Hands behind my head, I sang along with the song playing quietly on my iPod, plaiting my waist length hair into a thick black rope. It was awkward and time consuming, but this was the way it had to be and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Jagged Little Pill. I’d always loved this album. It had been released in the mid-nineties, around the time I was charging head first into adulthood and what my mother had cringingly called my sexual awakening. It was also the time I discovered boys, and what wondrous, horrendous creatures they could be. I’d been abused, deceived, used, and fooled. But that was then. My now was very different, despite its similarities to my past.
My eyes flicked to the clock over by the walk-in wardrobe. I couldn’t believe it was already a quarter to seven. I only had fifteen minutes to arrive where I was expected. And even though I’d been made to stay back at work, missed my bus and had to walk home, just to get roped in to mediating a lovers tiff between the two guys next door, I would be there. It was imperative that I be on time.
Braid finished and tied off with a black band, I coiled it at the top of my head and secured it with a concord clip. It wasn’t something I’d have chosen for myself. The unadorned silver was too simple for my outlandish tastes. But it had been laid out for me, so it was what I would wear.
Reaching for the bottle of oil that had been placed on my dresser, I popped the cap. The scent of lavender caught my breath, resulting in a ladylike little sneeze. It was such a strong fragrance, but it had long been his favourite. So much so he had a batch of it blended specially for me every other month.
Coldness brought bumps to the surface of my skin, but the oil was soon warmed by my hands. Each time my fingers brushed over my breasts or vulva, temptation rocked me. I longed for a firmer touch, but no matter how much I yearned for release, I refused to allow my thumbs to circle my nipples, or to let even one finger as much as part my lips. Whether or not I got what I needed wasn’t up to me; it was for him to decide.
Body oiled, I wiped my hands on a towel and strode from the dressing room. Down the hall, past Sir’s bedroom, the guest room, and the pale green walled room that was my sanctuary. The music was gone, but that didn’t matter. It was still playing somewhere in my mind.
You treat me like I’m a princess
I’m not used to liking that
You ask how my day was…
When I reached the door at the end of the hall, I knocked twice then let myself in. The white tiled floor was smooth and cold beneath my bare feet. As soon as I reached the lone black tile in the middle of the room I folded to my knees, hands resting lightly on my heels.
I hadn’t looked around, but I knew he was already here, waiting for me. I could smell his lemon shower gel. Just the knowledge that he could see me while I couldn’t see him began to warm me. Knowing that his eyes would be appraising me, judging my efforts to appear before him as he wanted me to be, knowing that he would be mentally devouring me even as he stood still and silent at the other side of the room… that very knowledge acted as an appetiser to the ravenous hunger we both knew his first touch would stir in me.
The slapping of bare feet on tile told me he was coming for me. I drew in a breath and held it. A soft touch on my shoulder, a finger stroking a line down the nape of my neck. Cold metal closing around my throat made me shiver. The click of the lock made me exhale with a smile.
All at once I felt like a blanket of serenity had been draped around my shoulders. Every cell in my body was awake, reaching for him, screaming for him, but my mind was a peaceful lake. A wide, pure lake with a surface undisturbed by even the smallest ripple.
He moved around me, trailing his fingers across the top of my back, from shoulder to shoulder. Then he was in front of me, tilting my head back, positioning my face so that I had no choice but to meet his eyes as he addressed me.
“Princess.”
That was all he said, but my heart sang. I blossomed, my colours brightening when the absolute devotion that twinkled in my eyes made him smile. But even as I watched, his smile quickly turned to something darker. Something that was as full of caution as it was promise. With my last dominant I’d have wilted under such an electrically charged gaze, but not with Sir. It had taken time, but he’d helped me learn how to shine again.
You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath, and the door for me
Thanks for your patience…
I held my breath again, wondering how long he would make me wait as music played in the back of my mind. It wasn’t very long at all. Taking my hand, Sir guided me to my feet. I followed two steps behind him and to the left as he walked to the spanking bench. He caressed the leather padded seat, nudged one of the wrist cuffs with his bare toe.
Would this be his choice tonight? It had been a while since I’d been strapped to the bench, though spankings had been as regular as ever. Sir had preferred to have me over his knee in the dressing room recently, so I’d been surprised when he’d had a bouquet of roses delivered to my workplace this morning.
He’d known about my love of roses since our school days together, as a best friend should. Once my feelings for him changed and I started to reciprocate the love he felt for me instead of just seeing him as a fuck buddy, he worked them into the very fabric of our relationship. A rose was never just a rose to him. Each and every one had its own special meaning.
