Friday, January 24, 2014
We looked at each other and grinned.
Was there really a way to do it wrong?
He picked up the slapper first, testing its sting in the palm of his hand.
"I want to try this first," he said. "Then the other." He glanced at the fiberglass cane on the bed, then smiled down at the slapper still in his grip.
"We need to talk about the cane," I said, staring apprehensively at it. "From what I hear, its got a lot of power. You're going to have to really see what you're--"
"Get down," he hissed, "on your knees."
Without hesitating, I obeyed, my movements dictated by years of training. I was wearing no clothes but a bra and sheer pink panties. He grabbed the back of my panties and pulled, wedging the thin material deep into the crack of my ass, making me gasp.
"Let's try this baby out," I heard. A second later, I felt the crisp smack of the slapper against my ass. It stung, but not too badly. I wondered how much weight he had put behind the blow.
"Can we talk about--"
"First can we--"
"I get it, you're having fun--"
"CAN YOU WAIT A MINUTE!" The slaps were beginning to really hurt. Maybe I had underestimated the power of the new slapper, I thought to my dismay.
He stopped his arm midair. I looked up at him: a frown masked his face.
"The cane," I said. "It's got a lot of bite to it. You need to test it carefully."
Now his eyes showed spreading interest.
"Really?" He dropped the slapper on the bed and grabbed up the cane instead. It was longer and thinner than the ones we were accustomed to. It looked vicious in his hand.
"Let me see," he whispered. "Get undressed, all the way. Stand up against the bed, ass out."
I complied, moving quickly...but not as quickly as the drumming pounding away in my chest. The sight of him standing over me, the cane in his hand, the cold glee in his eyes, filled me with fear. It was the kind of fear that makes you catch your breath, focus your entire being on the moment, and makes you remember what it means to be alive.
I had no time to close my eyes before the first blow hit.
My back arched off the bed as I sucked in my breath in agony.
"Wow, that's a nice red line," he said.
I howled and gripped the sheet.
"The lines are nice and clean. You know what? I bet, maybe...I bet I could write my name on your ass with this thing. See, make this line, then this line across, and this line down...." He began to plan out his hits against my flesh, outlining his art, moving this way and that with the cane as I held my breath and shook with fear.
"Yes, this might work," he said. The blows rained down, quick and precise, each one carefully orchestrated and planned.
The pain was incredible. I kicked up my heels, trying to shake off some of the sting, and when that didn't work, I started to pull myself up the bed. He pulled me back and held me still, tsking as I cried.
"I've just got the last letter," he said. With a final few swats, he was done. "There." He was quiet, and I could tell he was studying his work. "Go look in the mirror."
I stood up from the bed and walked to the mirror, turning to look over my shoulder at my welted, striped buttocks. Next to me, I saw him tilt his head in thought.
"It's not exactly what I wanted," he said. "But we need to work on it." He saw my look of horror. "Not tonight, though. No. Back on your knees. You have something else to do."
I lowered myself down, knowing what was coming. He traded the cane for the slapper, undressed, and then stepped up before me, stopping when my head was aimed between his legs.
He grabbed my chin and pulled it down, opening my mouth wide.
"Take it." He aimed his cock and lunged it straight into my mouth, down my throat. I gagged and pulled back; he held me still. When I struggled, he swatted my backside with the slapper. I shrieked around his cock.
"I love it when you scream when I'm in your mouth," he sighed, wiggling his hips. "You make the nicest vibrations." He slapped again, and I shrieked again. And again. And again. And again. The slaps were nothing like the swats with the cane, but they still hurt, especially where he had tried to carve his name into my ass. Soon I was crying again.
"Your ass is such a beautiful red, but I can't see my name anymore. Too bad. Next time I'll have to go harder. Now get on the bed. On your back, legs in the air."
I sighed with relief. Now he would fuck me; now there would be no new pain, just the throbbing ache coming from my blushing ass...and the pleasure of being used as his plaything.
He entered me with one smooth slide. I was wet, slick with the need of my arousal.
He grabbed my legs behind my knees and pushed them wide, digging his fingers into my flesh. I was already lost in my own pleasure at that point, feeling nothing but the growing pressure of release, but the pain of his fingers biting into my legs broke through my thoughts.
"Watch your thumbs," I said.
"What?" He stopped.
"Watch your thumbs," I repeated, thinking foolishly he hadn't heard me. "They're squeezing me."
He let go of one of my legs with his hand. As the force of gravity pulled my leg down, he moved his hand over to my pussy, sliding it inside. He hooked his thumb in deep. I grimaced and moaned.
"You want me to watch my thumb?"
He slid his thumb out from deep inside my cunt, moved it down, and began to bury it into the tight ring of my ass. Making a plaintive cry, I began to twist across the bed, but he held me still by the ankle and continued to push his thumb in through the clenching ring of muscle, wiggling it as he went.
"I'm watching my thumb. See? I'm watching it right now. I'm watching it disappear inside you. Oh yes, do that." I had raised my butt off the bed, trying to escape his brazen finger. My attempt had only made it easier for him to push deeper inside. "Nope, can't watch my thumb anymore. Sorry. I bet you can feel it, though. Can you feel it?"
He twisted it inside my asshole, stretching sensitive skin, and my voice came out a high-pitched "eeee."
He entered my pussy once more, shoving in with his cock, wiggling his thumb as he went. This time, my cries were ones of rising pleasure.
"Shall I still watch my thumb? What do you think?" He pumped his thumb in and out of my ass in rhythm to his cock, thrusting hard, claiming both brutally.
The pressure built, and spread, until his cock and finger broke through like battering-rams and my pleasure gushed forth in release. A moment later, he was experiencing his own release. He pulled away his finger from my squeezing ass as he shuddered and collapsed on top of my own sweaty body.
As my breathing slowed to normal, I opened my eyes, and saw him looking down at me.
"What hurts the most?" He asked.
"Right now, my asshole," I said, pouting.
He furrowed his brows. "Next time you'll think about that before you go telling me to 'watch my thumbs.'" He shook his head, then smiled. "How's your butt?"
I got off the bed, slowly, moving like one who had just gotten the bull ride of her life, and walked over to the mirror.
"It doesn't hurt at all," I said, looking for some evidence of our play. There was barely any, just some minor redness that would soon fade. My lips curved down in disappointment. There would be no marks to admire, no lasting parting gift.
"We'll play with these again," he said, kissing my temple. "Maybe not both toys together, but one at a time. There'll be lots of other nights to play."
Endless nights, years to come, hours of pleasure to spend with, and play with, the love of my life. The rest of our lives together.
We weren't looking for our own playground. We weren't building it, either. We were the playground, and new equipment was always to be had.
"I know," I said, kissing him on the mouth. He hugged me, a reassuring, loving embrace, and I hugged him back. "I know."
A quick heads-up:
The next Hotel Bentmoore story, Masters of the Hotel Bentmoore: Evie (Babygirl), is coming out in the next couple days. So look for it soon!
Ed. to add: It is out, and available on Amazon and B&N.