Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 04

"Please, Sir." There was a definite sob in my voice.

"Hush," he commanded, then something hard and flat hit my ass with a loud smack.

"Ahhh!" I cried out as I lurched forward.

"Did you not hear me say hush?" he asked calmly followed immediately with an even louder smack. "And are you not out of position?" Smack.

It was everything I could do to get my sobbing under control and move back into the position he'd place me in even as the blows continued to fall. I returned to the pledge, though some of the words were now eluding me. I knew my ass cheeks must be bright red and the initial sting was being replaced by a white hot burning. When I was once again in position and quiet save for my strangled breaths, he tossed his weapon of choice to the side. I could see that it was a paddle, like for table tennis. Somehow, through all that, the ache in my pussy had grown ten-fold.

I could feel him moving behind me, then he was adjusting me slightly, spreading my knees, pushing my shoulders down. As he brushed against me to move this or that limb, I realized that he was naked. From time to time, his cock would slide across my back, or poke against one of my thighs. I dared hope he was finally going to give me some relief. What came instead was even more torturous.

He was on his knees and moved forward until his thighs and hips were pressed against my throbbing ass cheeks. I sucked in a breath and started at the beginning of the pledge again. I knew if I moved away even slightly, there would be hell to pay. I could feel his cock on my back and tried to imagine how good it would feel in my pussy. When he slid it down the crack of my ass, I dared to hope that was where it was headed. But, no. It slid further to nestle between my pussy lips, exerting an unbearable pressure in its own right, but of a very different nature. So close and yet so far. He leaned over me, his weight falling heavily on my back. His hands reached forward and clutched at my breasts. He alternated between groping my entire breasts and pulling and twisting at my nipples with his fingers. I was breathing in short gasps.

I knew if he just moved the tiniest bit, created that minute bit of friction, it would generate the spark that would ignite my very being. Or if he reared back just enough for his cock to find my opening, I would be screaming at the top of my lungs with one plunge. But with his weight on me, there was nothing I could do to set any of those wheels in motion, punishment be damned. He was holding me utterly helpless and he knew it. I was weeping in frustration and desperation, as quietly as I could. I'd long since given up remembering any of the words of the pledge of allegiance.

A small part of my mind whispered, "Orgasm denial." It had to repeat itself a few times before I could make sense of what I was remembering. He had promised to punish me with orgasm denial for coming without permission some months ago. It hadn't happened then, and I had dared hope he had forgotten. I should have known better. How long could he keep this up? How long could I keep my sanity? He moved away suddenly, too swiftly for even a second's friction. It was as though he read my thoughts and knew what I had come to realize. Would he let me come? Ever? I had tried to make him understand I had no control. He was showing me what control looked like. I was suddenly terrified. He must have recognized that, too, and he graced me with a warning.

"Be still," he commanded, moving off somewhere behind me. When he returned, he adjusted my position so that I was now on hands and knees. It became easier to breathe, but my tangled, sweaty hair was hanging on both sides of my face, limiting my field of vision. In fact, he tipped my head down in line with my back so that I could see little more than the space between my hands. It was almost worse than being blindfolded, because the temptation was so powerful to turn my head, to shake my hair out of the way.

Something I couldn't recognize was moving up my back, sweeping stray strands of hair this way or that way over my shoulders. Clearing the way? For what? Then he squatted in front of me. I didn't dare raise my head, but I didn't need to. I could just see his cock, at full attention, staring back at me. I was staring at it, trying desperately to conceive of how to lure it into my pussy, when something touched my cheek. He was holding something that looked suspiciously like a crop. As he trailed it across my lips and to my other cheek, I was sure. He flicked it and I felt a brief sting. "At least it's not the paddle," I assured myself. Then the fold of leather bit my other cheek. It slid across my forehead and chin, then briefly touched my eyes, forcing me to close them. Almost gently, it nipped at the very tip of my nose. Then it was gone, and he had moved out of my sight.

I caught myself holding my breath. As I forced the breath out, the first stinging blow landed on my back. As on my cheeks, I quickly realized that the sting was short-lived, the area afflicted much smaller than what the paddle had delivered. And he was delivering the blows more slowly and deliberately, picking targets at random. At some strikes I had gasped more in surprise than in pain, like the one that landed on the soul of my foot. When he landed one on my sore ass cheek, though, it had taken a sharp bite to my tongue to keep from swearing. He was walking around me, apparently choosing spots that pleased him for some reason. I found myself drifting, processing the pain as if it were something entirely apart from me, yet still needing to be catalogued; where, how hard, how long had the sting lasted. Sometimes he simply trailed the tip of the crop along my body. He especially enjoyed tormenting my ticklish ribs in this way. He had also discovered how sensitive my tailbone was, and he would alternately slap the leather to it, then swirl the tip through the sting.

