As some may already know, last Thursday I had a little surgery. Now this post is not about the surgery. It is about what a Master, MY MASTER, did for the last few nights before the surgery. He knew most likely that he would not have use of my body for a week or two, except my hands and mouth which never seem to be out of order. If you knew me, you would know, my mouth is NEVER out of order in any fashion…but I digress.
Knowing that Thursday morning he would be taking me to the Surgery Center, he wasted no time after he got here on Monday afternoon. He had flown 7500 miles back home to me to be the “sweetheart” that he is and take care of me while I was recovering. I say “sweetheart” like that because to me, even when he is rough, hard, inflexible, stern or even downright mean at times (in my mind, even if not always in truth), he is still the love of my life, not just my Master and Sir, but my husband, lover, best friend, confidant and my champion. That being said and quantified, I can freely say that he pushed me, pulled me, overwhelmed me, challenged me, drove me and basically ravaged me again and again Monday through Wednesday. To Sir, I believe he was sort of thinking of all the ass fucking, cunt fucking, face fucking, sucking, licking, spanking and torture as not so much about sex and satisfaction—definitely not MINE—as a sort of perverted way to prep me for the pain that would come from the recovery of my surgery. “Ok, you are gonna hurt like hell anyway, so I may as well fuck you raw, beat your ass hard and generally have my way with you however I want, because you will be on serious pain medication for the next couple of weeks anyhow.” Isn’t he sweet to be so concerned about MY COMFORT?
As I said, Master flew 7500 miles on Monday. When he landed at the airport where I was waiting on him, I greeted him in a short soft cotton dress, tight across the tits and around the waist and loose and flowing below the waist. And as instructed by him, nothing underneath except nude thigh high stockings..no bra, no panties. In less than 15 seconds from the moment we touched, he had brushed his hand against my dress pressing into my public bone, smiled at me and asked if I had panties on. My legs wanted to buckle and go weak, my pulse quickened and my breathing became shallow. I was sure that anyone walking by had to of known I was highly aroused and was anxious to be fucked, like the slut in heat that I was, and usually am. I assured him I was sans underwear. I received the words I love to hear, “Good girl”. Those two words have power to make me wet and involuntarily make me tighten my public muscles. Walking to the parking lot and the car, he told me of things he had planned for me, of the nasty, naughty deeds he was going to subject me to over the next 2 days. My body tingled with anticipation. I admit, as much as I love his “use and abuse” of me, I so much enjoy the torment, the teasing and “the torture of the craving”. There is something truly self-enlightening when you finally understand and accept that part of yourself that craves torment by teasing. I am becoming more enlightened everyday it seems.
After a couple of chaste kisses and more deep, wet, less than chaste ones, we reached the car in the parking garage. Master wasted no time in reaching up underneath my dress and pressing his fingers into the already moist folds of pussy flesh. Our eyes locked onto each other. His face never betrayed his own needs and hunger as he thrust his finger up into my cunt and probed me again and again while asking if I had missed his touch and if I wanted more. He remained calm even in the face of my own giddiness and public arousal. Had he told me to disrobe right there, right then, I would have. I was that aroused and wanted his touch so badly. After a few more thrusts into my fuckhole, he withdrew and had me start the car and begin the 45 minute drive home. More than once he reached over to push the hem of my dress up and stroke my soft thigh or to tweek my nipple, pinching it hard enough to cause me to wince from the pain. At that, he would smile and tell me that it was only a little of what I could expect. Naturally, the more he did things like that, the more I craved them.
