Insolence

Some places have no name. She knows this in her heart, but ever the question comes to her lips "Where?" or "What?" and sometimes even "Why?"

He suffers her constant testing of his limits with patience. She pays for it, though. She knows each time she is unable to stop herself from asking such questions or from turning away from his pleasures, or from pushing her own needs onto him, she will be given the consequences. There are so many things she can't help. She was always a bundle of need with so little control. Until now.

The whip cracks and her scream is involuntary. Not the sting, but the sudden noise that sends her into shivers. Her ass must be a mesh of red lines crisscrossed into a pattern her fingers will trace for the next several days.

She is in love with the marks he leaves. The patterns discernible through the bruising of the edges. He wields strap, whip or paddle with the same deft hand that he uses to send her reeling drunkenly from one orgasm into the other.

Her shoulders slump, her breasts ache. Her body is full and alive at the same time. The bark of a tree roughs her nipples when she squirms and leather cuffs chafe her wrists. Tears burn in her eyes, the fatigue has swarmed over her in an irrefutable storm.

Another crack. Another scream and burning line. Another drizzle of liquid spurts from her sex and sizzles into dry leaves piled between her bare feet. The cushion of layers once green and supple buoy her soles and free her mind to run laughing through a lonely meadow hidden within the dark forest.

Rarely do people know what they seek when they look for adventure. Not really. You can read up on what you want to know, watch videos and how tos, but it pales when the real thing is suddenly thrust into one's consciousness.

She sifted through a lot of answers to her ad before deciding on someone to try. She nearly ran from that disastrous meeting and was wont to try again except that she knew in her heart that this is what she wanted. On the second try, he showed up.

Innocence is often overlooked and frequently misunderstood. It is not always an unwillingness, but an inexperience. Not simply naivety, but more a lack of opportunity. He never uses blunt trauma and didn't that first time. It has always been patient training.

"Why do you think you will like this?" His fork moves a bite of apple tart into his mouth. The flakey crust sends a light crunch out between them. It is clear from his action and manner that he will listen. This is an interview, not a date.

"I feel it. My toes curl when I think of it. I've been spanked before." She speaks this last with an attitude of defiance.

Weight settles onto the table. Drifts down like a dislocated feather. He chews with deliberate enjoyment. Her pastry is left untouched. She is not quite uncomfortable. Not with him, anyway. He is kind and gentle with his words and glances. It is his stares and questions that leave her grasping for answers within herself. There is an atmosphere of silence that he easily allows and she feels the need to break or deflect. She wonders if a scream or cry lives in that space. Known by its absence.

"I'm not talking about spankings." His voice is level. She squirms. "I look for extraordinarily strong women because this is a journey that will leave you marked forever. Opened, healed and scarred for life."

She becomes intensely aware that her panties have soaked through to the seat of her chair. If she were to rise now, the puddle would be obvious. She isn't sure why, but she knows it is the way he talks with her as much as the subject matter. She is enamored by every rich syllable that rolls softly from his tongue.

"If you're looking for me to take you home right now and whip your ass, it's not going to happen. That wouldn't give you much anyway." He paused. "I don't work like that anyway. I'm here for my pleasure.' Another hesitation. "I like anticipation. Anxiety. Uncertainty. I like the build up to something great and I like to feed that until it nearly bursts on its own. Then I devour the resulting delight."

He takes another bite. Just a bit of apple with tiny flakes of crust clinging to it. The little cafe is really a find. Very French and excellent. She tries to measure him with her eyes, but can't seem to get a handle on him.

"I'm not mean. Don't get the wrong idea." His fork settles onto the outer edge of the small plate, out of the way of the remaining food. "I'm not nice, though. I will take my pleasures and that means ripping you out of your comfort places and pushing you past any of your wild little fantasies." He is even and direct.

"You want to hurt me?" She tries a little humor.

"I want so much more than that." He smiles.

