tagBDSMThe Sharpie Game

The Sharpie Game

byagens_minaci©

Thank you to the commenters for some great insight to the story! I've edited out one of the contentious issues regarding the "punishment" use of the safeword, which wasn't really necessary for the story to work. As for the rest—please understand this as a work of fiction. While in the real world I would never abuse safe sex practices or bonk random craigslist people, this is a fantasy story about two people who have built up very long term trust. Play safe, people! And thank you for any comments, I like to improve my work.

"This is how this game works," he said, rolling the black sharpie marker between his fingers.

"I will write a word, a verb, on your body, where I want that action to occur. You may say yes or no to each one, but no gradients, arguments, or yes, but..." He placed three objects into my left hand: first, a wooden paddle, then a leather crop, last a suede flogger with a glass handle.

"For each No," he went on, "there is a price. The first no entails 30 strokes with the flogger, the second costs 20 crops, and the last No is 10 paddles. When those Nos are gone you only have yes left. Your safe word is red, after which everything stops. Everything. So be sure you mean it. Agreed?" He asked.

"Yes," I said.

I was naked, laying on our bed. I relaxed into the pillow, but felt, I must confess, anything but relaxed inside.

He uncapped the sharpie. "Since I know you need to leave the house in the next few days, I will only write where clothes hide the words." With that, he bent over my abdomen and wrote COLLAR. The marker felt cold, sharp, and strange as each letter soaked into my skin. It felt something like the Wartenburg wheel he sometimes used, as if it were firing each of my nerve endings to explosive life. He read the word to me.

"Yes."

He immediately bent and retrieved a black leather collar from beside the bed. He fastened it snugly around my throat. Then he wrote, and read the word, TIE.

"Tie what?" I asked.

"Yes or no," he responded.

"Yes."

He pulled out black leather cuffs, affixed them to my wrists and ankles, then swiftly attached them, using carabiners, to ropes that were already tied to the bedposts. In less than a minute, I was restrained, spread open. Then he attached two ropes, one from each of the top bedposts, to the ring on my collar. Now I was entirely helpless. I couldn't even move my head to look around.

GAG, he wrote.

"Yes."

He placed it next to my head. "Later," he explained. "You need to speak now."

I tried to lift my head, to see how the black letters looked on my white skin. He laughed, and held up a hand mirror. The words were crude, shocking. I read them backwards: GAG, TIE, COLLAR.

"Now these," he pointed to my breasts. He wrote the word across one mound, and read it to me. TOUCH.

"Yes." I could feel the words drying on my skin, sinking in, indelible.

LICK.

"Yes."

SUCK.

"Yes."

BITE.

"Yes."

He wasn't doing the words he said. I looked at him quizzically. "Each word is a contract," he explained. "I will do everything you agree to at some point tonight."

He paused and smiled. "And as much as I want until the word is no longer visible on your skin--until the sharpie is completely washed off."

Oh.

PINCH.

"Yes."

BIND.

"Yes."

SPANK.

"Yes."

FLOG.

"Yes."

CLAMP.

"Yes."

WHEEL. "The Wartenburg wheel," he explained.

"Yes."

"Good," he said. He began placing tools on the bed next to me: clamps of a few varieties, a set of vacuum tubes, including very large suction cups I'd never seen before, evidently for my entire breast. The wheel, a candle, some rubbery straps I remembered using for physical therapy years ago.

He uncapped the sharpie once more. He wrote under my arm, STROKE.

"Yes."

LICK.

"Yes."

TICKLE.

I paused. "Well?" He asked.

"Yes."

He grinned.

He bent and wrote on the bottom of my foot, which did tickle. TICKLE.

"Yes." I thought, oh god no. Yet I had a feeling I would need to save my nos.

He also wrote SUCK on my foot, and I assented. He rose from my feet, bent and gave a leisurely lick to my nipple, the brought the marker down to my clean-shaven pussy.

LICK.

SUCK.

BITE.

TOUCH.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes."

FINGER.

"Yes."

SPANK.

"Yes."

CROP.

"Yes."

FUCK.

"Yes."

He'd run out of room on my mons, so started to write on my inner thighs. FIST.

I shivered. "Yes."

SPREAD.

I paused. He bent and picked up a speculum. I hate the speculum.

"No."

He laughed. "Ok." He took the flogger from my hand, set it next to me. "One no down, 30 strokes. In a few moments I'll give them to you." He crossed off SPREAD.

FILL.

