Realization descends on me like a bird of prey from the clouds. For the past few days Sir has been talking about his "filthy mood". She, she can take an absolute beating...me? Not me! And now it is me, here, him in his already filthy mood made more filthy by virtue of the fact that she (the one who can take the beating) is not here...several things race through my mind at this point. We talk, chat laugh. He strokes my leg, pinches it a little. Then he says "lets go play"
He slaps my arse as we walk towards what is now feeling like impending doom.
Our genial rapport is left scattered like our clothing which seems to find its way into quiet corners to watch. Seamlessly, wordlessly, it is replaced with bawdy personification of our lascivious-selves.
His hand slaps at my face, my arse stinging from his hands, his cane and I think the whip. My back burning and I am splayed across the bed. The cane is drawn again and it bites down at the top of my thigh. That really ouchy part where your buttock meets your leg, neatly he whacks. I think the worst bit about the cane is that you hear it coming, feel the placement, know where it will land, hear the wind and the sound as it comes for you. The struggle in not tensing is of course, magnified. Then, most everything in TTWD is magnified.
There are tears and clamped nipples, begging, crying. At one point I reached out to free my poor nipples. There is always one the hurts more than the other. I find it strange. He looked at me, I knew the look. It was a don't-you-dare-touch-those look. I didn't and was soon relieved of the clamps. For some reason every single time I think they will come off and I will feel better. I always forget that it hurts like a motherfucker - always. He never does. I know he enjoys very much those few seconds of excruciating pain and the mixture of anticipated relief and shock on my face as the pain intensifies. I love his fingers and hands on my nipples. I hate clamps.
I am lying on the bed and something makes me grin. I don't know what it is. Perhaps it was nothing. Sir, I think, takes this as me not being serious enough. That I am being disrespectful or not submitting. Sometimes though, I just need to laugh. It doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt or anything else he maybe making up stories about in his head. It sent me into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. The cane came out and whacked across the soles of my feet which sent me into further peals of laughter. I am not a pain-slut. Well sort of I am. Actually I don't know. I want it, I like it but it hurts. Laughing was not making sense - even to me. Then I was saying ouch and ending it with a laugh....then his whip came out. I stopped laughing. I don't even remember if he hit me with it but (I know I have mentioned this before) it hurts so much. Giggles gone - pretty much.
I am standing in the doorway, fingertips crooked over the top of the frame, legs spread, on my toes, looking out of his room. He is behind me somewhere, hitting me occasionally with something, a cane I think. His voice moves around. In front of me is a small unfurnished space. Its far wall is a giant window. A thin white curtain allowing me to see the outline of the squares of glass glows a pale yellow in the sunlight. I am cumming, cumming, cumming. He is calling, commanding, demanding my fingers stretch out over the door, that I am on my toes, that my body is taught and stressed and uncomfortable. I feel the warmth of the cumming building in intensity. "Cum now, hard" he says and I feel it trickle slowly down my leg, down the inside of my left thigh, snaking its way toward my knee. Instantly he draws from me another and another until I can feel rivulets of cum sluicing their way down the inside of both thighs, down the inside of my feet, finally pooling where the balls of my feet touch uncomfortably to the floor. There is a break for a few seconds. I peak around at him lying back comfortably on his bed, just watching. My head hangs forward, I am gripping the doorframe with my fingertips to relieve the rest of me. He readies me. I am begging for no more. I have no more. My head lolls back. Last one. Big one. He pulls it from me slowly with his words and I feel it building in my belly. I spray a neat little cum on the floor. I have to admit to being quite impressed. It was quite dainty. I think about whether he can see the cum raining down, what it would look like in the intense yellow sunlight coming through the window and doorway. I contemplate crawling to him, to the bed. I don't remember getting there. I know him well enough to presume that he helped me walk.
I collapse back onto the bed. I suck at his cock. I feel so spent, so gloriously spent.