Dec 5, 2008

Another Story by Sybatra, Mistress of Silent Need

Once upon a time, in a small cabin far in the north, there was a young man who had been taken captive by a woman of experience and very harsh desires. He spent his days in warm socks and tight leather thongs that held him erect, or made it impossible to be erect, depending upon her whims.

On this day, he has been too long in the closet, and too long in the dark. Suddenly the door flies open. He can smell her perfume, but not see her in the blinding light.

"EYES DOWN!!!! Crawl out here..." But it is difficult. His ankles are bound together. It is more of a wiggling than a crawl and she laughs at his awkward ass swaying in the bright light. "Your ass is too white!! I'll make it rosy red..."

The sudden sound of the whip cutting air is a strange delight for both of them. A welt rises on his white ass, a streak of red, and with a quick intake of air, as he gasps for fear and hunger to please. Something inside him melts and he knows it is tonight when he must give all that he has longed to give and tonight when she will ask more than ever before. He can sense it in her silence, and the silence of the waiting air around him.

Thwack!!! Another red road directs her pleasure across the wide expanse of her imagination. She grabs his hair and presses his face and eager nose against her moist and secret places. What a wonderful odor fills his mind. He is breathing too hard against her. He is short of breath and with a gentle laugh she presses his face deeper between her closed thighs.

He is willing to die, but he hopes to live, if only to be used for a few hours and discarded. But that is not her plan. She leans over him humming a careless tune as she lets him breathe and removes all his bonds, whispering "You are mine little one. You are all mine. Come to the bench." He crawls eagerly, but slowly, to the leather covered bench in the corner. It has been made especially for her and for her "playthings" to enjoy. She has him sit upright this time, and facing her, eyes down.

She sits close on a padded stool and begins a new ritual of bondage. First, at the base of his cock, she binds him with soft leather that she pulls tightly beneath the seat through a wide inset opening in the front on the seat below his genitals. She ties it firmly. He is going nowhere now as she rises and binds each wrist with leather cuffs to the sides of the seat. Now she attaches a tall leather neck piece and he is bound to his "chair", no longer able to look down and see what is taking place as she continues her play.

He feels a cool touch of metal along his chest and a sudden flash of pain in one nipple tells him she has hung her favorite weight from his right breast, and now another on the left. He knows there is no place for complaint in this, no need to even to moan.

She has entered her own world in which he is and is not a part. She is as intent as ever she has been and there's no turning back. Now he feels her hands on his stiff rod. He knows she is taking stock of it. She strokes the skin to feel the velvet tension, to feel the life in it, the hunger, the need. She hefts his balls, but now thinks of them as her own. She makes them into objects for her convenience and pleasure. She hefts the balls and measures them against some secret standard. He can tell from the soft sounds she makes that so far he has pleased her, but there is something more. A tightening in her grip now on his cock, a twisting that feels as if it continues round and round his stiff member without a natural explanation for the unbroken whirling sensation. As the skin begin to burn against the friction of her twisting hands, she pulls at the cock and groans with a feral need.

It hurts beyond his expectation, but he has not been given permission to speak or to ask for mercy. They have been together too long now. He has been her property for so long that she knows what he can handle and knows he will be quiet and not disturb her in her meditations. She dreams her power through his flesh and it is a deep, deep dream.

Now he feels a leather thong being wrapped round and round his dick, the full length being girded and pressured. He dares not think of anything but the smell of her, the sound of her, the surrender to her needs, for if he should begin to soften she will whip him mercilessly and leave him stranded here until her disappointment fades, which could be sometime tomorrow. He is hard, stiff like steel. He is hers and meets her expectation.

Now she tugs at the balls again. She is playing some unknown game and it makes her giggle a little as she twists them. And now, using both hands, she crushes them together then pulls them out long and hard, binding them with a leather strap so that they are fully hers and far from the protection of his body.

"Little balls so alone and frightened." She speaks softly, then snaps the balls sharply with a harsh dismissive finger. A fierce little pain winds it's way up his spine and explodes in his mind. He has been here before, on the edge of the unknown, not in any way certain of what she has planned. Perhaps, he fears, the next sudden pain may announce a worse tangle of need and ingenuity. The fear begins growing in his belly, then the sound of an electric vibrator disturbs his fevered thoughts and the sweet coolness of lubricant disturbs his ass. The opening in the seat is enough to allow access, just barely. And once she inserts the vibrating butt plug, the seat is also just big enough to hold it in place. So he sits in pleasure and pain for her.

She lets loose his nipples, and after so long a time it is another sharp reminder that pain and pleasure are 2 edges of one knife in her world. She begins to hum a bluesy tune. A fresh wave of female musk breaks over him as her fingers reach to his mouth where her red painted nails insert the wet taste of pussy into his eager mouth. "You wish..." she says, teasing him, and laughs. She bends low and binds his ankles to the legs of the bench. Now he is entirely immobile. She clicks something nearby and the insistent vibrator jumps into high gear. Someone moans. Is it he or she? She has begun to masturbate, but she is still close by. He cannot see what she is doing, but she has used him this way before.

Now again he feels the clamps pinching his sore nipples, stronger, heavier. He realizes this time she's using the black ones with the long chain between them. The clamps tighten when pulled. The vibrator speed lowers. The soft heavy thud of a suede flogger begins falling across his chest, again and again, tearing at the clamps. Then she swings it lower, hitting his throbbing cock. Up and down his body the heavy pain rolls, and it warms him. He lets his mind go now, no longer analyzing, no longer measuring his resistance or her need. The whip falls spreading pain, mixing with the senation of the vibrator as it kicks into high and she moans.

The slow pulsing rhythms of the high and low settings beat against the rhythm of the whip tugging at the nipple clamps, and his battered cock. She is pleasuring herself now, and he is a part of her arousal. His surrender is the bow she plays herself with. He shrinks back from the tugging pain in his nipples and rises up when the vibrations increase in intensity. Up and down, back and forth, he is caught in the machinations of her perversity. He can smell her fragrance filling the room and his cock is about to burst regardless of the binding, regardless of the pain, regardless of her need to keep him hard. He abandons himself to the moment, and hears her scream in pleasure as if she knew, as if they where one. Waves of heaven break over them both as he spills his dreams out upon her leather. Knowing he will pay for that, he smiles. He feels her smile, too, somewhere near in time and space as a long quiet moment grows longer still. Then they break the silence laughing together, one in relaxation, one in discomfort, and both in joyful anticipation of a future that unfolds across a heaving sea of endless possibilties...