Needled Affections

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Sadist torments with blend of pain and attention.
2.7k words
4.24
58.9k
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In dedication to the one who was ....

"..Like a mirror, only one that you reach thru to touch the other side, instead of seeing the reflection."

Let the story begin....

She sat cross legged, coffee in hand. Her tone was serious, and her posture direct and reactive. "I truly believe that it's a sign of advanced knowledge of one's self."

"Come stand over here."

She complied, continuing her litany of newly charted theory. He listened vaguely, enough as to be able to drill her thru the obvious mistakes in logic and human nature later. His more acute focus was on the way her body was reacting to his command even as her mind continued its thoughts. She stood with a slight tremble, the nerves preparing for the inevitable. He walked behind her, and gathered something into his hands. The movement caused her to pause.

"Continue, susan, you were not quite done with your thought, were you?"

She sighed a deep breath, and tried to recapture the dissolving mental process. A moment of panic set in when she realized that her thoughts were breaking apart, that the body was claiming control and the irresistible draw to give way was intoxicating.

"And what comes next, susan? You believe there to be something beyond simple pleasure and pain? You have not been given permission to withdraw from the conversation."

He watched her shake thru her body's grasp, and pick up the thread of thought. "It is a cleansing action that gives an opportunity to start fresh in feeling the most intimate and sensual details of touching another, of reacting to another's mind and desire. When I am craving pain, I am but at one end of a wide pendulum swing. Sir."

The Sir came out a bit muffled, as he was slipping a rather large ball gag into her mouth. He immediately admired the stretch to her lips, the instant reaction in the pupils of her eyes, and the way her entire body tensed with realization.

"Now you are dismissed from the conversation, pet."

His voice became a part of her thought, and his hands brought alive every nerve ending. He swept her sweater over her head, and let his fingers linger on the lace of her lingerie. The lace, when twisted, worked as a thousand little points of sharp pain, the fibers cutting into the tender nipples. Her body responded with twisting of its own, as if it could squirm away from the pain. Her head knew better, his creativity knew no bounds.

His hand ran down her shoulder, gathering one arm behind her. Propelling her forward, he felt the reaction of her body to his movements, as if each muscle had a slight tic. They came to a halt in front of the mirror.

"Look in the mirror, pet. See a familiar face? A face destined to whimper and cry? You are about to find out how far you will go to end the pain, or how far you will endure it."

She could see his grin behind her in the mirror. The room was bright, and colorful. The warmth of the light had everything in brilliant detail. The whole ambiance belied the darkness of the moment, the peril. The two of them danced in that peril with a tenuous trust.

"There isn't any room to beat you here. That is such a shame."

He was still grinning as he positioned her to lean over the counter, putting her face very near the mirror, and her tits swaying. His fingers would reposition her chin as it dropped, ensuring that her eyes met the reflection.

"Stay."

He pulled at her nipples, listening to the quick intake of breath. As his fingers gripped more tightly, her body shivered, pulsing electricity that was already pulling her focus.

"Binder clip or needle?"

He held the objects up behind her, watching her eyes in the mirror as she watched his face.

"Look at your own eyes, pet, not mine. Understood?"

She nodded her head and picked up the contact of her own stare even as he reached for her left breast. He ran his hand under, feeling the weight of it in his hand, allowing his fingers the pleasure of the soft skin. His right made a stealth approach with a binder clip. He was hardly prepared for the sudden lurch of her body when the pain connected. The silent scream tightened every sinew, and made her at once completely overtaken. His hand stole into her hair and held her head where he wanted.

"Open your eyes" "now, susan, open your eyes. Remind yourself that it is your whole being that is here, your whole being is giving up every ability to refuse, surrendering to the exuberance of my desires. And be still while I push this needle thru your right tit. No jerking. Focus. Be still. Watch your eyes."

She remembered back to earlier in the day. She'd walked out of the kitchen to see him unfolding some heavy brown paper. "His new toys" caught the light. The tiniest long needles she's ever seen. He'd held one up, discussing its qualities. The pain would be most concentrated, he assured her.

He'd noticed that she gave no visible reaction to his toy display. He'd seen her eyes narrow a bit, and he was fairly sure her breath went shallow. The expression he saw was raw conflict of desire and denial.

The moment was flashing in front of her as she felt him prick her tit with the needle. Time changed at that moment. Like the brief seconds of a drag racer seem to suspend time, so did the moments of him forcing the tiny needle thru her nipple. Images of the look in his eyes, the reflection of her own horror, the light in the room and the feel of the scream building in a throat with no way to come out, all these elements raced in inevitable collision with the rush of adrenalin and desire flooding her cunt, and jerking her body into an undeniable reaction of lust and passion.

