Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 03

Never once had I anticipated that he might blindfold me, or that he would take to his role so seriously. Never once had I anticipated he might want to crop me so hard that I would actually beg him for mercy. Oh my god, would he really crop me that hard? I shuddered on the verge of panic, and yet inside I tingled. This was what I'd fantasized about, what I'd asked for, and to feel it now was a hundred times more intense than I'd ever imagined. A thousand times more, even.

As I knelt there trembling, blind and so absolutely helpless that I couldn't even put words to all the things I was feeling right now, Peter placed his hand reassuringly on my head. It was as if he could sense my inner turmoil. He stroked my hair soothingly, and as he did I breathed more normally. My panic slowly subsided, and when he stooped down and kissed me gently on my forehead my panic disappeared entirely. I was in Peter's hands. I was okay. I was getting what I'd asked for, and so much more. The panic slipped from my mind, leaving behind only an excited, tingling need.

Peter kissed my forehead again, and then my nose. He kissed my upper lip where it stretched around the gag, and then my lower lip, nibbling gently at it. I moaned softly around the gag. I loved it when Peter nibbled on my lips. I tried instinctively to angle my head for a proper kiss, but the gag was in the way. As if knowing my frustration, Peter chuckled.

"You have such lovely lips, Catherine. You can't imagine how sexy they look wrapped around that gag. It looks almost natural for you."

I shivered. It felt anything but natural. I felt robbed of my ability to speak, to put words to my fears and desires, robbed even of my ability to breathe easily, as if my tightly laced corset didn't already make it hard enough. I felt flushed and light headed at the same time. I tingled all over, and throbbed between my legs. It was a feeling unlike any I'd ever felt before, or even imagined. Until Peter decided otherwise, I was completely helpless. I was at his mercy. And oh my god, I'd asked him to crop me and make it hurt...

Bottoms Up

In my helpless little world there existed only the pounding of my heart and Peter's soft voice in my ear. "I can see your excitement, Catherine. I can see your arousal. You are aroused, aren't you?" He slipped his fingers between my legs, stroking me gently through my delicate thong panties. I moaned and tried instinctively to angle my hips so he would touch me deeper. He chuckled. "Oh yes, so very aroused. I never would have imagined you would become so aroused from being so helpless. That's it, isn't it? Being helpless? Because you are, Catherine. Absolutely, completely helpless."

He took my hands and coaxed me to rise. I barely could, my legs were trembling so. This was it. I expected him to lead me to the bedroom now, to lie me down on the bed and explore my submission with the crop and then his cock. But instead he turned me and led me not to the bedroom as I expected but to the table. I recognized it unmistakably as my thighs came to rest against its edge. As I trembled in anticipation Peter put his hand on my back, pressing forward gently.

"Lean forward, Catherine."

I leaned forward, and then still more as Peter coaxed me further. He didn't stop until I lay bent over the table. The heavy wood surface felt cool beneath my bare breasts and belly, so smooth and unyielding. I could smell the wood faintly, could feel its texture against my cheek as I turned my head in search of a comfortable position to rest in. The stiff stays in my corset dug in uncomfortably. I felt rudely exposed in this position, bent over the table with my bare bottom presented. As I squirmed Peter put his hand on my back, stilling me.

"Don't move, Catherine," he murmured. I held still and listened to him move about. He retrieved something from nearby... the box I'd presented him with earlier, it sounded like. There was a gentle whisper. The ribbons. He was slipping the two blue satin ribbons from the box. I frowned. Whatever was he doing? It was what was inside the box which mattered, the only item remaining: the crop. Whatever was he doing with the ribbons?

Peter knelt behind me and coaxed my legs apart, guiding me to spread them as widely as I could. My ankles brushed against the wooden table legs. Silky, narrow satin slipped around my left ankle, and before I knew what was happening Peter drew it snug, binding my ankle to the table leg. Excitement coursed through me. The ribbons. Peter was tying my legs to the table with the ribbons from the gift I'd given him! The gentle kiss of the second satin ribbon came on my right angle, and before I could think to panic Peter snugged it down tightly, binding me there too to the table. The cute little ribbons made surprisingly effective bonds. No matter how much I squirmed, they wouldn't loosen. I hadn't a hope in the world now of closing my legs or of escaping anything Peter might want of me.

