by Rosenrot
I wait.
The first stroke from the belt comes without warning and it FUCKING HURTS. Knocks the wind out of me.
I want more.
"One, Sir".
The punishment is more severe with each stroke. I start to feel weird. Strung out… as if in a dream… it's a good weird.
I am utterly his.
The fifth stroke jolts me back to reality rather viciously. Before I know it, the shout is out of my mouth.
"FUCK!"
He stops. Pauses. Says "What was that?".
Scared again. "I'm sorry. Five, Sir".
"You will be punished with an extra stroke for that impudence". And stroke six comes down so hard that it almost makes my ears ring. I manage to get the words out… "Six, Sir".
There is one more stroke to come and it's going to be a hard one. I start giggling. I have no idea why. Mental confusion, being taken to the limit physically… I don't know.
He is not pleased. "I'm sorry- it's nerves". The belt hits me hard in my bruised, sore buttocks. I want to say "Seven, Sir" but I can't because I'm still giggling. God knows why. The pain is intense.
Again the belt comes down on me. The most punishing stroke so far. It's as though it hits the words out of me. "Eight, Sir". And I'm not giggling.
There is at least one more stroke to come. I want it very much.
The ninth stroke makes my knees buckle. I don't fall because my wrists are secured to the hook.
He stands close behind me. I can't wait any more. I can't hold off any more. "Please… please… I need a piss…"
He tells me I have two choices -- I can piss as I stand there, tied, or I can go to the bathroom -- and piss as he watches.
Picking the lesser of two evils, I allow him to lead me to the bathroom. With the ropes still dangling from my wrists, I sit on the toilet. He crouches in front of me, facing me, and looks me in the eye. Of course I can't let go. In my head I'm shouting "Go away, go away, leave me alone, just for one minute".
Still he holds my gaze. I'm not happy. I stare back. And then that gentle but menacing voice again.
"Such pretty eyes…. and such defiance in them".
Yes, he's read my eyes correctly. I am angry. Can't piss with him watching me, however hard I try… can't go any longer without a piss. Nevertheless I lower my gaze.
An eternity - or ten seconds - later, he tells me to look at him. He looks, quite kindly, into my eyes, and gently asks "How close are you to saying the word?".
For some reason that makes me angrier. I try not to show it. I hold his stare. Quietly, pointedly, defiantly, I say "Not close". And his eyes soften. He asks me what I want. I tell him I want to be left alone for one minute. To my astonishment he says "I will allow that" and he leaves the room.
As I piss, feeling a lot of the tension leaving my body, I wonder if I can walk back into the bedroom and announce that the night I over. That I've had enough.
But I don't want to. I don't want it to stop.
As soon as I walk back into the bedroom he tells me to lie on my back on the bed. I obey and again he stretches out my arms and ties my writs securely to the bedposts. Then I hear clanking and he's got a long metal pole in his hands. He forces my legs apart roughly, until my ankles are near the corners of the bed.
It is a spreader. He secures my ankles to it. There's nothing I can do now. I can't move my arms or lift my body off the bed. I can't close my legs. I am utterly exposed and at his mercy.
Slowly, standing at the foot of the bed, admiring the sight he has created on the bed, he undresses.
There is a cold, dirty, contemptuous look in his eye. A look that tells me he's going to use my body as a THING. It makes me feel very uncomfortable and it makes my mind spin, trying to imagine what's coming next and whether I'll be able to cope with it.
His cock is erect and looks even bigger than its seven-and-a-half inches. Fat and hard and scary and……. Oh fuck, I just want it buried deep inside my cunt. I want it really badly.
But he doesn't put it anywhere near my cunt. He straddles my shoulders and, roughly, he forces it into my mouth. Fucks my mouth, hard and fast, with his full length. Normally I love to deep-throat him. But that's when I can control the speed and the angle and when I can pull back when I need to. Lying on my back, unable to move, with his cock being shoved hard into my throat… I can't breathe. I start to panic. Try and snatch bits of air each time he pulls out an inch or so… but he slams back into me too fast. I can't breathe.
