(Written for my friend F., who I know likes to be topped by winktes.
She stood over me, dressed in her worn black leather jacket and
miniskirt and boots, silk camisole draped over her small firm tits, and lit
a cigarette. She took her time with it, and then looked back at me
appraisingly. "Down on the floor," she said curtly, cigarette clenched in
her teeth. I got down gingerly on all fours, that carpet rough under my
knees with sand and grit. She leaned back against the wall and crossed her
legs. "Lick 'em," she said, and I lowered my head and went to work, trying
not to gag at the residue of grime on the leather of her boots. There would
be a lot worse in my mouth by the time the night was over, I told myself.
Live with it.
"Get your butt in the air," she said, and I lifted my rear end
higher, pressing my face to her boot with a gasp as the first blow fell on
my bare ass. The slammed down and I forgot everything but the sensation.
Two more blows came with me motionless, and then she suddenly kicked me over
like a footstool and pressed the sole of her boot against my throat. Looking
up at her during that moment of disorientation was terrifying. "Did I tell
you to stop?" she asked.
"No, Mistress, I'm sorry," I had the sense to croak out past her
boot on my larynx. She pushed me back to my kneeling position with one hard
movement of her toe and stepped on my head, forcing me down again to her
boot. this time, when the blows fell, I kept licking. My mouth felt like a
desert, my tongue dry against the gritty leather, and a swamp was rising
between my legs.
She pushed away from the wall just as suddenly and moved out from
under my mouth; I sat up, flustered, my ass stinging, wondering if I had
offended. One hand grabbed me by the hair and yanked me up, and then I was
pushed down on the bed. "Sit up," she said. "And lock your hands behind your
I knew what was coming. The soft white ropes now, wound around each
breast until they stuck out like swollen melons. Bound together with a few
more loops then, tighter and tighter. It made them look as if they were
suffering, when actually it was a rather pleasant sensation. A last loop
around my chest and then one over my shouders hiked them up, sticking
straight out for the whip.
Cuffs now, on my wrists, securing my hands behind my back. She
reached around, ran her hands over my swollen tits, pinched the nipples,
slapped them a few times. I couldn't help moaning and rubbing my ass against
her knee. "You like that, don't you?" she asked; I could hear her smiling
grimly. I made the mistake of assuming the question was rhetorical, and a
minute of silence later she grabbed me by the hair and slapped my face.
I was disoriented again, my brains tumbled from lust and confusion.
But she expected an answer, I realized. "Yes - yes, Mistress, I like it." My
face was hot and stung. Did she want more? "I like it, Mistress. I like
having my slapped." I didn't dare meet her eyes. "Pleas them more,
She did, slipping a chain under the knotted ropes in my and
attaching it to the hook in the ceiling. She slapped them some more, first
with her hand and then with a pair of leather gloves. It was light, at lest
for me, which meant it didn't like hell, and it was a tease. "Harder,
please, Mistress, hit me harder!" I gasped, just to see what she'd do, and
what I got was the hard rubber cock-gag shoved into my mouth and buckled at
the back of my neck.
"That'll shut you up," she said, and picked up a made of rubber strips and began to lay into my tits. I moaned and struggled and
squeaked and gave in to it, heedless of my usual dignity. There was
something good about givng that up for a while, although some part of me
always fears that I'll never be able to get it back again, that I'll
eventually snap during scene and end up permanently crawling after her,
begging to lick her boots, begging for the least scrap of attention, abasing
myself at her feet day in and day out, and I know she would hate me like
that. I'd hate me like that. That was no longer the big thuddy one; it
was now the short plastic stingy one tht hurts even worse and lays almost
instant welts. My were marking up and purple now; I could see them
in occasional glances when my eyes weren't squeezed tight to endure the pain
of the blows.
She stopped for a moment and gestured to my thighs with the butt end
of the cat, which were glued together. "Spread 'em," she said. "And keep 'em
spread. I don't want to see those legs together once tonight, unless I tie
them together." The cigarette, clenched in the corner of her mouth, bobbed
as she spoke. The smoke wreathed her face ominously. I spread my legs, the
wetness of my peeling apart with a sticky sound. It lwered me and put
more pressure on the that I was hanging from. She shoved the butt end
of the up there and I writhed on it, but it was only a tease and the
next thing was three short stinging smacks across my spread cunt. I yelped.
She chuckled and whipped the insides of my spread thighs until I screamed
around the gag.
Then she dropped that and took the cigarette out of her mouth. A
chill of fear went through me. The glowing tip came closer, closer to my
welted and bound tit, circling the nipple so close that I could feel the
heat. I began to quiver and I was afraid I'd move too much, out of lack of
control, that I'd burn myself accidentally out of fear. She chuckled,
watching me try desperately not to squirm. The smoke rose in my face and
brought tears to my eyes. "Be careful now," she said. "Don't move." Mockingly.