The clamps send shooting stars through her breasts. Her nipples stabbing at her lungs, keeping her breath short and sharp. When the tips scrape across the tree her knees buckle with the agony of it all. Another crack of his whip and the leaves at her feet take more of her inner organs as they melt and run out through her open petals.

As soon as her wrists were tied to the tree, he pulled her nubs taut one by one and clipped bands on them to keep them jutting out. As though they needed help, but the constant jolts and reminders give her one more continuous ache to manage.

She is far over her head. She knew it when he began to tell her about the clinical side of what he planned for her. "Spanking is easy to manage. Anytime there is but a single stimulant, the body easily assimilates it into their experience. A spanking might be hard and sudden, but it is still only a spanking."

He takes her hand where it has frozen on the edge of the table. He fondles each finger, stroking the length up and back in a sensuous parody of a penis. At least to her mind. She feels the loosening of juices once again.

He says the one thing she needs to hear. "It's far from unusual to enjoy spanking as sex play. It's not really a fetish so much as a stimulation of the area to heighten sensation. Most people know this semi intuitively."

"In order for a single swat of a paddle or belt to be truly effective, you have to loosen the ties to the physical self. That is where we start getting into fetishism. I have a particular inclination toward violence and, at the same time, a distinct bias against harming others. I'm not interested in just spanking some girl to get the blood flowing to her nether regions and opening up her vagina for sex. I want to make you completely open. To strip you of your defenses, shatter your boundaries and I want you to feel it in your bones."

Her beautiful clothes lay forgotten in a pile somewhere behind her. Not her body, but her self. The buttons of her new blouse undone with care as he smothered her chest in kisses and suckling noises. She writhed with the enjoyment of it all. When he is sweet with her, she flies into a deep trance. He makes her dance in ways no one has ever tried before. The methodical way he makes certain that every bit of her flesh is electrified. Tingling and desperate for his next touch. As the shirt came off, he tasted every inch of skin. Down the right arm, raising it up where he had tied it to the other one, up the left.

Shivers mean nothing to her when they blend into one complete spasm. She should be used to it. Although there are many times he is tender the entire time they are together and some times when he is rough the whole episode, there are even more times when one or the other is used only to enhance the opposite. The delight he gives her now with his fingers massaging her so thoroughly is merely the sensitization of her body to deepen the agony and the torment he is about to bring her.

"Crack." Her back is to the tree. Somehow, she missed his hands firmly molding to her sides, lifting her slightly and turning her until her raw and flamed ass scrapes the rough tree and her delicate back arches to keep from scratching open. The belt strikes across her ribs, just underneath her delicate globes. He is so perfect with his every stroke.

The next sends her fragile thighs flaring. She wants to close her legs, cross the muscles and show only the most defensible parts, but she knows the trouble she will create for herself by avoiding the slaps she receives as consequence of just such an action. She cries out in her desperate need for both avoidance and acceptance. He stops and moves in close. Reaches in the backpack he has brought with him.

"Sensory overload without overwhelming the body into shutting down is an art, really." He speaks as though they are already intimate. "I want you to crave the feelings even as you fear the journey. The intensity so strong that it is all you can handle. Even frequently too much, without breaking you or harming you." His fingers press into the muscles of her hands, her palms tingle and make her think of how he'll feel deep inside her.

"You may certainly believe that you want this very much, but it is a raw and painful journey." His fingers are dancing light across her forearms and sending waves of delirious fantasy up her limbs. "It's not what it may seem. A few spankings and maybe a bit of pain to enhance the tedium of in and out sex. I am not a believer in sex for relief. It is a labor that brings great connection. An intimacy like this takes work. I will know your every physical need better than your own mind."

Her orgasm seems always on the verge of her thin consciousness. She has only to turn the right way or to touch herself to the right part of him and she will explode in a light year's worth of particles. Pieces of her mind storied and latent. He keeps her like this for eternities. "I should be used to it by now." She wavers at the thoughts that fluff around her head like butterflies in a garden of lilies.

Of course she said yes that first time. They made a date. He sets time out differently for dates without and dates with sex. Makes sure that she understands which is which. She is a turmoil of whims normally. She would probably have accepted the seduction that first time they met, but he left her with the feeling of need. Left her thinking that maybe that was his plan. To make her want him all the more. She scoffs at such tricks. Continued to blow off his little discourses until she could no longer ignore what he was doing to her.

The third date. That's the one that he told her they would be having sex. "What if I don't feel like it or I'm on my period?" She'd asked. This was always a consideration for her. Whether she wanted to or not depended nearly exclusively on how she felt that day or how her partner could make her feel at the time. He smiled.

A spreader bar locks in place and keeps her knees wide despite her impulse to cover her groin. The tail of the belt whips across the inside of her fragile thigh, bringing tears to her eyes. She thinks of how he has never done anything like this to her before, then thinks of how each time has been so different.

The last slip of leather snicks over her pulsing flesh. She flinches, waiting for the belt to strike her sensitized pussy. She cringes thinking of it being slapped by a belt. Closes her eyes tightly every time his arm rears back. The ache and pain it must be makes each blow landing anywhere else a blossom of fear... and curiosity.

"If I wanted your eyes closed, I would blindfold you."

His lips are nearly inside her ear. Spasms wrack her frame and she thinks she might cum. Her hazel eyes flare open in a blaze of green sparkles. A wave of desire flushes out onto the leaves below and she feels the fluttering of her heart build. She is going to orgasm without him touching her.

"You had better fucking not cum until I tell you to." His voice is harsh. Still soft, but grating. Forced into her ear by atmosphere alone. He simply set the words out on the doorstep of his lips and let her ear take them in.

His fingers have been slipping silently between her vulva, pressing a vibrating bullet inside. She didn't recognize the sensation until his words struck her and brought her back into the reality she hangs in.

She felt like it. She wonders even now what would have happened if she hadn't. Would he have just taken her anyway? Maybe tied her and tormented her until she relented? Would she have agreed just to be done with it all?

She'll never know. When the day came, she'd thought of his touch and the way he had caressed her palm, how it made her think of that physical act, so much that she would have fallen right out on the living room floor nude for him. She wanted it. It had been awhile anyway, and she really did see him as very different than her usual partner. For one thing, he hadn't rushed to sex as soon as she showed interest.

He still didn't. They ate light. He usually does, she noticed since. She wasn't hungry. Something about the anticipation was making her eschew all social niceties. The kisses started at the door of the car. As she settled into the passenger seat, they kept at her. Teasing her lips. Little nips at each one, tiny touches. She isn't used to being kissed lightly. Most guys want to pummel her, shoving their tongues down her throat and it only gets worse as their excitement grows. His arousal was obvious, but it only made his kiss softer.

His body shoves up against her and she feels every bit of his hardness. The muscles of his chest, his arms, his thighs. She can't breath and the electricity running through her hums in concentric rings from her pubis. Her nipples thrust at him, her breasts so heavy and full that they are squashed by the pressure. They take in the thrumming and send out pulses of sharp signals that drive her further into the orgasm shaking her limbs loose.

"Oh." She barely manages. "Oh please."

His fist grabs her hair. Wraps itself around and yanks her ear to his mouth. "Don't you fucking dare cum until I tell you." His breath comes in lust filled pants. An animal at the edge of control. Fluid gushes from her, pooling in the leaves. "I shouldn't have to tell you more than once." There is knife to his tone that sends her insides spewing from her.

"Oh." She mouths like a fish. "I can't. Please." She wants to tell him of the stars behind her eyes. The flames spearing her.

His body forces her unruffled back into the rough bark of the tree. The abrasions flinging sparks into the mix of throb and strum. She feels his huge member shoving across her entrance. "It must be soaked." She thinks and licks her lips with the memory of how he rams it all the way inside her, deep and hard until it is sopping wet, then shoves it down her throat until her own delicate musk fills her nostrils.

The kisses kept coming. Every light, every traffic pause. Once, he even pulled into a park cutout and they made out until she reached for his groin. His lips became familiar with her ears, her neck, her collar. She'd felt enough to make her want to see and feel it. He gave her his hand to help her from the car and used the contact to press her against the door and kiss her until her knees buckled.

