Paul touches something deep inside of me. I have no idea exactly what it is. I only know one thing: I’ll never get enough.
Chapter 38.
“Remember that pain has this most excellent quality. If prolonged it cannot be severe, and if severe it cannot be prolonged.”
– Seneca
~~~
Tonight my Master has let his Beast off its leash so I stand cuffed to an X frame.
Blindfolded, I face the cross, spread-eagle and naked. The St. Andrew's Cross is really comfortable. There’s a resting place for my forehead, so that my neck won’t be physically stressed, and there’s soft padding for my ankles and wrists.
It’s strange and ironic to be so comfortable when my Master is hell bent on making me uncomfortable.
I’m bound tight. I can hardly move.
My Master gets hard when I’m vulnerable and restrained. I adore it when he firmly holds me down, binds or cuffs me. The action of physically binding me to his will really does it for me.
That feeling of total helplessness is incredible. It deepens my awareness of being taken, owned, claimed and controlled.
It flips my ‘Oh, God, please fuck me and use me’ switch like crazy.
But the most powerful restraint of all is my Master’s voice. The sound of his commands intoxicate me. I respond with instant compliance and feel a shot of raw pleasure and fulfillment every single time I obey him.
Paul’s clipped nipple clamps on me earlier, so my breasts are incredibly sensitive. They ache and throb. That pain is hard-wired, shooting electricity directly into my core and my clit.
I started this scene blindfolded, facing forward and on my tip-toes. Man, the effort to stay up on my toes really caused my thighs to burn. When he finished flogging my breasts, belly and pussy, he turned me over. Now he’s flogging my ass and back, but at least my feet are flat on the floor.
The blindfold I’m wearing takes away my vision. It also makes it impossible to figure out where, when and how my Master will strike next. This uncertainty challenges me.
At the moment all is quiet. I can only hear the sound of my own shaky breathing. Where is he? What’s he planning? I listen intently while anticipation wracks my nerves.
Darkness increases every sensation. My imagination surges beyond the norm. Hard or soft, every touch is something for my hungry internal vision to focus upon. Every part of me is awake and ready. It’s as if my body seeks extra stimulation to make up for the lack of visual input.
I see everything in my mind’s eye. I swear that I can feel Paul’s heat whenever he comes close. I smell my own arousal as it covers my thighs, but I also know his scent. The scent of pure Paul. He had a glass of Scotch earlier in the night. I can still taste it in his kisses.
I know that he’s watching me with attentive interest while wielding his flogger with casual, yet expert skill. He moves closer. Heat, sexual tension and pent up fury radiate from his body. My Master’s darker nature is fucking scary.
Strangely, being scared only heightens my arousal. I can’t help but tense up, bracing with expectation. Is pleasure coming, or pain?
“Ah,” I cry out in surprise as his fingers slip between my folds and his tongue finds my clit. My entire body jerks. The pleasure of it! The incredible sensation of his touch and his tongue. I’m right there instantly, at the pinnacle, ready to climax. If only he’d command me to come.
“Master, please. Please,” I beg.
“Please what?” he demands fiercely, a bite to his tone.
His question captures me, returning me to this moment. What am I begging for? I’d like to come. I’d like him to come. I’d also like him to fuck me until I come. Yes, that’s exactly what I want. Wait. Do I really want that? No, that’s not exactly what I want either.
It suddenly dawns on me. I know what I ache for. What I need.
“Please, Master, use your slave, in any way you want.”
He chuckles, a heady, happy sound that thrills me right to my soul. This response is from the Paul I know and love, not his darker nature. He places a warm, proprietary palm on my sore buttocks and softly, so very softly, he continues to stroke between my legs. The tips of his fingers feel divine on my slick, hungry flesh. It’s a kindness, a reward and we both know it.
I moan low, long and deep while concentrating to prevent my release.
“You are a very good slave,” he says in a deep, seductive voice that makes my toes curl. “Tell me why you want to please me.”
