Again and again, I spanked him. He was dancing now, he couldn’t help it, his bottom contracting, then loosening, his legs swaying even though he struggled to kneel firmly, but I went on, spreading the blows, smacking him on the right side more and then more on the left, and suddenly letting loose with a torrent on his sturdy thighs. Now he could barely keep quiet. Yet his hands and knees remained firmly on the carpet.
A low delicious groan came from deep within his chest.
“Lips sealed,” I reminded him. “Groan if you will, but lips sealed.” I put the fingers of my left hand over his mouth. He shivered and then I heard a sob deep in his throat.
But I continued to work with the paddle, going back now to his bottom, slamming it as hard as I could, delighting in the loud, crisp cracking noise that the paddle made.
“You know, Your Majesty, you don’t have to be a bad boy to deserve punishment like this,” I said in his ear. “You only have to be a boy! And a beautiful boy at that! You do understand that, don’t you?”
He nodded as best he could with me holding his chin.
“And I so love to do it,” I said. “I have so wanted to do it since the moment I first saw you.”
I dropped the paddle on the Indian carpet.
I came round and knelt down in front of him, and pressed his hot wet face against my bosom. He sobbed against me, against the tight green brocade. I stroked his thick wavy hair. I might have come then, just from this, if I had not struggled against it, against my nipples burning, my nether mouth burning.
“You are mine,” I said in a low confidential voice. “And now you may speak to me, you may answer, you may acknowledge this.”
“Yes, Eva,” he said. His voice as low as mine, as confidential. “Yes, Lady Eva!”
“Oh, we’ll forgive that little infraction,” I said. “Once, but never twice.”
I could feel him sobbing harder, feel the sobs cutting loose one after another as he pressed his lips against my breasts. It wasn’t the pain that was making him sob. He could take a great deal more pain than that. It was that he felt helpless.
“Tear the cloth, tear them free,” I said. “Gowns I have aplenty.”
At once with his teeth he bit at the gold border of the tunic, then tore the brocade loose, ripping it down and away from the right sleeve as a beast might tear it, exposing my breasts.
“Suckle them,” I said.
I could hear him moan, but he was barely kissing my nipples, the tears shining in his dark lashes.
“Suckle,” I said. “The rouge on my nipples is flavored with the essence of cherries. Can you taste it?”
He murmured his assent to this.
His mouth closed on my left nipple and he drew on it with the fierceness of a babe. I sighed, the sudden throb of pleasure so full and huge inside of me that I almost went over the brink. My breasts had always been too sensitive, my nipples connected directly to the throbbing clitoris between my legs.
“But wait,” I said, pressing his forehead, moving him back. “Kneel up, hands on the back of your neck facing the fire, and stay there.”
I went to the chair. It was time for the golden strap. The strap was wide and soft and not too heavy but heavy enough and plenty long. It felt as good as it looked. Then of course there was the belt I wore, but it was heavy, cumbersome. No. I chose the golden strap.
I doubled it over and whacked my left hand with it. Perfect.
I went back to the fireplace, standing in the wide margin between his kneeling body and the hearth, facing him.
Kneeling down in front of him, I bit at his nipples again, hearing him gasp, bit at them fiercely, and then drawing back, I whipped his chest with the belt, hard, over and over again. He was plainly writhing in misery, and yet his cock, his splendid cock, was hard and shining and dancing to the tune of it. I kept my eyes on his cock as I whipped him, whipped his hard belly.
He bent forward, face tightened with pain, narrow eyes still sparkling with those abundant tears, and I think he tried with all his might to draw away from the belt without moving, but it was pointless of course, and I thrashed him harder and harder with it. I thrashed his thighs.
“Knees wider apart,” I said, “wider. Come on. You can do better than that. Wider.” I never stopped spanking him with the strap.
I stopped. I stroked his face with my left hand. “Does it hurt more than you remember?” He didn’t make a sound. I covered his face in kisses, nuzzling against his neck. “Well, does it?”
“Yes and no, Lady Eva,” he whispered.
I laughed, a low full-throated laugh. I couldn’t help myself.
“And look what you’ve done to my pretty gown,” I crooned in his ear. “Look.”
His eyes moved to my breasts. I could see the pupils dancing.
“Are they pretty?”
“Beautiful,” he murmured. He sighed.
I rose to my feet, the belt thrown over my shoulder. I stood just in front of him, but he was so tall that his head was almost to my breasts.
“Kneel up,” I said. And at once he obeyed.
Now he was at the right level.
I lifted my skirts. My sex was hot and dripping. I knew that he could see it, see the telltale moisture sliding down my naked inner thighs. I wished there had been a long mirror there so I might see it. I was in agony for him.
“Pleasure me, sire,” I said in a low voice. “Do it well.”
He needed no urging.
He came forward eagerly and clamped his mouth on my sex, and his tongue went deep inside me. I could scarcely remain standing upright. I struggled not to fall under the onslaught of pleasure, and as the orgasm broke loose, as it rolled like a great exploding flame up through me, I cried aloud as I hadn’t once permitted him to do. On and on came his tongue, licking at my clitoris, licking at my vagina, licking, and his hungry lips worked the flesh, my secret most sensitive flesh, sucking at my pubic lips, sucking, and finally I screamed for him to stop. The pleasure had emptied me, taken the breath out of me. Yet the faint echoing shimmers of it would not stop.
