by Aran Ashe
"Your moistness is very much to your Captain's liking. But you shall make more moistness yet, before the two of us are finished." Anya was too ashamed to look at him. "Now, you shall spread your body on the bed, as your Captain has instructed," he whispered, and he kissed her, drawing her defenceless lips within his mouth, to suck upon their fullness. He held her chin and studied her face. "Your Captain wishes to punish you, for your disobedience." Anya's upper lip began to tremble. She opened her mouth; she wanted to protest, to beg him not to do it.
"No," he placed his forefinger across her lips to seal them. "Do not speak ... except to offer yourself, and to thank me." His eyebrows raised; the backs of his fingers stroked patiently up and down across the smoothness of her belly. He waited.
"I ... I th ..." She was shaking, but she could not say it, she could not agree to this, when she was so afraid of what he might do to her, when she had no way of knowing how severe this punishment might turn out to be. "Please, do not ..." her eyes were cast down and to the side, in innocence and fear. "Do not punish me," she begged him very weakly, for she knew it was in vain.
The Captain's gaze did not falter. "Turn around," he said. She was so frightened. She did not want to turn her back to him - with him in so stern a mood - not now that she had disobeyed him a second time. "Put your hands behind your head."
Anya felt the chain of gold about her waist being moved up her back, and then up her front, by turns. He was edging it up her body; the chain tightened against her as it encircled her ribs and moved up, until it was pushing against the underjoin of her breasts and the links were pressed into that very tender flesh. The Captain forced the chain so far up Anya's back that her breasts were lifted up, away from her body, and then she was forced up on her toes. One hand was used to hold the chain, pushed up between her shoulderblades, whilst the other hand was smoothed very firmly up her belly, up and underneath her arms, then up and down across those rubbery, lifted, pushed-out nipples, now rippled by his fingers, until that rubber flesh had hardened to his satisfaction.
"Now, tell me I may punish you, in the way that I deem fit," he commanded, softly in her ear. And in this manner, playing with her nipples, then making her push out her belly and open her thighs again so he could touch her, play with her between the legs, and make her drip whilst her breasts were held up for his pleasure in that sling of gold, and she was kept lifted up on her toes; in this fashion, he procured that slave's abasement. Although she wanted him to throw her down upon the straw, he would not permit her that deliverance from her shame. She had to walk that length of floor unaided, in submission, and - he would not direct her - she herself had to select the bed of her own degradation and then, worst of all, spread herself in the manner which she deemed appropriate to a punishment, the style of which remained as yet unspecified.
Anya lay on her back, along the bed, in the centre of the room; the softened daylight kissed the roundness of her breasts and belly; her arms lay palm-uppermost, limply by her side; her thighs were slightly parted. The straw prickled into the skin of her back; it scraped her legs and scored the tender flesh of Anya's buttocks. The Captain gazed upon her with a look of indecision on his face - she prayed that he had mellowed. Anya's eyelids half closed; her thighs opened slightly more.
"Lie across the bed." His tone was cold and stern. He made her lie with her hands beneath her, underneath her hips. "Put your feet together; point your legs straight up." She was shaking in her defencelessness and exposure to his whim. "Your blackness is enticing ... So delicious to my eyes," he murmured. "The punishment of that blackened pot shall be so sweet, my wayward little doxy." She was frightened to the core. She could not keep her legs still, from the straining, and the fear of what was to come.
"Do not tremble - not yet at least. That pleasure shall come later." He raised his hand as if to strike. Anya watched that hand in terror; he pulled back his sleeve to reveal a band of black leather around his wrist. It was this that the Captain meant to use upon her person; Anya knew it, even before it was unbuckled. Her belly churned as if a living snake were squirming around inside her; the Captain meant to attend to her secret self, not with his hand, but with this strap of degradation. She could not take her eyes from it, as the Captain held it by the buckle and drew the thin and supple tongue of leather out between his fingers. Then she jumped - he smiled. He had smacked it, with a crack, against his palm.