The bouquet that had been handed to me just after my morning coffee had consisted of almost closed white tea roses that were surrounded by more roses, these ones in darkening shades of pink that opened and deepened to full blooming red around the outside. That’s how I’d known to be in Sir’s chamber at seven o’clock. This particular floral arrangement symbolised my pale skin turning red and swollen under more than just his hand.
But, much to my surprise, it didn’t seem that I would be shackled to the bench tonight. Sir was moving away, heading straight for the fucking machine he kept in an alcove at the opposite side of the room. I followed, trying to keep the hop, skip and jump out of my step.
I loved the machine. Loved lying on the small table with my legs drawn wide and secured to hooks in the alcove walls with thick, rough rope while the machine ceaselessly and mercilessly pounded my vagina. It was even better when Sir stood over me with his cock in my mouth, echoing each violent thrust of the mechanical fucking arm.
But that wasn’t to be, either. He frowned, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before slowly walking past me. A soft stroke on my hip coaxed me to follow, but I didn’t want to. I knew where he was going and I didn’t want it.
I turned, agonisingly slowly, and faced him. His hand was resting on top of the stocks that stood in front of the curtained window. The peace of mind I always felt when collared wavered, shrinking as the stocks seemed to grow to twice their usual size, even as I stared.
“Princess?” That one word was a softly spoken question that I’d been asked many times before. I still had the same, single word answer for it.
“Thorns.”
I’d barely whispered my safeword, but it was received just as it would have been if I’d shouted it. An ‘it doesn’t matter’ shrug and a ‘maybe next time’ smile, with no trace of disappointment anywhere in Sir’s open expression. I smiled back, feeling my heart leave my throat to settle back behind my breast bone where it belongs.
You’re the best listener, that I ever met
You are my best friend
Best friend with benefits
What took me so long…
Pointing at the St Andrews Cross, Sir raised an eyebrow. This question was just as easy to answer as the last one, but this time I gave him positivity and enthusiasm.
Head high and eyes down, I walked to the cross. Opening my legs and raising my arms, I waited for him to imprison me. He let me stand there until my shoulders began to burn, but I didn’t slump.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
I met his eyes and saw the challenge. He wanted me to fight my own discomfort for as long as I could, beyond that, even. Steady breaths, concentrating and focussing on giving him what he wanted was all I needed to do. My arms remained in the air.
Sir’s penetrating gaze was quickly joined by a one cornered smile. When he grazed his bottom lip with his teeth I knew he was about to up the ante. I watched him stalk to the rack against the wall at the bottom of the bed, wondering which weapon he’d choose.
My eyes began to water. He’d chosen a martinet. No easing in to things tonight, it would seem.
Standing three feet away from me, he held the evil implement by his side, flicking his wrist to make the leather falls tap on his jeans. I should have known what I was in for when I saw he was wearing those. He only ever bothered remaining clothed when he wanted to use whatever he was wearing in some way. Each time the leather falls pattered on the rough denim, my heart skipped a beat. It sounded so gentle, but I knew it was anything but.
Sir’s hand flicked out and the tips of the falls skimmed my hip. I flinched, but didn’t move or make a sound. His nose twitched in amusement, and he struck again. My outer thigh, my calf, my ribs…each lash harder than the one before it. When he smiled and flicked the tips across my nipple I gave him what he was after.
“Oh!”
That’s all he’d wanted. An acknowledgement that he was hurting me. Six more blows rained down on me, and then he suddenly dropped the martinet. Stepping in, he pressed his bare chest against mine, pushing me back into the cross.
Click…click…
That was my arms secured. He’s chosen a higher ring than usual, so I was standing on the tips of my toes. Watching his head as he sank to his knees, I longed to have my fingers in his hair. To feel the silky softness of it, to hold it in my fists and shove his face between my…
“OH!” I said again, but louder.
Sir lathed my clitoris in sloppy wet kisses, over and over. It was looking like he might be about to make me come, but I made a mistake. Rather than remaining passive and letting him do what he would, I raised my leg, resting my toes on his firm shoulder, opening myself to him.
Click…click…
And now my ankles were shackled to the polished wooden cross too. Sir shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. I knew better than to behave in such a wanton manner, I don’t know why I’d done it. My intuitive interaction was encouraged in the bedroom, but in his playroom? In here I was an object. Just like the whips, canes, plugs and dildos, I was a sextoy that existed within these four walls purely for his pleasure.