Her nipples were throbbing, the pain building, not subsiding. He pulled her to standing and then turned her around.

"Here, pet, let me hold you, soothe you."

He was pulling her into his chest even as she whimpered and wailed behind the gag in protest. His chest pressed into hers and the pain was suddenly of an entirely new level, agony suffered to be in his arms. The torment was balanced with the reward of feeling him hold her, the nurturing keeping the rush of pain in check. The pleading in her eyes made him hard, made him grind against her, furthering the pain in her tits even as his body felt the heat of her cunt against his hard cock.

"Horny bitch," he whispered as he felt her body relaxing in its pain.

They moved into an open area. Guided to kneel on the floor, he directed her to sit back on her heels, her hands obediently behind her back while he admired her nipples. He toyed with the binder clip.

"Does it hurt much?"

She flashed her eyes, carefully avoiding a direct contact. She was left to kneel there while he sank down on the couch, watching her drift. He couldn't resolve within himself where she was looking, or at what.

"What are you thinking about?"

The only response was a murmur, a moan.

"Your cunt is very swollen. I can see it from here. Would you like to touch it for me?"

The same quiet moan sang back at him through her fog.

"Do you want to be marked while your tits are in torture?

Her cry became somewhat negative in tone, and he felt her coming back to him. Her eyes began to focus with a whimpering plea. Contemplating the notion that he could always put the needle back in, he let loose the binder clip and when the silent scream set in, he removed the needle from her tit. As she struggled to catch her breath, his fingers found her clit and sent her over the edge. He felt the sudden gush of pleasure from her constricting cunt.

"Good girl. Curl up here by me. There now, feeling better? Let me undo this gag. Quiet. shhhhhh. Catch your breath."

He nestled her on the couch and covered her with a blanket. He made hot chocolate and brought two foaming mugs to the couch.

"Tell me how you feel."

"Foggy."

"Drink up. Let me see your tits. You aren't allowed to cover them."

He pushed his hot mug against the tips of her nipples and watched her cringe in response. The tender nipples nevertheless hardened with his attention.

"Your body speaks of more desire than your eyes. Which am I to believe?"

She looked directly at him, feeling him drinking in the answers of her eyes. She refused to answer verbally, bolding clamping her lips together in a powerful moment of resolve. He admired her stoic attempt to remain unreadable. He admired even as he plotted to reduce her to a begging slut in a matter of hours. No quick push, but a steady decline into the pleading slave. The slave would find complete cleansing. The slave would find ultimate pleasure. The slave would beg to surrender everything.

They sat quietly thru the hot chocolate. She tested the waters of eye contact, and then let her eyes drift downward. Her vision wrapped itself around his neck, and his shoulders. Gazing down toward his hands and then across his chest, and down to his strong legs, she drank in his presence. Her nipples still throbbed in dull ache as she inhaled a deep breath.

"What do you want, right at this moment, pet?"

"To be in your arms."

"Come here."

He pulled her closer to him, his arms encircling her, pulling her into his chest until he could feel her heart beat and her breath on his neck. His hands roamed down to her ass. The first smack was playful, his aimed improved on the second. Pushing her over his lap, the spanking grew in intensity. The initial flush of heat focused her; the continuing sting began to create squirming. His fingers probed her cunt, and found it wet, dripping already. He continued his assault, admiring the deepening handprints on her ass and thighs. No longer gagged, her whimpers grew more vocal.

"Please, Sir, ooowwwwwwwww, please, stop."

"Stop?"

His laughter sent shivers down her spine. Fingers slipped to her nipples and twisted unmercifully. "Still want me to occupy myself elsewhere?"

"No, Sir."

"What do you want, slut?" She cried out. He twisted harder. "Try again, what do you want, cunt?"

"for you to beat me, Sir." Her voice was raspy and filled with anguish.

He slipped out from under her, putting her on her knees on the couch. He stood. He slid his hands across her back, pulled her head upright and spoke soft directions as he positioned her ass high, her legs slightly open. The sore tits swayed with their own weight. He could sense her clenching and unclenching the muscles of her pussy, her body trembling with conflicted anticipation.

There was an audible cry of fear when he rapped the cane against her backside. His swing was misleading, and the taps were causing her to jump as though he'd landed a serious blow. She knew he would. She just didn't know when.