Reaching home, unlocking the door and stepping inside was a major accomplishment. Several times I realized I was slowing down in traffic as he stroked my cunt or thigh and I drifted off in a cloud of “wanna-cum”. The door was barely closed behind him when he bent me over the arm of our overstuffed leather chair. Dress pulled up and flipped over my back, his hands reaching to spread the cheeks of my ass as he firmly spoke, “Spread your legs slut.” Again, words I love to hear from him anytime! With one hand pressed against the middle of my back, I felt as his other hand was guiding his hard cock towards my tight little pink puckered ass hole. My dirty little hole that I might add had not been used for almost 2 months, since I flew to visit Master overseas where he is currently working, and therefore it was TIGHT. Heck, TIGHT is not even strong enough to explain properly…it was so tight it was almost sealed shut. I eagerly spread my thighs and with my breast pressed hard against the soft cushioned arm of the chair, I reached my arms back to spread my ass cheeks for him. The engorged head of his cock pressed against my little opening and without any conscious effort on my part, my body relaxed just enough for his manhood to press slightly into my body. The immediate sense of stretching flesh and tender skin was mixed with the brutal need of union with him. It did not matter at that point whether it hurt or not, whether he tore me or not. All I know is that I had to have him buried as deep inside of my body as I could get him. I raised to my tiptoes and pushed back against him. I loudly begged him to fuck my ass harder, deeper, more and more until I began to grow hoarse. I was like a mad woman, desperate for the one thing that would and could assure me of the reality that he was finally home. As he thrust hard into my body, ramming his enlarged throbbing cock to the hilt, never slowing…I bucked back against him, meeting his every move with my own. Just at the moment when I was getting ready to tumble over the abyss into orgasmic heaven, he withdrew his dick and pulled me up by my hair and kissed me deeply, smiled and said that he would continue later when he wanted to and was ready to use me more. My immediate response was to stick my bottom lip out and pout some. That is just my unconscious reaction to things when I do not get what I want. Master laughed at me and my pouting lips, kissed me again and said, “It’s ok little slut. You’ll get plenty before my visit is over. This is just a warm up and remember my pet, I am the Master, you are not. What is your job poppet?” With that I repeated what I always did, what I knew and what I liked, “I am your slut, your pet, your property, my job is to serve and endure.” With that, Master was happy with me and we spent the next half hour talking of pressing matters relating to his visit before ending up in the bedroom on the king-sized bed in front of that big mirror I have recently talked about.
All throughout that night and the next, Master would fuck my ass and my cunt…taking turns at each again and again. He pinched and bit and chewed at my tits until they were sore and ached even to the point of throbbing if he but looked at them the next day. He did the same to my little pink clit, preferring to chew upon it until it was sore then suck hard on it until I either came or almost passed out from the pain. He forced orgasms from my body. I learned quickly not to tell him that I just could not come again as it only incited him to grab the Hitachi Wand and hold it tight against my clit in an effort to prove I was wrong and he could make my body do as he wanted. It quickly became hard to swallow as my throat was abused the most as he fucked my mouth and would push his cock as far as he could, pushing past the point of swallowing and into the point of actually going down my throat. Since I do not have a gag reflex, Master loves to force all of his cock into my throat, holding it there tight while waiting to see how long I can or will wait until I start to struggle to breathe. Two days later, I still remember thinking that the last episode of strep throat I had was mild compared to the pain he inflicted on my throat and tongue. Every hole had been filled and used well. He had brought me to orgasm again and again until I lost count. My pussy lips were not just pink, but red…blood red, swollen and sore from being pulled on, chewed on, bit and clamped. My nipples matched them in looks, also swollen, tender, red and raw. Somewhere in the middle of the sex-fest Master had decided I needed a good hard spanking. Not that I actually needed it because of anything I had done bad, as he does not punish me in that way, but he just wanted to spank me and therefore I wanted it also. A few weeks ago, I had found a huge pancake turner at a local store and immediately thought it would be a fun “joke” for a spanking item. Master took it seriously and hence, my ass got to feel the sting of the spatula.
Needless to say, the spatula truly does sting, but not any less than the other instruments he used on me those two nights. Leather paddle, rubber flogger, leather braided flogger, ping pong paddle and his newest favorite at the moment, a wooden paint stirrer made for a 5 gallon paint bucket. OUCH! That one truly is evil. Funny thing is..I love it! And Master knows I love it even though I tried to hide the fact. So as you can see, my little ass got not only fucked hard (thank you Master) but got spanked as well (thank you for that also Master).
Not everyone likes to get spanked. We are all different, we all have different kinks and it is ok. As for me, Master gave me a wonderful gift as he usually does. I went into the surgery on Thursday morning knowing that my Master loves me and would be there when I came out to take care of me. Hell, he even copped a feel of the cunt in the pre-op room about 5 minutes before going into the operating room. That is love.
No comments:
Post a Comment