by J. A. Bailey
Suddenly he grasped her by the back of the neck with his left hand and pulled her down onto his knee with a thud before placing his arm down the middle of her back, elbow between her shoulder blades. Her hard nipples rubbed along the coarse wool of his trousers. She yelped and tried to look up at him but couldn’t. His right hand squeezed her bottom, kneading and stroking the smooth pale cool skin.
“You will receive six blows, during which you will remain silent. Should you fail to remain silent, I will continue until I have received my six silent blows.”
He lifted her hand away and her breathing hitched, trying to take in what he had just said.
Crack.
She heard the thunder crack of his hand against her flesh far before she felt it but in her shock, she bellowed across the room. Then the bloom of pain began. A flash of angry white lacerating pain that brought tears to her eyes and her shriek gave way to a mewling cry as the heat and pain flashed across her buttock. Bartoli said nothing, merely resting his large hand on her buttock, allowing the heat of his hand and the heat of her buttocks to mingle.
Crack.
It was somehow worse knowing that it was coming. She stiffened and the blow came, making her squeal and every nerve in her backside sting. When his hand arose again, she steadied herself, tightening every muscle in readiness for the assault.
“Not good enough, slave,” he growled. “I have not had a single silent stroke.”
Crack.
Fire flew through her buttocks with all the speed and vividness of a thunderbolt. Each blow was so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes as her skin burned. She started to become aware of a neediness, deeper than she had known or acknowledged for many years. Her pussy twitched and convulsed, slick with juices.
Crack.
She didn’t know how much she could take before she cried out again. Her buttocks were flaring and she could feel their fiery glow. Bartoli flexed his hand whilst staring intently at her flamed and bruised buttocks. Animalistic pants came from her and her need scented the air around them. He gently parted her cheeks whilst pushing her down just a little further, exposing her cunt further. The cool air rushed against her wet lips, so hot and full and begging for attention.
“What do we have here.”
Bartoli paused, taking his index finger and delicately stroking her lips, collecting strings of honey from her but studiously avoiding her clit. Emmeline moaned with barely controlled need.
“It would appear that you are not entirely impervious to discipline, Ms Blanc.”
She could hear him sucking his finger clean, carefully and deliberately. Her legs trembled against his and she fought the urge to buck into him. His finger had been such soft and exquisite sensation on her already throbbing sex. She could think of nothing but his tongue sliding along her folds and flicking over her clit over and over and she whimpered as her body clenched in delight at the thought. Squirming on his lap, she became very aware that his cock was hard and growing, pressing into her side. Impervious indeed, Mssr Bartoli...
“Pain and pleasure. Not as straightforward as some people would have you imagine. But discipline in its essence is the control, to enable one to postpone taking one's pleasure immediately for a greater reward later. To train now when one does not wish to train. To labour past the point of comfort and into outright pain in the search for the greater achievement.”
Crack.
His hand landed directly onto her pussy and it took all her control not to scream. She keened quietly, the pleasure and the pain bubbling within her, becoming ever more difficult to separate.
Crack.
A sharp inhalation and a slower exhalation. Was this what she had always needed, or maybe never needed? All her adult life, she had felt at a loss, was unsure if she was doing the right thing, if she wanted what she thought she wanted. A flood of emotion overwhelmed her and unbidden tears flooded her eyes.
Crack.
She bounced on his knee from the impact of the blow on her pussy and she flung her head back against his elbow. She knew now. She knew that she needed this. She needed the pain that cleansed her of so many years of worry and disappointment and expectation. She needed his direction. She needed his sexual attention, needed the physical sensation, whether it be a finger pressing her g spot or the glorious thundering pain of his blows upon her flesh.
Crack.
Her thighs were now wet with juice and his damp hand slapped with ever increasing volume across her flesh. She gave a cry, not of pain or even pleasure but of release, a primal cry of hurt relinquished.
“Tsk, slave, that should have been your last one.”
Emmeline let her head down towards the floor, tear drops flowing up her heated face and into her hair.
“Forgive me, Master. You must continue with my punishment. I accept an additional blow,” she stuttered.
He snorted. “Such an arrogant slave to tell me what I will and won’t do. You imagine you will control what I do?”
“No, no, Mssr Bartoli! I’m sorry!”
“Sorry, Master!” he bellowed.
“Ye— Sorry, Master.”
In a frenzy, he picked her up, marched to the piano and threw her onto the piano lid, her sweaty limbs leaving streaks across the polished surface. Quick as a viper, he pinned her down on her back, arms held reached out from her body before he bit down firmly on her nipple, twisting his head like a puppy with a chew toy. She howled and grunted, the action sending an electric current between her nipples and her clit that made her insides clench.
He raised his head and claimed her mouth with his, with a fury that crushed the breath from her body before he released her with a gasp.
“Turn over,” he barked and she rolled over immediately, laid on her belly with her hands by her sides. He took hold of each buttock and smoothed them, brushing his palms across the skin. His expression was impassive but she could see from his reflection that his eyes glowed with excitement and the flush and sweat on his cheeks made it quite clear that he was finding this as much of a turn on as she did.
His thumbs had slipped between her buttocks and were pulling her cheeks apart. The cool air rushed again against her wetness and bruised skin, a deep chill that only emphasised her heat. He leaned in and smelled the air, her arousal blending with his aftershave before he leaned in and pressed his face into her crevice.
The mingling of her smell with the scent of his aftershave was magical and she wished she could afford a bottle of whatever he was wearing. She could scent her pillow... add a tiny drop to her vibrator.
Bristle rubbed against her tender skin and she shrieked at the sensation as his tongue snaked into her folds, caressing her deeply. Lapping deeply at her core, she felt the tell-tale tremors that she was about to explode on a scale she had never experienced before. His tongue was unrelenting, alternating between flicking at her nub and stabbing deeply into her. She was swimming in pleasure, waves of warmth and need and tension flooding over her.
His thumbs started to run up and down her juicy slit, massaging her, lubing her, adding to her intense pleasure and he yanked her by the buttocks closer to him. The pressure on her aching buttocks was intense and a flush of blood ran to her groin. He positioned both of his thumbs at her anus and a sudden, fearful realisation came to her.
“Master, please don’t put anything there! I’ve never done anything there! No, it’ll hurt!”
With no further hesitation, he rammed both wet thumbs into her anus. She came with a thundering cry that reverberated around every mirror in the room. Her anus, already much too full and tight, clenched and tried to force out the intruding thumbs whilst her sex spasmed frantically, trying desperately to hold onto the tongue that gave such pleasure. She gripped onto the piano to steady herself whilst her orgasm swept through her, trying not to kick her legs. Her skin flushed and sweated as her body became soft and pliant, all tension released. Rolling onto her back, she felt as though she had been remade from soft fresh clay and she glowed with happin
ess as she gazed at her master. He looked at her gently, his member standing very much to attention, crushed in his trousers.
“Kneel on the piano stool and face away from me.”
Still dazed, Emmeline obeyed unthinkingly. She scrambled off the piano as fast as she could, wincing as she put pressure onto her reddened skin and skipped across the room to the stool. She assumed the position, wondering at herself and her reactions. She had only known the comforts of her toys, had never orgasmed with another person—male or female—and yet here she was, naked but for her ballet shoes strapped to her ankles, prone over a piano stool waiting for a man she referred to as master. She was almost embarrassed at just how aroused she was; her thighs were now slick and wet with her juices.
He advanced slowly, entranced by her body and the contrast between the red and white skin, her muscular, elegant, athletic, feminine, graceful body, so powerful and yet now prone and submitting to his whims. Her breasts swung beneath her, plump and pert. There was no mistaking the need in his eyes and she delighted in it, her grin pushing against her ears. She shuffled, peeling her sweaty knees from the slippery plastic coated piano stool and wiggling at him with a “come hither” look in her eyes. He raised an arch eyebrow and smiled wryly.
“The miracles of even a little discipline on an errant child, no?”
With a suddenness that caught her unaware, he smacked her bruised arse hard with his open hand and she threw her head back into a wail. In an instant, his left hand was twisted into her hair and she could hear the purr of a zip and the soft flumpf of falling trousers. His grip was firm and her scalp burned at the tightness of his grip.
“Ask me for permission to receive my cock.”
She needed no encouragement. “Master, please master, dear master, please may I receive your cock?”
He leaned over, his shaft brushing against her back. “Where do you want my cock, slut?”
“Master, please put it in my... in me.”
“Into your what, slut?”
Emmeline cringed. How was she supposed to say what she meant? She could barely think straight, panting with need for Bartoli and yet how could she bring herself to say it.
“Into my down there....” she whispered meekly.
“Into where? I cannot hear you, little slave,” he growled, pulling her head back farther and making her cry out. “Shall I put it into your whore’s cunt? Your slutty little mouth? Your wanton little arsehole?”
“No! Master, please, fuck me in my slutty cunt! I beg you, please I need you to fuck my cheap whorey cunt. I need it so much.”
Evidently pleased, he released his grip slightly on her hair and she felt the smooth head of his cock sliding up and down her folds. Emmeline gave a sweet little cry of appreciation. Up and down, grazing her clit, drawing ever throatier cries from her.
“Please, Master, I need to be filled...”
“Slave. You exist to please me. This selfish display is unbecoming,” he snarled.
She felt his head resting snugly as her entrance, hot to the touch against her juicy skin. It fit so perfectly, so snug and she mewled. She wanted nothing more than to push back onto him, to end his teasing and she knew her resolve would not last much longer. Her sex throbbed and twitched, as though it was performing its own magic ritual to draw in Bartoli and the fulfilment and relief that only he could bring. Still he paused.
“Understand, slave. Your body is mine. Mine to fuck, mine to beat, mine to mould into what I choose.”
With a sudden push, she was full. He bottomed out in one stroke and as if from a distance she heard both his deep groan and her own wail. Her pussy, underused for so long, ached at the sudden intrusion but clenched at his cock.
“You are so tight, so very tight,” he grunted with real effort.
He gripped her hips hard and held his position for what felt like moments, hours, days, before pulling himself out to the head, his ridges still held within her and she crooned for its return. In he thrust again, his swollen cock stretching her almost to the point of pain. Skin slapped against skin, his balls rocking against her mound with each stroke.
He hammered at her, one hand twisting deeper into her hair and the other sliding around her front, cupping her breasts before stroking her nipples. Between his fingers, he crushed the bruised nubs, drawing a squeal from her. The pain was as sharp as mint and resounded through her torso, settling in her pussy via a backflip in her stomach. She tightened around him as she took him deep, her eyes squeezed tight.
“Open your eyes.”
Her eyes snapped open and she groaned as her pussy clenched around him again. His breaths became harsh as her pussy rippled towards climax and she came suddenly, giving a muffled scream as her body went rigid with a blinding release. She tensed and shuddered as pleasure flooded her body.
With a grunt, he pumped his seed into her spasming cunt, coating her with his cum, drawing her climax out into a long and lingering warmth. Breathing heavily, his cock slipped from her and she gave a sigh of disappointment. A bead of cum dribbled down her leg and he released her hips.
He turned around and she watched him in the mirrors as he unlinked his cufflinks and pulled his silk tie through his collar. When his shirt came off, she had to restrain herself from a very appreciative whistle. Wiry and muscular, her eyes involuntarily slid down his chest hair to his stomach and to his cock.
His swollen cock was clearly far from satisfied.
“Stand with your back to the barre and kneel.”
She frowned but stood before the barre as instructed before dropping her head with her hands behind her back. Carefully, elegantly, she kneeled.
“I knew when I first saw you that you were a natural." He sounded proud. It made her want to hug herself with pleasure.
“Open your thighs.”
Emmeline coaxed her thighs apart.
“Chin up, eyes down.”
She looked into the mirror. She had to admit, she looked incredible. Her breasts were thrust outwards with thighs stretched wide and her cunt exposed, ready to be used. Oh god, if only he could get behind her like this. He kneeled down and pressed his lips against hers.
“Good. Every movement you make in future should be as elegant and sexual as this.”
Without warning, he leaned across and grabbed her hands. With his tie, he bound them before yanking her arms up to the barre. She yelped as her body was forced forwards, her knees pressed behind her against the mirror. Her entire body weight borne by her arms and a wriggle at her silken bindings revealed what she already knew—she was held tight. The barre was designed to take the weight of nearly fifty dancers. One bound ballerina would be no problem at all. Her shoulder blades pressed together, forcing her breasts out. She was suspended and helpless.
Arching her head up, she came face to face with his now fully hard cock, within tantalising reach. She wished she could curl her hands around him, touch him, run her fingers over his balls but instead he held his cock and rubbed it over her lips. Her saliva and his sweet pre-cum mingled on her lips as he moistened his velvet tip.
“Open.”
She opened her mouth and he pushed his cock between her lips, the soft head grazing her teeth. The tang of him mingled with the sweet-tart taste of her own pleasure and coated her tongue.
“Wider.”
She let her jaw open farther and with his fingers delved into her hair, he worked his cock in, ramming it against the back of her throat. She gagged but a glance at her Master’s face encouraged her and she continued to take him as far back as she could, coughing as he pounded her face harder and faster. Her head swung backwards, pushing her suspended body up as he fucked her mouth like a juicy, dripping cunt. Her spit coated him and dribbled to the floor but Emmeline was intent on giving her new master as much pleasure as possible, losing herself in his groans. She moaned and he gasped as her throat vibrated around his cock. His face contorted with pleasure and his cock tensed. A low moan arose from Bartoli’s chest and he gripped at her head as
he prodded the back of her throat.
“Keep your mouth open.”
Bartoli pulled back and fisted his erection over her, closing his eyes and releasing a low moan as his jizz spurted out, splattering into her open mouth, on her cheeks, into her hair and onto her chest. She gasped and opened her mouth wider, keen to catch all his precious cum.
Bartoli smirked at her expression as she gulped down what cum she had caught in her mouth before he leaned over her, his plump but softening cock waggling in her face as he untied her, one hand at a time to the floor.
“Stand.”
Emmeline came to her feet carefully, trembling legs threatening to give way beneath her. She clasped her hands behind her and turned her toes into the third position, her arms humming with relief and sensation as the blood returned to them.
He slid his gaze over her, following the translucent stripes and drips on her skin with the look of a man pleased with his work.
“Face the barre.”
Without a word, she spun on her toes, placing her hands on the barre.
"Penchee."
Extending her left leg behind her, she pointed her left toe behind her to the ceiling and swung her right arm upwards to meet it. It was a motion she had done so many times before but today, naked, the air conditioning sending cool chills across her jizz splattered breasts and her wet exposed cunt, it felt different. Easier in fact. Like her orgasms had loosened her muscle fibres, allowing her the extra inch stretch. She allowed her head to roll backwards and rested in the position.
"Good girl. I knew you had a natural ability."
His fingers lightly grazed her exposed cunt and her leg trembled, her mouth opened in want.
"No, little one. Control. Elegance. Awareness of your body. Focus on the move. Relaxed. Still."
His fingers worked her cunt and she shut her eyes as need enveloped her. His fingers strayed to her arsehole, coating it in her juices and her eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling, not daring to look down. He lingered there, carefully stroking more juices there, her puckered hole still tightly closed.