Delicious Pain - a BDSM Collection Page 5
Alice groaned, hiding her face in the pillow, biting it in frustration. She wanted to nudge Julian's finger back onto her clit, but he was in charge now. She had to behave and wait for his whim. But she let out a high squeak as he toyed with her vent.
"Dirty, disgusting little trollop," he taunted, his voice warm with love, "I think I'll do both. A few hard spanks might tame your lewd desires, and then I'll fuck you to relieve the erection you've caused."
In spite of the tormented state she was in, Alice giggled. Julian was playing at being Mr. Grayson again now, acting the role of the horny patriarch disciplining his wayward wife.
"Oh, so it's funny, is it?" he demanded, giving her bottom just one last tickle and then rising up, onto his knees beside her. His cock bounced as he moved, and as Alice twisted her head to see what he was doing, she let out another giggle to see it up and swinging.
"You're willful and disrespectful, Mrs. Porter." Grasping her thighs, he parted them, and then edged a bit further down the bed, to get the right angle. "Hold onto the bedstead, then come up on your haunches. Present yourself for the punishment you deserve."
Alice shuffled to comply, resting her forearms on the pillow, her head between them.
"Tut-tut. Thighs wide apart and back dished. That's better. Show what you've got."
Alice thrilled as she moved, adjusting her position. She'd never felt so slutty or debauched in her life, but she loved it, exhibiting herself for Julian this way.
"You're a lascivious wench, my darling. I can see your juice running right down your leg, you atrocious woman." A single fingertip slid into her cleft from behind, drifting over her perineum, then poking into her channel, pressing in and stirring her until she hissed between her teeth.
Oh Julian, do something, please! Slap me or fuck me or diddle me, but please, please, do something. The plea was silent, but Alice couldn't keep still as Julian pumped her with his finger. She clenched her inner muscles, trying to grab him, ashamed that the action would make her anus wink at him.
"Right. That's it. Now I'm going to spank you very hard, and then I'm going to fuck you."
The words, just the words, almost made her come, but before her body could obey its own imperative, Julian whirled his hand away from her and brought it down again, hard on her bottom, once, twice, and really hard. The shock threw her forward against the pillows and her buttocks flexed and seemed to burn, the fires alight again.
Alice mewled against the pillow, churning her hips, seeing crimson behind her closed eyelids. More spanks fell, and she found herself lifting her bottom, pushing up, pushing back, and enticing her husband to slap her harder. She wiggled her burning rump in order to goad him.
Julian growled at her, regaling her with a few words and rebukes that Mr. Grayson would probably have never uttered, but which sounded like pagan music to Alice's ears and drove her to even greater efforts to lure him.
"Do you want the cane? Is that what you want?" he hissed into her ear, and in that heartbeat Alice realized it was exactly what she wanted, no matter how awesome and how agonizing it's power was.
"Yes, I fucking well do!" she cried defiantly. "Bring it on!"
Julian slid off the bed for a moment, searched around beneath it and then popped back up again. Alice glanced towards him, her hips still swaying, and saw the forbidden treasure in his hand.
You fucking devil! You had the cane under the bed all along.
"Now brace yourself. This will hurt like hell," he said in a low, tight voice as if he were struggling to control himself, "But I'll give you something nice afterwards, almost immediately, to soften the pain."
Gritting her teeth, with her heart pumping and pounding and her spirit soaring, Alice dished her back as deeply as she could, making the best possible target.
"Good girl, good girl," praised Julian, pausing to slide a hand beneath her and feather a finger over her clit, "Good girl," he repeated, withdrawing and raising his arm.
There was a sound half way between a swish and a whistle, and then… nothing. No sensation at all for a heartbeat or two, and then a high white jolt of excruciating electric agony, right across the under-hang of her bottom.
Alice didn't scream. She hadn't the breath. She was rigid with shock. Then a second later, she howled out loud and grabbed her bottom.
"Oh no, no, no, I'll deal with that." Julian prized her fingers from her own flesh and conducted them back to the bed rail, curling them around it.
Oh, it hurt, it hurt. Alice rocked her hips, circling her bottom around, flexing the abused muscles and clenching her pussy at the same time. The stripe from the cane was like pure flame, but her emptiness was worse, far worse.
She crooned like an animal when she felt Julian push inside her, thrusting his cock in right to the hilt and knocking against the weal from the cane's descent with the base of his belly.
"Oh God, Alice, I love you!" he cried, jamming into her again and again and again, out of all control. Every wild shove knocked the root of her clitoris from within, and before she could draw breath, Alice was climaxing as never before, her pussy clamping and grabbing with love at her husband's cock.
When he reached around and touched her clit, she did scream then.
*** *** ***
For the second time that evening, Alice lay on the bed on her front and propped up awkwardly on her elbows. This time she was quite sore, there were no two ways about it, but the cooling muscle rub that Julian had just applied was helping a little bit.
Still Alice smiled. Every pulse and throb was a sweet reminder. Not just of the spanking, and the cane, but the heights of ecstasy she'd shared with Julian in the fuck straight afterwards.
Good grief, if that happens every time, it's more than worth it. She grinned as she studied the old ledger which was open on the pillow before her, at a brand new page.