With one hand, he squeezes my bottom in a place that has fresh welts. It hurts. With his other hand he continues to stroke my inner lips and entrance, lazily circling my clit. Together the sensations drive me mad. It’s difficult to think and he knows it.
The big bully.
“Master,” I breathe.
I swear that I can feel him there, looking directly at my face. I elongate my neck and cock my head to hear him better, from where I sense that he’s standing. During this scene, he’s taken me to the edge of orgasm again and again, but never let me go over. He’s also taken me to the edge of sub-space, but always pulled back. I’m not allowed to reach it. He won’t let me escape.
The Beast wants me to suffer. To feel each and every hurt that he gives me.
I’m overwhelmed by sensation and animal need – yet the ‘me’ that I am is still here.
“Emily,” he growls.
I can hear it. He’s cruel, savage and serious right now. He’s letting the Beast take the reins tonight, but I don’t believe in this dark part of him. I think the Beast is Paul and I trust him completely.
My Master is so utterly in tune with me, that I’ve never had to use my safeword. And trust me, I’d use it if I needed to.
I picture his beautiful face, firm lipped, jaw taut, eyes narrowed. He’s such a stern disciplinarian when he’s in a mood.
I want to tease him and make him smile. Even if I can’t see it, I’d hear it in his voice. But I suppress this impulse. I don’t tease him. That’s not what he needs right now.
“Emily,” he says again with an edge of menace in his tone. “You make me repeat myself. Tell me why you want to please me.”
I answer. “I love you, Master, but it’s not about love. It’s not even about sex. I can’t explain why I want to please you as badly as I do. I ache deep inside for you to take me, claim me and keep me. I want to give myself to you completely.”
Uh-oh. These foolish words instantly make him angry and I know why.
For some reason, I still can’t trust him. If I see him with other women, I have to walk away. He has to talk to people at work, that’s his job. So this insecurity of mine is nuts, but I can’t help but remember his proven track record.
We’ve discussed this so many times that the subject makes my head ache. Paul thinks that I’m being irrational. Maybe I am, but knowing that hasn’t changed anything. I still expect that someday he’ll break my heart. So, outside of the bedroom I still don’t trust him. I just can’t.
We both know that as much as I try, I haven’t given Paul everything.
This drives the Dom in him crazy. I suspect it makes the Beast even angrier.
Punishment is swift and merciless. He grips my clit, squeezing it hard, holding it in an inexorable pinching grip. I scream and scream, but he doesn’t let go.
“Well,” he growls menacingly, “I want to crush your clit between my fingers.”
I shriek, writhe and whimper in agony.
“How do you feel about that?”
My poor pussy has taken a lot of punishment tonight, but fuck! This fucking kills. “Master, it hurts. Please, Master, have mercy.” Paul enjoys hearing me beg and I sure as hell feel like begging.
“But I want to,” he says cruelly.
I groan and pant but these words calm me. I try to embrace the throbbing agony and not resist… for him.
“Yes, Master,” I say. The pain is still there, but somehow it’s better. I can handle it. When he senses my full surrender, he instantl
y lets go.
“Ahhh,” I call out from the excruciating sensation of it. My breath catches as the blood flows back into my poor abused nub. He gently runs his finger over my clit, his touch light and enticing.
Now every drop of pain has turned to pleasure…such incredible pleasure. I’m swept away.
I groan with pure bliss. “Oh, thank you, Master,” I say.
The surge of sensation from his one soft brush against my abused skin feels divine. He continues soothing and stroking. Once more I’m right on the verge of climax.
But he won’t let me go over. This seems to be the running theme for the night.
Chapter 39.
“Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets.”
– Paul Tournier
~~~
I still face the cross. My back and buttocks continue to be tormented. Who knows how long I’ve been here? Even though my Master won’t let me go off into sub-space, I’ve completely lost track of time. I feel as though I’ve almost climaxed at least a hundred times.