As I lay trembling over the table, bent at the waist and my legs forcibly spread, Peter leaned over and kissed me between my shoulder blades. The gentle touch of his lips sent a shiver racing down my spine. His fingers were on me too, on my shoulders, my arms, tracing the delicate laces on my corset, right down to where my wrists were cuffed behind my back. He took my hands in his and for a moment I clutched him, trying to tell him with my grip how excited I was. He squeezed mine back, and then he coaxed my cuffed wrists up to the middle of my back.

"Keep them there, Catherine," he murmured to me, leaning forward and kissing my ear. "I don't want to see your hands anywhere near your bottom. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Good. I'm only going to tell you this once. I don't want to have to remind you."

I shivered. He sounded so firm, so serious... as if this wasn't a game for him, even a little bit. I clasped my hands together and repeated his admonition to myself over and over.

Hands nowhere near my bottom. I wouldn't fail him this.

As I waited anxiously, Peter moved around behind me. I couldn't make out what he was doing. In my blindness everything was so unfamiliar. I shifted against the table, the hard edge digging into my thighs, my legs aching from how widely and awkwardly I was spread. Cool air tickled me between my legs. As widely as I was spread, my delicate little thong panties covered next to nothing, not even my intimate folds. Peter was behind me again. I felt his fingers on my bottom cheeks, tracing gentle circles, and then a moment later there was a different sensation, a new sensation. It tickled. It was a teasing, fleeting caress of something foreign, something stiff yet supple. Peter played it gently over my bare bottom cheeks, first one and then the other. My breath caught in my throat and I stiffened as I realized what it was. It was the tip of the riding crop.

Peter teased the tip of the crop all over me, tracing the gentle swell of my helplessly offered bottom cheeks, down along the backs of my thighs (at which I shivered uncontrollably), even up along my arms and over my upper back, nudging my soft blonde tresses aside and tracing my shoulder blades. It was there that he leaned over and followed behind with his lips, kissing my shoulders gently and then between, whispering to me softly.

"I wonder, Catherine, if you really have any idea what you've allowed me?" His voice was so soft, so commanding... so amused. "Earlier, Catherine, you asked me to crop you. Well my pet, I'm going to. Harder perhaps than you might have anticipated." His lips were right on my ear now, his breath hot, his voice husky. "I wonder, Catherine, if you'll be able to hold back your tears. I'm not going to spare your tender flesh a bit, my pet. Not a bit. Before this is over, you're going to cry in vain around that gag of yours."

As I trembled in anticipation a soft whistling sound reached my ears. Peter was swishing the crop through the air. Each time I instinctively tensed at the whistle, and breathed easier when it didn't fall on my flesh. He was only testing it. Again and again he swished it through the air, until suddenly their came a harsh slap of crop on flesh. I jumped. But the crop hadn't fallen on my flesh. I was confused for a moment until I realized: Peter had tested it on his palm.

"Wow, this thing really hurts, Catherine. I'm glad I'm not in your place."

I whimpered around my gag. If I was anxious before, now I was frightened. How shortsighted I'd been. I'd not had the foresight to test the crop on my bottom, or even on my palm. I had absolutely no idea how much it would hurt when Peter started swinging it. I had no idea what to expect. But it was too late now. I couldn't say anything around my gag, couldn't ask him to go slow at first or to be gentle to begin with, couldn't utter more than an unintelligible "Mmmph". I was in Peter's hands now. I would just have to trust him.

Peter trailed the tip of the crop over my bottom, down the backs of my thighs, then back up to trace teasing circles on my lower back. I waited breathlessly, helpless and alive with expectation. After a long moment Peter drew the crop away. I caught my breath, sure that this was it. But instead the crop came again gently as Peter lay it across my back. He left it there and moved his fingers lower to gently caress my offered bottom.

"So smooth, so lovely," he whispered as he stroked my bare bottom. "Your skin is so pure and virgin, Catherine. So soft. I wonder how it will look after five minutes of the crop. Or ten." He chuckled and kissed my bottom, first one defenseless cheek and then the other. "Or fifteen..."