"Yes?" What did he mean? I didn't ask. He didn't enlighten me.

He placed several objects next to my hip, but I couldn't see what they were.

CLAMP.

"Yes."

WHEEL.

"Yes."

SQUIRT.

"Yes."

LOSE CONTROL.

Long pause. He read it again. I knew what he meant.

Sigh. "Yes."

He knelt next to me, surveying the words written all over me. Then he gathered all the objects on the bed and moved them to the side table.

He wrote on my belly BLINDFOLD.

"Yes."

He wrapped the blindfold over my eyes. Then he unclipped my restraining ropes, swiftly rolled me over, and reattached them, including the collar ropes. Now I was blind and helpless.

He began to write on my ass.

SPANK.

"Yes."

CROP.

"Yes."

PADDLE.

"Yes."

He lifted the marker and wrote on my lower back. PHOTOGRAPH.

I thought about this. Was it worth a no? Could I bargain? I asked, "I will have complete editorial control?"

"Yes or no," he answered. I thought some more.

He knew this was a hard limit. Normally only I took any pictures, and gave him the few I wanted him to have. But I knew I could trust him, after all these years. I said this aloud, then said "yes."

I heard him lean over and pick something up, then the click of the camera. He leaned over and kissed my back. "You'll have complete editorial control, of course. I won't even look at the pictures after I take them."

I relaxed.

He began to write on my ass once more, gliding the marker in along the curves. LICK.

"Yes."

TOUCH.

"Yes."

FINGER.

A hesitation. "Yes."

PLUG.

"Yes."

WASH.

"Huh?" I waited for an explanation.

"I give you an enema," he said.

"No!"

He chuckled once more, then lifted the crop from my left hand. "Second no, 20 crops." He crossed off that word. He was using up my nos on purpose, proposing things he knew I wouldn't do.

FUCK. He wrote this on the inner curve of my right cheek.

"Yes."

"Mmmm," he said, triumphantly.

FIST.

"No! Are you kidding?!" I gasped.

He laughed, then took the paddle from me. "Too bad," he teased, "You used up your last no. 10 paddles. Hard ones. You might cry." He crossed off the word FIST.

He wrote more on my back. LIGHT.

"You know my limits," I said. I did not like a lot of light, did not like to be seen.

"I'm pushing them," he said. "Trust me."

"Fine."

"What?" he asked.

"Yes."

He bent and wrote on my inner thigh. DOUBLE.

"Yes."

He laughed an evil laugh again.

He wrote on my back. SHARE.

I was silent.

"Well?"

"What do you mean?"

"Yes or no?" He countered.

I considered. If I said my safeword, we were done. If I said yes, he likely had no plan for sharing. Did he want me to safeword out? After all, if he meant sharing me with another person, he didn't have anyone in mind. Right? And it could mean other things that were ok. I decided to call his bluff.

"Yes."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Good."

He capped the marker and set it on the side table.

Then he lifted my blindfold and set the iPad in front of me. The browser was open to craigslist, an ad. It read,

Wife needs a good fucking. Free. You must be respectful, discreet, clean, healthy, in reasonable shape, aged 21-60, happy to enjoy a lovely, curvy woman in her mid 40s. She is pretty kinky, likes BDSM. I'll be watching. July 10-11, Madison.

As I read this, my mind melted in a white flash of incomprehension. He posted this?! He wanted this? Was this actually happening? What was today? The ninth. Oh god.

"Thanks for saying yes," he said. "I've got a few interested parties lined up, and we'll be heading to a hotel tomorrow evening. But for now, let's fulfil this contract."

He continued. "First of all, I want to get certain parts of you very sensitized." He unhooked my bindings from the bed, and helped me to sit up. He licked my nipples, then placed vacuum suction tubes on them and sucked them up. He used the medium sized tubes, so the areolas were pumped up as well, and before he slid the blind fold back over my eyes, I saw how my breasts looked—scrawled with block letters, nipples pressing hard against the sides of the clear tubes.

He placed a firm platform-like pillow onto the bed. He carefully arranged me so that my breasts hung over one end, and my knees bent over the other. He reattached my cuffs and collar so my legs were wide open, my elbows supported my shoulders and head, and my collar kept me immobilized. Then he placed another vacuum tube on my clit, a smaller one, and sucked it up hard into the tube. He placed the gag in my mouth and buckled it tight.