The lit end of the cigarette moved over my body, bound and
belly and face, down to my cunt, making me spread my legs even wider in
panic, which amused her. She stuck the unlit end into my front hole, which
was really too wet to hold it there, and watched me whine incoherently
around the gag. "I could leave it there until it burns down," she said, and
then relented and plucked it out, putting it back in her teeth. The taste of
pussy didn't faze her a bit. She unhooked me then, let me fall forward
gratefully onto the bed like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
I didn't get to rest more than a second, since she was pulling me up
onto my knees and grabbing for my again. Two clothespins on a chain
were attached to my nipples and yanked hard to test their grip before I was
let to fall back on my face again. Moving around to my rear end, she slid a
greased finger into my asshole and stuffed me full of lube; the tip of a
buttplug came next, and slowly the whole thing was worked into me. My
sphincter contracted in protest, but I was tilted at the wrong angle to
expel it. Then I could feel her spreading my lips, working in a larger
dildo, working it in past the protrusion of the plug in the adjacent hole.
It seemed to go in all too quickly, and then I felt my leather G-string
strapped around my thighs and waist, holding the phalluses inside me. they
were strapped into me, held there until she felt like removing them, filling
me. She stubbed out her cigarette and grinned at me.
A moment later the whip came down on my ass again, a rhythmic rain
of heat and agony that made me live from minute to minute. How could my
crotch swell up so much without my focus or attention, I wondered? I found
myself sticking my ass up higher, willing to take the pain for the chance
that it would connect with the exposed end of the buttplug and nudge my innards.
She whipped me until I was sobbing and crying around the cock-gag
and then stopped, running her hand over my ass and poking at the trapped
dildoes. I humped her hand gladly, in that state where getting off is the
only reward in the world worth having, but she pulled away and undid my gag.
"You like having your butt whacked?" she said, humor in her voice.
I knew what to do this time. "I like it," I said breathlessly. "I
love it when you whack my ass. It makes me so hot." She grinned and rolled
me over onto my back, and straddled my head. I could see her cock pushing
against the leather, springing free as she hiked up her skirt, and then she
spread her ass cheeks with her hands and sat on me, pressing her ass crack
down on my face and mashing it with her firm, trim buttocks. My tongue
danced along her crack until it found the right place, moving around the
sour-tasting in a circle as she moaned and pressed down further, nearly
flattening my face and impaling herself on my tongue.
They call it a rim job, but for me there's something terribly erotic
in being so close to my favorite part of her body - that smooth, damp, plush
ass - that you're practically smothered by it, putting a tentative tongue
into a demanding, pulsing that wants more and more until you wish the
mombrane under your tongue had been cut. My hips writhed and bucked,
pressure on the G-string straps making the dildoes move infinitesimally, and
my clit throbbed with no way to reach it.
I felt her hands spreading lube on my - if you could call
it cleavage, those taut melons bound together - and attaching the dangling
overhead chain to the smaller chain between my nipples, so my were
pulled up and I had to arch my back just a hair. Then I felt her cock being
shoved between them, pulling forward and back, rubbing herself off on them.
Every time she pulled back, as much of my tongue as possible went into her
asshole and her hot sweaty butt cheeks slapped and mashed my face. It went
on like that for a long time, she using my and moaning, and me groaning
too, into her asshole, my pelvis swiveling in agonized arousal that I knew
she could see and was deliberately ignoring.
Suddenly she got off me and got up, the friction apparently not
enough to get her off. I was yanked up, pulled off the bed in a flurry of
dizziness, and tossed to the floor. "Mistress?" I gasped, not sure what to
do, struggling to move with my hands cuffed behind me.
"Up against the wall," she ordered, her cock bouncing as she climbed
off the bed. I quickly knelt upright with my shoulders pressed back against
the cool smoothness of the wall and opened my mouth. She flattened herself
against the wall above me, her cock going straight in until it reached the
back of my throat, and then she pumped in and out of my mouth, first with a
slow rhythm and then faster. At the same time, the toe of her boot pressed
against my crotch, and I was suddenly, desperately grateful. I held my lips
and throat loose, knowing she liked it best when I could provide even
pressure for her to fuck as she wanted, and humped her boot with everything
I had, pressing down so that the dildoes in me werre moved slightly in and
out, rubbing my raw, swollen clit against the gritty leather. And she
grunted and grabbed my head, cock moving down my throat at first slowly and
then faster, fucking my mouth, slamming into the back of my throat until she
buried it there and screamed aloud. I came too, rubbing furiously on her
boot, and I didn't scream, I couldn't, because her cock was cutting off my
air and my nose was mashed into her pubic mound.
And then it was over, and she was holding me, kissing me, untying
everything, pulling out everything, laying me down on the bed to rub my
suddenly oversensitive flesh. And in that moment, after I came, I had the
inevitable sudden flood of embarassment that I would ever want this, consent
to it, ask for it. After I'd come, it all seemed awfully silly. But I didn't
tkae it seriously. As soon as I started getting horny again, it'd all come back.