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Firsts
folder
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,441
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,441
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Firsts
Author's Note:Nothing new, just editing out something that I tried that didn't work. Enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Can you see anything?" she hadn't yet tied the blindfold. I told her there was a sliver of light just at the bottom of my right eye. she tied the blindfold, just tight enough for it not to slip. Then she adjusted it, pulled it down a bit so I didn't even have the sliver of light to cling on to.
"Put your arms out," she said. The first silky tie was wrapped around my left wrist, then tied to the bed post, my hand suspended merely an inch. The second around my right, and I could almost put my hands down. The fabric was warm and soft.
"Okay?" she asked.
"Mmmm…" I responded, flexing my hands and wrapping my fingers around the ties to be sure. I felt the bed shift as she moved off of it and over to the closet to gather her instruments.
"This is a chain," she said, and I could hear the shift in her voice. It had started to change, from casual to controlled before she brought out the blindfold, but she was definitely moving into a more dominant mind frame. The chain was laid across my lower back, from hip to hip, and then slowly rolled up to my shoulders. I could feel the weight of it, the cool metal links tickling over my skin, then she pulled it away and stood at some distance from me.
"Take a deep breath," she ordered, "and then let it out."
I did. And then I waited.
Crack!
The first hit came over my left shoulder blade. Then silence.
Crack!
The second hit was on my left buttock. I cried out the second time, quietly, in response to the heaviness, the coldness, the brand new-ness of being beaten. Her hits were lazy with the chain, slow, sensual, letting the weight of the metal be the main impetus of force.
More hits followed – my upper back, my butt, my thighs. Each one brought a sting, each one brought pleasure, each one was anticipated with intense longing. And every hit was laced with the lazy slowness of her merely swinging the metal.
I heard her sigh, then she moaned a bit, and then the chain was draped over the nape of my neck, cold and hard against my skin, but silky smooth as well. There was silence, then, as she moved to the closet, to find another toy.
I tried as best I could to regain my breath, to regain control of my mind, of my body. It was difficult. I was having a hard time understanding my enjoyment in being whipped.
"This is a good belt," she said, and laid it over my body, from my right shoulder blade down to my right thigh. There was a thickness, a heaviness to the belt. I could tell that it was rough leather, that it was at least a quarter inch thick. When I moaned a bit, she removed the belt from my body, and asked if I was ready. I told her I was, and then all was silence.
Whack!
Incredible, the pain that shot through my body. I had been hit again on that spot on my left buttock. She seemed to favor that spot.
Whack!
On my upper back.
Whack!
On my thighs.
Whack, whack!
On my arm, my calf.
Again and again she hit me. Delicious pain rolled through me, and she waited random amounts of time, so that I had no idea when each thrash would come.
"I think you are being too quiet," she said, "And I think if you don't scream louder, I'll have to hit you harder."
I moaned in response. Of course, I would cry louder for her, of course I would share with her what she was doing to me.
The whipping continued, and then she stopped. The belt was wrapped around my left bicep and buckled, then she moved to the closet to get another.
"This one is different," she said, and draped it over my body in the same fashion she did the first. I could feel it, lighter, thinner, smoother...this was a dress belt.
When I was ready, she removed the belt from my body and began to whip me with it as well. My back, my butt, my thighs and calves. At one point, she hit my neck with the end of it, the tip of the belt hitting the chain and sending delicious shivers through my body.
"Are you enjoying this?" she asked.
"Yes," I gasped out.
"What do you enjoy about it?"
I had to think for a moment. Not because I didn't know what I enjoyed, but because I had to find the words for it, and those words were a lot farther away than they should have been.
"The pain," I said. "The anticipation, the lack of control."
"Really?" she asked. And I responded in the affirmative. "Let me see how much you are enjoying this….." Then she put a knee on the bed, and traced her fingers over my cunt. I was so wet. How could I not be?
"Yeah, you like it, dirty girl." Then she wrapped the second belt around my right bicep, and buckled it as well.
"I think I have another one here," she said. And laid another belt out along my body. It was lighter than the first, but not as thin as the second. "But, I think you are enjoying this a bit too much."
I heard movement, and then a light sound of metal.
"This," she said, "Is my spiky belt buckle. And I think it needs to go right here, so that every time I hit you, and you arch down in response, you'll feel it." And she placed it directly under my mons.
"Take a deep breath," she ordered, and again I did what she said. And she began to hit me with the third belt. It was luscious. By far my favorite.
I cried out, again and again. With each lashing, my skin was more sensitive, the pain more acute. I began to try to move away each time the belt hit my ass. She'd hit me so many times there, the lightest tickle hurt in a way I didn't know it could. But it was so sensuous as well. The warm leather, the suspense of not knowing when or where she would hit me.
"You know what I think," she said, and I murmured that I didn't. "I think that dirty girls need to be punished. And I think that dirty girls need a quick lashing, again and again, for thirty seconds, and then dirty girls get to relax."
"Yes…" I all but groaned. And then I was lashed in earnest. My back, my ass, my thighs… over and over. And I thought that it would never stop. And then it did. I was so grateful it was over, and so disappointed that it wouldn't continue.
And then she was next to me, and over me, and kissing each and every spot she had whipped. And then she laid her body over mine.
I regained my breath. I regained my mind. She untied me, took off my blindfold.
"Alright?" she asked.
"Yes," I responded, "More than alright."
She turned off the light and crawled into bed with me, her arms around me, her body pressed to my back.
I was awoken to the feeling of her hands running over my back, over my ass.
"I painted a pretty picture on your skin," she said. "You should see it."