I gasped around my gag. The thought that Peter might crop me for fifteen minutes -- or maybe even longer -- both aroused and frightened me. I hadn't considered putting any limits on my offer of submission, especially not on how long he could crop me for. But fifteen minutes!? I shuddered. Oh God, what had I gotten myself into?

Peter's lips moved lower. He kissed his way down between my legs and there, nudging my thong panties aside, he took my delicate folds between his lips and suckled gently. It was an unexpected, delicious gesture and I moaned around my gag, shifting my hips so he'd have better access. Oh, how splendid! I was incredibly aroused already and now with Peter's lips on me I trembled with aching need. He chuckled as if knowing my desperation and suckled harder. It was a fleeting, teasing gesture with his lips, not nearly as long as I would have liked. I moaned around my gag with delight, and even louder in frustration when his lips slipped away. Oh, just a couple more minutes of this! If my mouth had been free I would have begged him, but as it was all I could do was groan and squirm, trying in vain to bring myself back into contact with his lips. But it wasn't to be.

He let my thong panties slip back into place and straightened up behind me. I waited for his lips to come again, but what came instead was the riding crop... not gently before, but suddenly and very much for real. My only warning was a soft whistling, followed by a burst of stinging hot pain on my right buttock that took my breath away. It HURT! It was ten times more painful than I'd ever imagined. A hundred times more even. Tears welled in my eyes and it took my every ounce of self control to not reach down and clutch at my stinging bottom. And yet with that first stroke something burst inside me. It was as if it opened the floodgates to something deep within me, and against the stinging burn that first slash left I found myself on the brink of orgasm, shuddering and straining against my bonds not in pain but in pleasure.

"Are you okay?" I could hear the concern in Peter's voice.

I nodded, my vision blurring with tears, too breathless with shock to even moan around my gag. I had almost come, just from that first painful stroke! I hadn't realized before just how close I was, or imagined what feeling the crop for the first time would do to me. But God, it really had almost pushed me over the edge. I suddenly wished I hadn't asked Peter to gag me, that I might be able to beg him to strike me again, and harder. This was what I'd wanted for so long. The stinging, the burning, the helpless arousal... everything.

Peter must have sensed it within me for he chuckled. "You want to feel it again, don't you Catherine?"

I nodded vigorously, smiling around my gag. Yes, again. And again. And...

And he struck me again, this time on my left bottom cheek. Stinging pain bit hard and this time I did cry out into my gag as my tears began for real. Oh my god, it hurt! Again I caught myself just in time as I started to instinctively reach down. These weren't light, playful swats like I'd expected Peter might begin with. He wasn't working me into this slowly. He was taking me at my word and making it hurt.

When Peter brought the crop down a third time, on my right buttock again just below where he'd struck me first, I couldn't help myself. Without even thinking about it I reached down and clutched at my stinging flesh, massaging furiously as fresh tears welled in my eyes. Almost immediately Peter grasped my cuffed wrists and drew them away from my bottom, pushing them back up to the middle of my back.

"What did I tell you, Catherine?" He sounded stern and completely serious.

"Nowhere near your bottom," he reminded me. "Well, since you can't seem to obey I guess I'll just have to help you a bit."

As I lay there with tears welling Peter untied the bottom lacing on my corset. Whatever was he doing? For a moment I wondered if was going to take my corset off, and I felt a momentary flush of relief for the corset really was laced so tightly that it was making my breathing quite strained. But Peter wasn't removing my corset. He untied the bottom lacing and threaded its ends through the links of my handcuffs, and then he tied the lacing securely again, binding my wrists to my corset. Excitement coursed through me, and a flush of panic. I squirmed gently and then not so gently as I tested my new bonds. The simple lacing held my cuffed wrists securely to the middle of my back. I wouldn't be able to get my hands anywhere near my bottom now even if I wanted. If I'd felt helpless before, now I felt truly vulnerable.

There was no warning but the soft whistle when the crop fell again. Peter struck me hard, and then again in quick succession. The stinging bite brought fresh tears to my eyes and I instinctively tried to reach down. But the lacing held my cuffed wrists securely, and I could only whimper as Peter brought the crop down on my bottom again and again. I struggled to catch my breath. I wished suddenly that I hadn't coaxed Kim to lace my corset so tightly. Standing at the altar today it had been a tight, welcome reminder of my submissive desires, but now it was frightfully constricting as I tried to breathe against the pain of the crop. Peter brought the crop whistling down on the lower swell of my bottom and I shrieked, panting in desperate, labored little breaths around my gag. The corset was tightly unyielding, the stays biting uncomfortably into my soft flesh as I struggled for breath. I felt light headed and flush, and yet the harder it became for me to breathe, the more exquisite the kiss of the crop felt.

