Author's note: Domestic discipline and bondage are the themes in this story. The last chapter was rough to write; it is all true. Still it has served its purpose and things will be steamier from here on out now that you have some background.
What works for us is what is portrayed; it's not everyone's preferred cup of tea.
*****
"You have been 'stretching' against your limits, pet. Our rules are not up for negotiation or bending. So for the next twenty minutes, you will do nothing."
The pink plug is set aside, for now, as he has me turn towards the bed.
He binds my legs, spread open in a deep kneeling stance, to the bolts in the canopy bed frame. My arms are drawn behind me, fasted hand to elbow by the chrism ribbon. My ankles are then bound meticulously to my arms; I am balanced very carefully on the points of my knees. If I struggle, there is no doubt I will fall.
The ball gag rolls back over my tongue; he fastens the strap tight and checks to be sure there is no pinching at the lips.
The gag is hard to manage, and it sets my heart racing. But it also pushes my mind to wonder what fire he will write into my flesh now. His blindfold then turns my world black.
True to his word, I am helpless. I want to please him and so I focus on remaining calm and still. Even when the position is difficult, when the unknown clouds my thoughts, He is always the first thing on my mind.
My torso is pressed down against the bed; I rest my cheek against the soft fibers of the throw. My ass must be on display and with my knees spread so lewdly, he can likely see my lower lips' desire. This is one of his favorite positions.
The air in this room is cold; goosebumps rise along my naked torso. Anticipation jumps through my skin. I feel hyper-sensitized to every sensation and sound.
There are several soft thuds, like the dull sound of leather kissing.
Suddenly the flogger stings my thighs. I jump slightly; the resultant squeak is equally pain and surprise as I try to find my balance once more.
Burning follows pain quickly; the marks are likely flushing to an angry pink. I imagine it looks rather pretty with the red ribbon bonds. A touch of color to otherwise pale flesh.
His next strike takes me high across the shoulders. Tensing, I manage to keep my balance though my mind is alive in a mess of sensation, anticipation, and a heady mix of pain. A whimper escapes around the gag.
The strands tickle down from my shoulders along my back lightly; a sharp snap to my upper thighs strikes as the shiver rips through me. There is no escaping the feelings he wants to draw from my body. I don't hold back the unholy sounds pouring from my lips, the mewling which begs for him to stop and give me more at the same time.
He told me I am his work of art. He enjoys leisurely drawing out the flush of my skin in various shades, the tortured sounds with each strike.
His tempo of strikes varies. There are times he rains them faster than I can catch my breath; others when he leaves me vibrating in anticipation for the next tickle or snap of the strands.