"Spread your legs, but keep them straight." Anya's belly seemed to sink and sink, as she spread herself before him; it felt as if an invisible hand had reached up into her belly to grasp the tail of that slithering snake and now that hand was drawing those reluctant flexures out from between her legs. The Captain stood between her legs and stretched his arm out above her. He draped the tongue of leather down across her skin; he stroked it back and forth across her nipples, until they had turned to hard black stones, then trailed it in a tickling line all the way down her belly, then hesitated. He brushed the cool smooth leather tongue-tip along the crease at the top of her leg, to the left side, then to the right, whilst he watched her expression. Anya swallowed against the delicious taste of tickling, which made her want to close her legs around the tongue and trap it in the crease. The Captain pressed his hand against her right thigh, to stretch that delicate skin to tickling tightness, then raised the strap and quickly smacked it down, at the very top, in that very tender, hollowed spot, just below the crease.
The sudden shock of degradation was worse to her than pain. "Look at me, do not turn away. As you offer your body in its openness, so you shall offer your eyes, in submission to my will." His fingertips brushed softly into that place that he had smacked. "Now." He raised the tongue of leather. She watched, although she did not want to. She wanted to squirm away from it; she felt so exposed and so ashamed and so very, very helpless. There was nothing she could do to make him stop. She was too afraid to plead. That leather fell a thousand times before it finally struck, and each imaginary lash, each plea for mercy that she had not uttered, had sensitized her flesh, so that when at last it happened, her hips jerked uncontrollably upwards from the bed.
"Good." And now, the Captain smacked her left thigh in precisely the same deliciously ticklish hollow, and sent an exquisite shock of pleasure through her body. Again he stroked her with his fingertips, and when he smacked her there once more, she spread her thighs so wide that her belly muscles ached.
"I wish to punish you in your mound of sweet delight," he said, whilst unbuttoning his jacket. "Remain in that position, for the present. I wish to look upon your wantonness." Anya's neck was burning as she was forced to watch him disrobe, whilst her body remained so outspread and offered in this way. She looked upon that form - the cleanly sculpted torso with its dense black wiry hair and that tight flat belly. That heavy, thick cockstem, seen through half closed eyes, was standing very stiffly upwards.
He made her press her feet together, sole to sole. Her hands, reaching from beneath her, had to clasp around her ankles, holding her very taut and very open to his touch. And then he made her twist her hips to the left. He ran his fingers down the exposed side of Anya's mound, before he smacked that firmness twice with the leather strap. Each smack shook her; it sent a ripple of black delight through her mound and deep into her person.
"Raise your hips, squeeze and tighten - push it out. Now." He smacked again. The shock of pleasure transmitted to her tightly squeezed nubbin. He made her twist the other way. "This time you shall squeeze so very tight, and moan." He pressed his fingertips against her leaves, and held them to the side, then smacked the leather tongue quite closely up against them while she squeezed. Anya felt that moan so deep within her belly. And now his fingertips reached between her leaves, exactly at their joining, and caught and rolled that liquid pip, and would not let it go. "No. Shh ..." he whispered. "You shall not make a murmur. Your pleasure shall not come, unless the kissing of this strap elicits that delight ..."
Anya's body was inching at his touch - that controlled
tightness, that very gentle rolling of her tip, massaged with Anya's body oil. He smacked her very systematically around that pushed-out, bursting mound, from the crease towards her leaves, and up around the hood, keeping always too far away from it to precipitate her pleasure, then down the other side, and back again. And at each smack, his fingers were softly squeezed against her nubbin, until her hips began to roll, and Anya caught her breath and moaned. The Captain pushed his finger very hard into her flesh, above the hood, and waited till the pulsing slowed, and then he closed his fingers fully round that nub again, and now each time the strap descended round her mound, and in her tight-stretched crease, he milked that nubbin, until Anya felt she would dissolve in wetness and that tide of pleasurable abeyance would surely drown her in delight. "Ah, please," she cried out softly; the milking stopped. The Captain's cockstem throbbed in slow pulsation; Anya wanted to take its thickness fully to herself, to squeeze herself around its throbbing firmness.
