Uncertainty

Such an uncertainty. The only thing that could surely be known ahead of time is that he will be pleased. Not just because he will do what he wants and he will fill his needs, but because she will do anything to make that come true. She will do what he asks and what he tells her to. She will be as willing and as wanting as she can and when she can't, he is always there to help her manage.

When she panics, it's his voice that soothes her. When she is too afraid, it's his persistent gentleness that calms her. When she angers, it's his evenness that brings her back. He makes her feel the depths of her emotions.

She's been molded, yet never felt pushed or pressed. Just given the way to go. Last week he whipped her as she sucked him. Made her cum so hard it hurt and all the next day, her entire body held a deep ache wherever muscle lay over bone.

Two days ago he massaged her muscles until she finally stopped trying to reach him and tease him. The orgasms were gentle and many and she slept ever so sweetly the past two nights. It's always so different. Tonight, her hands were tied before she even reached for him. There's always a hesitation, not knowing what he will want and that gave him the time to grab her by the wrists and wrap them together.

The large shirt she wears some nights -- and wore tonight - is unbuttoned and her tits want to bounce out. It's hiked above her thigh and she can feel an occasional breeze across her groin. She always feared being tied before him, and at first he would keep them loose until she could accept them. Now he just ties her and she accepts that he will keep her safe. It doesn't stop the reactions of her body. The nerve tingles and the fear shivers. The nostrils flaring and the eyes tearing.

She tests the bindings on her hands. Sometimes she can pull them apart, there's a kind he uses that gives a little. Sometimes he uses the inflexible kind. Tonight, it's a silk robe tie. She knows from the experience of his neckties that silk tightens when she struggles so she stops. She feels a pang of terror knowing that that means she will surely be struggling. He wouldn't make it difficult if she wasn't meant to do it.

She's had cause to wonder before if the headboard would hold her panicked rages, but it always has. She wriggled side to side just to see how much leeway he would give her. apparently, all she wants. She could swing freely either way, limited only by the point where her wrists met somewhere at the top of her outstretched arms.

Her legs were another matter. They were stretched fully, even though she had tried to keep her knees bent a bit, he had tied and then retied her until they were stretched to the furthest outward reach. Her ankles strapped securely to the posts. They were held with the stretch binding, but it was wrapped so many times around that it was solid and immovable.

"Are you through testing?"

She stops. Her breathing does too. It's so hard to know what might come next and the times she thinks about it too much are the times she flies into a panic. Could she have imagined herself tied so tightly to the bed that she was open and vulnerable to anything? Would she have six months ago? There was a fantasy, to be sure and a moist heat that flared with the thought of it. But to actually feel it come true? Never!

There's been pain. Little tingles and jolts mixed so thoroughly with the charges of bliss that she can't recognize it as either one. More than anything else he has made her feel. There has been fear. As now. A quaking in her thigh muscles that said if he wanted to swing the bob onto her clit, she would only hear, see and feel it. She would do nothing to stop or slow it but beg and scream. And cry when it strikes.

Irrational as that seems when compared with the reality of him, she breathed in terror of a flick of the horse whip (bob, he called it). The smaller one (quirt) intrigued her and the broader one (crop) made her cringe. It was all so irrational. The broad leather of the crop felt so good on her ass. Like a paddle. Except that it looked evil to her and made her cringe involuntarily. She liked the feel the best of all three. The quirt, she loved the look of, but the slender strands of leather left strips of cut and raw skin if he got too excited. The bob he used for nothing more than tiny sharp snicks. She lived in terror of it. Of the day he would be driven to use it with wild abandon.

He'd taken these out each in turn as she watched, tied so tightly she could do nothing else. Her eyes were drawn to them though she wished she could close them and turn out the sound of the drawer opening and closing. The rustling of the toys inside. The whistle of them as he hefted and tested. Did he do this just to cause her more anxiety? Probably. Did it matter? No. The result was the same whether he meant it or not.

She wished he would turn her on her stomach. She felt so exposed this way. So vulnerable. He's mentioned spanking her clit and she thinks back to every mention of this now. Has he ever mentioned whipping it? It sounds agonizing. Like more pain than she can imagine feeling. She rolls the code around her mouth. The agreed on code that would free her. That would say to him that she couldn't go on. Her mouth is so dry she might not have enough spittle to push it past her lips. Her thighs quiver and she moans with the ache.

