2 comments/ 14931 views/ 1 favorites S's Story Ch. 01 By: gushkinbanda You sit in the straight-backed, sturdy, hardwood chair wearing, as directed, a white blouse, knee length skirt, pretty, but not sexy underwear and heels, and, somewhat out of the ordinary, a garter belt and stockings. Your back is as straight as that of the chair, your hands are folded in your lap, your ankles crossed demurely, and you look absolutely straight ahead. The room is plain, stark white walls undecorated but for one small abstract painting and a long narrow mirror, but obviously carefully kept with a thick carpet without one speck of lint visible. To your left is an empty table of the same quality and construction as the chair. There is no clock so you have no idea how long you have been sitting. There is no visible means of observation but you are certain that you are being watched. Just as the wait begins to make you truly nervous ("This is the correct office, right? He did say Wednesday the 14th at 2:00pm precisely, I'm sure of it."), you hear the door behind you open and footsteps on the plush carpet. In your peripheral vision, you see me walk to the table wearing a dark gray, obviously expensive and exquisitely tailored suit. I place a leather bag on the table and begin to remove items, setting the carefully down in a specific arrangement. I set the bag on the ground and walk behind you to close the door. Without moving your eyes you cannot see what is on the table and the temptation to look is great, but your desire to show your obedience is slightly greater. "Hello, little one," your hear my soft tenor voice in your ear, slightly startled by my proximity. I begin to walk around you as I speak, purposefully, with confident strides and a definite direction. "Having seen your pictures, I had hoped your appearance wouldn't affect me as strongly as it has. However, the camera cannot begin to do justice to your absolutely natural beauty." You fight back a smile. "You have followed my directions precisely which was, of course expected. I am pleased, nonetheless." Your eyes want desperately to follow my movements as I circle you but you continue to look straight ahead at the blank wall before you. "We have spoken online many times about our views on the roles of the Master and the slave. However, we haven't spoken specifically of my expectations of my slave." My voice fills the room without booming or echoing. "I expect immediate and unfaltering obedience to every command and instruction. Direct and instant confirmation of each command and an outward display of your acquiescence to my will." You begin to notice your breathing quicken and your heart begin to beat with more force. "That is, of course, if you find me worthy of your service." I have stopped directly in front of you, facing you. The instinct to look up into my face defeated only by your years of training and effort. After what seems like a full minute, but must have been less than a second, you realize I am waiting for a response. "I do, Sir." Three short words have never taken so much effort to speak without your voice quaking. "Thank you, little one." The smile is obvious in my voice. You see me begin to remove my jacket as I move to the table. I fold it neatly and lay it to one side. I walk around behind you and stand, once again, directly in front of you, much closer this time. You see that I have rolled up one sleeve and am now rolling up the other, an attractive but not flashy gold watch on my left wrist. You can now see my clothing more closely: the pleated wool slacks with leather belt and simple gold buckle, a deep blue shirt, and a gold patterned tie. Your reverie is broken when you feel my fingers under your chin. I left your face to look into mine. As your eyes meet mine, they open widely. The corners of my mouth turn up just enough to slightly soften my stern face. My thumb traces the line of your jaw and the curve of your lips as I hold your gaze, searching your eyes for the deep emotions and thought I know lie within them. After a few moments, I speak. "Are you ready to begin, little one?" "Yes, Sir," you answer immediately. I walk to the corner of the room and stand there, facing you not quite casually. You can see the top of my short boot on one leg as it crosses the other and rests, toe down, on the carpet. You know I am waiting for you to decide on your "outward display of your acquiescence to my will." I takes not a moment for you to know precisely what that means for you. Still seated, you look down and remove your shoes, setting them next to the chair, absolutely in line. You then remove unbutton your blouse and remove it as you stand. You fold it neatly as you carry it to the corner. You unzip your skirt and place it just as carefully under the blouse. As you remove your bra and panties, you remember how much I love the garter and stockings and consider for a moment leaving them on but decide that complete nudity would be a better display of your submission. You walk the few steps back to the chair and, never having looked up once, kneel before it, facing it, knees apart, clasping your hands behind your head, rather than behind your back, because you