Posted on

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Blindfolded, I sit in the front seat of a car, my Master is next to me, driving. I cannot tell the speed we are travelling, but it is fast. The window on my side is partially down, and I feel the breeze upon my face, my untethered hair billowing around me. I tilt my head upwards, and through the blindfold natures’ strobe light flickers upon my eyes – the late afternoon sun shining through tall trees. I sense my Masters’ gaze on me and I smile.

After several miles the car slows, then turns, and the road is rougher now. The air becomes cooler, scents of pine and wildflowers touch my nose. Minutes pass, then the engine stops. My Masters’ strong hand rests on my denim-clad thigh, I feel his heat as he leans towards me, whispering “We are here slave.” My heart races and my respiration rate increases as his warm breath tickles my ear. When his lips graze my

neck I shiver, turning my head, needing to feel his mouth cover mine, but he retreats. My pout is automatic, and I hear the sweet sound of my Master chuckling. “All in good time slave.”

I hear his door opening, feel his body leave, then the door slams. A shadow moves instantaneously between the sun and my shielded eyes, then my door is opened. Warm hands close over my tethered wrists, and I am pulled from the car. I feel his fingers fasten a leash to my collar, tethering me to the cold steel handle of the car door.

“Wait” he commands, and I obey. His boots crunch on the dirt as he removes something from the trunk, then he is beside me, freeing the leash. “Follow me slave”. The leather becomes taught and I follow, falling into step behind my Master. The ground is uneven, and long grass tugs at my legs. Feeling the forest closing in I shiver, moving closer to the security of my Master. Birds sing a fading chorus as they find a roost for the night. Nocturnal insects click and chirp, pausing as we pass, then resuming their ancient song.

The dirt beneath my feet levels, the grass is shorter now, and I hear the unmistakable gurgle of a stream. Ten steps later my Master stops, and I hear the creaking of a seldom opened door. Pungent smells of mildew and dust wave over me and I am pulled inside. There is no light filtering through my blindfold now. My Master moves around me, his body brushing mine. I hear the door creak closed, then the metallic click of a lock.

The Shack – Part 2

I inhale a shaky breath as the familiar, heady sensation of excitement and fear washes over me. Standing still, I wait for my Master in the middle of the room. I hear him breathing behind me, every nerve in my body tense as I await his touch. The passing seconds seem like hours.

His voice pierces through my soul.

“Have you been a good slave?” I nod.

“Or has my slave been bad?” My lower lip trembles.

“I can’t hear you slave”.

“I-I’ve been good M-Master” I stutter.

“Are you sure slave?” his voice is low and steady.

“Yes Master, I am sure”.

“Good slave – very good”. The air escapes from my throat as I try to steady my breathing.

“Are you afraid of me slave?”

“A little” I mumble. Air glides across my Masters’ lips as he sighs, his voice lower this time.

“Once again, I can’t hear you slave.”

“A little afraid, M-Master.”

“MMmmmmm” he moves around me and I feel his sweet breath on my face. His large hand closes around the back of my neck and he pulls me forward. After three steps he halts, turning me and pushing me backwards. I feel the cold dullness of a wooden beam pressing into my back. The leash is removed and a shorter leather strap is attached. I am secured to the beam by three inches of hide.

My Masters’ hand traces the jugular curve of my throat, down my left arm to my joined wrists. My arms are lifted over my head and tied to the beam. His hands slide down the underside of my arms, brushing the sides of my breasts. He pauses there, and I feel the heat of his palms through the thin cotton fabric. Two index fingers trace tiny circles and I squirm, fighting the urge to giggle.

“Be still child” he commands, and I obey, biting my lower lip. His hands move further down, stopping at my waist, tracing across my belly to open my jeans.

My breathing quickens with every inch of skin exposed, his fingers gently caressing. I feel the heavy denim slide over my hips, then my Masters’ shoulder leans on my thigh as he stoops. My shoes are removed, closely followed by the jeans. He stands and moves away, his boots heavy on the wooden slats.


“Yes, Master?” His faded voice increases in volume as he moves back toward me.

“I have a knife in my hand”.

The Shack – Part 3

“Nnnooooo” I barely breath out the word as I thrash. “Master no – please”. He watches me, expressions of amusement and anger crossing his features.

“Slave …”

“Master – please” I beg, cutting him off, my thrashing continues as I try to break free.

“SLAVE!” I am instantly still, my head low and to the side.

