“Thank you, Sir,” I panted, lifting my hips in a roll that brought a groan of relief from my lips and a trance-like state to my mind.
He reached with his other hand to my throat, pressing on the two points beneath my chin that made me light-headed. I enjoyed the possessiveness, the simulated risk, and he got off on the proof of my unwavering trust in him. My head swam, intensifying the sensations in my cunt. Then, it became too much, sharpening my hazy thoughts. I managed, “Okay, yellow on the choking.”
Neil pulled his hand away immediately. “The rest is alright, though?”
“Yeah, the rest is fine.” I smiled gratefully at him and closed my eyes as he kept up the now deep strokes with the dildo. It didn’t take long to return to that peaceful, carefree place of my total submission. My nerves were stronger than my weakened body, sending pulses to every centimeter of my skin, turning every sensation into pleasure.
He pulled the shaft free from my pussy once, twice, again and again, always withdrawing completely, then plunging back in. With my eyes squeezed shut against the building pressure, I didn’t see him replace the dildo with the much larger one, and when it stretched me, my eyes flew open and my body jolted. We’d used this one many times—he even had a video of me using it on myself—but every time, the size was stunning. Neil was well-endowed, but this thing was massive.
My libido was reckless and greedy, without a limit in sight. This was where the edges could get blurry, and why our trust was so important. We each had our own limits, and he knew where mine were. There was no chance of him forgetting—nor willfully “forgetting”—where the lines were drawn.
Pain, however, was a line drawn far, far down the field, so when he rammed the huge rubber cock forward, burying it so deep in my body that I felt an uncomfortable pinch against my battered cervix, I moaned in far more pleasure than pain.
The flogger he’d laid at the end of the bed was easy to access, and he picked it up now in his free hand, still plunging the dildo mercilessly into me. As I sweated and strained and braced myself against the fullness in my pelvis, I didn’t have time to anticipate the swipe of the flogger. Neil snapped the underside of one breast with just the tips of the tails, and I screamed at what felt like a rain of needles on my skin. I arched my back, caught between acute and dull pain. No matter what he commanded, I couldn’t have stopped myself from responding. This was beyond the pleasure of obedience; this was an obscene hunger for degradation.
“Are you my whore, Sophie?” Another snap of the flogger, this time on my other breast.
I shouted my, “Yes, Sir!” on a sob, and gritted my teeth against the next that worked up my throat.
“Who do you belong to?”
“To you, Sir! Only to you!”
He gave me another bite of the flogger, and another, maybe five or six, and I lost count as they bled into each other in quick succession. Every inch of my body sang, every pore of my skin burned. I spread my legs wider, took the dildo in deeper, and gripped the duvet in my fists. My mind whipped to my Catholic upbringing, the stories of the martyrs possessed of holy ecstasy, and I finally understood those contorted, blissful faces of the flayed and scourged in
all those paintings.
Because when you’re taking the pain out of free will and love, the pain becomes love.
I don’t know how long I drifted after the last snap of the flogger. It seemed like a long time, and all the while he kept up the long strokes of the dildo, in pace with the mindless movements of my body. When I started to come back to myself, he eased the dildo from me. “Open your eyes.”
I did and met his gaze just as he knelt beside me, the tie that had once gagged me wrapped around his hand. He used it to swipe away my tears, then brushed the silk over the enflamed skin of my breasts.
He uncoiled the tie from his fist and dropped it onto my quivering stomach. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore, Sir,” I panted. “Thirsty.”
He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Stay here.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I closed my eyes again and slowed my breathing. In the break from sensation, I felt my stamina recovering a bit. I hoped he wasn’t finished with me for the night.
When he returned with the water glass, he sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap. He was certainly not finished.
I sat up and braced myself to avoid a head rush. Then I obediently moved to his lap. He brushed my sweaty hair back from my shoulders and rested the glass on my bottom lip, tipping a swallow of water into my mouth.
“There. Do you need a break?”
“That depends on what you have planned, Sir.”
“No, no Sir right now. This is your partner, Neil, asking if you need a break.” He smiled his half-smile and offered me another drink, which I gulped down gratefully.
“Oh. Then I guess that depends on what you have planned, Neil.”
He passed the glass into my hands and carefully, so that I didn’t tumble onto the bed, lifted me from his lap and set me beside him. Then, with deliberate slowness, he unbuttoned his shirt cuff and rolled the sleeve back. He flexed his fingers—those long, elegant fingers—and I needed another gulp of water.
He raised his eyebrows at me. “What do you think?”