"Time for your no payments," he said. I was arranged sideways on the bed, and he stood next to it. He lifted the suede flogger, and began to rain soft blows upon my ass. Sometimes, the strands would fall between my legs and flick against my labia, or the tube encasing my clit. Even so, the flogger was tolerable. It stung a bit, but not too bad...oh! Around stroke 20 he started to put more muscle into his swings, and the suede bit into my flesh.

A particularly harsh lash forced a muffled gasp from me. But then he was finished with the 30, and he ran his hands over my stinging skin. "Nice and pink," he said. "But I want you red."

He stood back and I felt the first smack of the riding crop.

I could feel heat radiating from the sharp pinpoint sting at the center of my left cheek. He paused, rested the crop against me, rubbed me with it. I arched—either toward or away from the crop, I'm not sure which. The next 19 strokes came in erratic waves. Some fast, some after long pauses. He knew how to ratchet up the pain slowly, so it felt like hot brutal kisses. Then he picked up the hard wooden paddle.

"I want to see if I can imprint another word on your ass." The paddle was engraved with the word SLUT, but to make it stand out in relief against my skin, he would need to slam the paddle against me. I started to struggle against my bonds, bumping the nipple suction tubes against the pillow so they ached. I didn't really want him to paddle me that hard.

He placed one hand at the small of my back, holding me fast. Then, smack! A huge wash of pain and heat, and (after a moment) pleasure flooded over me. He stood back and surveyed his work. "Not quite," he said.

Then another smack, even harder, on the other globe of my ass. I cried out around the gag. "There it is," he said. "Beautiful." He read, "Slut. Lick. Touch. Finger. Plug. Fuck. Yes, I'll do all of that. In just a few minutes. But first..." Snap, snap. I heard the camera, several times.

He paddled me again and again, pausing and taking photos, or snapping pictures as the wood smashed against my flesh. I moaned, struggled, writhed as much as my bindings allowed. My ass was on fire, like a light bulb: taut, hot, burning, glowing.

I was sure it must be giving off tangible light.

"Ok, those were the payment. I may do more later, just because I enjoy it so much." He ran his hands over my ass and I hissed in a breath. "You should see how red you are." He bent and licked all over the hot skin.

"But let's see how your nipples and clit are feeling." He loosened the suction on my clit and pulled the tube away. It felt enormous, sore, also hot.

He flicked it with a finger. "You're all swollen, like a beautiful berry. I want to feel you in my mouth." He knelt and pushed his head between my legs, and immediately sucked my clit into his mouth. I thrust my hips back against his face. The wet softness of his mouth, the flick of his tongue...!

"Now the nipples." He stood and came around the other side of the bed. He caressed the side of my face briefly, then pulled on the ends of the suction tubes, without releasing the vacuum. He pulled the nipples so my breasts were drawn out into cones, stretched and held in place by the pressure gripping them. He shook them slightly, and said, "I love to see how they move." Then he released the suction.

I couldn't see how hard and swollen they were, but I could feel their enormous sensitivity. He brushed them, tapped his fingers against them.

"That's a good start but I want them more swollen still."

He unfastened my restraints again, then helped me to stand. He removed the platform pillow, and laid me flat on the bed, atop a waterproof blanket we often use during sex. We can get very messy at times. I had a feeling this was one of those times. He re-clipped all the restraints so that I was once again flat on my back and splayed open. He pulled my blindfold up so I could see.

He lifted the pussy pump cup he had purchased a few months earlier. "First this, then the new ones." He placed the cup over my labia and pumped the vacuum until I felt my lips engorge and become tight. I felt like my skin would explode if he tightened the pressure one more pump, but luckily he stopped there.

Then he picked up his latest purchase, two breast-sized cups. He placed one over my breast—it fit. I wondered idly where he had gotten them, then felt him pumping the air away, sucking my breast up and up into the cup. My skin pressed against the inside of the plastic, and I glanced down to see the nipple, so engorged, shuddering slightly and reaching toward the tip of the cup, and the tight redness of my suctioned breast. The word CLAMP was visible through the plastic, black against red skin. It was obscene. He pumped up the other breast. They felt so tight and huge. I knew I must appear so filthy—all pumped up and swollen in the plastic cups. He took several photos, some closeups, and some further away to capture the entire tableau.

"I'm going to let those simmer and swell for a while, and do other things." He bent his head and licked around the edge of the breast cup. Then he flicked his tongue under my arm, where I was so sensitive and ticklish. He laved the skin there, and under the other armpit. Then he rubbed the skin he'd wet, and tickled me.

