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Punishment (Erotica) The carpet scratches against my knees as I make a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure. The ache in my arms, pulled high above my head and tied tightly with rope to the bedpost, is almost unbearable. My jaw aches around the ball-gag in my mouth as my saliva continues its steady drip onto my naked chest and the carpet between my open thighs. The rope securing my thighs to my lower legs makes lifting up more than a few inches impossible. My small desperate movements continue even as I know there is nowhere to go and nothing to do. There is only the waiting, for what now seems an eternity on my knees. I try to focus on my breathing and the comforting presence of the bedpost at my back. The blindfold eliminates all light and brings my suffering into laser focus. I wonder how much longer you will be. How much longer I can last. I remind myself that this is all as it should be. That this is punishment. And that I deserve it. Of course I know what’s expected of me, what I’ve agreed to, what brings me as much joy and pleasure as it does you. But I had been angry with you for working too much, for not giving me enough attention. I should have just told you. I shouldn’t have touched myself without permission. And I certainly shouldn’t have called you that name when you tried to punish me for it. I’m pulled out of my thoughts as I hear you approach me, seemingly out of nowhere. You unbuckle the gag and pull it from my mouth. “Open up, slut.” I open my mouth wide as you push your cock into my mouth. You grab a handful of my hair and hold it tightly as you begin slowly fucking my mouth. I struggle to keep my mouth wide despite the ache in my jaw. You push down into my throat slowly. I manage to keep from gagging, welcoming you down into my throat. You push down further and hold yourself there, cutting off my breath. Seconds pass and I remind myself not to panic. You loosen your grip and pull out. Air rushes into my lungs. My eyes are watering, saliva all over my face. You start again. I lose count of how many times you shove yourself down into my throat. Again, I wonder how long I can take this, even as I feel how incredibly wet my pussy has become. And then you start fucking my mouth faster. I can feel you close to cumming, swelling up inside me. You pull out, and I feel your cum spray onto my face, my chest and my open thighs. I love the feel of your cum against my skin, knowing I’ve pleased you. But the moment is short-lived. I moan as you press the ball-gag back into my mouth and buckle it behind my neck, the ache now worse than ever. I hear you squat down in front of me, and feel your hand slide between my legs. I can’t help but arch my pussy against your fingers desperately. Your response is a hard painful slap to my pussy lips. I cry out, or moan, or both through the gag. You hold your hand there against my pussy and I can tell you are staring at me. “Do you want to cum, slut?” “Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.” Through the gag. “Whose decision is that?” “Yours, Sir.” Again, barely discernible. “I think you might need a little reminder of that.” I hear the soft humming of the Wand as you place it on the carpet between my thighs, right in front of me. “Go ahead, slut, make yourself cum.” The rope binding my thighs to my lower legs, together with the rope stretching my arms above me, doesn’t allow for much movement. At first I can’t reach it at all. I squirm and shimmy myself for at least a minute. I finally get my clit just barely against that wonderful device. But it’s not enough. I try again and again. My desperate, cum-covered body twisting and turning in every possible way to get more contact with the Wand. And of course I’m getting more and more aroused. Knowing you are watching me like this. Helpless, shameless, pathetic really, and totally at your mercy. After a few more minutes of failed attempts, I start begging. Then really begging. Through the gag, drool everywhere at this point. I don’t care. I just need that Wand closer, harder against my clit. “Who decides when you cum, slut?” “You!” I scream. I can feel the tears begin flowing down my face. “You, Sir.” More softly. I feel your hand against my cheek. You catch a tear with your thumb. Time seems to stand still. Seconds, minutes or hours pass. All the aches, all the pain is in a different place. And then I feel the vibrations of the Wand speed up and the pressure as you push it directly up against me. “Cum, beautiful.” In your gorgeous voice. And I do. |
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Lovely 🥰
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1/20/2024 9:46 am |
Nice writing 
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Great story..... 
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Excellent. Well done.
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Summertime, your fine writing tells me, unambiguously, that you enjoy the D/s and B&D dynamic as a sub/slave craving male domination, even though I tend to find it a bit counterintuitive to believe that this qualifies as a comitted ROMANTIC relationship (which, in your profile, you profess to be seeking), when it is so evident that it integrally hinges on the exploitation of a gender power disparity or disequilibrium, in this case. This is kinky, fetishistic play, at best, devoid of a romantic ingredient. As Tina Turner once queried in a song; What's love got to do with it"? The male simply cums at will, orgasms orally when he wants, and then tries to pass himself off as sharing and graciously reciprocating, by finally allowing his prisoner--teased. tormented, and desperate-to-cum-- to climax off a disembodied vibrator. I contend that this is little else that theatrical playacting by assumed personas. I am not, hereby, discounting the fact, though, that such activities or "relationships" can provide their measure of fun and erotic enjoyment. I, myself--a sub-- speak from experience, and can attest to this truth. and reality. But romantic....I think not.
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bravo!
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