook with a kind of afterglow as the pain echoed and reverberated through her.
He waited patently.
‘Two, sir.’ Eventually.
He folded the duvet back so a corner of it was under her face. ‘If it helps you stay quiet,’ he said, ‘you can chew on the fabric.’
The third blow landed low on her arse, only an inch or so from her clit, and lightly catching the outer fold of her labia. She didn’t even yelp: was shocked into silence, and the tears that welled in her eyes also took her by surprise.
‘Three, sir.’ Quietly, a distinct quaver to her voice. How the hell was she going to reach “ten”?
Strangely, though, after the fifth stroke the impacts seemed lighter. She was sure as hell Leo wasn’t being gentler. Her body, independently of her mind, seemed to learn how to cope; the release of endorphins even made her feel high. Again. She cried, but the tears were sweet rather than bitter.
After ‘Ten, sir,’ she stayed in position, immobile, half-expecting him to enter her doggy style.
He didn’t, of course. Despite Ruth’s awareness of her open, exposed pussy and the juices beginning to leak from it. After a few seconds she remembered: he was waiting to see if she’d ask to suck him. She had to compose herself, take deep breaths.
‘Please, sir, thank you for my punishment. May I suck your cock now?’
It was hard to get the words out. They expressed something she’d never, in her whole life, expected she’d want or need to express. She’d entered into an emotional world that was completely alien, but she was fast learning its language and customs.
Gently but firmly, with one hand still in her hair and the other exerting pressure on the sweet spot just above her clit, Leo indicated Ruth should move off the bed to kneel on the floor. With her arms still tied, it was a difficult manoeuvre but she managed it. And she was surprised – but why? – at quite how much her arse stung as the skin there stretched with the movement of her legs.
Leo finally consented to release his cock from the fly of his jeans. It sprung out, slapping her lips. There was length to it, an average girth, a slight upward curve. Adjusting his jeans, he freed his balls as well. And finally releasing her hair, he allowed her to work on the cock the way she wanted to.
She started with the head and pelmet, licking around them, being rewarded by their expansion – she could feel the increased tension in the skin as her tongue moved over it. She took the head in her mouth, moved her lips down the shaft, rocked back and forth until she had a comfortable mouthful. Then began to push, until it was more than a comfortable length, with the tip resting against her uvula and tonsils. She wished her hands were free: if he’d untied her she could massage his balls at the same time.
‘Hmm…’ He hooked fingers around the ropes that still encircled her breasts. ‘You’re certainly right about the increased sensation from the tongue piercing. But I can make a suggestion.’
Ruth looked up, puzzled yet unable to change her facial expression due to the large object in her mouth.
‘You’re sucking me as though you expect at some point I’m going to get excited enough to take my dick out of your mouth and put it in your pussy. And I assure you, it’s not going to happen. Not yet, anyway. You asked to suck me and I will come in your mouth. Probably across your face as well. Put your tongue out as far as it will go; that frees up space inside your mouth. It means you’ll be able to take my entire length, which I suspect you find a daunting prospect. And it means that when you do take my entire length, your tongue will be up against my balls.’
She followed the instruction obediently. It was true, she could take more of his cock, and while he was pushing the limits of her capacity – her oral capacity, anyway – he was gentle enough that she had time to consciously relax the muscles of her throat. And breathe without gagging.
It wasn’t long before what was in Ruth’s mouth had expanded even more. She had to concentrate, keeping her throat open, the tip of her tongue against his shaved balls, and trying to focus on shallow breaths at the same time. She was rewarded, however, by Leo’s own increasingly harsh breaths – and the vigour with which he pushed her to and then beyond what she’d thought was possible to accept. His hand was in her hair again, controlling her movement, controlling the depth of his cock, forcin
g her to surrender herself to the experience.
It was a sweet surrender.
He came in her mouth, as promised. It was a huge, sticky flood, and because he didn’t withdraw straight away she was forced to swallow. Even so, there was plenty left in her mouth and on his cock when he finally pulled back. She showed him her mouth. He wiped his cock clean against her cheeks.
‘Your eyes are shining,’ Leo said. He sounded amused. ‘Have I turned you into a dirtier slut that you thought you could be?’
Ruth nodded, conscious that semen was dribbling from her lips and she had no place to spit out what remained. She didn’t often swallow, but it seemed appropriate under the circumstances. His come had the usual taste of salt and texture of wallpaper paste, but there were complex overtones of blackcurrant and summer flowers. It seemed odd to think of spunk in the same way she might think of red wine – and yet, in this situation, also entirely natural.
Leo placed her tenderly back on the bed. Bodily reality gradually asserted itself – the feeling there must be hot welts on her arse, the ability to breathe deeply, the scent of Leo in her nostrils, the dried streaks of spunk on her face. And also the knowledge that she was still restrained, arms trapped in her ropes and with pressure still being exerted on her breasts.
And her pussy still jumping, wanting more.
‘What happens now?’ Ruth enquired.
Leo looked down at her, kissed her on the nose.
‘It depends what you want. I’m looking at the way your body’s jumping, all those little reflexes in your stomach and thighs. And I’m wondering if you’re feeling you really need to come, just about now.’
Eye to eye, faces just a few inches apart – though from Ruth’s perspective his face was upside down.
She frowned. ‘But you’ve just … I mean, how can you …? That quickly?’