I pushed him away.
I wanted to lie down and then I thought, Well, why not? And I did. I lay back on the carpet looking up at him, looking at him kneeling there again near me, over me on all fours, this great strong man, this man who could have overpowered me with one hand, and I looked at his starved cock, and at his smooth perfect obedient face. He seemed ageless, a child and a man, the tears flashing in his eyes beautifully, his strong well-shaped mouth trembling just a little, only a little, the teeth touching the lower lip.
Finally I sat up. I reached out and fondled his scrotum again, leaning against his arm as I did it. “Have you ever been more ready, Your Majesty.”
“No, Lady Eva,” he said. There was a tiny smile on his lips.
“You think this is finished?” I teased him. “You think I’m going to let that cock have what it wants?”
No answer.
“Take a guess.”
“No, Lady Eva.”
I rose to my feet. I quickly laced up my dress in front as best as I could, but it was quite beyond repair.
Then I knelt again and took his head in my hands, kissing his eyes again, and running my fingers back through his thick hair. He shuddered all over. Every touch of my fingers, every kiss of my lips, was sending shivers through him.
Perfect.
“Kneel up and turn around. You know where your hands belong. I want to see your backside,” I said. “I want to see how well I’ve punished you.”
Ah, it was all quite beautiful, the dark red marks, the patches of glowing red, the white welts and the overall flaming redness of the whole, even to his thighs. But there was so much more to do. So much more.
With both hands, I played with the welts, pushing and scratching at them lightly with my fingernails. I have always had very
strong fingernails. And I do not grow them overly long, but keep them filed in perfect ovals. And with these I scratched him idly and not hard, playing, teasing, knowing how this both hurt and pleasured him nearly beyond endurance.
My left hand slipped round in front and felt of the root of his cock. It couldn’t get any harder.
“Where did I leave that paddle?” I asked. I rose to my feet straightening my skirts. I saw the paddle, gleaming on the carpet only a few feet away. “Go get it and bring it here in your teeth.”
He obeyed more quickly than I had quite anticipated.
He stopped in front of me with his head bowed, and I took the paddle from his teeth. And then suddenly he kissed my feet, kissed my naked insteps, and kissed the toes of my slippers and even kissed my heels, those little golden heels that were an inch high. He stopped, his head pressed to the floor in front of me.
“That was always allowed at the castle, and in the village, wasn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes, Lady Eva. Forgive me that I didn’t ask.” This was said in the simplest most sincere voice. No cowardice and no drama. Ah, I thought, the finest slaves are the honest slaves and the clever ones who grasp all things perfectly.
I gathered up a great hunk of his beautiful soft hair and dragged him up on his knees and after me as I headed for one of the lovely high-backed chairs scattered about the room and I sat down in front of him. Nice down cushion, but quite comfortable. A sturdy chair.
A fresh volley of tears had broken out on his face. I pushed up my skirts until my thighs were naked.
“Come round to this side of me, and when I bend you over my lap, don’t you dare let that cock touch me or this chair, do you hear?”
“Yes, Lady Eva.” He was shaking all over.
Again, it wasn’t the pain. It was the helplessness. He had to obey. He had no choice. And it was the exquisite humiliation of the “over the knee” position that never failed even with the most experienced or well-trained slave.
But what did I care what it was? I threw him down over my naked lap and waled at his gorgeous bottom with the paddle, giving it all my strength again, spanking him and spanking him until his legs were dancing again and those muffled groans were coming over and over again.
I stopped, stroking his bottom with my left hand, parting the cheeks, touching the little pink mouth there, pushing at it, teasing it. His bottom was so hot now, so deliciously feverish and red.
It was so exquisite having him like this, so intimate, over my naked thighs and just taking my time with this warm pulsing flesh. How it must have burned. How it must have throbbed. Even here and there was a very fine bit of dark hair, hard to see in the shadowy light, but not hard to feel as I inspected him, and of course the little pink mouth of his anus seemed to be hiding in its tiny nest of hair, shyly, as if begging to escape humiliation.
I started spanking him again, hard and fast, furiously in fact, sparing no inch of his bottom, giving him the full force of my arm, giving him the full force of my heart.
My juices were flowing again, the little fount in me was sending its waves up through my breasts once more, and I could feel myself almost rising off the chair, pressing my tummy and thighs against his powerful torso, yet spanking him hard all the while.
Finally I pulled him back and stood up and ordered him to crawl to the bed and now.
“Oh, there are so many other games, tasks, tests . . . things that we might do, but I’m hungry for that cock,” I said. “I must have it, and what I must have is what must be done. Now up on your knees and rip this dress from me, rip every stitch of it off now with your teeth, hands behind your neck. You dare move your hands and I’ll whip your ankles and the soles of your feet. Hurry!”
In a frenzy he obeyed, ripping off my jeweled belt, and tearing the brocade wide open, and dragging it from my arms till the tatters lay in a shining puddle at my feet. Ah, so much for that expensive Venetian fabric, but I would treasure these rags forever.