Then the slap landed on my clit. I gasped and rocked forward, trying desperately to get back into position as fast as possible. I wasn't drifting any more. Perhaps that had been his intent. The tip of the leather teased my tailbone again, and I felt my pussy respond with a fresh gush of moisture. The leather slid upwards from my clit back again to my tailbone, dragging my juices with it. I wasn't even trying to control my gasping anymore. Whap! On my clit again, and I could feel the moisture spray down my legs. My pussy was begging for more. Could I really come from a stinging assault on my clit? My world was twisting sideways into freefall. I didn't know which way was up or down. It was several minutes before I realized the crop was no longer descending on me with its burning love/hate. I wanted desperately to look around, but my head was hanging and I didn't think I could even lift it back as he had positioned it, let alone high enough to see what he was doing now.

Then I felt something warm splash on my back and heard his soft groan. More splashes. Where ever the splash struck a cropping, the sting returned briefly. I wept. He had come again, saving nothing for me. I thought my pussy should have calmed into dejection, but it only screamed louder with desperation. My head hung even further and I was staring back at the emptiness between my legs.

After a moment, I heard him move away, back to the kitchen part of the room. He was helping himself to another beer. Then he returned. I heard him set the beer on the coffee table, and he came to stand in front of me. I could just see his toes. I didn't raise my head to even try to see more.

"You may speak," he graciously offered.

I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Are you bound?" he asked. I shook my head. "Say it!" he snapped.

"No." Then I added, "Sir."

"Have you been raped?"

"No, Sir," and some part of me already saw where he was going with this.

"Have you been hurt in any grievous sort of way?"

"No, Sir," I whispered.

"Then why are you kneeling here?"

I was shaking uncontrollably now. "Because I need you, Sir," I whispered.

"What?" he demanded. "I can't hear you."

"Because I need you, Sir."

He squatted down and raised my chin. "You need what, exactly, from me?"

I opened my mouth to say "I need you to fuck me," but I realized that wasn't the answer he was waiting for. I took a deep breath. "I need your approval. I need your punishment. I need your control. I need you to make me feel alive."

He released my chin and I thought my answer had disappointed him. Maybe I was supposed to beg him to fuck me. But then all of a sudden I was being rolled up into his arms, snugged against his chest and he was carrying me into the bedroom. I would have reached up and clung to his neck, but I didn't have the strength. He set me on my feet in the bathroom. "Use the toilet. Don't close the door."

Now to my mind, the only thing requiring more privacy than peeing was - you know - that other thing you do on the toilet. But I was too weak to argue, he was already moving back into the bedroom, and I had some beer to get rid of. What else could I do? When I wandered back into the bedroom, he had the bed turned down and he literally scooped me into it. Then he set about tying me with the ropes he'd reattached to the bed's legs.

"I don't understand," I said, hoping I still had permission to speak.

He looked at me with a faint smile on his lips. "It should be obvious." Since I only frowned in confusion, he continued. "I haven't given you permission to come. Since you have such a hard time obeying, I'm just making sure you don't try to help yourself to an orgasm during the night. If I feel like it in the morning, maybe I will allow you to come. Or maybe not," he added darkly as he tested his knots. Satisfied, he turned and strode out of the room, turning the light off and closing the door. I listened intently. Was he leaving me here like this? What if he never came back? When I didn't hear the apartment door open and close I was able to push my panic down. Once or twice, I thought I heard his beer bottle clink.

I tested the ropes. He had given me some room for movement, but made sure I couldn't reach his clever knots with my teeth to try to work them free. Nor could I turn on my side. I don't sleep on my back, ever. But that night, eventually, I drifted off, despite my throbbing pussy. I was so emotionally drained, I simply had no choice. My dreams were beset by frustration and I awoke often trying in vain to reach my torrid clit.

By morning, I was sure I was feverish. The sheets were twisted and knotted about me. I was staring at the ceiling when he finally opened the door. I wanted so bad to spit fire and brimstone at him, but my aching need had grown in intensity during the night, and he was the only answer to my dilemma. Besides, my bladder was close to bursting. He came to stand by the bed and gaze down at me. I'm sure he could see my seething anger; was probably amused by it. After a moment, he reached down and began freeing my limbs. When he had finished, I kicked and struggled free of the tangle of sheets and shoved past him into the bathroom. He caught the door as I tried to shut it, then stood there, leaning against the wall watching me. I discovered where the term shy bladder came from. But eventually full won out over shy. I tried my best to ignore him as I washed and splashed water on my face. When I looked up from the sink, I could see him clearly in the mirror. He had put his pants back on, but he was shirtless. That gorgeous chest taunted me.

