The first way he touched me, was not with his bare hands, but with the cane, at my request. What is it about chastity and denial that awakens the masochist in me?
Hurt me, please, I cooed at him.
Thank you, I yelped.
I moaned as he sliced through the air and cut across my bum. I could feel the marks burning beneath my panties. I whimpered as he beat against the back of my thighs. I love the cane on my thighs.
“You want more, baby?”
He kissed me on the mouth sweetly.
I want more than I know he will give my pain craving body, but I beg just the same.
“On your back.”
I laid on my back and writhed beneath his ministrations. He beat the tops of my thighs, my favorite place, until my breathing was coming in tiny gasps and sighs.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded.
I complied, and he slapped me cruelly just, just, just at the innermost place on my thigh, right where the very edge of my panties met my thigh, and then the opposite side.
I yelped like a kitten and squirmed against the bed. I could feel the welts forming on my skin, bright and angry, hot and raised, blood rising to kiss the inside of pale, pale skin.
He tortured my tits in the same manner, requesting that I pull on my aching nipples, and tug my breasts out, giving him more room to beat and bruise, more delicate skin to cut.
He was cruel. And then he was kind.
He kissed me once more. He lathed at my breasts, suckling and licking and nibbling at the puckered tips as his hands groped and worked the meat of them. He climbed between my legs and inhaled deeply. He whispered against the apex of my thighs, groaning at the sight and smell of me. He showered my pussy with compliments as he licked me, as he drank me, as he ate me. He was hungry for me, and the noise of him, eager, aroused, made me shudder, made me cry. How beautiful to be touched by him so intimately after such denial. How perfect.
“I love this view, baby,” he growled.
I covered my face with my hands as he pushed my thighs apart and forced his pelvis to meet mine in one deep stroke. I convulsed. My body writhed. My hips pumped up to meet his with each stroke. I can never explain the life changing moment that is having him inside of me after a game of denial. How good it feels. How amazing he is.
I blush more. I cry softly. I moan loudly. My breath comes in a sharp pant. My chest rises and falls. Too soon I feel my body clench, tighten, spasm. There is a point of heat, sharp and alarming that is cresting.
I call out my desire. My need. He allows.
My pleasure becomes his.We meld and melt.
Satiated. A mess. We are a mess.
My body is bruised and used. How amazing to be desired. How beautiful to know such pleasure.