Begging Permission

I'm dreaming.

It's not entirely clear what the dream is, even while I'm in it; it's one of those hazy ones at the surface of sleep, but it's pleasurable, for certain. My nipples feel tight. Mmm, very tight.

"Pet." Your voice is warm, and your hands are on my breasts, pinching.

"Nrrf?" I mumble. My mouth feels sticky.

"You're dreaming, pet." You start rolling my nipples around in your fingers.

"Mrbgle... That feels nice."

"You woke me up moaning." Your hands begin to trail from my breasts, up and down my sides.

"m'sorry, Master." I wriggle a bit, hoping you'll go back to my nipples, but you shift on top of me, gently kneeing my legs apart. You're hard, and seem to have dispensed with clothing at some point in the interim. "Oooo, is this for me?" I rub up against your cock teasingly, feeling my wetness from the dream coat your length.

In response, you press inside me, sighing contentedly at my warmth. My hips arch up towards you, and a satisfied grunt escapes my throat as you slide in to the hilt. The fucking I recieve may not be flowery or dignified as I lock my feet behind your back and clutch them with my hands, but it is magnificent, and I can feel you hardening inside me, each stroke insistently pressing my g-spot. Before I know it, I'm slipping over the edge, my hands tightening and my cunt spasming, fingernails starting to mark your back as your own release begins and the gutteral calls of our satisfaction mingle in the sweaty night air.

"Ahhh..." Your sighs as you lay atop me are music to my ears as your softening cock gradually slips out. We rest together a while, just breathing and being. After a bit, you reach up a hand and slap my cheek gently. "I'm disappointed in you."

"But why, Master? ...aw, crap, c'mon, I just woke up!" In truth, I'm mortified at forgetting to ask permission for release, and feel my stomach turn.

"Tsk. Your arguments and attitude tell me far more about your current disciplinary state than your actual breach of conduct." I look at you in the dimness, checking for signs of Disappointment, but you don't look too angry. I opt to keep my mouth shut before I do something dumb. You turn on the bedside lamp. "Clear off the bedclothes and tie your legs apart at the knee. If I think your knots are shoddy, I'll double what's coming to you." You get up, groaning a bit, and head to the kitchen for a glass of water.

I can feel my nipples tightening again as I push the sheets and blankets off the bed and fumble for the ropes that are always there, just under the mattress. I'm blushing a little as I tie my own leg up, and stretch, reaching for the other, when you return. You're looking in better spirits, and I blush harder, certain that my hair's a mess and I look fat and stupid messing about with the rope. But you smile, and offer me a sip of your water and smooth my hair as I tie the last knot, and I remember that I'm yours. It gives me a warm feeling at the same time as the cold tingles down my back when I remember I'm tied up and going to be punished.

"Lie back, pet, it's about time you remembered your place." My toes curl a little at your commanding tone. You settle yourself between my widely-spread legs and begin to stroke my cunt with a fingertip. Our combined juices are leaking out of me, and you wet your fingers with it and massage my clit with expert fingers until it's throbbing, and I'm moaning helplessly. "Are you going to beg for me, pet? Hold your lips open, offer yourself up to me, and beg."

I reach down and pull apart my swollen labia, trying to resist the temptation to graze my clit with my fingertips. "Please, Master... touch me again, please, I need it, I need you. I belong to you, and I want you, and I... I... please, please, Master. Please?" My vocabulary gives out, and I resort to thrusting up my hips, my feet braced as my knees strain against the knots, whimpers passing my lips, and to my dismay, a lump in my throat. I never want to disappoint you.

"Alright, slut, I'll give you something." You reach over to the toy chest and rummage a bit, then settle back on the bed in front of my obscene display of my charms, waving a butt plug in my face. "You'd better suck it, it's all the lube you'll get."

Hoping to please you with my eagerness and compliance, I suck greedily, noisily, pretending it's your warm cock between my lips, drooling without much shame at all. You pull it from my mouth with an audible pop, and wipe the drool from my chin. I smile, and the expression doesn't fade when you spread the saliva on your fingers across my cheeks, although I blush a little and I know the humiliation makes me wetter. Then I feel the plug pressing on my rosebud, and groan as it slides inside. "Thank you, Master."

"You're welcome, pet. Now," you say with satisfaction, picking up a riding crop and standing by the bed, "tell me what you deserve."

"I deserve to be punished, Master."

"That would be attention, slave. Do you deserve it?"

Oh, that hurts. It hurts because I know the truth. The lump in my throat returns, and any traces of the smile and blush are gone as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "No, Master, I deserve nothing. I am nothing. My only happiness is to be yours, and I disobeyed you." My voice breaks on the last sentence, a tear falling from one eye to tickle my ear. "B-But please, Master. I beg you to teach me, please help me learn to be better for you. I'm sorry."

You bend over to kiss my forehead. "Much better. That's my good pet." You look into my eyes and smile softly. "I will teach you."

"Thank you, Master. Thank you."

"Keep your cunt lips spread, pet. I'm going to hurt you tonight. You don't have to count the strokes, you just have to take them as I give them. I will not punish you if you use your safeword truly, but if you just need a break or are trying to escape your lesson, I will throw you out with the rest of the garbage."

I open my mouth to protest that I would never do that and never have, but the crop zings through the air and I feel the first stroke on my cunt. Oh, it burns! I forget what I was going to say, and try to breathe without whimpering. But they keep coming. Sometimes the blows land on the inside of my thighs, or the top of my mound. The crop hits my fingers too, and I'm not sure if it's on purpose.

Just in case, I make sure I'm spread wide, even though I want to cover myself in shame and pain. Then a few strokes keep landing on the base of the butt plug, and the pain turns to surprising pleasure. I can't help but moan, and you alternate those with hits to my now-weeping cunt. I can hear the wetness when the crop slaps, and I'm not sure if I feel dirty or if I should even care. I'm in a swirling torrent of endorphins and humility and little things that bothered me in the first few minutes (Did he hit me there before? Will my fingers ache tomorrow? Am I getting a charley horse in my left leg?)are invisible now. I don't know how long you've been beating my pussy. Probably ten minutes, but it feels like an hour of sensation.

You pause to inspect the business end of the crop, smiling cruelly as it glistens with my pussy juice, and then bring it down on my breasts, pushed together by my straining arms. My breath catches as I feel it land, burning a trail across my chest and ending sharply, wetly on my left nipple. The moisture makes it sting like hell, but somehow it just makes my cunt drip more.

I'd guess you are amused by this process if I weren't so distracted, alternating blows between my now-sopping gash and my breasts. I can smell myself now, my scent wafting up from my moist nipples. You stop for a moment, and I realize I'm thirsty and my throat hurts. Have I panted and cried out that much? You back up to the foot of the bed and look at me speculatively. I must be quite a sight, welts on my thighs, my cunt beaten to a hot pink, marks all over my chest, stinking of sex. "Slave."

"Yes, Master." My voice is a little husky.

"Assuming I have not already denied it, how does a slut like you come?"

"I beg your permission, and only if you say yes, and even then, you might do other stuff, Master, or change your mind."

A raised eyebrow. "'other stuff,' pet?"

My jaw opens and closes, and I wish I had coffee. "Sorry, Master. Uh, you might tell me when, or say 'only if you sing the Hallelujah Chorus backwards' or something." Wow, that sounded stupid. I sort of wish you'd start beating me again, because relying on my mouth had really not gotten me very far tonight.

But you nod, and I get my wish, because you pick up the crop and smack my cunt around some more. And then the crop hits my clit. "Aah!" I cry out, surprised. And then you hit it again, and again. The sting seems to radiate throughout my body, and then I feel my asshole tighten around the plug as you nudge it with the crop, using the pressure to fuck my ass in a tiny way that makes me want to beg for your cock, beg to come, anything. The reprieve and pleasure are over all too quickly, and you begin to hit my sore wet nub over and over. I feel my shoulders tighten and my thighs clench, and my breath starts catching in my throat.

No, I think. I can't come from this. It hurts. I hurt. I ache all over from my bonds and my position and my punishment, and I'm being punished, I can't come, and even if I could you'd never let me forget it... all these thoughts wash over me in the span from one stroke to the next, but I lose them. You have to know what's happening, because the sharp swats to my clit are rhythmic, just like your hips slamming into me. Sometimes, when you fuck me from behind, or put me on my hands and knees and pound my dirty ass, your balls slap my cunt and I can almost feel it on my clit, and this is like that. But so much harder, so much more intense.

"OhgodMaster... Ohgod!"

The slaps of the leather against my sweetest place don't stop. You don't even slow down. Somewhere in the back of my head I think I realize that this is what you meant to be my lesson all along. I start holding my breath in anticipation of the next stinging wave of pleasure.

"Yes, slave?"

"I'm, I'm... I'm getting close, Master!" My words come out in a surprised-sounding jumble.

"Close to what, slave." There's no inquiry. You know exactly what you're doing to me. I clench my teeth. You're an evil bastard. It's wonderful.

"Close to coming, master." You still haven't stopped. I'm beginning to feel helpless.

"Really." (Thwack, thwack, thwack.)

"YesohfuckohgodohMaster..." My hips rise to meet the crop, my fingers spreading my labia wide. A warmth begins to flow over me, and my muscles feel so tight.

"Yes, pet?" You look disgustingly smug. If I had any real consciousness left beyond the next hit of the crop, I'd keep my mouth shut. But I don't.

"PleasemayIcome?" There's heat in the pit of my belly pulling me apart with need, and my ass clenches around the plug.

"Sorry, pet? What was that?"

I pant, trying to slow my words, and I know it doesn't work very well. "PleaseMaster please may Icome please?"

Your smile isn't smug now, it's proud. "Yes." And the crop lands hard, once, twice, and the third time I scream to the ceiling, covered in sweat and convulsing without a care for the ropes or you or anything. My mind has gone.

I just lay there, drenched and drained, dimly aware of you freeing me from my knots and gently removing the plug, and putting both the plug and the crop away. Then you sit beside me, and help me sit up, and put the water glass to my mouth.

"Thank you." I think you can tell that I don't just mean for the water, but for everything.

"Good girl. You're welcome." You turn off the light and cuddle me. Just as I'm about to drop into deep, dark sleep, I hear you say, "Tomorrow, I expect the Hallelujah Chorus backwards..." with a sleepy chuckle.

"Shit."