free hand on the small of her back, he applied more, then, before she could prepare herself, he reached for something and pressed it against her, cold, smooth and hard.
An egg. A tempered glass egg. Quite a big one. Despite her resolve to stay quiet, to best him with silence, she moaned as he pushed the devilish thing into her. Its unyielding bulk taxed her as it went in, nudging around inside, pushing against the muscular channel as he pressed it higher. When it settled against her womb, it felt gigantic inside her, jostling the root of her clitoris from within as shebreathed. She could feel the tickle of a fine silk cord, too, trailing from her entrance.
You devil. You know how this gets to me. You know I’m already almost coming, before you’ve even got started!
She didn’t have to speak it. She knew he’d heard her.
‘I bet you’d really like to touch yourself, wouldn’t you?’ he said, striding around behind her, clearly admiring the way she was arranged, her thighs parted and the little cord dangling. Was it white? Or black? Or some other colour?
‘Yes … Yes, master. I do want to touch myself.’ Defiantly, she churned her hips, then yelped out loud at the wicked sensations of the rolling egg inside her. Her clit felt enormous, as if it were bulging out from between her pussy lips, pushed by the obstruction inside her body.
‘Be still, wicked girl. Be still.’ He reached beneath her, just stroking her entrance, then giving the tiniest tug on the cord.
Breathing hard, she fought not to whine. God, if she was like this now, how on earth would she feel like when he really went to work?
‘Would you like me to make you come? It might make the ordeal easier if your body is filled with pleasure endorphins.’
‘No! That’s no true test … master. And I’m an old-fashioned girl. I’m used to earning my rewards. I enjoy them more that way.’
It was nonsense. She was dying to come. But it seemed a better way to play the game.
He leaned over the table at her side, and she could feel his mouth close to her ear, and his breathing ruffling strands of her hair. ‘I adore you. You know that, don’t you?’said her lover, not her master, his voice softer, gentler, more emotional.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He knew she adored him right back.
Then, he straightened again, and passed his hands over her buttocks and thighs, in a slow, almost insulting glide. He was testing her muscle tone, assessing her susceptibility, and that made her hornier than ever. His arrogance made her want to touch herself all the more.
‘Very well, then. Let’s proceed.’ As he spoke, he lifted the wide strip of leather – the slapper – and trailed it over her bottom slowly and tauntingly. It was supple, yet substantial, and she feared it. He’d spanked her with his hands, and with rulers and switches, and even with a table tennis bat, when they’d been fooling about, back at home. But he’d never punished her with actual leather before, apart from the sole of his slipper once, ad hoc, and then only a couple of strokes. She had a feeling this would be far more momentous. Far more painful.
She didn’t know why she wanted it. But she did.
‘Be ready, dear slave.’ He let the leather rest horizontally across her bottom as if he were sighting the first blow, measuring exactly where he wanted it to fall, and then he lifted it up.
Holding her breath, she willed him:
Do it! Do it!
And he did.
There was a whoosh through the air, and then the impact. For a moment she couldn’t even quantify the sensations. Had it hurt? She couldn’t tell. She could only mewl out, like an animal, but she didn’t know whether it was from leather on flesh, or the way the egg bounced inside her, rocking against sensitive nerve ends and stimulating her clit fromwithin. Was she coming? Perhaps … But just as pleasure bloomed, a flaming wall of red agony slammed into the muscles of her backside, the sensation delayed by
An egg. A tempered glass egg. Quite a big one. Despite her resolve to stay quiet, to best him with silence, she moaned as he pushed the devilish thing into her. Its unyielding bulk taxed her as it went in, nudging around inside, pushing against the muscular channel as he pressed it higher. When it settled against her womb, it felt gigantic inside her, jostling the root of her clitoris from within as shebreathed. She could feel the tickle of a fine silk cord, too, trailing from her entrance.
You devil. You know how this gets to me. You know I’m already almost coming, before you’ve even got started!
She didn’t have to speak it. She knew he’d heard her.
‘I bet you’d really like to touch yourself, wouldn’t you?’ he said, striding around behind her, clearly admiring the way she was arranged, her thighs parted and the little cord dangling. Was it white? Or black? Or some other colour?
‘Yes … Yes, master. I do want to touch myself.’ Defiantly, she churned her hips, then yelped out loud at the wicked sensations of the rolling egg inside her. Her clit felt enormous, as if it were bulging out from between her pussy lips, pushed by the obstruction inside her body.
‘Be still, wicked girl. Be still.’ He reached beneath her, just stroking her entrance, then giving the tiniest tug on the cord.
Breathing hard, she fought not to whine. God, if she was like this now, how on earth would she feel like when he really went to work?
‘Would you like me to make you come? It might make the ordeal easier if your body is filled with pleasure endorphins.’
‘No! That’s no true test … master. And I’m an old-fashioned girl. I’m used to earning my rewards. I enjoy them more that way.’
It was nonsense. She was dying to come. But it seemed a better way to play the game.
He leaned over the table at her side, and she could feel his mouth close to her ear, and his breathing ruffling strands of her hair. ‘I adore you. You know that, don’t you?’said her lover, not her master, his voice softer, gentler, more emotional.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He knew she adored him right back.
Then, he straightened again, and passed his hands over her buttocks and thighs, in a slow, almost insulting glide. He was testing her muscle tone, assessing her susceptibility, and that made her hornier than ever. His arrogance made her want to touch herself all the more.
‘Very well, then. Let’s proceed.’ As he spoke, he lifted the wide strip of leather – the slapper – and trailed it over her bottom slowly and tauntingly. It was supple, yet substantial, and she feared it. He’d spanked her with his hands, and with rulers and switches, and even with a table tennis bat, when they’d been fooling about, back at home. But he’d never punished her with actual leather before, apart from the sole of his slipper once, ad hoc, and then only a couple of strokes. She had a feeling this would be far more momentous. Far more painful.
She didn’t know why she wanted it. But she did.
‘Be ready, dear slave.’ He let the leather rest horizontally across her bottom as if he were sighting the first blow, measuring exactly where he wanted it to fall, and then he lifted it up.
Holding her breath, she willed him:
Do it! Do it!
And he did.
There was a whoosh through the air, and then the impact. For a moment she couldn’t even quantify the sensations. Had it hurt? She couldn’t tell. She could only mewl out, like an animal, but she didn’t know whether it was from leather on flesh, or the way the egg bounced inside her, rocking against sensitive nerve ends and stimulating her clit fromwithin. Was she coming? Perhaps … But just as pleasure bloomed, a flaming wall of red agony slammed into the muscles of her backside, the sensation delayed by
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