“You know I’m not fucking you after that, right?”
Damn it! Part of me wanted to scream, to plead, to demand that he give me what I needed. But a much bigger part was embarrassed. I felt like a failure, unable to control my own impulses despite my training. So keeping my head down, I pouted and nodded.
“I understand, Sir.”
He disappeared behind the cross. A shocked cry escaped me before I could stop it, but it quickly choked off when Sir’s hand tightened on my collar. Another click, and my head remained high. He’d connected the chain that hung from a hook in the wall behind the cross to the ring at the back of my neck. It seemed that, whatever he chose to do to me tonight, he wanted to see my eyes while he did it.
Something cold was pressing into my vagina. In and out, twisting, sliding up to rub my clit before pushing back in again. I refused to squirm, even as the warming object passed through the tight resistance of my anus, settling heavy and large inside of me. Sir smacked me, and something jiggled. The object was a butt plug with a ball in it. Oh, he really did want me to suffer tonight!
I watched him bounce across the room, making for his rack of toys. He curled a long black bullwhip around his neck, picked up a leather paddle, and slipped something I dreaded into his pocket.
As soon as he came back to me he began swatting my breasts with the paddle. Soft taps, getting harder and harsher until my nipples stung. A whack on my leg, my arm, swiftly back and forth from thigh to thigh until I finally jerked my hips to try to get away.
Sir stepped in, breathing in my face. Two fingers plunged inside of me, wriggling and stroking while he reached around with his other arm and tapped something off my skin. I yelped, fighting my bonds, bending my knees, wanting his fingers deeper even as I tried vainly to escape from the sharp zaps that kept zinging off my ass. He was tormenting me with a blade shaped electrode.
My next cry was one of despair. His fingers had left me. Biting his lip in concentration, he stared at my body, whacking my vulva with the paddle, then zapping my nipples with the electrode. It looked like a dismantled fly zapper and I hated it.
Each time the paddle connected it made the jiggle ball in my butt shake. I could hear my fluids splattering on the leather, feel them dripping from me. Sweat trickled between my breasts and the crack of my butt, tickling me into madness. And on Sir went, striking the areas he could and zapping the ones he couldn’t until every inch of my skin felt raw and deliciously mistreated.
Done with those, he disappeared out of my line of sight again, coming back with a slim glass dildo. It was my favourite. Long and curved and filled with powdered glitter that sparkled even in low lighting.
Sir tapped my chin and I opened my mouth, accepting the glass eagerly. He looked mesmerised as I sucked and licked, and I knew he was imagining me sucking his cock. I hoped he’d let me before our play was over.
One step closer and I could feel how hard he was through his jeans. He bounced against me slowly, pressing the strip of denim that covered the buttons into my clit. If he’d kept circling his pelvis like that he’d have made me come, and he knew it. That’s why he stopped. Dragging the dildo down my chest, my belly, he pushed it into me. But he didn’t move it.
Grabbing my cheeks, he squashed my face until my lips puckered. “Fuck it,” he commanded. “Move your hips and fuck it until your cunt screams for release.”
It was almost impossible to do what he wanted when my legs were pulled so far apart, but I rocked as best as I could, wincing when he slapped my breasts, not daring to kiss him even when his lips hovered an inch from mine.
I jerked and twisted, fucking the glass, trying to angle it so that it hit my g-spot. When I finally managed it, and the sound of sloshing water grew louder than my laboured breathing, Sir started to rub my clit.
“Don’t you dare come,” he laughed.
“Oh fuck!”
I’d probably be punished for my outburst, but who cared? At this point I’d be happy to be whipped, or zapped again, even. Anything would be better than fighting the inevitable. My pussy was already sucking at the glass, trying to pull it deeper. Fluid poured from me, and I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to refuse the orgasm I knew was coming.
To my surprise, Sir gave me a reprieve. He backed off, eyeing my dripping wet pussy like it was his next meal. Oh, I hoped to fucking god that it was!
It wasn’t.
Closing in again, he released my ankles. I smiled dopily as he rubbed each one to get the blood circulating properly. Then we were face to face again, and he was smiling at me as he unbuckled my wrists. I knew he could see what I wanted in my eyes, and his smile widened until, with a quick nod of his head, he gave it to me.
