finger?"
I wanted to earn an orgasm, but I had a feeling that was still a while off, and again, I nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Good girl. Then it's time for this." He reached for the leather strap and every muscle along my stomach tightened at the sight. He stood between my legs, his fingers around the leather handle and he looked perfect that way: my Master. My Paul.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, Sir." And I wasn't afraid anymore. He brought me pain and then he washed it away, he cleared my head and then filled it with desire, with him, with lust and love. Of course I trusted him.
"Keep your legs apart as best you can. If they snap back together—and they will—you will open them up again. You will expose yourself to me. I won't make you take it this time. You have to earn it." He sought my eyes, blazing down at me. "Do you understand, pet?"
"Yes, Sir," I breathed, pushing my knees even further apart as if to show I was serious about my promise. Already I could feel my thighs shaking under the strain.
First, he just ran the cool leather down my inner thigh, then over my exposed labia. It slipped between them easily, but he didn't venture near my clit. I thought he'd move over to my other thigh, but instead there was a crack and pain exploded where I'd expected a soft brush. Like he'd told me, my legs snapped together as though on strings and I forced them apart again, shaking like leaves.
"Good girl," he said, smiling dangerously.
He alternated between my thighs, left right, left right, in fast succession. I put my hands on my knees, held them down as I accepted the leather. It was a different kind of pain than before—without the deep soreness already in place I felt each slap sharper, shallower than the ones he'd dealt on my ass. The strap was smaller than his hand, too, and it sliced through the air with a whistle before it cracked down on my skin. With my hands on my knees, I had nothing to stifle my moans and they echoed louder and louder through the room. I was past caring and in the moments he paused to wipe a bead of sweat off his brow, I could feel my hip bucking up into the air, straining to meet his touch, even if it was another slap.
I had calm, perfectly clear moments, in which I watched him as he painted my thighs with thin, parallel stripes that shone red against the pallor of my skin. They wavered in and out of focus and suddenly the pain rolled back over me so hard I pressed my eyes shut and keened a wailing noise against the ceiling. And still he went on and each time I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I forced myself to remember my ass, how that had to have been worse, how it had all been worth it, and then it got better.
"Count to five now, pet," he growled, and somehow the sound penetrated the haze of pain.
"One, Sir," I started, and before I could get to two, he cracked the leather over my cunt.
I couldn't breathe, felt like my eyes would pop out of their sockets and it was several seconds of pressing my thighs together until I could yell out the pain. I stared up at him, and he stared back. Then slowly, he raised a brow and my chin started to shiver. It took everything I had to open my legs again.
"T... two, Sir?" I whispered. He nodded and then he did it again. My legs flew shut and I curled up on my side, clenching my teeth and moaning. It took me longer this time, but he waited patiently, running his fingers up and down the sharp leather until I assumed the position again.
"Three, Sir."
I had told myself that I would take it better this time, that I'd keep my legs open, that I'd stand it better, but once the pain hit, tears streamed down my temples and my hands pressed against my cunt, cradling my pulsing flesh. My lips moved in something like a plea, but I managed to keep it silent. Two more. Just two more.
I don't know how I got to the end, but my head was spinning and I found myself in his arms, as he cradled me against his chest, humming and kissing my forehead. He smelled so
I wanted to earn an orgasm, but I had a feeling that was still a while off, and again, I nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Good girl. Then it's time for this." He reached for the leather strap and every muscle along my stomach tightened at the sight. He stood between my legs, his fingers around the leather handle and he looked perfect that way: my Master. My Paul.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, Sir." And I wasn't afraid anymore. He brought me pain and then he washed it away, he cleared my head and then filled it with desire, with him, with lust and love. Of course I trusted him.
"Keep your legs apart as best you can. If they snap back together—and they will—you will open them up again. You will expose yourself to me. I won't make you take it this time. You have to earn it." He sought my eyes, blazing down at me. "Do you understand, pet?"
"Yes, Sir," I breathed, pushing my knees even further apart as if to show I was serious about my promise. Already I could feel my thighs shaking under the strain.
First, he just ran the cool leather down my inner thigh, then over my exposed labia. It slipped between them easily, but he didn't venture near my clit. I thought he'd move over to my other thigh, but instead there was a crack and pain exploded where I'd expected a soft brush. Like he'd told me, my legs snapped together as though on strings and I forced them apart again, shaking like leaves.
"Good girl," he said, smiling dangerously.
He alternated between my thighs, left right, left right, in fast succession. I put my hands on my knees, held them down as I accepted the leather. It was a different kind of pain than before—without the deep soreness already in place I felt each slap sharper, shallower than the ones he'd dealt on my ass. The strap was smaller than his hand, too, and it sliced through the air with a whistle before it cracked down on my skin. With my hands on my knees, I had nothing to stifle my moans and they echoed louder and louder through the room. I was past caring and in the moments he paused to wipe a bead of sweat off his brow, I could feel my hip bucking up into the air, straining to meet his touch, even if it was another slap.
I had calm, perfectly clear moments, in which I watched him as he painted my thighs with thin, parallel stripes that shone red against the pallor of my skin. They wavered in and out of focus and suddenly the pain rolled back over me so hard I pressed my eyes shut and keened a wailing noise against the ceiling. And still he went on and each time I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I forced myself to remember my ass, how that had to have been worse, how it had all been worth it, and then it got better.
"Count to five now, pet," he growled, and somehow the sound penetrated the haze of pain.
"One, Sir," I started, and before I could get to two, he cracked the leather over my cunt.
I couldn't breathe, felt like my eyes would pop out of their sockets and it was several seconds of pressing my thighs together until I could yell out the pain. I stared up at him, and he stared back. Then slowly, he raised a brow and my chin started to shiver. It took everything I had to open my legs again.
"T... two, Sir?" I whispered. He nodded and then he did it again. My legs flew shut and I curled up on my side, clenching my teeth and moaning. It took me longer this time, but he waited patiently, running his fingers up and down the sharp leather until I assumed the position again.
"Three, Sir."
I had told myself that I would take it better this time, that I'd keep my legs open, that I'd stand it better, but once the pain hit, tears streamed down my temples and my hands pressed against my cunt, cradling my pulsing flesh. My lips moved in something like a plea, but I managed to keep it silent. Two more. Just two more.
I don't know how I got to the end, but my head was spinning and I found myself in his arms, as he cradled me against his chest, humming and kissing my forehead. He smelled so
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