My entire body thrums, pulses and aches. I’m frantic for release. Good thing I’m bound, or God knows what I’d do.
I might chew off my own arm in my frustration.
I’m learning to be patient and I’m serving my Master’s will. That should be more than enough for me. Strangely, although every single part of my body would strongly disagree, it is satisfying.
I’m happy when he is. My joy is bound to Paul’s joy, as clearly as my body is bound to this cross.
I may not be able to banish my own demons, concerning trust and infidelity, but at least I can help my Master with his issues. I feel so guilty sometimes. His disapproval or disappointment hurts more than any whip.
That’s why I negotiated this scene. I pushed Paul into it. I must prove to him the depth of my devotion. It’s like a consolation prize, this lesser of what his desires. He’d prefer my complete trust outside of sex, so I feel like I owe him.
That’s also why he’s been spending what feels like hours bringing me to the edge of release with pleasure and pain – he’s indulging the Beast. Tonight, he has let his darker nature off its leash.
I’ve already had an introduction to the sadistic bastard.
Crack! Crack!
I feel the heat on my back from both strikes. The sound and sensation of the flogger soothes me. I moan with pleasure mixed with delicious sharp stings of pain.
I know my Master so well. My mind drifts, but remains focused. Always focused on him. Paul loves impact play: the slap of leather on flesh or the heated energy generated by spanking me. He’s told me that he’s always been a sadist.
Luckily for me, he generally uses pain for pleasure.
When Paul was nine or ten years old, he remembers watching a James Bond movie where 007 was being tortured. That was the first time that he was aware of his dawning fascination with suffering and pain.
Crack! Crack!
The backs of my legs burn with fresh stinging heat. I moan and whimper. My pussy aches as I absorb the burning ache. A trickle of warm arousal runs down my thighs. My Master pauses and lightly trails the flogger across the hyper-sensitive skin of my shoulders, back, thighs and legs.
It feels incredible.
Pain. Yes, pain. There was something beautiful and wonderful about pain for Paul. It was a noble sacrifice that James Bond willingly endured for his country. My Master gets off on the idea of me sacrificing and suffering for him.
Like any man, a naked female will arouse my Master. But to really make him hard, he has to have control. That’s where restraints and pain come into the picture. Either of those two things, but preferably both used together, set him on fire.
Crack! Crack!
Those two hit along my ribs. I swear I can feel welts rise on my flesh. Each tingling bite causes unspeakable hurt, but then spreads a frisson of comfort and warmth right through me. He lightly tugs on the chain attached to my nipple clamps.
I scream.
Still wearing my blindfold, I didn’t see that coming. Nope. I wasn’t expecting that. His fingers graze my clit and his touch spins me higher. I pump my hips, a spasmodic, instinctive jerk.
“You’re very close, aren’t you rabbit,” he whispers in my ear. I feel his warm breath across my face. Oh, God, I really want to touch him.
“Master, Master,” I beg. “Please.”
“Not yet,” he says, running his palm along my ribs and down my burning back, caressing my tender flesh. Every part of my heated skin that he touches creates an electric charge, a wave of incredible feeling.
Crack! Crack!
His alternating patterns and rhythm remain the same, but force increases. Harder now. So much harder. I gasp with each strike. I suspect he wants to hear more screaming. I’m a little hoarse, but willing to oblige. I can almost touch the joy of subspace.
The Beast is a combination of raw primal urges that Paul both loves and hates. Once, many years ago, he accidentally put a masochistic male sub in the hospital from a punch to the chest. The sub wanted a beating and apparently he was up for it. The entire scene was bloody, violent and consensual.
Now Paul’s temper, combined with his awareness of his angry, darker nature scares the shit out of him.
Crack! That hit is right between my legs and I shriek like I’m being murdered. Letting that sound out was a release in itself. Fuck, that felt so good. A tsunami wave of pure sensual energy rolls through me. I gasp and am almost unable to prevent my release.
I bite my lip, and groan.