As I lay so helplessly offered to the crop every little detail, every little sensation became exquisitely magnified. I heard the whistle of the descending crop as if time stood in slow motion. The flaring heat left by the strike burned me to my very core. I felt the cuffs biting ever so slowly deeper into my flesh each time I squirmed. And the table beneath me, its cool, wooden surface felt so exquisite against my nakedness, so hard and unyielding yet so much like an intimate lover. I felt as if it were my only comfort at this moment as again and again the crop fell. I was aware of every sound however small, every movement of air however gentle. I could smell Peter's faint, pleasant cologne and it made me want him more now than ever before. The wetness between my thighs took on a life of its own in these exquisite moments, seeping minutely down my flesh though in my mind it felt like a flood. But most of all, my bottom burned. It felt as if it were on fire. I could feel every mark the crop left, every little crisscrossing, stinging line. Each new one that Peter added -- and he was doing so quite rapidly now -- felt as if a little burning, searing line of pleasure. I felt raw to my very core. And yet at every moment I was on the absolute verge of orgasm.

In the middle of it all Peter paused briefly. He touched my bottom, digging his fingers in and making me mewl around my gag in discomfort. It hurt! And yet with the pain came pleasure, a throbbing need between my legs and deep inside me which threatened to drive me crazy if I didn't get some relief soon. In this suddenly quiet few moments as I lay panting and desperately trying to catch my breath, Peter leaned forward over me and kissed me between my shoulder blades.

"Next time, Catherine, I'm not going to gag you. Next time I'm going to want to hear you cry out, and beg, and plead. Next time I'm going to want to hear it in your voice as I mark your lovely bottom."

I moaned around my gag. Oh God... next time? Didn't he understand that I'd only intended this to be for tonight? But now as I listened to Peter's words, as I ached and throbbed from the lingering marks of the crop, I realized that I'd not been very clear on that point at all.

Peter was still speaking to me softly, even as he stroked my hair gently. "I wonder, Catherine, if you have any idea how deep your submission to me will be. If you have any idea the implications of what you've offered me. I'm going to enjoy using you whenever I want, my pet. Your lips, your tongue, your submission... I can't tell you how excited I am to think of what you will do for me." As he spoke he teased his fingers along the valley between my bottom cheeks, tickling me gently. I trembled. Only tonight! I'd meant this only for tonight! But I couldn't very well tell Peter that now, gagged as I was, and anyway I was sure that if my mouth had been free at that moment, I would have gladly agreed to anything he might suggest.

The quiet interlude was soon over. Peter straightened up and without pretense resumed cropping my defenseless bottom. It was far more painful now after the brief respite. Each strike of the crop caught me upon previously marked flesh and the stinging bite was magnified ten fold. A hundred fold, even. My blindfold was wet with my tears, and I could feel them trickling down my cheeks. My bottom burned. My wrists and ankles ached for at every moment now I pulled in vain against my bonds. I squirmed, I trembled, I ached desperately for orgasm and even more for Peter to finish.

Finally the crop bit hard one last time on my soft, defenseless bottom and then came no more. I waited for it -- hoped for it, even -- but Peter set the crop on the table beside me.

He touched me gently now, tracing his fingers over my trembling bottom, caressing me softly as he leaned down and kissed my shoulder, and my neck, and the back of my head. Moving in front of me now he kissed me again and again, on my cheeks, on my lips, on my chin. I realized dully what he was doing. He was kissing my tears away.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now, Catherine," he told me softly. "How red and crop-marked your bottom is. How it glows from the kiss of the crop. How your telltale wetness is so visible between your legs. How you tremble now in your bonds."

He kissed my forehead again. "And most of all, how beautiful your tears are, Catherine. I wonder, are those for the pain or for your joy?"

I couldn't have answered him even if I hadn't been gagged. I didn't know myself. Probably it was a little of both.