She came. Almost right away. She's never been that difficult for men to please, but she does frequently have to please herself after they leave. By the time he'd made his way to her sex, she was so ripe that he hardly touched his tongue to her silken folds before she blew up into a raging climax. He kept after her, barely touching the wet tissues to each other until she grabbed at his head trying to get him to stop.

He kissed her as he moved to position and slid inside her. The feeling sending her into bliss. She slid her tongue into his warmth and shook. Moved her hips with a need she rarely felt before. He touched his way to her ear.

"You should cum all you want right now." She did. Again. And again.

In the aftermath, he explained to her that he will take her. He will do what he wants with her. "I will take my pleasures however I want. That includes your orgasms."

She poohed.

His hands cupped and teased her every bit of flesh. His fingers separated the muscle from bone and sinew. She became completely limp in his touch. His mouth nibbled and licked the backs of her knees, her ankles, her thighs. Her toes and thumbs came alive. Her hands tied together and held in front of her, she yet took every opportunity to stroke at him. She wanted his cock inside her and told him so. Told him in every term she could think of how she wanted him to fuck her until she can't stand.

She'd decided it was her turn this time. She would seduce him. She bought the clothes with special care, studied the look it gave her. Enough of slut and enough of queen. Youth and vigor with patience and prudence. She went to him.

Showed up unannounced at his office. Created a stir. The sultry temptress unknown and mysterious. She saw the look in his eyes and knew she'd crossed a line. She wouldn't be denied, though. She let him have the full blast of her sex. Her feminine wiles setting hormones flinging everywhere. Men were walking past his office to get a look at her and women were making excuses to interrupt.

She inwardly reveled at the stir she was causing. He was very calm, considering. She knew how hot she looked. A clerk at the store where she stopped to buy a drink and kill a little time fell over a rack looking at her. She was confident she had finally put herself together well enough to give him just a bit of all that he gives her. The kind of pleasure she has come to expect. She doesn't want him to think she takes that for granted.

She touches his arm as he passes her, heading to the doorway and on his way out with her. She wonders what he will do with her in charge. How he will manage it. She feels so alive. The thrill of the hunt racing in her blood! She will take him home and spend the night ravaging him. Doing all the things he has done to her. The little nibbles and scrapes of her teeth against his most delicate parts, the little kisses unexpected. She is a bundle of heartbeats and desire and tension.

He reacted better than she expected. His penis instantly at attention, showing its applause at her performance. She moved against him in wanton confidence and allure. Sliding her body ravenously up and down his. Her lips finding every nook and cranny of electrical charge. His member stood pulsing in the bare air of the open room.

He'd held his hands from her until she'd made her first tour of his body. Tempting every trick she'd read of or thought of or felt from him. Teasing him with everything she knew. As she slid into his embrace and moved her mouth to his, the fingers rippled lightly across the muscles of her back. The palms smooth down her spine. She melts and loses her place somewhere in the return journey from the small of her waist to her scapulae.

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere. She doesn't remember them being so free and wild somehow. The points scatter goosebumps wherever they press, the pads slip into her very being. His face pulls back just out of reach and his teeth and tongue tremble over her puffed out lips. She is set aflame.

He presses his advantage forward and she realizes that she has merely opened the door for his force to walk inside and take everything. He removes her clothing in a gathering storm of frustration. An agonizing striptease that leaves her flesh an open wound of nerve and need. As each fluff of cotton or lace of silk lets go of her body, she feels the puff of air like a flay. His mouth and hands the only comfort in a track of a knife edge.

She falls to her knees, trying to take back the initiative. She realizes how things have turned and flails wildly to turn it back to her design, but it is too late. As her mouth bobs up and down the hardened shaft, he takes one wrist after the other from her and buckles leather cuffs on. When he is satisfied to her captivity, he pulls her from his hard cock and yanks her to his chest. His lips move to her ear.