Realizations

----- frank sexual situations ------



He comes to me in secret, sometimes, in dreams, in fantasies. He is larger than life, more demanding than I thought I could accept, more selfish in some ways than I am truly comfortable with, and then again, more giving in some ways than I think I deserve.

I prefer our encounters to be more or less spelled out for me, so I know what to expect and can prepare for it. He prefers to keep me clueless, so that I am surprised and off-balance and more genuine in my reactions. I say I am more fearful of the unknown, trying to persuade him to my point of view. He merely laughs and tells me to trust him, and not to worry.

Right.

He comes to me, then, right up behind me, where I am standing at the kitchen counter. He presses up close to my back, his hands coming up to cup my breasts, his head bending down so that his lips caress the side of my neck. And already, I shiver, and relax into him. He bites me then, his teeth sinking into my shoulder, drawing a cry of pain from me. I had not expected that, certainly not so early in our encounter. Already I have been marked, already I bear the pain of his ownership.

But I like it, too. Not the pain - he will argue differently, but I'd like to think I know my own self at least a little - but the mark of ownership, the bruise that declares me as his. And it sets the tone of this session; i am going to be marked and used and hurt, a little, and owned. And while I will not deny that I am a bit apprehensive, I am also looking froward to seeing what marks I will bear when this is over.

He releases me then, and nudges me toward the bedroom. I do so like a soft bed beneath me, so I willingly comply. When I cross the threshold, though, he tells me to assume Position One, and I shed my clothes as quickly as I can, then kneel before him, my head bowed, my knees apart, my hands resting palms up on my bent knees. I close my eyes, and wait. 

In the silence that follows, I feel my heart beating strongly, my breaths filling my lungs, my tight muscles beginning to relax as the apprehensive tension begins to bleed from my body. He steps behind me and fastens a strip of cloth over my eyes ..... ah, a blindfold. My breath quickens in anticipation; I do like to be blindfolded. And he knows this, of course, he knows this, like he knows so much more about me than even I do. At times I believe, in the privacy of my own head, that I have given him far too much ammunition, as he knows what I respond to and what he can coax from me, and any protest or objection I may have is over before it truly starts. 

And I wonder, sometimes, when he's shaped me into his perfect little submissive who obeys without question or hesitation - what will be left of me, then? And will I still hold his interest? Or does he prefer the process of molding and bending and shaping, and then become bored with the smooth-running result of his handiwork?

But such questions are not for now, for now is about his will and his sub, wearing his blindfold, feeling his fingers forming a knot in the cloth at the back of my head, aware of (but not consumed by) the aching in my shoulder where his teeth have left their imprint.

He tells me to stand, and assists me as I grope for the end of the bed to steady myself. I rise to my feet, shaking out the stiffness in my legs, and at his command, I move into Position Three - feet apart, face forward, hands clasped behind my back. He steps in front of me, whispers, "Good girl," which makes me smile, then cradles one breast in his palm - and delivers a terrific smack to it. I jump, of course, and hiss between my teeth, and he does it again, and I wince at the sharpness of the pain. That's going to bruise, for sure. He lets my breast slip from his fingers, and cups the other breast, and this time I tense in anticipation, because now I know what's coming.

Smack! Yes, he slaps it, hard, hard enough that I feel the residual pain from the blow tingling through my tender flesh, and with the second smack, I flinch and moan, because it hurts. A deep ache blooms in the tissues and makes my breast feel like it's throbbing, and yes, that will bruise prettily in a matter of just a few moments.

He must be satisfied with his work, because he steps back and for a few long, drawn-out moments, there is silence. I don't do well when he is silent, mostly because I always assume he's quiet because I've made a misstep, or failed to please him, and that makes me anxious. But no, thankfully, he murmurs another "Good girl," to me, and that eases my apprehension. And then I realize that he has more in store for me, as he tells me to open my legs farther apart. I feel him reach his fingers to touch me, drawing them over my pussy, testing my response to his attentions thus far. And he finds that I am wet, and willing, and ready for more.

His fingers slide inside me and pump a few times, languidly, his fingers well-coated in my juices and making a squelching, sucking sound as they move within my body. I am swaying on my feet, trying to ride his fingers, but he persists in his maddeningly slow pace. Then he pulls out entirely, and I whine in protest, but he merely chuckles and touches my lips with his wet fingers. I open my mouth and suckle them clean for him, rolling my tongue over his digits, sucking away the fluid evidence of my desire. He reaches down with both hands, then, and I moan in my throat when I feel him attach a clothes pin to my pussy lip. And where there's one, more will follow, and I whine or moan or hiss as each pin - 6 in all - pinches my tender flesh. Ow, ow, ow. My legs are trembling, I can feel them, and the pinching pressure of the clothespins is taking over my senses. And then I am rocked forward on my toes as he slaps my ass! What the HELL, I think, but thankfully, all I actually say is "Ow!" 

"Ow?" he repeats, as though he can't believe I would find that painful. 

"Ow, Sir," I respond, and I know I'm being a smartass, but dammit, that's not fair, smacking me like that when I'm already wearing the clothes pins. And thinking of them has the pinching pain roaring back, and my breathing speeds up and I start to lose myself again. 

And he smacks my ass again, and I flinch forward, which causes some of the clothespins to clack against each other and pinch me even more. Damn! I hiss loudly with the pain of it, and twist my fingers together, as they are still held behind my back. It's self-distraction, a way for me to try and forget about the pain I'm feeling, but I'm barely conscious of the way my hands twine together.

He must decide I've had enough, because the next thing I know, one of the clothespins is being removed. And he's not exactly gentle about it, either; instead of opening the pin, he just pulls it off, and it pinches me cruelly as it forcibly parts from my skin. I jump and cry out, because that fucking HURTS, and then I have to endure it five more times as he just yanks each pin free, in succession. I am trembling and gasping, and there are tears leaking from my closed eyelids and dampening the blindfold.  

And then he is rubbing my back, and whispering in my ear that I have done well, and he is pleased, and I am a good girl. And I lean into his touch, even though he is the one who caused me the pain in the first place, taking great comfort in his praise and the tender way he is touching me.

He grasps my elbow, then, and tells me to climb up on the bed and lie on my back. He has to help me move around to the side of the bed, and he nudges me to lie back with my legs slightly parted, my arms loose and down at my sides. I hear him walk away from my side, around the end of the bed, and up the other side. The bed dips down - he must be sitting next to me, near my hip - and then I jump and gasp again, as a dribble of hot wax splashes the bare skin of my stomach. Yes, it's hot, and yes, there's a slight burn, but this is a friendly pain, a welcome pain, a mere shadow of what I've already taken (and am still feeling the effects of, quite frankly - my pussy is feeling quite sore indeed). 

The drips and dribbles and trickles of the wax seem random to me; I cannot tell if he is creating a pattern, or merely criss-crossing random lines and swirls, but I like this pain, I enjoy it, even, and my pussy responds by growing wet again; I can feel the moisture between my legs. I hiss and squirm, and I swear I can hear his smile when he sees the way my body relishes this. I give myself up to it, the burn and sting of the wax, and the thrills of desire and pleasure shivering through my body. 

He shifts, and I'm guessing he puts the candle down, and the next thing I feel are his fingers breaching my pussy, rubbing briefly over my clit and then plunging deep inside my body. My leg fall open, my back arches, my hips try to rock, and I cry out, in surprise and pleasure, not pain, this time, and he starts to finger-fuck me, slamming his fingers inside me and pulling them almost out, again and again, building a wave of desire and need that is coming upon me too fast, too soon, too intensely. I toss my head and moan out a series of "no, no, no," but he leans over me and says, very firmly, "Yes, yes, yes," and then fastens his mouth over my nipple and sucks, hard. 

I give a choked cry, because I'm cresting the wave already, and I am going to crash and burn when it breaks, and there's a sob in my voice when I moan, because there's this intense and confusing mix of pleasure and pain and I'm afraid of it, but helpless to stop it, and I'm struggling. He pulls his mouth from my nipple, and asks me - well, demands, really - 

"Who are you?" 

"I am your sub, Master," I choke out.

"And who owns you?"

"You do, Master! You own m-me."  I can barely force the words past my lips.

"That's right," he says, and his voice is low and intense. "I own you, I own your body, and I am your Master. So you will do what I tell you, won't you, Kitten?"

It is not a question, it is a command, and I nod and whisper, "Yes, Master."

He leans back over me, and his breath is hot on my breast, and he says, "Cum for me. NOW." His teeth nip my nipple while his thumb brushes over my clit, and I crack. My body convulses and I cum, hard, my back arching, my inner muscles clamping down, and I shriek with the force of it. It is so strong it hurts, it hurts, but in the next instant it's just a glorious haze of intense pleasure sweeping through me, wringing me out and tossing me about, and I tumble into freefall. 

I am trembling, shaking, really, as my muscles try to recover from their sudden intense tension, and my breath is coming in huge gasping pants, and I am not sure if I want to laugh or cry or rage, really. And he is there to catch me, to calm me, to cradle me in safety while I recover and settle down and come to terms with what's just happened. It was  more intense than I had imagined, and a bit frightening, but he kept his word to protect and keep me safe, and I realize that I am well. I am fine. I am strong. I am safe, and I am content.

And I want more.