"So what's on the torture menu for today," I asked. He walked up behind me, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

"Are you sure that's the attitude you want to take?" he asked softly, one of his hands was drifting down my belly, closer and closer to where I so desperately needed relief. I sucked in a breath and threw my head back against his shoulder as his fingers slipped between my legs and his palm pressed against my mound.

"Please, Sir," I whispered, but then he just laughed and pushed me into the shower, turning on the ice cold spray of water. I howled, but then he was right behind me, commanding me to hush. As the water slowly warmed up he positioned me under the spray, my hands on the wall of the shower, my feet spread. When he was satisfied, he pulled his soggy pants off and tossed them out on the bathroom floor. A moment later, he was sponging soapy water from my head to my toes, meticulously cleaning me even as he stoked the fire in my belly. When he was satisfied that he had covered every inch of me, he put the sponge aside and pulled down the shower head, aiming the spray directly at my nipples, then at my clit. I had done a fine job of staying still until then, but the intensity of the spray on my poor beleaguered clit was more than I could stand. My knees buckled and he caught me around the waist, then aimed one final spray between my legs before shutting the water off. He helped me from the shower and draped a towel over my shoulders then found one for himself.

I was shivering, but not from the cold. Had I screwed up again? He seemed almost playful this morning, but there were so many rules and I didn't even know at this point if I was allowed to dry myself off. He finally settled that question by vigorously rubbing me dry then taking me by the shoulders and pushing me back into the bedroom. He took me to the edge of the bed, then leaned down and spoke in my ear.

"Do you remember that position from last night? On your knees, ass in the air, head down?" I nodded. He swatted my still sore ass. "Do it." I obeyed, but inside I was cringing. What if he meant to start the torture all over again? I started to crawl to the center of the bed, but he stopped me and had me assume the position right at the edge. Then there was a long period of adjusting this knee or that arm. He even walked around the bed at one point, and I realized he was trying to prolong my agony.

Finally, he came to stand behind me and after a long painful silence, he said, "What is the rule, cherie?"

I wanted to scream. Which rule? There were so many! He began tapping his cock on my ultra-sensitive tailbone. Like ripples in a pond, each tap sent waves through my pussy deep into my core. Then I knew. And I also knew that I was doomed to failure yet again. "Don't..." I gasped. The head of his cock was suddenly buried in my dripping hole. It was only the sudden stretching that kept me from melting into an orgasmic puddle.

"Don't what, darling? Speak up, I can't hear you."

I tried to suck in enough air to get the sentence out. "Don't come without... Ahhhh!" Every inch of him was buried inside me and his balls had smacked against my clit. If he hadn't grabbed my hips as he plunged in, I think I would have shot off the far side of the bed. He wasn't even going to let me get the whole rule out before he'd make me break it.

"You're really going to have to work on your diction, cherie. Now try it again."

I took a deep breath. "Don't come without permission," I said in a rush. That time, he didn't move. I was panting.

"And are you going to? Come without permission?"

I tried to shake my head, but it was impossible in that position. "I can't..." I started. He pulled back slightly than slammed into the end of me again. It felt like he'd knocked my breath out.

"A simple yes or no will do, since you seem to have a hard time forming sentences."

What else could I say? If I told the truth and said yes, he would stop right there and leave me even more bereft than last night. So I lied. I said, "No."

I know for sure I heard him smile that time. He reached forward and wrapped my hair about his hand, pulling until my back was painfully arched. And then he slammed into me. Once, twice, Five times in all. Then all at once he let go of my hair and reached around my waist, lifting. "Come for me baby. Come all over me," he commanded. And this time, when he slammed into me, his cock hit home on my sweet spot, then slid all the way to the end of me, with every inch of his shaft dragging over that nexus of magical nerves. I screamed and convulsed in the throes of the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. All of the denied pleasure of the last hours was enmeshed in the most violent electrical storm that could possibly be contained in the belly of a mere mortal.

At some point, I passed out. When I finally came to, he was gone. It wasn't until many hours later that I had scraped together the strength to go downstairs and get my mail. As I was sorting through the junk, I happened to glance up at the rows of boxes. There, two boxes above mine, was a box clearly labeled Dr. Thomas Harker.