There was a new entry too, in modern ink that somehow looked quite at home on the antique paper. It was headed Mrs. Alice Porter, and the handwriting was Julian's -- a neat but profoundly masculine script.
This evening, I found it necessary to discipline my dear wife Alice for her continued and willful extravagance, a fault I have taken her to task for on many occasions to no avail. With no other action left to me, I was forced to take down her jeans and panties and put her across my knee for a stringent and extended hand-spanking. During the course of this somewhat lenient expression of my displeasure, my dearest did struggle and yell in a most unseemly and ungrateful manner and even derive a lewd enjoyment from her punishment. So much so that it was necessary to stop her mouth in a most particular way, to silence her cries.
Alice's smile widened to a creamy smirk. Well, that was one way to describe a blow job.
Subsequently, it later became necessary to position Mrs. Porter on the bed, and administer an additional punishment, including a sharp cut with our newly purchased cane, as the first chastisement had not induced an adequate state of remorse or repentance. It is my hope that this additional disciplinary action will ensure Alice's compliant behavior for some time, perhaps as much as a week? It has certainly lent a most appealing coloration to her bottom.
"Bastard," Alice muttered fondly, reaching around to touch the cane's harsh kiss, and making herself gasp and squirm anew at the sharp sensation.
Flipping back to earlier entries in the ledger, she wondered if Mr. Grayson had left out the same things Julian had left out. She had a strong suspicion he'd perpetrated the same omissions; descriptions of the palliative fondling during, and the violent, delicious couplings that had occurred after the punishments. She only hoped that Mrs. Grayson had been the beneficiary of those pleasures even when it had been the maid, the cook or the governess who had received the spanking.
A small sound close by made Alice halt her musings, and as the bathroom door knob turned she closed the ledger and pushed it away. Julian said nothing as he entered the room and closed the door behind him, but his eyes were aglow with happiness and with love. When he slipped off his
dressing gown, he still really didn't need to speak at all. His splendid body was far more eloquent than any words, and it told her in no uncertain terms that the sight of her chastised bottom had a powerful effect on him.
Oh yeah.
As her husband smiled, Alice smiled too. Then, while he climbed onto the bed beside her, she fingered her weal again and pushed her hip against his thick, rampant cock, already wondering what might be described in the next ledger entry. It wouldn't be about tonight though. Keen as she was, she'd had her fill of the cane for moment.
For now, she'd be perfectly happy with what came afterwards.
###
In Sebastian’s Hands - introduction
In Sebastian’s Hands is a trio of short stories about feisty, inquisitive Megan Chambers and her deliciously dominant lover, Sebastian Holmwood.
Life the Universe and Sebastian describes their first meeting, at a fancy dress party, when Sebastian initiates Megan into the mysteries of BDSM.
It’s Time finds the pair as an established item, delving deeper into pain and pleasure, as their relationship also grows in intensity.
The Roses in Your Cheeks is a story celebrating the fact that Megan and Sebastian are together forever, enthusiastically continuing their erotic spanking games as a happily married couple.
Now read on...
Life, the Universe and Sebastian
He was the most unusual looking man at the party. Even in a room full of Batmen, Supermen and cowboys he stood out. His long, pale face, his peculiar silvery blue eyes, and his curly black hair did remind me vaguely of an actor I rather lusted after on the television, but he didn't seem to be in fancy dress like the rest of us. Unless his shirt, jeans and jacket in unadorned black stood for something of which I wasn't yet aware.
"Hello, who are you supposed to be?" I enquired, with all the boldness of two sizeable gins inside me as I zeroed in on him across the crowded room.
"I'm just myself, I'm afraid," he replied, his voice amused and quite distinct despite all the hubbub, "Sebastian Holmwood. At your service." He paused, cocked his head a little on one side, and gave me an appraising look, "Pleased to meet you Miss Peep," he said, holding out a narrow elegant hand towards me. "Would you like me to help you round up your lambs?"
I felt embarrassed. Not only by my Victorian nursery rhyme costume, but because I didn't have a free hand with which to shake his. I had a glass clutched in one, and my so called "crook" in the other; a sort of cut-down affair made of yellowish rattan with a blue bow tied round the curly end. This object had come with the costume, but looked more like a school mistress's cane to me than anything, and certainly nothing like a shepherding implement.
Sebastian Holmwood looked at me expectantly, then quirked one fine dark eyebrow. Shaking his head slightly, he first relieved me of the glass, and put it aside, then drew the crook from between my suddenly sweating fingers.
To my surprise, he didn't abandon it straight away, as he had done the glass, but ran a forefinger slowly along the length of it. There was an odd expression on his face as he handled the long, yellow stick, something I couldn't define. It sent a delicious yet icy shiver down my spinal column. The look in his eyes was far away, almost dreamy. Feeling uneasy, I held out my empty hand.
"Megan Chambers. How do you do?" I said.
As if loath to tear his attention away from the crook, Sebastian offered his right hand, his left still curved around the rattan.
"I do well, Megan," he said, with an oblique playful smile, "And I soon hope to be doing much better." He glanced down at the crook, balanced across his fingers, and then passed it back to me with a hint of reluctance.