feel it is a more flattering pose for your breasts. You can almost feel my intense gaze upon every inch of your exposed body as I walk once around you then seat myself in the chair. "Thank you, little one, for the gift of your service. I am very aware of its rarity and value and will treat it with the respect and significance which it deserves." "I am going to spank you now, little one. Not as a punishment, for you certainly have done nothing wrong. And not as a show of my control over your. But because it is my desire. and. I know, little one, that it is your desire as well. Come, lay across my lap." You move quickly to obey, feeling the soft wool of my slacks on your bare skin and grabbing onto the sturdy legs of the chair with your hands. "You will count each stroke and, should I stop for more than five seconds, you will thank me for your spanking. Do you understand, little one?" "Yes, Sir," you say, thankful, once you say it, that something has forced you to breathe again. You feel my soft, warm fingertips, ever so gently caressing your flesh, circling each cheek and tracing a line between them. Then suddenly, SMACK, the first blow lands squarely in the middle of your right side, stinging slightly but obviously a warm up. "One," you say, immediately, anxious to please and also because the blow forced you to make a noise of some kind. A pause. One one thousand one, two one thousand, three one thousand. SMACK. The left cheek, stinging slightly more. "Two." Another pause. One one thousand, two. SMACK "Three." SMACK "Four." SMACK "Five." SMACK "Six." SMACK "Seven." The alternating slaps landing so quickly that your counting falls slightly behind, the force increasing with speed. Thankfully, another pause. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir," you gasp out and fight to steady your breathing as the excitement builds in you with the force of a train. You are sure I must be able to feel your heart pounding, pounding, pounding against my leg. You close your eyes and focus, slowing your breathing and willing your heart to slow and calm, as you feel my hand gently rub your back, helping you to quiet your mind and your body. "Very good, little one," I breathe into your ear. My hand leaves your back and you tense for the blow. which doesn't come. Did I sigh in disappointment or was it just a quick breath? You begin to panic and fight to control yourself again and relax. A few more seconds pass. The room, though comfortable warm when clothed, begins to chill your skin slightly. SMACK Where were you. yes. "Eight." Slight pause, not even a second. SMACK "Nine." This one directly on top of the last. SMACK "Ten." SMACK "Eleven." SMACK "Twelve." SMACK "Thirteen." Each one precisely in the same place on your left cheek, the stinging pain rising quickly, the sound nearly deafening in the small room. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one. SMACK "Fourteen." SMACK "Fifteen." SMACK "Sixteen." SMACK "Seventeen." SMACK "Eighteen." These all on one specific spot on your right cheek. One one thousand, as you count, two one thousand, you quickly compare, three one thousand, the number of strokes per side, four one thousand, would there be one more, five. SMACK "Nineteen." Back to the left and slightly lower. SMACK "Twenty ." Lower again. SMACK "Twenty One." Lower still. SMACK "Twenty Two." Slightly to the outside. SMACK "Twenty Three." Higher now. SMACK "Twenty Four." Again higher. SMACK "Twenty Five." Higher. SMACK "Twenty Six." Almost to the hip. SMACK "Twenty Seven." A different angle, more to the inside. SMACK "Twenty Eight." And lower. SMACK "Twenty Nine." And lower SMACK "Thirty ." And lower, touching the thigh. SMACK "Thirty One." Back to the left side now. SMACK "Thirty Two." Moving. SMACK "Thirty Three." In. SMACK "Thirty Four." A. SMACK "Thirty Five." Seemingly. SMACK "Thirty Six." Random. SMACK "Thirty Seven." Pattern. SMACK "Thirty Eight." But. SMACK "Thirty Nine." Covering. SMACK "Forty ." All. SMACK "Forty One." Areas. SMACK "Forty Two." Completely. A pause. One one thousand, the stinging quite painful now, two one thousand, tears welling in your eyes, three one thousand, despite your desperate efforts, four one thousand, to hold them back, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." And you wait, the silence in the room screaming in contrast the slaps and your near shouted counting. Suddenly your begin to breathe again, panting but struggling to quiet. You tense as the backs of my fingernails gently stroke your throbbing flesh, the pain refreshed and intensified along the path but quickly force yourself to relax, listening for the sigh that might not have been a sigh, waiting. waiting. SMACK "FORTY Three." Impossibly hard. You cannot begin to imagine how my hand must feel without the cushioned flesh of your buttocks. Tears now falling from your eyes. One one thousand, two one thousand, three. SMACK "FORTY Four." Harder yet. Your face twisted and wincing. You know, somehow, that my face is stoic and fixed though my hand must sting more than your skin. You watch as the teardrops fall to the carpet below. One one thousand, two one thou. SMACK "FORTY Five." Forceful enough to push your forward against my knees, which were somehow braced for the blow without you sensing it. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." Tears now streaming from your eyes steadily, you swallow to force back the sobs, cursing yourself for your weakness in this your first test. SMACK "FORTY Six." Nearly lifting you from my lap. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." You clench your eyes and jaw shut, determined not to cry, no matter what. SMACK "FORTY Seven." One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "THANK YOU FOR MY SPANKING, SIR." The words screamed to avoid the choking sobs you've stuffed deep into your chest but your breathing is ragged and jittery. You blink over and over to clear your eyes of the tears. You wait, struggling frantically to calm yourself, furious at your lack of control. "Shhhhhhhh." you hear as my hand softly strokes your hair. At its touch you sigh and begin to breath more deeply and regularly. The stroking continues until your heart's racing becomes merely intense rather than frenetic. "Rise, little one," my voice calls. It takes your hands half a second to release their talon-like grip on the legs of the chair and you slide back onto your knees before hesitantly placing your right foot on the floor. You think you might stumble but before you begin to tip, my hand is there on your forearm, firm but gentle to help you to your feet. You follow the guiding pressure from my hand to stand before the mirror, facing it. Your tear-drenched face and swollen, red eyes mock your proud, steady posture. You dare not glance at my face, fearing even a hint of disappointment in my eyes. My hand on your arm pulls you gently around to face away from the mirror and drops away, moving to your chin to turn your head to face the mirror. You twist around, holding your feet and hips resolutely in place and gaze in amazement at the red, no maroon color of your skin. You feel your pulse there and are sure that, if you held your hand even six inches away, you could feel the heat pouring off of it. I lean forward, so close you that you feel my breath against your cheek, my lips as close to your ear as possible without touching it. You close your eyes, determined to avoid seeing the displeasure that you are sure must darken my expression. "Perfect, little one. Perfect." Your eyes spring open and meet mine in the mirror. My face shows no hint of smile, only a firm confidence in your and his faith in you. "You could not be more beautiful to me, little one." You cannot help yourself, your head whips around and your hands fly to your face as you being to sob, your hands quickly soaked with your tears. In a movement as sure and deliberate as the step of a Russian guard, I move before you and enclose you in my strong and protective arms, calming your spasms of joy and clutching you steadfastly to my chest while holding my hips slightly away. It takes you a moment to realize that I am preventing your body from pressing into my groin so as to prevent the evidence of my desire from distracting from the comforting embrace. For a long while, many minutes it seems, I hold you, allowing you to release your suppressed anxiety and fear. As your breathing slows, I speak, "Only when you're ready, little one." S's Story Ch. 02 For a long while, many minutes it seems, I hold you, allowing you to release your suppressed anxiety and fear. As your breathing slows, I speak, "Only when you're ready, little one." You take several deep breaths and, once you're able to breathe regularly, gently and tentatively pull away and kneel before me, keeping your eyes down. I remain silent and slowly circle you... once... twice... a third time... stopping directly in front of you. As you wait, you observe the break in the well-pressed creases in my slacks and the cuffs resting on perfectly shined, but not glossy ... shoes? Perhaps they're boots? The laceless tops leave the answer unknown. You realize, with some confusion, why you have time to wonder. Why am I waiting? What am I thinking? The air in the room is cool on your bare skin, particularly on the still hot flesh of your cheeks. Your knees and toes press down into the soft carpeting and you begin to feel the hard floor beneath. After an uncountable number of minutes, I walk to the table and you hear metal against metal as I return, walking behind you and bending to whisper in your ear, "Your patience is impressive and will be rewarded, little one." You feel the hard, coldness of handcuffs as the close around each ankle, only a small shift necessary from your current position to allow them to be applied and their size locked. After one wrist is cuffed, you expect the other one to follow but instead you hear my voice at your ear once more. "Lean back, please, little one." You feel your wrist pulled back suddenly, throwing you off balance. My hand, warm on your bare back, steadies you as you feel a pull on the chain between your ankles. Then I guide your other hand down and cuff it. You are pulled back at an awkward and uncomfortable angle by the interlocked cuffs, barely able to keep from falling over backwards as I remove my hand from your back. Your thighs and