The safe word is HELICOPTER.
But with his cock in my throat, and with my body and arms and legs immobilised, I can't speak and I can't stop him.
He carries on fucking my mouth, forcing his cock repeatedly deep into my throat. He pulls out for a split second and I wrench my head to one side, inhale quickly… and I shout it.
HELICOPTER!
He freezes. Moves his hands to the ropes as if to untie them. Breathlessly, urgently, I say "I'm okay. I'm okay…. But I couldn't breathe… it's okay…".
He goes and takes a slug of the iced wine. Comes back to the bed, moves on top of me, and puts his mouth on mine. An icy little dribble of wine escapes his lips and I lick at it… and then I lift my head a fraction and suck the wine through his lips right out of his mouth.
It feels like the most intimate thing I have ever done with this man, and it makes me want to cry. It also makes my clit throb.
He picks up a candle. Holds it over my body for a second, watching my face as I stare at it and try not to flinch and cringe. And then he tips it and the pain as the wax hits my breast, near the nipple, and the intensifying of that pain… I let out a grunt of panic and alarm. He doesn't stop. He punishes my other breast in the same way.
FUCK that hurts. And not in a good way. Not at all in a good way. He can read my reactions but he doesn't stop. He dribbles a trail of wax down my stomach. This is NOT GOOD. It hurts. It's beyond what I can take. Way beyond what I would ever want…. And then a splash of hot wax on my pubic mound, on the bare, soft, sensitive skin there. I daren't protest for fear of more wax. My teeth are gritted so tight, grinding with the pain, that they are creaking inside my head. Then a huge spilling of wax onto the very top of my inner thigh and I scream out, wordlessly, in pain. I can't take this. I can't take any more. I don't have it in me.
He seems to sense I can't go any further. He puts the candle back down and I experience the biggest flood of relief I have felt all night.
His body moves down the bed. I think he's going to let me have a break. So it comes as a surprise when I feel his fingers on my clit, pulling and rubbing its length as if it were a miniature cock. My response is instant. I can't stop myself from groaning rhythmically as he pulls on my clit. I had got to the point where I was convinced he wasn't going to touch me sexually at all tonight - and the surprise and the intensity of the sensation are overwhelming. Before I can really take in what's happening, his fingers are shoved inside my cunt. Three fingers? Four? He has big hands. I am stretched tight around his fingers and, just as he puts his mouth on my clit and sucks on it rhythmically, he starts fucking my cunt with his hand. He punishes my cunt, stretching it as far as it will stretch and then a little more. Finger-fucks me roughly, urgently… and after what can only be a few seconds, my orgasm builds fast and deep and it hits me like a ton of bricks. Every cell, every part of my body, comes and comes HARD and doesn't stop coming for what feels like forever. He finger-fucks and sucks until I scream at him to stop. I can't take any more. The intensity, the sensitivity, becomes unbearable.
I am still reeling from the orgasm when I realise his body is next to mine… his head is next to mine. And he puts his arms right round me and he hugs me to him and squeezes me tight... and, softly, warmly, into my ear, he mutters…"It's all over. It's over. The nasty man's gone. It's me. It's Paul. It's Paul. You can cry or laugh or talk -- you can do whatever you need to do".
He unties my wrists.
I cling to him. I do want to cry and I do want t
o laugh. I don't want to talk. Not yet. Mostly I just want him -- Paul -- to hold me tight. And he does hold me tight. And I'm so glad to be with my friend, to be being held by my friend, to feel safe and warm… I am a little tearful, but I feel safe and cared for and I know that everything is okay and that everything will be okay too. Mostly I feel grateful.
Epilogue
The bruises on my buttocks, two of which were very obviously shaped like the end of a belt, don't fade at all for several days, and are still visible over a week later.
As I write this, two weeks to the day after that night, all I can really think about is how much I want some new belt-shaped bruises there.
You might say I'm a convert.