He's finished at the drawer and his hands are smoothing her brow. His soothing tones lotion her ear. "You can cum as much as you want tonight. You did so good the other night I think you should be rewarded, don't you?"

Her breath wouldn't come. When he spoke of reward or punishment, she no longer knew what he meant. She used to see these things as separate and means of behavior management. Now she had only the vaguest notion of what the words might mean to someone else. He'd told her this from the beginning. Made no secret of it. If she only believed then what she believed now.

She'd actually almost scoffed at his theories about the opposing systems. Reward was obviously good and punishment obviously bad. He'd told her that the idea is that they are actually only continuums. That the idea for her training was to find the rewards and punishments that she would both crave and loathe. Seek and avoid. After the "orientation", she pushed all the theories aside. The sex was heaven. The games so exciting and consuming that she had soon ceased thinking about anything systemic at all.

She certainly craved the rewards. When he would offer her a punishment, she found them so unthinkable that she would do anything to avoid them. For the first few times he would tie her and maintain her on the edge of orgasm until she finally would beg for release. She hadn't believed that of herself, but she did. The reward for that would be an orgasm so powerful that it would hurt with its intensity.

He began to link these orgasms with rewards and the threat of not having them with punishment. Then he forced her to have one. In the throes of anxiety, he overrode her fears and forced her to cum. She couldn't stop it. Couldn't help it.

She began to see how this wonderful new bliss could be both her hope and her despair. The next few times the rising tide brought with it a feeling of trepidation. Even as it threatened to engulf her -- and she's long since ceased trying to guess when he would finally allow her to cross that ledge - she would have a nagging doubt. Not just whether this would be the time he'd let her finish, but whether this would be the time he would introduce something new and punitive.

Reward and punishment. Craving and avoidance. In equal measure for both. That's what he says he looks for. She could think of so many of each and for each of her fears or hopes, he had more or a twist of his own. She no longer knew what to expect and even when he told her, she had a hesitation. Was this part of it? She wondered.

His hands moved to the back of her head and she moaned as her thighs shook again. The muscles felt her fear and presented it for him to see. His hands squeezed and pressed but she couldn't relax. Her body did without her and in spite of her. His hands were on her shoulders before she knew it. The sensation was taking her thoughts and slipping them out into a pile next to her pillow.

"You don't have to hold it, okay?" She didn't realize that she hadn't answered him. She was virtually oblivious, drowning in a sea of sensation. His fingers were rippling across her breasts as she caught breath enough to respond.

"Okay. Thank you. I want to cum. I want to cum with you inside me."

"You can cum anytime. I won't make you hold it. I won't tell you to stop. Okay?"

She wasn't sure what to say. She didn't know what he meant. She was sure that it meant something new because he'd never told her anything like this before, but she didn't know what this would bring. "Okay."

"You sound unsure. Didn't I just give you all you wanted? Don't I give you what you want?"

"Yes. You give me what I want."

His hands were on her breasts. The nipples were hard and poking through his fingers. Her breasts felt full and heaving to her. His hands were steady and soothing. The bindings were tight and firm. She hoped she had sounded more sure of herself that time. The uncertainty of him gives her both anxiety and excitement. More excitement than she'd ever had and more anxiety than she ever wanted in a relationship. She could feel her juices flowing. She wasn't sure if she could cum.

His hands were pushing and pulling the muscles to her sides. She could feel them giving in and relaxing beyond their normal state. She loved the massages. She would be limp for hours afterwards. Unless he brought her crashing back. That happened often. Then she would be limp for days after the hours of rebounded tension.

All the uncertainty and contradictions. They drove her on. Fueled her to greater heights. It's both what she craves and wishes she could just leave. There were conflicting thoughts from the beginning. Contradictions and, above all else, need. She needed more from her life. She needed more from her partners. It was enough to get one who wasn't intimidated by her. To get one that saw her as something to mold and toy with was so very different that she was hooked from the beginning.

With all the uncertainty and all the unknowing, there was something she knew. He would be pleased. His hands were on her hips. Knowing them and moving the muscles in a rhythm that closed her eyes for her. He was down her legs and on the way back up when the rhythm changed and the push and tug had an insistency.

