Four writers for the price of one blog
I felt the agonizing burn again. “One!”
“As I eavesdropped on your prayers, I must confess that I gleaned a deeper meaning from your words.”
He’d heard everything? He must’ve been there from the time I’d woken up.
There was burning pain. “Two!” Pain radiated to my hip bones. There was searing agony on my thighs. “Three!” I broke out in cold sweat.
“You’re ashamed, very ashamed. You stink of it.”
My heart lurched so violently I missed the count.
“Oh, we have to start again,” he said, his voice full of regret. “It usually helps if I change the implement.” He pressed something thin and flexible on the middle of my back. A cane.
My back screamed. “One, damn it!”
He pulled on the hair at the nape of my neck until my head was nearly perpendicular to my body. “Just the number, please. I’m not in the mood for commentary.”
The air whistled in a higher pitch. It was ominous. “Two!”
I hated canes. I’d never used them on the people I played with because they scared me. They bore an authority that deep down I knew I couldn’t carry off convincingly.
Pain derailed my train of thought. “Three!”
“How could a woman who pretends to be so sexually open live with such paralyzing shame? Do you pray for forgiveness before fucking?” He chuckled at the absurdity of it.
What did he know about having to secretly reconcile my desires to myself? All the things I’d been taught as a wide-eyed girl – the grave whispers of men and women dried up before their time for lack of passion – still echoed in my mind. What would Jesus think when he saw me bouncing eagerly on a dildo while my mind swirled with ten different illicit scenarios? If I didn’t release my pent-up energy I’d just boil over like hot syrup and burn everything around me.
Oh God, I ached physically to be filled, deeply and often. Dildos didn’t help – I needed a man, needed the feel and the sound and the taste of him and-
“You missed the count again – we have to start over.” The sound of his voice brought the pain back full force. I moaned with the new consciousness of it. His fingers brushed easily against the folds of my inner labia.
I was open. In full flower. Regardless of the fear and frustration and shame, I was totally aroused. I felt everything more – my skin, the weight of my breasts as they hung from my chest, the throb from every single welt on my back and ass. My pussy was so swollen that for a split second I thought it was the reason why my legs were spread and positioned the way they were, instead of it being the other way around.
Was I ready because I was in position, or was I in position because I was ready?
He wrapped his hands round my waist and caressed down the ready flare of my hips, pressing his hips against me. His touch made my nipples hard. What was this trick he had played on me? My pussy roared throatily as an empty conch shell when he rubbed himself on me. I could smell my musk on him. He grabbed my head and propped my chin up on the device so I was looking forward, then pressed the wet cloth of his pants against my face. The nearness of his cock made my mouth water involuntarily and copiously. My saliva mixed with my pussy juice.
“You smell different,” he said.
I pouted into his crotch, humiliated. He caressed me. In spite of myself, I moved toward his touch.
“Different does not mean bad. Your musk is stronger…even your scent speaks of your need.”
All this talk of fear and need and shame had exhausted me. My muscles relaxed so completely that he noticed.
“Let’s try again, honey. Count for me.”
He brought the cane across my back. “One.” The moan had the same timbre as the one women gave when they were first entered, and he recognized it. The next stripe was across my ass.
“Two.” I shivered. It hurt, but I was too tired to be afraid of the pain. The air whistled.
“Three.” My eyes finally fell closed behind the blindfold.
“Four.” The pain began to radiate from the stripes and surround me, making every inch of my skin throb.
“Five.” I wondered what his face looked like as he did it – whether the color was high on his cheeks, or his eyes were on fire. My pussy clenched hard and fast. I dripped.
“Six.” My hands clenched into fists and I trembled… but not with agony.
“Seven!” I finally felt safe behind the pain, and years of pent-up lust rose so quickly I nearly choked on it. I let out a long drawn out moan. He whispered something near me, an exclamation.
“Eight!” I swallowed the word in my gasps. My back didn’t feel arched enough, nor my legs open wide enough. Did he see?
I wanted him to see.
“Nine!” I shivered uncontrollably. I didn’t understand what was happening to me, but I wasn’t scared. He barely touched my welts with the cane, and I let out a groan that made the device vibrate. He pinched my hard nipples. My eyes strained for the sight of him, and I realized the blindfold wasn’t to scare or disorient, but to tease. The mere sight of his face at this point would make me climax – the immaculate orgasm, something I’d secretly wished existed since I’d known about sex.
“Please…” the tone of the entreaty had changed. He kissed me silent. His kiss communicated a need the equaled my own and I strained forward. I wanted to kiss all of my desire into him. I saw colors behind my closed eyelids, something that hadn’t happened since my first accidental orgasm when I was 12, but one last fear made me limp.
What if he left me after this? What if this was all just a cruel ruse of a bitterly cold man, and he meant to break me open and then discard me?
His mouth insisted, as if he knew what was going on in my head. His hands moved up my arms and kneaded my tense shoulders. He caressed the welts on my back, and my thoughts untangled with the pain.
Even if he left the feelings he’d evoked were still my own to share with the next person who moved me like he did… desire was an energy that moved through people, changing and morphing according to their chemistry. My desire didn’t end with him – it couldn’t. It was too vast.
And that was okay.
I heard the high-pitched whistle again, and I bucked with the force of my orgasm before the cane touched my flesh. My muscles burned, but being bound only made the pleasure more intense. It somehow kept it closer to the body.
He allowed me to come until I was spent and the device had stilled.