"I will." I said, and pressed closer to her.
"Can you see anything?" she hadn't yet tied the blindfold. I told her there was a sliver of light just at the bottom of my right eye. she tied the blindfold, just tight enough for it not to slip. Then she adjusted it, pulled it down a bit so I didn't even have the sliver of light to cling on to.
"Put your arms out," she said. The first silky tie was wrapped around my left wrist, then tied to the bed post, my hand suspended merely an inch. The second around my right, and I could almost put my hands down. The fabric was warm and soft.
"Okay?" she asked.
"Mmmm…" I responded, flexing my hands and wrapping my fingers around the ties to be sure. I felt the bed shift as she moved off of it and over to the closet to gather her instruments.
"This is a chain," she said, and I could hear the shift in her voice. It had started to change, from casual to controlled before she brought out the blindfold, but she was definitely moving into a more dominant mind frame. The chain was laid across my lower back, from hip to hip, and then slowly rolled up to my shoulders. I could feel the weight of it, the cool metal links tickling over my skin, then she pulled it away and stood at some distance from me.
"Take a deep breath," she ordered, "and then let it out."
I did. And then I waited.
Crack!
The first hit came over my left shoulder blade. Then silence.
Crack!
The second hit was on my left buttock. I cried out the second time, quietly, in response to the heaviness, the coldness, the brand new-ness of being beaten. Her hits were lazy with the chain, slow, sensual, letting the weight of the metal be the main impetus of force.
More hits followed – my upper back, my butt, my thighs. Each one brought a sting, each one brought pleasure, each one was anticipated with intense longing. And every hit was laced with the lazy slowness of her merely swinging the metal.
I heard her sigh, then she moaned a bit, and then the chain was draped over the nape of my neck, cold and hard against my skin, but silky smooth as well. There was silence, then, as she moved to the closet, to find another toy.
I tried as best I could to regain my breath, to regain control of my mind, of my body. It was difficult. I was having a hard time understanding my enjoyment in being whipped.
"This is a good belt," she said, and laid it over my body, from my right shoulder blade down to my right thigh. There was a thickness, a heaviness to the belt. I could tell that it was rough leather, that it was at least a quarter inch thick. When I moaned a bit, she removed the belt from my body, and asked if I was ready. I told her I was, and then all was silence.
Whack!
Incredible, the pain that shot through my body. I had been hit again on that spot on my left buttock. She seemed to favor that spot.
Whack!
On my upper back.
Whack!
On my thighs.
Whack, whack!
On my arm, my calf.
Again and again she hit me. Delicious pain rolled through me, and she waited random amounts of time, so that I had no idea when each thrash would come.
"I think you are being too quiet," she said, "And I think if you don't scream louder, I'll have to hit you harder."
I moaned in response. Of course, I would cry louder for her, of course I would share with her what she was doing to me.
The whipping continued, and then she stopped. The belt was wrapped around my left bicep and buckled, then she moved to the closet to get another.
"This one is different," she said, and draped it over my body in the same fashion she did the first. I could feel it, lighter, thinner, smoother...this was a dress belt.
When I was ready, she removed the belt from my body and began to whip me with it as well. My back, my butt, my thighs and calves. At one point, she hit my neck with the end of it, the tip of the belt hitting the chain and sending delicious shivers through my body.
"Are you enjoying this?" she asked.
"Yes," I gasped out.
"What do you enjoy about it?"
I had to think for a moment. Not because I didn't know what I enjoyed, but because I had to find the words for it, and those words were a lot farther away than they should have been.
"The pain," I said. "The anticipation, the lack of control."
"Really?" she asked. And I responded in the affirmative. "Let me see how much you are enjoying this….." Then she put a knee on the bed, and traced her fingers over my cunt. I was so wet. How could I not be?
"Yeah, you like it, dirty girl." Then she wrapped the second belt around my right bicep, and buckled it as well.
"I think I have another one here," she said. And laid another belt out along my body. It was lighter than the first, but not as thin as the second. "But, I think you are enjoying this a bit too much."
I heard movement, and then a light sound of metal.
"This," she said, "Is my spiky belt buckle. And I think it needs to go right here, so that every time I hit you, and you arch down in response, you'll feel it." And she placed it directly under my mons.
"Take a deep breath," she ordered, and again I did what she said. And she began to hit me with the third belt. It was luscious. By far my favorite.
I cried out, again and again. With each lashing, my skin was more sensitive, the pain more acute. I began to try to move away each time the belt hit my ass. She'd hit me so many times there, the lightest tickle hurt in a way I didn't know it could. But it was so sensuous as well. The warm leather, the suspense of not knowing when or where she would hit me.
"You know what I think," she said, and I murmured that I didn't. "I think that dirty girls need to be punished. And I think that dirty girls need a quick lashing, again and again, for thirty seconds, and then dirty girls get to relax."
"Yes…" I all but groaned. And then I was lashed in earnest. My back, my ass, my thighs… over and over. And I thought that it would never stop. And then it did. I was so grateful it was over, and so disappointed that it wouldn't continue.
And then she was next to me, and over me, and kissing each and every spot she had whipped. And then she laid her body over mine.
I regained my breath. I regained my mind. She untied me, took off my blindfold.
"Alright?" she asked.
"Yes," I responded, "More than alright."
She turned off the light and crawled into bed with me, her arms around me, her body pressed to my back.
I was awoken to the feeling of her hands running over my back, over my ass.
"I painted a pretty picture on your skin," she said. "You should see it."
"I will." I said, and pressed closer to her.