Subduing a Cunt

Sooner than I expect you ask if I am ready to get up. My body trembles in response. I hope you take the gag off first. Instead the connection between my ankles (somewhere along the way I dropped that strap) is loosened. I think you must know what hurts the most because you do nothing about the gag or my arms as you pull me by my shoulders to kneel. Wrapping your arms around my chest and shoulders I feel you lift me... what a terribly odd sensation. I am not a person anymore, just like a piece of furniture or something. When my feet touch the floor it is cool, maybe the in the tiny bathroom. You tell me to squat. If not for your presence behind me, I would have fallen when I did. My muscles are protesting loudly now. The tape rips at me as you remove it, and the plug shifts a bit. "Empty yourself, cunt." Your hand is still at my shoulders, supporting me. "Now" I manage to force the plug from my ass. I am glad then that I fasted and cleaned myself so well for you, Master. I would have hated it, if I had made a mess.

No matter what I do, I can not empty my cunt. You press me forward until I am on my knees. Now I can tell I am in the shower stall. I try again, but my cunt is not my own anymore. I can't figure out how to push the damn thing out. After a few more attempts you press my head forward until my forehead rests on the tile wall. I raise my hips and you obligingly remove it. It is almost funny when you tell me to pee. I don't have the control to release water anymore. That strikes me as terribly funny. I would laugh if it weren't for the dumb gag.

I shake my head no several times, and you help me to my feet. Leading me back to the carpeted area of the room. I groan with relief when your hand touches the back of my neck where the gag is secured. "Your choice, cunt. Do I release your mouth or your arms?" I shake my head yes, yes. I want both and soon. Your hand presses down on me. "Answer yes or no... your arms?" With great reluctance I shake my head no. "The ball?" Yes, yes, shaking my head clearly. I want to say thank-you when it falls away, but my mouth doesn't obey my brain any more than my cunt did. It seems to take forever for my tongue to lick my dry lips. I swallow when you place the water bottle to my mouth. You lead me until my hips and belly press against something hard-- the dresser or tabletop. Your chest is against my back, hands trailing along my abdomen. I can feel your breath in my hair and your arousal hot and strong behind me. I welcome the pain when you pinch tightly on each of my nipples. It warms me and wets my cunt again.

Cupping a boob in your wide palm, you raise it to my chin and command me to lick, to bite, to suckle myself. I am quivering in anticipation when you tell me to hold it tightly between my teeth. I bite hard and you remove your hand. "Don't let go, slave." Your hand pats softly on my other breast. The slaps becoming firmer and harder. I know my skin is rosy from your attention. When you are satisfied you remove the nipple from my mouth and replace it with the other. Repeating the same series of gentle pats building to stinging blows until I know both tits are hot and red above my areolas. Finally you place clamps at the tip of each breast, hard around the fleshiest part of my nipples, and place cold metal in my mouth. I must be holding each tit straight up from my body. I can no longer feel the weight of my flesh, and the pain is tremendous. Soft panting, I think of relaxing and accepting Master's pain. Making it a part of me, defining me, shaping Master's whore into an instrument. I raise my chin higher, sweat sliding between my tortured shoulders. Making sure the soft underside is exposed fully for Master.

The first taps are from your hand, little blows from your fingertips graduating to full blows of your palm. My titties are warming to your attention now. You warn me and then switch to my favorite wooden paddle. That pain is immediate. A stinging burn radiates from each blow. I am proud that I do not let the chain clenched between my teeth fall. You are not delivering the blows with hard strength. I know that you are warming my breasts up for something. Cunt juice coats my thighs, and I rise a little on my toes to try and rub against the surface I am pressed against.

When you release the clamps and remove the chain I thank you in soft, whispery breaths: for the pain, for the burn, for taking such good care of your cunt. You move to release my arms. It takes a few minutes of fumbling and I get more and more anxious. Each time you pause I am afraid you have changed your mind. Now that the possibility of release looms, I am frantic to escape that particular bondage. Like everything else you have taken from me, Master, my arms at first fall limply to my sides. It takes specific thought to roll my shoulders forward and cross my arms. I am moving slowly, easing from one position to the next. "Remove your blindfold, slave," I feel you moving across the room again as you say it. My fingers are thick and I end up pulling the cloth down to my neck in order to work at the knot. I have to drop my arms frequently and start over. The knot is almost loosed when I hear the first slice of your cane through the air. It lands on the bed with a solid thud. I wonder if it will sound as good on my flesh. Forgetting the cloth, I fall to my hands and knees and crawl to you. Licking and kissing your feet and begging you to use it on me. "Please, please, Master. I want your marks, I want your bruises, your stripes, god hurt me with it, please, please."

