It started innocently enough. We were messing around, joking about this or that, had already had dinner. It was one of those really casual, easy evenings where everyone’s guard is down, everyone’s just relaxed.
I go to sit down next to you on the couch and don’t think much of it. After I sit though, I can feel your eyes burning into me. I look up to see that, sure enough, you’re staring straight at me with this… look. You know me and looks, so I’m trying to figure out what I’ve done that wasn’t quite right.
You point to me, then to the floor at your feet.
Well, this is new.
I give you the raised eyebrow look and without even waiting for my own eyebrow to get all the way into “really?” position, yours are up and you’re frowning at me. I suppose in some situations, I might chuckle or try to break the ice a bit. But I get the sense that that might not be a good idea.
I scoot down, kneeling at your feet and look at you again. You’re looking away, watching the TV. But the show of it, the looking away, clearly means that I’m not supposed to just sit here, staring at you, wondering what’s up. I can take a hint (sometimes).
A little time passes and you run your hands up through my hair, sort of in this reverse direction thing, bottom to top. It feels great, so I do the puppy thing of just getting into a better position, you know, for you. The next time through my hair, as your hand gets to the top of my head, it clamps down hard, taking a fistful of hair and using it as a very strong handle to my head.
You pull my head back firmly, so I’m in this exaggerated head-back posture. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s more that it’s startling because it happened so quickly. You lean down and kiss me, playing with me, knowing I’m in this super awkward, almost over-extended position, backwards toward you.
When you move my head back straight up, you tighten your grip and seemingly out of nowhere, you gently slide my collar on to my neck, strapping it in place. It washes over me, that weird, seemingly silly, but really quite wonderful feeling with the collar on. I admit I close my eyes for a moment to let it just take over. You ease up on your grip tell me to turn and give you my wrists. I start to turn toward you, and you correct me, “Turn away…” is all you say.
You slide my cuffs around my wrists and connect them behind my back. I’m kneeling, facing away from you, “handcuffed.”
“Turn around…” you tell me, “and face me.“
It’s then that I notice that you have the leash also next to you, pressed into the couch cushions at the moment. Now I know the secret hiding place for toys, but the reason I see it is because you’re slowly pulling it out while staring straight at me and grinning.
You stand in front of me, get undressed and, before you sit back down, you attach the leash to the front ring of my collar. As you sit down, you lean back relaxing into the couch, looking very comfortable.
“Orgasms, please…” and you pull the leash firmly, pulling me between your legs. “For every orgasm, you get that many smacks with my crop.” You lean fully back and pull me to you, sitting on the leash, keeping me from going literally anywhere except straight for your cunt. I can feel the heat coming off of you, I can see the wetness of you.
I start to get close and again the leash tightens. I hear a swish, feel the smack, then another and another. The crop gives you just the right distance to connect with my back without having to reach terribly far. The connections are sharp, crisp and sting in a crazy way. I try to pull up just out of reflex, but the leash is tight and there’s no slack at all. I can’t move my hands, I’m bent over with no leverage and the swoosh-smack hits keep coming.
Finally, you stop, my body is ringing from the crop but I know what you really want. I’m licking everywhere but there, up the side of you, outside your lips, teasing you with my tongue. I can see your body respond, clinching, almost willing me forward. I also have the added feedback of the leash and your legs, pulling me in.
I do my best to dance with you, avoiding your clit, just tasting you, teasing you a bit. This continues for a bit, I can feel, taste, see you getting more and more into it. When I press into you, I can feel you closing on my tongue. Every time I slow down, move away or just stop running you up that hill toward an orgasm, the crop comes down again. It’s a bizarre, painful, sharp reminder to stay focused and to NOT be teasing.
I lick and suck my way up to your clit, slowly, pulling it into my mouth, teasing it, making you squirm, feeling you press up into me now. I can hear you now, and I can feel you under me, pressing out against me. Flicking at you, putting more and more pressure on your clit, then licking my way down inside you and back again, I can see you start to cum and give into it. The orgasm washes over you and I try to give you time to recover, to let your body roll with it.
It seems like only seconds though before you smack me with the hardest yet on my back. “That’s one!” and a strong tug on the leash pulls me back to my objective.
Somehow you continue with the guidance – that of connecting with me with your crop anytime I move off the right spots, just the right pressure or whatever you need at the moment. I have no idea how you do it, but the training is extremely effective.
2, 3, 4 orgasms – each time, that many strokes across my back. You seem to be in this cycle where you are able to come down fairly quickly, but then still fully enjoy the very next orgasm just a bit more even.
When you’ve had enough, you roll a bit to your side, loosen the chain so I can sit back a bit. “Give me your wrists…” and you undo the clasp between them, pulling me to lay against you as you rub over the marks, the small cuts and the welts on my back.
Of course, every now and then you pull your nails across my back and purr. It’s just your way of saying thank you, and that I’ve been what you needed for the night.