I’ve never felt this healthy before
I’ve never wanted something rational,
I am aware now
I am aware now
One chaste kiss. It was over quickly, but I could still feel his lips against mine as he led me to the only carpeted section of floor. Coaxing me to my knees, he tilted my chin. My mouth was already open. I held still, moaning when his cock passed my teeth, pressed against my tongue and nudged the back of my throat.
I knew not to move. I didn’t have to suck or lick. All I was in the playroom was a series of holes, so I kept still while my owner fucked my mouth. He pressed the tip of his cock against my inner cheeks, withdrew and slapped me with it, lunged deep into my throat, groaning when each thrust dragged a choking sound from me.
Then I was on my back and the whip was lashing across my stomach. The strikes weren’t as harsh as usual, but they still brought tears to my eyes. Sir’s cock bounced and wept, almost like it was crying for me. The blows fell until I released my first scream.
Absolute silence followed. Sir dropped the whip and perched on the chair that sat at the edge of the carpet. “Make yourself come, Princess,” he said softly. “Fuck that tight little pussy of yours for me. I want you to bury your fingers in there and I don’t want you to stop until the plug is forced out of your ass and I can see your orgasm staining that fucking carpet.”
I did as instructed, widening my legs, clinging to a nipple with one hand while the other stroked my vulva. So much wetness. So hot and so sticky. I only ever used one finger when I did this, but I thought I’d give us both a treat. Wriggling three fingers into my vagina wasn’t easy for me, but Sir’s soft moan made it worth the effort.
I couldn’t thrust, so I just shook my hand, jiggling my fingers and the butt plug at the same time. Pressing my g-spot, pulling out and stroking my clit, parting my vulva with my fingers so Sir could see into my wet pinkness.
It took me almost five minutes to reach the point of orgasm, and Sir knew as soon as I was there. Sliding to his knees, he crawled to me, cock in hand. I greedily accepted his thick length, gasped as he found the end of me. Then he pulled almost all the way out and waited.
I knew what he wanted me to do. Pressing my hands against the floor, I lifted my hips, sliding my pussy up and down his length, fucking him while he remained propped up on his balled fists, completely still.
“Fuck me harder,” he whispered, thrusting once. “I want to feel you come now, Princess. Show my cock how much your cunt loves it.”
As if on cue, my walls clenched, and my muscles spasmed. Sir dropped down until he was pinning me to the floor, growling in my ear as he fucked his way to climax. It wasn’t until I was half way through another orgasm that the plug eased out of me, and that’s when he came.
I loved the sounds Sir made when he was coming. The oohs, aahs, and oh fucks were sexy enough, but it was the way he always muttered my name, no matter how intense our play was, that really melted my heart. I was his princess, his bitch, his whore or his slut while he hit and fucked me, but as soon as he came, I was Angela. His Angela.
As soon as his orgasm was over he leapt up and dashed off, coming back with a bowl of warm water, a washcloth, and a tub of soothing cream. Wiping my sweaty, stinging skin ever so softly, he began to chatter.
“Did I tell you that you made quite an impression on Saturday?” he asked casually.
“No, Sir.”
“Well, you did. You looked very beguiling in your pretty yellow dress, and the investors are very eager to see more.”
Aah, that’s what had been behind this! As a rule, playroom time was usually a way for him to blow off steam. For him to indulge his flair for the elaborate and feed the little part of him that was pure cruelty, born of frustration. But not tonight. Tonight had been my reward for being beautiful. For being a silent woman in a yellow dress. A clothes horse. An advertisement.
As I lay there, being worshipped by the man I adored, something Alanis Morissette once said popped into my head. “I see my body as an instrument rather than an ornament.”
It had taken me a long time to realise my old master had been abusive. That he’d made me despise myself, my body more than anything. I’d hidden it away, ashamed of how it looked. Sir was the one who had changed me, helped me understand that I was beautiful, if not perfect. Ever since then I’ve seen my body as both instrument and ornament.
In Sir’s playroom I’m the instrument of his pleasure, and when I’m not being that I’m the ornament at his side. The clothes hanger his wondrous creations swing from, the form that displays them and gets him noticed in the dog-eat-dog world of fashion.
Sir grinned at me, and helped me up, and we walked to the bed in the corner of the playroom, side-by-side, hand-in-hand. That one gesture reminded me that I was more than just his instrument and his ornament. I was his love, his peace, his future. And as surely as I was his, he was mine.
You’ve already won me over, in spite of me
So don’t be alarmed if I fall, head over feet
Don’t be surprised if I love you, for all that you are
I couldn’t help it
It’s all your fault.
Week #125