“Don’t move slave” his tone is low, a warning. Maltepe Sınırsız Escort I hold my breath, flinching when his fingers grip the hem of my T-shirt, brushing my skin below my navel.

“I said – DON’T MOVE” he threatens. Cold steel slides upward, between my body and the cotton, then along my collarbone and down each arm, the shredded garment falling to the floor. White lace follows suit as my Master cuts my bra from me. He breathes in, holds it, then exhales.

“My beautiful slave” he whispers and my blush is instantaneous. The blade slides down to my hips, the pressure leaving a fleeting line on my skin before surface capillaries refill. My panties are sliced from my body, silently drifting to the floor.

Minutes tick by, my Masters’ steady breathing and the crickets outside are the only sounds to reach my ears. My body jumps when his left hand cradles me, the heel of his hand pressing on my pelvic bone. My legs part slightly, an automatic response to him, and his middle finger slides through my silk to enter me. My shallow breathing mimics his movements. Then the digit is removed, placed across my parted lips a

second later. Taking his finger into his mouth, I moan softly as I swallow my own sweet juice. “NEVER say no to me again slave – do you understand?” he removes his finger from my hot mouth. “Yes Master, I am sorry”. Then he is gone, the door creaks open, then closed. I stand secured to the beam, unclothed and alone.

The Shack – Part 4

My head hangs low as I fitfully sleep, the dull ache in my arms incorporated into a dream that I will soon forget. “Wake up slave” my incoherent mind hears his word from far away. His left hand lifts my chin, the right hand shakes my body, lying flat against my stomach.

“SLAVE!” I awake with a start, panic setting in as a scream threatens to escape my throat. His hands closes over my mouth and I struggle.

“I’m here slave – everything is ok”. The fog clears from my mind as I comprehend his words, nodding slightly.

“I can’t believe you fell asleep slave. You could’ve strangled yourself.”

The shack is different somehow – warmer. My eyes drift to the fireplace. I see an amber glow through my blindfold and hear the crackle of flames.

“I cut some wood slave – I could tell you were cold.” My body flushes at the knowing sound to his voice.

My wrists are numb as he frees them from the beam. My arms fall like deadweight as he unclips the strap securing my neck. I am lifted off the ground and carried toward a mattress lying by the fire.

Perspiration dots my skin, but the flames are not the cause. It is the nearness of him, his hands under my thighs, the warmth of his chest. I snuggle into him, revelling in his strength, his male essence. I breath him in, he fills my soul, and I am complete.

The sheet is warm on my back as he lays me down. He releases my wrists, only to tie them with rope to metal rings on the floor. He repeats the process with my feet, until I am open before him, vulnerable and completely at his mercy. Still blindfolded, I have no idea where he is, or that he watches my every intake of air. I grow wet with anticipation as I hear the tell-tale sounds of clothes being removed, and I smile.

“I have something for you slave”, he is nearer than I thought, then I feel the indentation as he sits on the mattress to my right, at waist level. His right hand rests on my stomach, palm down, fingers splayed. My Masters’ touch is electric. He leans toward the fire, pressing down on me for support.

As soon as the hot wax lands on my nipple, I writhe – the pain a sweet agony. Droplets land on my breasts, between them and up to the base of my throat. The level of pain determined by the distance he holds the candle away from my body. Closer here, further away there, my flesh burning for an instant. I moan and thrash, steadied only by my binding ropes and the warm pressure of your hand.

I hiss on the intake of air, moaning as I exhale. Then I feel hot lips caressing the reddened flesh, and still I moan. My Masters’ tongue covers my fevered skin, inch by inch, as I feel my control thundering away.

The Shack – Part 5

Abruptly he stops the oral caress. My ragged breathing echoes around the room. My hands and feet are untied, and he flips me over, securing my wrists to the metal rings once again. I lie face down, the coarse mattress grazing my tender flesh through the thin cotton sheet.

“Your words still echo in my mind slave.”

“Master?” I answer, confusion clouding my face.

“I will not tolerate the word ‘no’ slave.”

“I’m sorry Master. You …”

“SILENCE SLAVE! You will be punished.”

“But Master, I thought …”

“You thought a finger fuck was your punishment?”

“No Master. You had a knife, a-and I w-was afraid.”

“Slave I will love you with my dying breath and beyond. Your fear excites me – almost as much as your obedience, but I would never harm you.” His words resonate through my mind and I feel foolish.

“I Maltepe Suriyeli Escort know Master.” I whisper, shame colouring my face.

“Do you think your forthcoming punishment is deserved slave?”

“Yes Master.”