stomach must constantly work to keep yourself upright. It takes effort to draw your concentration away from the physical strain but my standing before you draws your attention. Knowing your place you keep your eyes down. And you know my face would reveal nothing anyway. "You desire to please me, don't you, little one," I ask. "Yes. Very much, Sir." You hear the sound of my belt being undone and my fly unzipped. You fight to keep your eyes down as your breath quickens and you feel a tingling, a stirring, a moistening deep within yourself. I have not spoken and so you wait... for what seems like several minutes until I finally speak. "Speak your desire, little one." "I want to pleasure you, Sir... with my mouth." "You'll have to do better than that, little one. Be more specific, more detailed, more explicit." You hesitate ever so slightly, not sure if you can craft the words in your state of desire and struggling to stay upright with the cuffs pulling you backwards. "I want your fat, hard, hot cock in my willing mouth, Sir." "Go on..." "I want to feel its heat in my mouth, taste it with my tongue, surround it with my lips." Suddenly, as your feel a contraction inside and your desire expresses itself with wetness and heat, the words pour out of you without thought as though from a someplace much deeper and more primal than your mind "I need it... I want your cock pushing deep into my throat. I want to suck it so hard that it hurts you. Please, Sir, PLEASE let me suck your co... MMPPHFF." Your words are muffled as I shove my cock into your mouth, almost pushing you over backwards but catching the back of your head with my hand, both to keep you from falling and to push it deeper into your throat. My poise and control belied momentarily by a short soft moan. With what seems like a physical as well as a mental effort, I compose myself and move my hips back slightly and release your head. I do not speak again knowing that you need no further instruction. Unbalanced as you are and without your hands, it takes you a few seconds to adjust your knees and find a method and rhythm that keeps you upright and allows you to so ardently address our mutual desire. You are panting heavily and saliva starts to drip from the corners of your mouth as you furiously bob your head back and forth, feeling the throbbing veins under the soft skin with your tongue. Every movement making your bare breasts gently bounce and the heat and wetness between your thighs increasing. You push forward hard with every stroke, forcing the head of my cock down into your throat, concentrating on not gagging then just your head back, pushing your tongue hard against the underside of my cock and sliding it from side to side as it nears the head, knowing that is the most sensitive part. Every minute or so, you slide your mouth completely off of it and licking and sucking up and down the sides and cupping each testicle in your mouth. During one particularly intense series of thrusts, a small moan slips out. You hesitate for a split second, waiting for a castigating word or, much worse, losing the opportunity to finish. Instead with a smile you can hear, I say "You may moan, little one. It shows me how much you're enjoying yourself and feeds my, oh so typical, Dom ego." With those words you drop all efforts at control and become a wanton and ravenous animal, hungrily devouring my cock, saliva dripping from it and down your chin, your moans loud and continuous, muffled by my stiff, fat, pulsing cock. Your jaw begins to ache and your thighs and abs are starting to scream with the effort. You begin to realize that you're having to work harder to stay upright and then that I have been moving forward with almost imperceptible slowness. This causes my cock to go further down your throat with each push, making you gag slightly sometimes. But my lack of comment lets you know that I am not bothered and may even be pleased with it. It finally occurs to you that this is more than just an opportunity to please me, that it is a challenge, a test. You know that I will not stop moving forward until you have satisfied my desire and that if you fall before that, you will have failed. Until now, it had not occurred to you how long this has gone on but now, jaw hurting and neck aching, you begin to wonder if something is wrong. What if you're not pleasing me? What if I'm not feeling the rush of pleasure that you, yourself, feel even through the pain? The strain to stay upright increases and you fix your mind, determined to succeed, lightly grazing my cock with your teeth as you use each suck to pull you back up. You slide your tongue quickly back and forth almost wrapping it completely around the shaft as your move back and forth on it. Though you try to ignore it, your own desire increases and you feel the wetness between your legs cold as it begins to spread to your open thighs. Finally, just as you are starting to feel yourself slip backwards frighteningly every time you move your head back, you hear me.... moan... groan... sigh.. all at once, a sound of pure ecstasy from deep in my chest and I thrust forward. Your eyes widen and you stiffen as you begin to fall backwards... ... until