My Master chuckles. “You nearly came then, didn’t you?” he asks. I whimper a fairly inarticulate yes, while I struggle not to come. “You’re such a good girl,” he says quietly, as he gently tugs on my nipple clamps once more.
I gasp, but not from pain. This sweetness comes from the man I love, not the dark side of him. Even with this blindfold on I feel my Master’s intense focus and attention. There is so much primal male energy surrounding him, it’s like standing in front of an open fire.
Energy, power and control.
Sometimes when I look at my Master, I feel as though I’m staring at the sun.
My Master calls his darker desires the Beast within. He told me that the Beast killed Merlin the cat almost without thought. It was so easy. What if the Beast killed me? Paul fears the rage inside of him would probably beat me to a bloody pulp if he’d allow it.
The Beast also loves breath play.
For years my Master’s had a recurring fantasy about strangling someone to death.
He climaxes at the thought of killing me.
We try to tell each other everything, so Paul’s confessed this to me. Just like my problem with trust, we’ve talked about his internal battles with the Beast many times.
It’s his biggest secret.
I’m the only one that knows it.
Paul doesn’t really want to kill me of course, but something inside him likes the idea that I’d be willing to sacrifice my life for him. For his pleasure. It would prove that I’m his possession, his thing to use, and to do with exactly as he wills.
My sex spasms with that thought. My own animal nature is drawn to that, too.
Crack! Crack!
Fuck. My pussy’s getting a beating. Holy hell. That pounding sensation is exactly like experiencing a hard, rough fuck. I can barely prevent climax.
“Please, Master! Please,” I beg.
Crack! Crack!
I continue to shriek, sob and wail. My tears flow, as often happens during an intense scene. My blindfold is drenched. The feeling of letting go is cathartic. Incredible. Shit. Maybe this time he’ll let me go full-on into sub-space, instead of continuing to bring me back from the edge.
My Master is panting. The sound of me screaming excites him. Well. It excites me, too. I imagine him staring at me while fisting his swollen cock. Maybe that’s why he put the blindfold on. He doesn’t want me to know how much he enjoys hurting me.
Crack! Crack!
Those two
blows are soft and indulgent. Frustration spikes and I grit my teeth. Paul doesn’t want me to fly into subspace. I’m much more than half way there. He senses how close I am.
This fantasy about me dying for him… well honestly, at first it shocked and upset me, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It’s probably why he’s had difficulty genuinely connecting to others. The problem is that his secret makes him separate himself from the rest of humanity.
It’s big. Too big and too shameful.
It makes him think that deep down, he’s a really bad person to have such thoughts.
I don’t care about thoughts. We’re all human. Hell, I’ve wanted to kill people myself. It’s actions that are important.
Paul is so protective. He would never injure me. Hurt me? Oh sure, especially if it increases his and my pleasure.
He’s frightened that he’ll lose control, but I can’t see that happening. I’m not an idiot. I have a safeword and he’s so attentive at all times that I just can’t imagine an instance when he’d ignore my safeword.
I want to let the Beast out. My Master doesn’t recognize that he’s changed as he’s gotten older. He’s not as angry and he’s in love. Love changes people. I know that Paul is always careful with me. That’s why I want to unleash the Beast. This will prove to him that he can control it.
I want to help him get over this shame and fear. If suffering and sacrifice at his hands is the price I have to pay to prove my love and devotion, then so be it. I’ll be just like James Bond. But I won’t do surrender or sacrifice for my country. I’ll do it for him.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Four in a row. They feel like gentle, sensual caresses. Desperate to climax, I keen and moan constantly now. It sounds suspiciously like ‘please,’ but God only knows. I could be saying anything.
Crack! Crack!
“Are you still with me, sweetheart? Are you okay? ” he asks, his tone gentle, caring and concerned.
He hurts me then he soothes me. He makes sure that he hasn’t ‘actually harmed’ me. This is Paul talking, I know it. I don’t believe in the Beast. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the man I love, except for what he’s manufactured in his mind.