“Now look at me!”
He did, though it was quite obvious that he might have preferred to look at my sex instead of at my face. He turned his large brown eyes up obediently. We remained still, him on his knees and me naked in my satin slippers, staring at one another, and his eyes seemed filled with curiosity and awe.
“You’re so beautiful, Your Majesty!” I said.
A short muffled laugh escaped his lips. “You think so, Lady Eva?” he whispered.
I took his face in both my hands, pressing his cheeks with my thumbs. I bent to kiss him hard on the mouth, but then a wild idea came to me. I glanced at the nearby table. There stood a silver pitcher and a goblet and several linen serviettes. I could smell the wine.
“Open your mouth,” I said.
He hesitated but when I slapped him hard he obeyed.
I filled the goblet, swirling the red wine for a moment to look at it in the light, and then I put it before his lips. “Now when I fill your mouth you will not close it, do you hear me.”
I poured the wine on his tongue, and he trembled all over trying to swallow without closing his lips as I’d commanded, the wine slipping down the sides of his face and down his chin. But he managed to obey, gasping and struggling.
I poured wine onto one of the serviettes now and began to clean his teeth vigorously with it.
Again, he gasped, and he trembled. This had clearly never been done to him before. And as I worked away on his back teeth, he groaned, unable to help himself.
I held his head firmly with my left hand, almost cruelly, as I worked away polishing every tooth in his mouth, his lips trembling violently. Then I lifted the goblet. “Spit in here now,” I commanded.
He struggled to obey, spitting out what little wine had been left, pressing his lips together frantically suddenly. I slapped him hard again. “Open your mouth, wide!” I said. “I never told you that you could close it.”
It seemed he was moaning for mercy. I kissed his teeth, ran my tongue along the upper teeth and then the lower. I touched his tongue with my tongue. Again, he gasped, as if keeping his mouth open took all his will, and I imagine that it did.
“Close your lips,” I said, and I laid mine against his as he did so. The tears were sliding down his cheeks. A long shuddering sigh came from him.
He kissed me back, hungrily, almost desperately. His cock was again dancing wildly. I had never seen a more powerful shaft, a more deeply colored shaft, and he struggled, obviously, to keep it back away from me. Just for a second his hands went loose from his neck, but then he remembered himself and put them back into place. I pretended I hadn’t seen it.
I went quickly to my casket on the sideboard, and removed a pot of scented cream, and came back to him, opening the little glass pot and then setting it on the bedside table.
I took a lovely dollop of the cream in the palm of my hand. This was a sweet salve that I’d blended myself with the scent of apricots and sunshine in it, and bits of ground rose petals.
“Stand,” I said. I worked the cream all over my hands.
At once he obeyed, as limber as a boy.
I smoothed the thick oily emollient over his enormous scrotum and then his cock, watching him twitch and suffer. He could not hide the trembling now. The tip of his cock glistened beautifully and a thick drop of his own fluid hovered there at the tiny mouth. I was careful not to touch it, not to push him over the edge.
I smiled, wiped my hands on a small linen towel for which I was most grateful, and then stared again into his brown eyes.
They fixed on me and were wet and shining with tears.
“Now into bed,” I said.
I climbed up on the bed myself, still wearing my slippers, digging into the burgundy coverlet with my heels, and he came after me and over me. A perfect giant of a man.
“Into me now and hard, and you drive it hard, hard with all your strength, and you come whe
n I come and not one second before, you hear me?”
Without answering he thrust that enormous cock against me like a battering ram. How in the world can that find the little door, I thought with the most exhilarating happiness, but he found it, he ground into it and opened it, parting the dripping wet lips and slamming deep till his belly was against me.
My eyes had closed. I opened them and found myself looking up into his face, into his eyes. Again and again he slammed against me, stretching me, filling me, his arms like pillars beside me, his hair hanging down in his face. I felt the cock fill me up tight, tighter perhaps than I’d ever been filled, oh what cock in the world would ever match this cock, sliding against my clitoris. I started crying out, I couldn’t stop myself.
I wrapped my naked legs tight around him, and drove my hands down into the crack of his backside, my first fingers left and right plunging into his anus.
I would have held off for an hour, letting my passion rise and fall, but I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t. I was writhing against the coverlet trying to control it, riding up with him, slammed down again by him, struggling to bite down against it, but it was useless. My face was burning. All breath had gone out of me. I was nothing and no one.
It was a fire rolling upwards consuming me as I started to come, lifting my hips, crying out, and he let me lift my hips, then forced me down again one final time, coming inside me in one swift glory of jerking movements. It went on and on and finally it was I, I who cried out:
“No more!”
He drew back.
And unbidden, he closed his mouth over mine and kissed me. He drove his tongue deep into me.
“Away, stop!” I sighed. I groaned. No one would call that speaking words.
He fell down right beside me with a long deep sigh and then rolled over on his back. I saw his eyes close.
For a long moment we lay still.
Then I was up and on my feet and inspecting the utter ruin of my garments. I gathered them up as best I could.