Cheeky sod!
The fact that I'd been so obvious stung me. He knew I fancied him and he seemed to find that highly entertaining. And what was all that business with the crook too? He was still looking at it as I hung it from my sash and reached for my drink.
"Nice party," I murmured, resolving to invest only a few further moments of small talk, and then move on to someone a tad less disturbing if not quite as attractive.
But it didn't happen that way.
In spite of our prickly beginning, conversation flourished and I soon found myself warming to Sebastian. His manner was wry and charming, with a quick effortless wit, and before long attractive became downright enthralling. Our chat started with jobs, mine as an admin clerk for a retail chain and his as a software development consultant. Then, we moved on to TV, books and films, and effortlessly progressed through hopes, fears and phobias, and right on to life, the universe and everything. The more we talked, the easier it was, and we both agreed that we were like fishes out of water in a frivolous, booze-sodden gathering like this with raucous, seeming atonal music and a lot of people shouting and some falling down. We both admitted we'd only turned up as a favor to our hostess because she'd been nervous about the party being a flop. I soon started to get ridiculously excited at a piece of information Sebastian imparted to me under cover of some ancient disco tune or other. His own flat was only two floors above us, in this large old converted Edwardian building.
We were trundling along beautifully, with me feeling more relaxed with a man than I had in a long time, even if I was a tiny bit scared of him too, when Sebastian's eyes narrowed at something or somebody he'd obviously just caught sight of right behind me. The look on his face was dismissive, almost contemptuous, as if what he'd seen deserved nothing but disdain.
Intrigued, I turned around.
One of our fellow guests, a girl I knew vaguely from work, stood giggling and swaying on very high heels, as she brandished what looked like a riding crop over the back of a man kneeling before her. "Go on, Doreen, whip him!" somebody cried out, and Doreen giggled even louder and tapped her victim with the crop. She was wearing a short leather skirt, fishnet tights, and a low cut red top made of some shiny nylon stuff. Affixed to her bosom was a large, ribbon trimmed rosette bearing the crudely printed legend "Miss Whiplash".
I turned back towards Sebastian, wondering why he disapproved of such a pathetic, but basically harmless spectacle.
The expression in his silvery eyes was more like pity now, and he was rubbing the very tips of his fingers together as if testing the texture of his skin. Questions surged to the tip of my tongue, but before I could ask them he said, "I've had enough of this. Come on, Megan, let's leave."
"What's wrong?" I enquired in the rather antiquated lift, fiddling with my crook because Sebastian seemed unsettlingly preoccupied.
"I..." He paused, watching me fidget, "Some people... They get ideas." He hesitated again, and then smiled, his eyes very bright and intense.
"What ideas?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"I might!"
He looked at me very steadily, very searchingly, his expression lit as if from a fire within. I sensed him thinking very carefully about something, weighing possibilities, and assessing me again, even more stringently than before. "You might at that," he conceded at length, as if I had indeed passed some kind of test. "Yes, perhaps I ought to give you a chance."
In spite of my protestations, he'd lost me again. I understood nothing. But I had a feeling I might be learning pretty soon, and that excited me and made me uneasy, in equal measures.
Sebastian's flat was just the opposite of the chaos we'd left, just as spacious, but elegant, spare and silently and beautifully tranquil. The room we ended up in was as much an office, or library as it was a sitting room, with a leather-upholstered settee, a desk, and quite a lot of well-stocked book cases. The air seemed to hum with knowledge, and with a quiet, civilized peace. As I crept around, awestruck, examining prints and the spines of his books, Sebastian fixed drinks and put on some music; a light, but very stately piece by Mozart.
I didn't drink neat whisky as a rule, but after a moment, I found myself enjoying it. Not to mention needing it. Sebastian had picked up my crook from where I'd left it on his desk, and he was twirling it slowly in his fingers.
Blushing furiously, I looked away, then sat down on the settee and picked up a book from his coffee table. I flipped a few pages, attempting to cover my nervousness, and then realized I'd made a huge mistake.
Sebastian's beautiful coffee table volume was full of pictures of people being punished. Women being beaten, their bare white bottoms lifted up and offered to a variety of different implements and techniques. As I stared down at a woman being thrashed across a table with a cane, a huge light bulb came on in the space behind my eyes... and I finally understood about life, the universe and Sebastian.
"Those people, downstairs at the party... You realize how very little they know, don't you?" he said, a heartbeat later, as if my revelation had been flashed up on a screen.
"I... I think so... I'm not sure." I looked down at the caned woman in the picture, then across at my crook, its length revolving slowly between Sebastian's pale fingers, its true nature not at all hidden by that absurd blue ribbon.
Anxiety must have shown in my face, because Sebastian laughed, very quietly and very kindly.
"Oh no, not with this," he said, taking a step towards me, still twirling the cane. "I would never start a girl off with a cane. And this," He paused, that look of distaste resurfacing on his stark, rather aristocratic features, "This 'thing', is quite unsuitable anyway." With a swift, ruthless gesture, he snapped my faux crook in two pieces, and then dropped it into the waste-bin beside his desk.