But Only If You're Good

You're lying on the bed, face down. Every so often, you twitch, and the chains holding your wrists up to the corners of the bed jingle. I walk quietly around the bed, and just watch your anticipation grow with every passing second, wondering when I'll finally touch you. I bring the switch down on your ass, the thin wood whistling through the air, and making a satisfying smack noise when it hits your bare flesh. You jump a bit, and the chains do their job, holding you in place. A lovely red line has started to form where the switch landed, standing out bright against your pale skin. I back off for another minute. Then two. You squirm on the bed, not knowing when or where the next blow will fall, twisting your wrists in the padded cuffs, but also trying to hold still, knowing I have no patience for fidgeting. Knowing it will make your punishment worse, but also wanting it to be so. There's a swish and crack, and now another line of red, this one on the back of your thighs, just below your ass. You try to suppress a whimper- that one hurt- but it leaks out of your traitorous lips anyway. I pause in my walk around the bed. I ask you if something's wrong, and you respond immediately, as you should.

"No, mistress."

Two more stinging blows, placed on your back, so it looks like you've had a pair of wings removed. As the minutes pass, I paint on the pale canvas of your body, leaving stripes of pink and red as I move around the bed. You can't stop the whimpering now or the involuntary tears of pain that squeeze out of your eyes, no matter how hard you try to stop them. I take a step back, looking at my work. I place a cool hand on your skin, and your breath hitches in your throat. We're not done yet, and you know it. Its time to flip you.

You don't fight back, but help, and in minutes you're resituated, face up on the bed, chains and straps back in place. You squirm a bit to test the restraints, and wince as the sheets rub against your back, ass and legs. But you like it, and both you and I know it. And now I have a whole new canvas to work with. I briefly consider blindfolding you, but then decide against it. I like to see your eyes- the tears make them sparkle like gems. Not many people know it, but you're pretty when you cry. I tell you to close your eyes, and you comply. I'll tell you when you can reopen them. But for now I want you robbed of that sense. I want you just as off balance as you were before.

Again, I stalk around the bed, making you wait, making the anticipation grow. Once, I bring the switch down on the bed next to you, and smile as you jump, even though the blow never touched you. I watch as you try desperately not to open your eyes, knowing it will only get you in trouble, but wanting desperately to know where I am. I lift the switch, and instead of hitting you, drag it gently down your chest, between your breasts. Your eyes fly open at the change of sensation, and I grin at the look at your face as you meet my eyes. You know you're in for it now. I shake my head in mock disappointment, pick up the silk blindfold I had laying nearby. I tell you that since I obviously can't trust you to obey a direct order, I'll have to blindfold you myself. Before I place the blindfold, I see your eyes sparkle again with tears of shame. I know you feel badly that you disobeyed, and that you didn't mean to. But that doesn't matter. You disobeyed and must be punished.

I pick up the switch again, and watch the rise and fall of your breasts, quivering slightly with the tension in your arms, and the long lovely line your body makes stretched across the bed. I want to touch you, run my hands along the curves of your body, and watch you writhe against the sheets. But you've been bad. So first, you must be punished.

The switch comes down on your breasts, right above the nipples, drawing a cry from you. I wait another moment, to let the sting develop, then swish-crack, and another line appears, spaced and inch below the buds of your nipples. This time you do writhe a bit, and I know you must be feeling the stripes from earlier as well, since I make a point not to use soft sheets. I move down the bed, looking for a good spot to strike, listening to the music that your whimpering makes. I bring the switch down on the top of your thighs, and now I can hear the subtle shift in the noise you're making. You're not whimpering any longer. Now you're crying. The tears slide down your face, the ones not caught by the blindfold, leaving wet streaks on your cheeks, now bright red with shame. Only when you've been bad do I whip you in the front. I ask you if you've learned your lesson, and if you'll obey properly next time.

"Yes, mistress, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, please forgive me..."

I hush you with a finger pushed against your lips. I tell you that it's ok, that all is forgiven, as long as you really did learn. Because so help you if you mess up next time, you won't be able to wear a bra for a week. I cup your face with my hand, and you turn into it, still sniffling. I caress your hair, and wait for you to calm down. Now that your punishment is over, we can get on with the fun.

I put the switch down on the side table, and pick up the latex flogger that I know you like. I drag the ends of the strings over your breasts and down your stomach, and smile when you giggle. I bring it lower, and rest the end of the handle in between your legs, pressing down a bit until you gasp. You try to raise your hips up to gain more friction, but I pull the flogger away. There'll be plenty of time for that, but not just yet. I snap the flogger across your stomach, not a real blow, but just enough to sting a bit, get your blood flowing. Twice more and I put the flogger down, done with it. Time to get hands on.

I climb up on the bed, and straddle you across your hips so I'm facing the head of the bed. I run my hands over your lower stomach and work my way up, until they're cupping your breasts. I know they're still a bit sore from the whipping earlier, but that only makes them more sensitive, and heightens the sensation.

I run both thumbs over your nipples, and I feel your body twist under me, responding readily to my touch. You may be beautiful when you cry, but you're radiant at times like this, cheeks flushed now with arousal rather than shame, perfectly rounded breasts soft and firm under my hands, hips struggling under my weight to get some sort of contact where you desperately want it. But I just ignore it, knowing you won't say anything about it. Knowing that I'll work my way lower when I'm good and ready. I lean over, and take your right nipple into my mouth, while still thumbing the other one. I suck and nip until it's at full attention, and you can't stifle the moans now. I let the nipple go, dragging it through my teeth lightly as I do, and lick a line across your chest as I pay similar attention to the other nipple.

By the time I'm done, you're almost beside yourself, writhing wantonly under me, and almost crying again with need. I push myself up and off of you, leaving you momentarily alone on the bed, shaking. I move further down and to the side, for easier access, and place my hand between you legs. You're wet, as I expected you to be. I rub my thumb over your clit, and the keening noise that escapes your lips is exactly what I like to hear. I press again, slower this time, drawing it out, watching as you keep trying to press harder into my hand, to increase the friction and contact. And for a second, I let you. Let you think that maybe I'll let you come. But then we both know it's not that easy, is it?

When I notice your breathing start to get faster, I pull my hand away, not enough to break contact, but enough that you can't get the friction you need to climax. Your brows knit together above the top of the blindfold, and you make a noise of frustration. This is torture for you, and I'm so proud of how well you're handling it. I've trained you well. I ask if you'd like to come, and when you answer, I can hear the tension in your voice. You're working so hard not to beg, not to plead with me to let you come, because you know the moment you do that, I'll make you wait longer. So you suffer in quasi-silence, sitting on the fine line between pleasure and pain. Because I have no doubt that you're so aroused at this point it hurts.

After a few more rounds of this, I decide it's time. I ask you if you're going to come for me, like a good girl; that it would make me so proud. Then my thumb goes in hard and firm, not pulling back this time, pressing right where you've been yearning for me to push. Your breathing quickens again, and I can see the sweat beading on your skin from the exertion I've put you through tonight. I reach up and remove the blindfold as I feel you reaching the edge, and watch your eyes as the orgasm rips through you, violent and gripping. Your scream fills the room, your whole body tensing, nipples erect, thrashing with full abandon against the chains and cuffs holding you down.

As it begins to fade, I can feel the last few muscle spasms before I pull my hand away. I wipe it off on the sheets, and climb back up the bed to sit next to you, resting one hand on your head, and using the other to pet you, across your stomach and your sensitive breasts. I tell you you've been a very good girl, and came just like I wanted you to. And that if you're good, we'll do this again tomorrow night.

But only if you're good.