“Good girl.”

I turn my head away from the fire, needing the darkness.

“Now slave, what shall I use?”

I hold my head up slightly, beligerant.

“The choice, as always, is yours Master.”

“The tally is up to 15 now slave. Do you have anything more to say with that smart mouth of yours?”

“No Master.”


I hear him rummaging through the canvas bag.

“Aaaaaaahhhh yes.” My body tenses as punishment draws near. I hear the wooden paddle scratch past the zip as my Master pulls it from the bag. Footsteps – he approaches. I close my eyes, limbs straining against the ropes that hold me.

“Why are you being punished slave?”

My words break on a sob.

“Because I said no to you Master.”

Seconds tick by, and I hear a soft thud as he kneels on the floor. I swallow the fear in my throat. The paddle makes a whooshing sound as it cuts the air, wood smacks onto flesh and the loud slapping noise is followed by searing pain seconds later.

“Aaaaaarrrggghhhh”. The scream escapes my throat and I bury my face in the pillow. Four times more, in quick succession, and I am sobbing. I flinch when my Master touches my red ass, his hand warm and gentle on my tortured flesh. His fingers explore the crevice, and I lift my hips to accommodate him.

“Your so wet slave.” He slides two fingers inside me and I push back against his hand, closing around him and rocking slightly as he probes deeper.

His other hand weaves through my hair. Taking a handful he lifts my head, turning it until I am facing him. Withdrawing his fingers he brings them up to my mouth, inserting them once again into a hot, wet place. Tasting my own essence I suck greedily, then my Master’ lips cover mine, tasting me.

His tongue deeply probes my mouth and I invite the sweet invasion. My pain is almost forgotten for a moment, the sting fading to a dull ache, but I have not yet been properly punished.

The Shack – Part 6

I suck on his bottom lip as he withdraws, my tongue sliding back and forth, teeth nipping slightly. He stays still for a moment, letting me suck, and I feel his smile before he breaks the sweet contact.

“If you were trying to distract me slave, it almost worked. Almost.”

I smile wickedly, knowing for a fleeting moment the power I held over him, but my Masters’ power over me is so much stronger, and anything but fleeting.

“Something amuses you slave? Tell me, is it amusing enough for another five?”

“No Master, I am sorry – please.”

“Very well slave, but you still have ten to go.”

“Yes Master.” I pout, lowering my head to the pillow.

He stands, pads over to the bag and I hear the rustling of canvas once again. Then he returns, kneeling on the edge of the mattress.

“See if you can guess what this is slave.”

My hands ball into fists as I strain against the tethers. I feel the flat leather slap across my ass. Lifting my head I scream, the sound barely leaves my throat before I feel the searing pain again.

“Well slave?” Once more across my back.

“I can’t hear you slave.” The strap crosses the back of my thighs. Jolts of pain wrack the length of my body and I scream and writhe, my mind incapable of coherent thought.

“Tell me slave and I will spare you the last one.”

Sweat glistens on my skin, every muscle strained as the waves of pain intensify, white hot electricity firing across neurons until it registers in my brain. Seconds tick by, and I cannot answer. I know full well what he is using – a thick leather belt – but I stubbornly refuse to utter the four-letter word. Instead I grit my teeth, breathing hard.

“Last chance slave.” I make no sound.

“Very well.”

The strap whistles through the air. My muscles are clenched, but this pitiful preparation does nothing to ease the torment. A cry of anguish follows, and I slump down, sobbing, as the hurt takes hold. Minutes pass, then I hear the metal rings rattle. The ropes slacken, and then he removes them from my wrists.

I am free. I hear my Master walk away, then a wooden chair being moved, scraping across the floor. I roll onto my knees, moaning as tortured skin stretches over muscle. A thought enters my fevered mind, irrational, yet still I act on it. ‘RUN’. I cannot stand, my legs still weak, so I crawl. The sodden blindfold covers my eyes, but I

know better than to remove it, the floor rough beneath my hands and knees.

Sounds fill my ears, and I realise I am sobbing. I have crawled a few paces when my hand rests on my Masters’ foot.

“Where are you going slave?”

I squeal and turn around, not knowing where the door is. I move faster now, frantic, blood circulating with a flood of adrenaline, toward the fire, desperately trying to remember the Maltepe İranlı Escort layout of the room.

Across the mattress, I feel the heat of the fire on my face, just as my Masters’ hand clasps my ankle, dragging me back. I try and grip the floor, then the edge of the mattress, all the while begging, pleading with my Master. Still holding my ankle he spins me around, pulling me toward the fire. My hands claw at the sheet, dragging it with me.