"Tuck your knees up. Spread that soft black pussy." The Captain pushed against her feet until she was doubled and her hips had lifted from the bed, and then he knelt upon the bed in such a way that Anya's back was supported by his upper legs. Her pushed-out mound was level with his navel; his weighted flesh rested in the groove of Anya's bottom; it felt silky smooth against her taut black velvet. "Spread those lips apart and hold them back. I want to see your heat."
Anya was burning to be taken. That fleshy plum was throbbing its silken smoothness up against her ticklishness. Anya wanted that silkiness to penetrate her, right up to the bumps, but the Captain would deny her that fulfilling pleasure. He took the strap and held it closer to the end, so the tongue was now rather shorter, and he used it in that way to smack the inner moistness of her opened leaves, to the left, then to the right, pausing at intervals to bathe her leaves in her own liquid heat - not to assuage that burning prickling in her stimulated flesh, but to make the slapping that much more sharp and telling, by virtue of the wetness of that skin, until Anya's leaves felt so full and puffy that she was sure she would never be able to close her thighs against the pressure of that swelling.
She gasped; the Captain pushed two fingers up inside her melting flesh; she thrust herself against him. "Shh ... stay still. Keep those lips very open; expose that pip and squeeze; squeeze it out and lift." He made her pull her flesh hood back until her nubbin pushed out very far, and then he pressed the heel of his hand into her mound, to stretch the hood back further until the flesh about her nub was stretched to bursting. He had her hold it like that, tightly back, while he raised the strap and waited. "No. You shall not look away," he said, and Anya had to look through misted, liquid eyes; she jerked, and then the smack stabbed like a needle in her nubbin, and the wave of stinging rippled through her sex and up into her belly; and when the stinging lulled, the feeling was as if a hole had been pierced into her navel, and warm oil was being poured inside and was welling downwards, filling her, making her swell with warm, soft numbness. The Captain then withdrew his fingers, dripping with her heat, and worked those fingers about her rigid nubbin, until the final throes of prickling had subsided, and the feeling - that heavy ache of swollen pleasure - had fully seeped back in. And then he put his fingers into her again, this time lifting them to push her nub out harder, and smacked her once more, and then again massaged her, until her breasts now felt so heavy, and so swollen, her belly felt full to bursting point with that oily warmth, and her body slowly seeped - its thick and liquid musk of pleasure welled out, overflowing slowly down her groove, to bathe his silken stem, and drip at last upon the upturned tip of Anya's spine.
He rolled his stem within her groove, oiling it with her musk. He placed his palm against the small of Anya's back; his other hand was pressed against her belly, to steady her, and he lifted her body and turned her over. Her breasts pressed into the straw, which nipped and pinched against those weighted mounds and scratched against her nipples. Her belly was now raised up on his kneeling thighs; his cockstem nudged and probed the curls of Anya's bush.
"Open your body to your Captain," he murmured. His hands slipped underneath her from behind and pressed into the tops of her thighs, close against the creases, to spread her - he lifted up her hips and rocked them, then very gently lowered. Anya felt the swollen plum end catch against her, split her leaves, and lodge. Her sex contracted round the tip and milked it and she heard the Captain's indrawn breath; it made her squeeze again to try to burst that plum within her body. The Captain placed his hands about her waist and pulled her bodily onto his stem, like a glove of liquid flesh. He bedded very deeply in her, until Anya could feel his bag against her, dangling between her legs, almost as if it were a part of her, and his wiry curls, prickling and springing in her groove, and now that cocktip, deep within her, kissing at the mouth of her womb. She arched her back and pushed against him, for she wanted that pleasure deeper yet - she wanted to spread that inner mouth to suck upon that tip, and squeeze it with her sex until it milted so hard that those miltings squirted through into her womb in strands of liquid pleasure. But most of all, she wanted him to touch her on the nubbin, to wet his fingers with her heat, to oil them around that pushed-out tongue of pleasure, to make it palpitate like a tiny, bursting heart, and to milk it in the way that she was milking him; she wanted him to form his fingertips into a tiny mouth and draw that pleasure down and down, until it made her thighs reach back and grip so tightly about his waist that she took his breath away; then he could hold her open, with his thumbs bedded to her creasing joins, and thrust into her, and squeeze her nubbin between two fingertips till she died of that delight.
But the Captain denied her that deliverance to pleasure, and yet he made her body shake. He spread her round, tight buttocks, and made his fingertip whisper through her velvet, very gently, from the point of Anya's spine, moving round and round in a tightly tickling circle, then very softly brushing down against that stretched and tender, very ticklish skin, that soft, soft velvet blackness, in a whispered breath of brushing, gently back and forth, until Anya almost felt that softened tickling up inside her bottom, as if it were stroking very lightly at the wall below the endpoint of her spine. And then his fingertips reached round underneath her and touched her nubbin. Anya rolled her hips and tightened. The touching stopped; the hand extended and stroked her drum-tight belly. That stroking made her tighten once again, and try so very hard to burst that cock inside her; she thrust back against him and she grunted, and she squeezed and held until his tightness felt like throbbing iron. The Captain held her very still, her legs spread very wide, his hands pressed up against the sides of Anya's mound. His breathing sounded very deep and laboured. And then he groaned and gasped and lifted her - the cock slid slowly out against the tightness of her gripping, which did not want to let it go - and those shaking hands lowered Anya slowly down again. She was burning with denial as she felt, amid the half-restrained cries of the man above her, the weighted droplets splashing, very warm and very thickly, low down on her back and merging, with continued dripping, to a pool which slowly cooled and turned her skin to gooseflesh.
The Captain lay beside her with his head pillowed on her back, and while he rested, he played with Anya and toyed with her burning body. "I like a wench in heat," he said. He tickled his fingers down her back and up across her buttocks, then split them, by edging her already outspread thighs even more apart, so her knees were bent and her hips were lifted slightly off the bed. He dipped his fingers in the pool of milt and dripped it in the upturned well of Anya's bottom, repeatedly, until his milt had made a viscid pool of pearly-white within her blackness. Then he very carefully teased apart those globes. "Open," he whispered. Yet Anya found this very difficult to do. "Open," he repeated "Your body shall drink this essence in, for my amusement." Anya tried to relax her tightness, as his fingers pressed within the groove to help her. "Good."
Anya felt the cold wet miltings sliding down inside. The Captain dripped those thick and milky droplets yet again, and made h
er drink them with her bottom, then making her raise her hips a little more, he slid his finger in. Anya opened her mouth and pushed her tongue out - she had not even realised what she was doing, and now it was too late. She felt so ashamed at this. The finger inside her tapped and tickled against the outer wall of Anya's bottom, then traced a line of forbidden pleasure up, and down again; the feeling was so sweet that Anya felt as if a strand of pleasure was being pulled right through her, down along her spine. And while this illicit pleasuring continued, his other hand massaged those remaining miltings into the skin of Anya's back, and down, using just two fingertips, into the tender flesh of Anya's bottom groove, and around Anya's sensitive, finger-gripping, pushed-out bottom rim.
And now, he turned the woman over onto her back and, with her knees tucked tightly up to her chin and her thighs pressed hard together, he forced his cockstem through the tightly stretched lips of Anya's sex and worked it in and out, not touching her at all to give her pleasure, until finally he gasped again, withdrew his cock and spread her thighs and milted on her belly. Anya watched, in her denial, those melting slugs of whiteness, lowered on their stems of slime to fill the well of her navel and then she felt them spread across her belly and seep into her hairs. She felt so cheated. She had given her body and he had taken pleasure entirely at her expense, with no regard at all for her needs.