He tapped at the unmarked canvas, imagining the initial cry when he struck for effect. What spot would he pick? What particular place on her ass would he strike over and over until he sliced the skin ever so slightly? He put his hand lightly on the middle of her back, and fed off the tremors of her body.

"Are you ready?"

"nooooooooooo"

"not ready? Want me to wait?"

"Yes."

"Yes?....baiting me? Forgetting your manners?"

He walked away from her then, and moved to the other side of the room. He watched her twist in frustration. He knew she was suddenly colder with him having relocated. Her means of mental preparation were thrown off kilter. She was wet and swollen, and left there. Alone. He watched her bite her lower lip in contemplation. Her ankles twisted in nervousness. Still, she remained in position.

"Open your eyes"

He observed her picking a place on the wall. Her eyes were far away, looking yet not focused. Had he been able to look inside her sight, the vision would have been a removed one, as if she watched herself from a distance, not entirely sure of whom she saw.

He spoke slowly and with authority. "Get up. Stand in front of this chair. Lean over. Give me your ass. And Hold still."

She was no longer any more than a receptacle for his desire to inflict pain. Her ass presented, he began to strike. He watched the knuckles of her hand turn white gripping the seat of the wooden chair. Her body twisted from each sting of his cane. She rose to her toes, her body drawing itself into the pain. The macabre dance began to gain momentum until he forced her to her knees. Her hands balled up into fists. She turned to look directly into his eyes. He connected to drink in her pain and anguish. Her eyes were filled with hatred and passion.

She was locked into his look. He burned with an animalistic strength. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he'd gone over to the other side. There was no safety, no boundaries, and she screamed as he began to lay blow upon blow into the same spot. She felt his hand twist into her hair and hold her head down on the chair seat, forcing her into one position while he let go. She gasped for air, pleading for mercy that didn't materialize. He paused just long enough to penetrate her cunt with his fingers and assure himself she was still gushing, and continued, working his way down her thighs and to her calves. She tried kicking her feet; he put one foot on her ankles. He cursed her and let the blows grow in intensity. A second spot on her ass showed blood. He picked another spot on her thigh, and let the throbbing hardness of his cock dictate the power of the swings. Her skin responded with quick reddening, and wicked marks.

The feel of his cock fucking her ass was at first another agony. The penetration was without warning, and stole her breath. He was vicious in his assault, stretching her open, splitting her. His body pounded against the wounds he'd created, and yet, with every stroke, she opened. The sensation of his fucking took over the driving pain and he felt her beginning to answer his desire. Her body pushed back against him, opening, craving and begging.

"You fucking whore."

"FUCK you, Bastard"

His teeth were gritted as he pulled her hair, and dug his hand into her shoulder. Her ass was tightening around his cock. "Don't you fucking cum, you cunt, don't' you dare." He was fucking her, pounding her ass, driving her tits into the seat, her face mashed into the back of the chair. She was crying, wailing and cursing him. She heard him telling her not to cum. Her body was past obedience. He felt her cunt thru her ass, drawing up into the inevitable explosion, and his own body gave into the clenching sensation, filling her ass with his cum just as she burst. Her own orgasm milked his cock, drawing out the last pull of cum.

He shushed her whimpers as he cleaned her with a hot wet cloth. He tended to her as he admired her body continuing to twitch as she returned to consciousness.

"Back with me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl. Sleep now."

He watched as she curled into a ball, drawing her knees into her chest, allowing sleep to overtake awareness. He pictured the marks and cuts and bruises hidden by the blanket. He ran his hand over his cock, and let his mind remember the abandon he felt at her expense. Madness. She'd cried for mercy. Was it for relief from the pain? He shook his head, trying to clear the sound of her plea. No, he decided, the pleading was not be relieved of the pain. The cry was for release from the grip of madness. Her cry echoed in his own soul, even as he twirled the cane in his fingers, smiling wickedly at his plan to fill in the blank spots of her ass in the morning.

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4 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousalmost 8 years ago
Unholy Mother of God

Far and away the most stimulating story I have yet discovered in this repository of dirty minds and their filthy stories. Bravo! Even if she is entirely fictional...I love her madly and need to beat her senseless.

slutty_jannelleslutty_jannelleover 16 years ago
Very Hot

Marvelous detail and true insight into real S & M. Thank you!

AnonymousAnonymousabout 18 years ago
needled affections

my throat loves to be fucked,

nice "length" of your story,

great twists of an evil mind!

AnonymousAnonymousabout 18 years ago
Oh wow

Amazing. Incredible. I liked it a little :-) I'm so wet now and Master won't let me play .. *pout*

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