He sits in the wooden chair by the fire, his free hand closing around my upper arm, the other sliding up to my thigh as I am lifted; face down, onto his lap.

“Let go of the sheet slave.” I cling to it as though I was drowning and the stark white fabric was my lifeline. He grips a handful of hair and jerks my head up and toward him. I flinch at the sound of his voice as he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Lose the sheet you stubborn little bitch.”

The Shack – Part 7

I feel his steady breathing, his hard thighs beneath me, the pressure on my scalp ever increasing in tiny increments as I awaken from my frantic trance.


The sheet falls to the floor, released by shaking fingers. Pushing my head down, he releases my hair; the ebony strands sliding down his legs to the floor. My skin is slick, glistening, luminescent. Draped across his lap, breathing hard, I feel his hands on my thigh, strong and warm, fingers tracing tiny circles. His other hand spreads over my back, carefully avoiding the fading red welt, he presses down firmly.

“Five to go slave,” he whispers, and I moan, my body limp with acceptance. My respirations slow as my eyes drift closed. Punishment or not, I love being this close to him. He raises his hand from my thigh and brings it down hard on my ass, a resounding slap echoes around the room and I choke on a scream.

Then another slap and I bite my fist, tears trickling through my blindfold. A third, my thirteenth in total, and I grip my Masters’ calf muscle. He reaches down and slaps my hand away, my nails raking his skin.

“You little bitch!” He smacks me harder, my pelvis pressing into his thighs as I scream. Another two follow and I kick and fight, screaming, sobbing, thrashing.

“I can keep this up all night slave.” He pauses, but the pain continues, relentlessly stinging.

“That’s sixteen Master.”

“Yes slave, and still you have not learnt.”

“But Master please…”

“Am I to believe you are humbled and truly sorry when you crawl away from me, then scratch like a she-cat?”

“I am sorry Master.”

“Really?” He removes the blindfold and I blink tear soaked lashes, adjusting my sight I stare at the floor. I see the dark scratches on my Masters’ legs. Once again, his fingers entwined in my hair, he brings my head up to face him. Our eyes meet and clash, the electricity between them tangible. My chin tilts of its own accord.

“You don’t look sorry slave.”

He pushes my head down and spanks me twice more. The pain is the same as before, equal in its intensity, but I do not fight. Instead I cry, tears falling to the floor. His legs part slightly and he lifts my hips, tucking my legs under me as I slide to the floor.

I sit between his legs, at his feet, my head buried in his thigh as I sob.

“I’m sorry Master.”

“Show me slave. Show me how sorry you are.” I lift my head, staring up at him with hope in my eyes.

“How Master? I’ll do anything.”

His hand closes over the back of my neck, half turning, half lifting me until I face him, on my knees, between his legs.

“Worship my cock slave. Worship the cock of your Master.”

My tongue automatically moistens my lips.

“And if you are a good little slut, Daddy will fuck you.”

The Shack – Part 8

I take hold of my Masters’ cock and lean forward. His hand still closed around the back of my neck, he pulls my mouth toward him and leans back in the chair. I feel his legs close around me and shiver from the skin on skin contact.

I take the tip in my mouth, my tongue tracing tiny circles around the eye, tasting the pre-cum. He is so hard – the power of his erection intoxicates me. Soon I will feel him deep inside me – a thought that makes me dizzy with anticipation.

My mouth moves lower, swallowing reflexes relax as I slowly take in all of him. Here I pause, savouring the feel of him filling my mouth. Throat muscles constrict as I suck, my tongue rippling around the shaft. I hear his breathing quicken, feel his pelvis tilt towards me. I move back, my tongue flicking and teasing the shaft, then around the rim. My hand moves up to knead his balls while my mouth repeats its

journey downwards.

I hear him moan as I slowly increase the pace, sucking, kneading, caressing. Faster still I move, his cock slick with hot saliva. I love the feel of his hard, black satin cock sliding across my tongue, deep into the back of my throat. If I were granted only one wish it would be to please my Master in this way until the end of time.

I feel the pressure on my neck as he fucks my face harder. I close my eyes and feel him shudder. A second later his hot cum is injected into my mouth, splashing against the back of my throat. I swallow it; all of it, slowly moving back until only the tip graces my mouth. I am privileged to feed on my Masters’ gift and I suck greedily.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir yanıt yazın

E-posta adresiniz yayınlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir