Privacy is hard to come by these days. One of the kids is in cyber-school, so she's at home every day. We mostly play after the kids are in bed, and we have to be relatively quiet, which limits us. Last Monday, however, my slave urged the one who does school on her computer to go to the science center with her boyfriend, and we had the place to ourselves.
I wasn't feeling good, and I thought that might ruin things, but the more I thought about our privacy and what we could do with it, the more I gained the will and desire to play. It's funny how that works; you're feeling under the weather, then something that brings out your passion makes you ignore whatever's bothering you, and you end up going at it harder than you do at other times.
I made her strip, then bend over the arm of the couch. I took a leather belt out of the toy bag. We have a few belts; most have metal studs. However, the solid leather belt stings the most, and it's seldom since July that I've been able to give her a proper ass beating. When we first started talking, it was one of those things she kept asking for from other men, and no one delivered. I delivered--on our first night together, and on several occasions since...but since we moved, it's just too loud an activity.
No one could hear her cry out Monday. No one could hear the leather connect with her lovely, round little ass. No one.
I caressed her naked body, randomly slapping her ass, warming her up...then I took the belt and swung without mercy. I knew she could take it; I knew she would love it. I left one red stripe after another on her ass, till the whole thing was red.
"Count for me," I said. "We're going for twenty."
"Yes, Master," she replied, sticking her ass out in anticipation.
I started whipping her ass again, five in a row on each cheek, then stopping to rub her ass, hoping she would forget her count and cause me to start over. But no: she kept her count, even as her voice shook and she cried out in pain.
No matter. Mercy wasn't desired or forthcoming. I began to whip without a count, my cock hardening as her pain reactions became more obvious, her cries, louder. Then came several hits in a row in the same spot, and:
"Master, I'm weak."
I yanked her up by her hair, looped the belt through the buckle (the prong removed) and put it over her head, pulling it tight around her neck--not too tight, but tight enough to lead her by it. I led her back to the bedroom, pulled her down onto the bed by the belt, the pulled it back over her head.
"Spread your legs, slut," I ordered. She complied without hesitation. Good little slave. "We're going to ten on your pussy. Keep count, whore."
"I'm not going to make it to ten, Master. That belt hurts so much," she said, looking up at me with her head turned in submission, pleading with me with her eyes as well as her voice.
"That's not your safe word. Take it until you're weak."
"Yes, Master."
I whipped her pussy once, twice, three times...she closed her legs a bit. "Spread your fucking legs, slave." She complied. Four, five...
"Master, I'm weak. Oh, that hurts. That hurts so much."
I took the belt and looped it again, put it around her neck again, then roughly fingered her clit. She loves it rougher than most, and I was aggressive. It wasn't long before she was begging permission to cum.
"Keep begging, little whore."
"Master, please let me cum. Please?" she gasped. "Please? Master, please...oh please let me cum..."
"Cum for me, you dirty fucking whore."
She came, arching her back, her ass lifting slightly off the mattress, holding her breath. I felt sure she was going to squirt; the orgasm was fairly intense. It got her really wet, in any case, and I wanted so badly to enter her...so I pulled her roughly to the edge of the bed and rammed it inside her.
"You're so fucking wet. Are you my little piece of fuckmeat?"
"Yes, Master, I'm a piece of fuckmeat."
I pulled the belt tight and cut off her breath. She held her composure for awhile, then began to have the panic reaction I loved so much. She grabbed at the belt, clawed at my arms, then finally, when she could take no more, tapped out.
I loosened the belt from her neck, fucked her harder, then pulled the pillow closer to her head. She feared the pillow. It's heavy. It's memory foam. She's had it over her face so many times in the last year or so, and she still fears it. That fear triggered a gush of wetness that I could feel.
"You're afraid of the pillow."
"Yes, Master."
"And that fear turns you on so much..."
"Yes, Master, it does."
"Are you ready?"
"No, Master."
"Does it matter?"
"No, Master, it doesn't."
I put the pillow over her face and held it there, fucking her savagely, not letting up till she tapped out in panic--and panic she did. Much worse than with the belt. She cried out, and her muffled cries turned me on so much...but I held out. I didn't want to cum yet. I wanted her to feel like she'd been properly fucked.
I took the pillow off her face and smacked her in the head a couple times, then I grabbed her by the hair and fucked her as if I was in a rage. I fucked her with all of the intensity I could muster. In the meantime, she caught her breath...so it was time for the belt again.
I pulled it tight around her neck, and her panic reaction came sooner this time. She didn't tap out right away, though; she actually came close to losing consciousness. When her grip on my arm weakened and her reactions weren't strong anymore, I released the belt and grabbed her hair to snap her out of it. I grabbed her hair with both hands and started fucking her with all I had. I came inside of her, ramming it all the way inside when I did, filling her.
I laid down on the bed and pulled her close to me, stroking her hair, caressing her body. The rest of the day, after the kids were home again, I spent time sitting with her on the couch, caressing her, showing her affection, loving her.
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