my hands catch you on either side of your head, holding tightly as my hips thrust rapidly. My cock now pushing deep into your throat and sliding almost all the way out while I straddle your thighs and pull your face onto me, your nose buried in my crotch. You feel the hard shaft swell slightly and warm even more as it begins to spasm and jerk and the first thick, hot, fluid fills your mouth. You have no time to swallow as it is shoved into your throat with the next thrust. Again and again, you feel it pump into your mouth. You swallow as much as you can but some leaks from your lips and down your chin. Then the thrusts slow and become less fierce. And finally I move back and hold your head until you are stable again, leaning forward in exhaustion. You feel the cuffs on your hands opened and then those on your ankles. Then my arms slide under your knees and back and I lift you in one slow, steady motion and carry you to the sofa. The leather feels cold under your bare skin but the support feels wonderful as you are now able to relax your muscles. My warm hands touch you, firmly but gently. Placed for just a few second on your arm, your thigh, your stomach, your cheek, then slid a few inches and lifted away. The effect is calming and exciting at the same time. As you begin to relax, the touches become caresses and begin to move closer to your more sensitive areas. I continue without a word, without a sound, you can hear only your breath and your heart beating harder and faster as each stroke begins to make that part of you more sensitive and alive. With nothing but gentle pressure from my hands in the right places and direction, your arms are soon over your head, your legs spread wide, your left foot on the back of the couch, your right on the floor. You wish you could know my thoughts, wonder what I think of your naked and exposed body, hoping that I it excites or at least pleases me the way my touch excites you. As your breath becomes ragged and heavy and you feel the wetness between your legs begin to spread like the warmth inside your body, my hands leave your body and only my fingers touch you. It feels like they are impossibly spread amongst your lips, your breasts and nipples, your thighs, the soft, warm, wet flesh exposed by your open legs. As my fingers slid and stroke you there, you fight to keep your hips still and yourself silent. Once, the very start of a nearly inaudible moan leaves your throat and I lean down, never slacking in my attention to your desires, and whisper, "Not yet, little one... soon... soon." With these words, knowing you will be allowed release, you steel your will and pull your mind away from your physical being, determined to resist the sensations and remain beyond your needs. It is an arduous fight. How could I know exactly how long and how hard to pinch your nipple and how long to wait before doing it again? What told me the pattern you, yourself, use when pleasuring yourself, the exact pressure, the exact timing? You feel the flush of your skin that always precedes the crest of your bliss and struggle to keep yourself from passing that ultimate point when you hear... feel?... sense?... my voice in your ear, "Now, little one, for me." You unclasp your hands, unaware until this moment that you had been squeezing them together so tightly that your fingernails were digging into the skin on the back of your hands, and free your mind and body from the wall of will you had built, allowing both to rush headlong and wild into the flood of pleasure bursting forth from every cell of your being. Your mouth opens and a long, impossibly loud, cry of pure ecstasy rings in your hears as you feel your stomach contract as if it is trying to expel every organ. Reflexively, your arms reach up and you make contact with, your hands gripping my shoulders and squeezing as your cry breaks and changes pitch and tone. Again and again, your hips writhing, your lungs heaving in a desperate cry for air and then emptied instantly, you feel the ripples of hot electricity tear through you, mind and body. After what seemed like the third time, you realize that my fingers have never stopped their movements, two, three, four? inside you and my thumb stroking and teasing your clit. You wonder if you might lose consciousness and that, if you did, you'd not feel this torrent of release. You try to speak, to ask for mercy, to beg me to stop before you become lost in your pleasure but can only shake your head. That, though, is enough, my fingers slowly slip from within you, almost painfully as you're so intensely sensitive there. As you release your strangling grip on my shoulders, you wonder if the rest of your body is the same and are answered by a gentle caress on your hip... cheek... breast... arm, each causing you to jump, twitch, spasm. They continue, each touch becoming longer, less powerful, more calming. You hear, above your panting and thundering heartbeat, the wet sound of suckling and then feel my fingers on your lips as I share your taste with you. You suck and lick my fingers hungrily, greedily, your mind still tumbling, unable to express your gratitude in any other way. "No, little one, thank YOU."