Thoroughly Whipped

As I drowned in the hedonism he’d promised, it occurred to me that I couldn’t feel his mask. He’d taken it off. I was tempted to fight the stocks, needing more than anything to see what he looked like, but I was trapped and, more than that, I didn’t want him to stop.

I cried out when he slipped two fingers inside me, his tongue never letting up. “I’m coming,” I said, the crash of pleasure slapping over me like the hardest of floggers. My body tightened and I collapsed, thankful that the stocks were holding me in place. Maître quickly pulled his tongue away, but before I’d had a chance to recover, he slid inside me with one hard thrust.

I screamed as I clenched around his huge cock. He filled me so much. I gritted my teeth as he started pounding into me like the man had been starved of sex. His hands moved from gripping my hips to pressing against my back. His rhythmic thrusts never faltered once.

“You feel so good,” he said, his accent French-kissing the vowels of each word. “Hot and wet and tight.”

I cried out as he changed his angle and started relentlessly pounding against my G-spot. I’d never felt anything like this before. This heat, this attraction, this mind-blowing pleasure. I was like a living orchestral crescendo, gradually getting louder and louder until I screamed, bursting apart like a supernova.

Maître Auguste slammed into me one more time, exhaling loudly as he came. His hands massaged over my bare back up to my hair, where he wrapped his hand around the long strands. Using his grip, he rolled his hips until all his pleasure had been wrought.

The feel of Maître’s lips kissing my spine caused tremors of bliss to shudder across my skin. My back arched, searching for more of him. As exhausted and drained of pleasure as I was, I wanted more.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Maître pulled out of me and reached over me to unfasten the bolts on the stocks. I sagged against the wood, unable to move. Maître gathered me in his arms. When I looked up, his mask and cloak were firmly back in place. He took me to the bed in the center of the room. It was dressed in a red PVC sheet.

He laid me down, moved to the rack on his wall, and took what looked like a blindfold from one of the hooks. Bringing it to the side of the bed, he said, “I’m going to fuck you up close.” He knelt on the bed and laid the blindfold beside me. Reaching to the wall behind the bed, he took hold of two metal bars.

“Spreader bars,” he said, threading one through the metal hoops in my wrist cuffs. He pulled on the bar and my arms flew apart. He attached the other bar to my ankle cuffs and adjusted it so my legs widened and I was completely open for his viewing.

He placed his finger at my ankle then traced it up my calf, over my knee, and up my thigh, until he plunged it inside me. “Argh!” I hissed, trying to roll my hips, searching for even more. Quickly removing his hand, he took the blindfold that had been sitting patiently beside my head.

“Lift your head.” I did as he said and he placed the blindfold over my eyes and everything went black.

“Not afraid of the dark, are you?”

“Not right now.”

Maître’s fingers crossed over my lips, and I held my breath, wondering if he was about to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to taste him. It felt like he planned to. Then his fingers moved. I heard the rustling of clothes. The bed dipped again. He’d taken his mask off, and I heard it hit the wooden floor.

Blinking under the blindfold, I tried to make it move enough to see any part of him. Just a glimpse—his cheekbones, his nose, his jaw, anything.

“Ma chérie,” he said as I felt him climb over me. I felt his hot skin against mine. From foot to face. He had taken everything off. I groaned just imagining how perfect he looked.

I arched so that my nipples scraped against his hard chest. “I wish I could see you,” I allowed myself to say.

I moaned in surprise when he ducked down and sucked my nipple into his mouth. “NOX is about playing in the dark, mon petit chaton. About anonymity and the freedom to let go without truly knowing who just made you fall apart.” With his mouth back on my breasts, his finger dropped between my legs and caressed my clit. I instantly climbed higher and higher, my lower back aching from the force of the previous orgasms. But I didn’t care. Nothing mattered right now; no worries plagued my mind. It was just me and Maître and more pleasure than I’d ever felt before.