I trip in my hurry when you tell me to get back to where I was and watch in the mirror. I have never tasted it before, always you have teased me with it, but never marked my flesh. I know what kind of damage that piece of rattan can do, but I trust Master with everything in me to know what his cunt needs; what she deserves. When you stand behind me, I love the contrast we make in the mirror. I look small and vulnerable standing in front of you. All softness and curves. Pale smooth skin blotched and red across my tits, my mouth. Your hands look so strong and masculine as the pull me farther from the dresser and position me: legs spread, chin raised, hands behind my back-- knuckles brushing my ass. I am glad you have placed them in an easy position. The tip of the cane shows between my thighs and you raise it until you are sliding it back and forth in my slit. I moan out a thank you. My abdomen jerks as you slide the strip slowly into my cunt. In and out, in and out. I am panting and aroused by the idea, the hint of your power. I think my Master must be the most perfect, most erotic, most sensual of men. I beg you to slide it into my ass. Instead you place it in my mouth. It is not as flexible as I thought it would be, and a little less than a yard long. I cannot tear my eyes from it. So focused that when you bring the wooden paddle down on my ass I lose my balance.

I fall to my knees again as the paddle falls harder and harder. I think you tell me to crawl several times before it registers I move my body forward tentatively. The strength behind the paddle grows more, until you are compelling me with your pain to scurry around the room. My movement causes the blows to land in odd places: my ass, yes-- but also my thighs, hips, calves, even a few on my upper arms. Later I will realize that you were very in control-- reddening and bruising only my soft, fleshy areas. Now it feels random and unpredictable. I am like a wounded animal yelping and scrambling to escape the pain. You skillfully drive your slave into a corner, where I cower. The crown of my head butting and rubbing against the walls. Your deliberate strikes have made even the slightest touch now an agony. Each time you hurt me you remind me I am Yours. Your cunt. Your whore. Your bitch. Yours. I am sobbing and pleading with you. The cries wrack my entire torso. And then I am flying. I hear the blows. I feel the contact, but now the intensity is a pleasure I can hardly contain. The pain wraps itself in a tight cocoon around me and becomes exquisite. Even the sweat on my skin is sensual and arousing. I am arching my back and grinding my tits into the floor. Spreading my thighs and begging for more, more.

I slowly realize that you are not hitting me at all. Merely brushing your hands across my enflamed skin. And then your hands are on my hips... sweet god that hurts and your dick slides smooth into my ass as thought they were made for one another. You begin to count with each thrust. "Ten... nine... eight," hands gripping tighter. I place a hand over my head to keep from hitting the wall with each movement of your hips. "Seven... six." Your sweat dripping onto my back. My tender breasts rubbing the carpet. "Five," unbelievably I can feel my cunt thickening and desire washes over me in heavy waves. "Four... three," I am mumbling please, please, yes Master please please... "Two," and I know that it will happen. "One," a shudder and I scream with the pleasure of it. You make no allowances for the orgasm ripping through my body and continue to steadily slide your cock in and out of my ass. Wetness is pouring from my cunt now. You balls slapping against my tender skin. I can hardly hold myself up as the spasms subside. My ass is burning and I am whimpering with it. You grunt and slap your hand on me again and again. Thrusting, taking my ass completely. I crumple to the floor when you finally stop.

Floating now as we move to the table. How can I be upright? Each movement is a sweet agony, Master. I am eating up your little words of praise and glowing with the knowledge that I am Yours completely. When I am on my back-- head hanging from the end of the low table, you kneel and shove your cock into my mouth. Fucking deep and hard. I am gagging, grabbing short little pants of air when you allow it. Enduring when you do not. I can taste my blood as my teeth cut into my lips and bile rising in my throat. Balls hitting my face, you take Master. You take everything from me. My back screams as it sticks to the plastic surface. I can feel drool sliding into my ears and the sounds of your pleasure lay over me like a blanket. You move back until only the head of your cock is pulsing between my lips. Soft movements, so different from your brutal thrusting. I think I can measure your heartbeat on my tongue. In and out, in and out. My bruised and swollen lips caressing you. "Are you ready, slave?" you ask and separate your flesh completely from mine. You big hand cups my head and relieves the tightness in my neck. The cane is rolling across my breasts now. I think I am a cookie dough that you are rolling out and shaping. Giddy with the idea that I will feel your stripes soon. I nod and close my eyes.

My arms and legs are taped to the table legs, exposing my cunt and thrusting my tits upwards. It is not uncomfortable and I am glad you do it for me. The soft cloth that covered my eyes is brought up from my neck and tightened in my mouth. And then your hands are on me. Oh so good, Master. Kneading and milking my tender breasts. Petting my belly, my thighs, stroking between my legs until I am vainly arching into your hand again. Legs sprawled wide... Master's hungry cunt. When my body is aroused to a fever pitch you set the cane lightly on me for the first time. Little tappings across my breasts and thighs. Alternating with your hand: a caress, a slap, a tap of the rod, a squeeze. My skin is heating again. Patiently building my need, my tolerance. The rod falls harder. Makes a satisfying sound. The pain is mild and easy to pull into myself. Soon your hands are gone and only the cane is stroking me. The blows fall harder. It builds a slow rhythm.