He had never tickled me like this before. It was horrible. I tried to wrench away, to shout No, but I was entirely helpless. He was smiling at me, laughing with his eyes. He tickled, licked, tickled. I thrashed against my bindings. I could feel my every movement in the tug and pull of the three suction cups attached to me. I started to whimper into the gag.

"That's interesting," he said, stopping. "You seem much more disturbed by tickling than by paddling. Perhaps I didn't paddle you long or hard enough." He bent to touch my legs, and my feet. "I wonder what this will do." He scratched his fingers on the soles of my feet.

I tried to snatch them away from the tormenting tickling. He just followed the small movements I was able to make. I actually forgot the tension of the vacuum cups in the agony of the tickling. He licked my feet, sucked the toes, tickled. I was laughing, squealing, shrieking—all into the gag. He then pulled out the Wartenburg wheel and began running it over my feet, up my legs, around my cupped pussy and breasts, over the words written across my belly and chest. When he rolled it up to my neck, he set it down. He pulled the pussy pump cup off of me. Then he held up the mirror. "Look at this, how swollen you are." I looked down and saw my sex like an exotic fruit, glistening pink and puffy.

He released my breasts. They were also red, huge, foreign looking. My nipples were raspberries waiting to be bitten. He complied with their silent directive, and bit first one then the other. The bites shot through me, echoing in electric bursts in my throbbing clit. I arched into his mouth. He pulled away, then reattached the blindfold. "Now you won't know what is coming next."

I shivered at that.

The streaks of fire along my skin must have been the Wartenburg wheel again. He scrolled it all over the tight skin of my breasts, over the nipples, gouging into them. I was sure I must be bleeding from each tiny pin prick. But it felt so good—or so something. Perhaps 'good' was the wrong term.

He rubbed his palms over my breasts, then smacked them lightly. To see how they moved when swollen, I assumed. I felt the cool hardness of the cup surrounding me once more, and he pumped up each breast, even tighter than before. Then I felt a rubbery cold cord being wrapped around the base of my breast, tighter and tighter. The strap cut into my skin, pulled a hot ribbon of abrasion against me. His fingers wrapped the cord, then tucked it into itself, then released the suction cup. I was bound. My breast swelled above the tight cord at its base. I wondered if it was red, or tinged purple. I wondered what my nipple looked like. He repeated his actions on the other breast until both were trussed tightly in rubber cords. Then I heard the snap snap of the camera's shutter.

He rubbed the hardness of the breasts, then stopped. I felt a cold thing against my waist, smelled rubber. He lifted me slightly, pulled a wide rubber bondage belt beneath me. He buckled it tightly, attaching the rings to other ropes that were presumably tied to the bed. Now I couldn't move my torso at all either. Then I felt the straps descend from the belt, wrap around my right thigh. He was placing the wand vibrator into its holder, fastening it to me, so I could not escape the intense buzzing against my hard clit.

He turned the wand onto a low setting. I tried to buck up against the sensation, but was entirely immobilized. As with the tickling, I would simply have to bear it.

After he turned the vibrator on, he returned to my breasts. "You are so beautiful like this," he murmured, running his hands all over the hot flesh. He began to smack the breasts, lightly at first. I could feel the difference in how the flesh responded—usually there was a soft response to the reverberating blows, but now my breasts felt so tight, as if all softness had been drawn out of them. The entire bound breast surged against the cords encasing it with every slap. The blows became fierce.

I was moaning now, humming against the gag that forced my mouth wide. I began to enter the zone where I just wanted more, where pain faded and each smack felt like a hot wave of pleasure rippling through me. He pinched a nipple, pulled and shook the breast, and I gushed with moisture against the tingling vibrator. He pulled the other nipple, held the breast on one side, and smacked against the other. If he continued for another minute, I would come, I was sure. But he knew, and eased back for a moment. He licked me, sucked the nipples, bit them lightly, then returned to slapping them. After several slaps, he started to flog them with the suede flogger. This was gentle compared to the slaps, so I eased down a notch. Then I felt the crop. He was using the one with a small hand-shaped keeper on the end. I felt the sharp sting and resulting thud shudder through me. I knew I must have a handprint on my skin. He cropped my nipples, the tender undersides of my breasts, until I was once again on the brink of coming.

"No, no," he said. "You can't come until I say so." He set down the crop and unwrapped the rubber cords that were by this point nearly embedded into my engorged tits. As the bindings fell away I felt a whoosh of blood circulation so intense I nearly came again.

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