Her thighs, once shaking had long since calmed. Now they were being kneaded and pressed to accept blood flow. The adamancy of his fingers were reminding her of the way he would move her to orgasm and she could feel the flow increase without her conscious thought.

At the top of her thighs, his fingers paused. She was completely conscious of her legs tied open and her completely exposed groin. Even as the thought moved across her mind, she could feel her lips puff and pouch apart. She felt a drizzle of fluid trickle out. A short time ago she would have been so completely self conscious that she would have felt a drying of her usually moist pussy. No. That's not right. It was only the first time.

He touched her pussy lips and it was a jolt to her stomach. He pushed them apart and she felt the stir deep within. Something hard was pressing inside. Small but solid. She wished she would dry up as her mouth did, but she felt instead, the juices bursting forth. Of course he would introduce something new. Hadn't he said as much with just the statement that she could cum as much as she wanted?

When the first wave of vibration hit her, she would have cum had it not been for the build up and the direction of her thoughts. He was at her ear, questioning. "You didn't cum. I told you you could, didn't I?"

"Yes." She gasped. The sensations were so overwhelming that she couldn't have cum if she wanted to.

"Didn't you believe me?"

"Yes." She just gasped. The vibration was low but constant. Enough to make her cum, but not with all the distraction.

"Don't you want to cum?"

"Yes. I love the way you make me cum." This came out with a moan. It was true. She loved it. Not nearly as much as she used to cum. She was the (not Dominant, she knew that now) forceful one in all her relationships before. She was used to taking the lead and getting what she wanted. It was easy to make herself cum that way. She even felt fulfilled for the most part. Now she knew that for the sham it was. It wasn't fulfillment as she's come to know it.

Her eyes had been half closed, but now she realized he was fingering the riding crop (bat, he called it). He held it out straight and down to her groin. She involuntarily tried to turn to the side but the bindings were too tight. She would have put her knee over her thigh if she could.

His voice was overly calm in her ear. She always associated this with his most dangerous moods (dangerous as she's come to know it). As in pushing another boundary beyond her ability to have coped before. "Don't you want to cum? Do you want me to make you cum?"

Her throat was too dry to answer. She tried twice before she croaked "yes".

The crop was stroking her thigh. The vibrations were still low and constant but now her pussy was trying to dry. It just wasn't being allowed. Despite everything, it was still moist and wanting. She could just see his member throbbing at the edge of her vision. If he would just move closer, she would take it in her mouth.

As though he knew her thoughts, it hovered near her lips. His fingers held her mouth down and slightly open as the head pushed across the opening. Her tongue flicked at it. The only thing she could reach it with.

She felt the leather tap her clit before she knew what had happened. The moan of ecstasy (agony?) left her lips before she had any idea what she had felt. The thrum of the little motor had caused a continuous level of sensation and the added tap sent her mind spinning. Even as she felt it again, she had only just registered the first one as coming from the crop.

A thrill of fear contracted her stomach at the same time a flood of juices left her pussy. She could feel them pooling under her ass and wished they wouldn't. She wished they wouldn't be so easy or so quick to go against her thoughts. He knew. Knew what she wanted by the way she reacted. Knew what she would take by the way her body showed it.

She felt her pussy lips, swollen and glistening, grasping at want. Shameless in the action of taking his cock in and squeezing it even as the actual staff stood at attention and lay across her mouth. Another tap. Another moan of agony (ecstasy?). The taps were coming at intervals that just allowed her to feel all the repercussions and the echoes and yet not prepare for the next. Another. Another.

The thrum seemed to invade her senses. Her hearing buzzed, her body hummed, her tongue drizzled, her vision blurred. Another tap. Another. There was a regularity and suddenly a wrenching flood. Her body began to shake and burst open and his cock shoved deep into her mouth. She screamed around the girth and felt it jerk with spasms. It pumped and her throat filled with cream. Another pump and it leaked out the corners of her lips with her muffled screams.

Another, another, another. She could feel his muscles contracting and releasing in time with the spurts. Her own had just mingled with the vibrations and steadily continued until his began to subside.

When her gasps ran down into sighs, the vibrator switched off and the lack of strumming made her moan. His cock was lengthening again and she flooded with the idea that now she would be fucked long and hard and it would be everything she hoped for.