A slice through the air, the thump on my skin, a gasp and then the burn. Shit it burns, Master, and then your praise. I am a good cunt, your obedient slave, inviting me to take your pain. You tell me how sexy the marks are. All the while carefully laying a ladder of pain down my breasts. Nothing you have ever done compares to this. The rod falls in earnest now. I am screaming as you stripe my thighs, the cords of my neck straining as I tug on my bonds. The tape is ripping the skin at my ankles as I try to escape. Each time I think, "let this be the last" and I see you raise your arm again. My stomach is heaving now, my ears ringing, desperate sounds: like stock at branding with no way to avoid Master's mark. It lands relentlessly again and again. I am choking on my own spittle and fear. "Two more," you promise. I think I hear my own skin tear when the last one falls on my breasts.

A sharp edge traces the bottom of my foot, unbearably soft and light. You tell me not to move until I have permission and slice through the tape at my ankles. I can feel a pool of liquid between my thighs and up my back where my bladder released. The air is thick with the smell of your exertions and my fear. The only sound is my ragged sobs. When you slice through the restraints at my wrists and set your hand in my hair I have the urge to run. I don't believe my body could even rise without help. You kiss my face, lick at my tears and ask if I am ready now to make Master cum. Now is the time to object. I only nod dully and wonder how I will endure more. With your help I turn on the table until my ass is raised and vulnerable to you. The tabletop torments the new welts and bruises you have just laid on me.

I scream into the cloth as you separate my cheeks and stab my asshole with your hard cock. Dryfucking me. Forcing my ass to accept your invasion. It is too much. You have been in my ass too much today, Master. I want to object. Splitting me until I think I will die of it. Master, Master, begging now please please Master I can't. I can't. The cloth holds my tongue still and you fuck and fuck savagely. Telling me how it feels to tear your slave's ass open. How beautiful my back will be split by your cane. How my ass is gripping your pole. Lubing me with my own blood and reaming my ass with deep thrusts that slap against my thighs. Drawing back until I think you are through and then cramming my ass full of cock again. I am cumming before I know it will happen. Yelling yes, yes now. No more protests, no more struggles. Take me, Master. Take me. Trying to shove the words past the gag. The orgasm grips me and spreads from my ass to my cunt. You wait until the spasms die completely before pouring your hot seed into your fuck hole.

When your breathing slows you ask me, "Cunt, do I have to restrain you now?" I nod mutely, knowing I could not disciple myself that well. This time it is soft cord that binds me and spreads my legs wide, knees on either side of the coffee table. The urine stings against open stripes on my thighs. As a final humiliation you turn my head to the side and wrap cord around the table and across my cheek several times. When I cannot shift my head at all you are satisfied. The first blow is not the soft tap I expect. I hear the thud before my brain registers the pain. It seems forever before the air parts again and a second thud lands across my shoulders. You are not speaking, not making any noise. The whistle, the thud, my scream rending the air. I can decide all I want that I will not scream, but I do every time. I can count as high as five once the first finger of pain spears me and then the cane is whistling again. Merciless like Master. I am sure there are open wounds now on my upper back. Your swing is slowing.

My entire body is spasming. I am glad when the first blow falls on my ass and then shrieking as I realize how it hurts. Methodical now striping me with precision and intent. Until my ass is as bruised and battered as my tits and shoulders. I no longer have the strength to struggle when you move to my thighs. Crooning now, encouraging me. I am yours now. Completely yours. My mind hovers just outside now, so totally dissociated. This is happening to someone else. Another woman is pinned down there, twitching under the pain as the cane lands over and over no her soft flesh.

You sit where I can see you now. Chest heaving, wet with your own sweat. Praising your slave for doing so well. Promising me it will be easier next time. Describing the mass of purple and red that is my back now. I adore you, Master. My body jerks periodically with pain. It throbs and I am almost insensible with it. Your razor cuts through the soft cord at my right wrist. Without volition my hand grabs yours when it moves to the rope holding my head. You smile and still for me. "yes?" I slowly move my hand to the gag, trying to remove it. With great care you simply slice through it and through the ropes holding my head still. My tongue is thick and dry. You feed me from the cup. A sticky, wet mix of fluids. I can lick my lips now. Still, I try twice before I can form the words. Finally, softly, "mark me, Master. Scar me now." The razor is an epiphany when you carve your initial on my hip.