Creature 1

The smell is the first thing you notice. The soft, slightly sweet smell of incense bruising the air, hinting at spice and wood and unnamed unguents. But there is something else more familiar and you strain your eyes through the gloom beyond the door to try and see. I am waiting for you.

I have lit only candles. I don't want you to be familiar with the room. I don't want you to see everything here. Just now, I don't want you to see anything at all. As you step further into the room I tell you to stop. You try to look round.

"Stay where you are." I command, "Close your eyes." Your shoulders tense and you look down, closing your eyes, doing as you are told. You will have to trust me. You are already feeling nervous and a little afraid. You can sense me as I come to you and your breathing becomes shallower. I like the way your head is bowed and your arms are loose by your sides. You jump slightly as I touch your back, which is satisfying but I need you to be a little calmer than that. I spread my fingers out, running them down your spine, pushing the nails inwards. You can feel them dig into the skin through your clothing and you steady yourself against them. Good.

I stretch out my hand on your shoulders, enjoying the feel of your neck muscles. You can feel my warm breath on your face now. You swallow. You want to look. I push my hand up into your hair, holding it tightly, taking pleasure in your intake of breath. You feel how it pulls. I force your face down into the thing I have in my other hand.

There is a sudden small panic of brief suffocation and, as you breath in, the nature of that other familiar scent becomes clear. Latex. That slightly chocolate pungence. Perhaps a little bitter, a natural aromatic - and your body reacts. It reacts the way it has always done to the smell and the cold, smooth, thick, elastic skin. You can feel your cock swell.

" Stay still", I say, "Keep your eyes closed." I offer up the object and you nuzzle into it as I reach down between your legs to feel the growing bulge. You automatically move your hips forward.

"I said stay still". You stand up straighter, eager to show me you will comply. I take the latex object and unzip it. It is a hood. You start to tremble in delicious anticipation when you realise and I fit it over your head and zip up the back, making sure it is snug and that you can breath adequately from the nose as I zip up the eyes and mouth. You can smell it. You can taste it. It caresses your skin with its fragrance and with its sticky, oily substance. Since childhood this has been your fantasy. The delight that accompanied your first sticky fumblings into adulthood and beyond. The shame that you tried to hide, strike out of your life so many times but which has always returned with renewed sweetness, reminding you of the exaltation of sex.

I take your hand and lead you further into the room. You can feel my fingers loosen the belt of your jeans, undo, unzip, pull down, undress.. Your erection is now straining against the material of your pants. Its almost uncomfortable in its confinement and it amuses me briefly to see Calvin Kleins so tortured. I help them off and down. Naked from the waist down, I now strip you completely, pulling your T shirt off and over your head.

You are my creature now, standing in the middle of the half light of my room, waiting. You are hot, aware of your arousal, slightly humiliated by the ease of this excitement, made vulnerable by your nakedness and cut off from sensation by the pungent confinement of the hood. You can feel your heart rate quicken and anticipation floods your mouth with saliva like the expectation in hunger of a favourite meal. Except you have absolutely no idea what is going to happen next.

I leave you standing there for a moment and admire you. The mask cuts off your identity but this makes you my special thing. Something only I am allowed to know. I can see your chest move with the slight panic that you are controlling. Your shoulders are tense but your arms loose. Your legs slightly parted, nicely shaped and muscular. And the most vivid thing about you... your cock is huge and hard, almost a separate living creature that makes an obvious demand, despite your submission.

"Fucking slut! Look at you, stood there with your cock like that, like you're a little girl with your pussy all wet .. I can smell you, whore!" You hear me and hang your head, you can feel the blush of embarrassment prickle across your skin momentarily. You want to say something emolliating, apologetic, pacifying. But even if you could speak through the hood you know that the words would not come because I have control over everything, even your tongue.

"You know what happens to sluts, don't you?" You nod your head, even though you have no clue. The panic is rising further and it is becoming harder to breathe. You try and calm yourself but you know it is exciting you further. I touch your hand, gently lead you forward, towards ....

"Bend Over," I say, "Bring your hands down." You tip forward feeling with your fingers and encounter the soft leather top of a bench. You lean over it, your chest on the top, your bare arse raised for my inspection. You feel me caress each peachy cheek gently with my finger tips and then harder with my nails, inscribing happy red trails as you shiver slightly, exhilarated.

I raise my arm back quite high. At the first hard slap on your arse your whole body jumps forward and I hear your muffled yelp through the secure enclosure of the hood. I can hear your breathing. You steady yourself. I hit you again. A groan. Again.

I spank your beautiful bottom, your tight little arse, until your legs shake and each cheek is a glowing fiery red and my hand stings abominably. You are gripping the bench hard and rocking slightly, moaning continually. I unzip the mouth on the hood and hear your grateful gasp for air.

"Tart! Slut! You enjoyed that!" From behind I push my fingers between your legs, hard, keeping my thumb on your puckered little anus. I begin to finger you, just below your balls, massaging your prostate with each firm thrust. You feel the sensation shudder through you as I slide my thumb inside you, bringing my other hand down onto the small of your back, possessing your arse completely. I can hear you whimpering.

"Bitch! Whore!"

"Sorry, please, sorry.." You are glad you can breathe through your mouth now, the throbbing of your cock, that deep, profound sensation under my fingers and the spiteful glow of your arse are confusing, mind numbing, liberating.

"I didn't say you could speak, slut!" You almost make the mistake of apologising again but cut off the words in a gulp as I release you. You wait, your mind floating a little and accepting your fate.

I choose my weapon. All you hear is the swish of the cane as I bring it down in one luscious stripe after another across your already burning backside.

Or you would hear if you could control your response. You don't know where to be. You have no head space that sets a precedent for this, for a thing so torturous that it becomes sweet and peaceful, even as the wheals blossom on your skin tracing the spiteful marks of pain, they are just kisses that have touched a profound passion and you need release.

I see the marks. I can hear your groans and occasional cries of pain. But I can feel the stillness at your centre. I put down the cane and stroke your back, your legs and your arse. They have cruelty engraved on them and I kiss them. I can smell you, warm, horny, freshly spanked and caned. You are breathing heavily but you are no longer afraid. You are enraptured.

"Stay where you are." I say. You don't look as if you have any intention of moving and I bring over leg spreaders, attaching the buckles at the end of the bar to each ankle, forcing your legs wide apart as you bend over the bench. Your back is stretched and arched by this manoeuvre, your weight forced on to your shoulders. Your arse is mine, thrust up and out. I reach between your legs again and feel your balls, letting my nails bite. They are hard and you swallow noisily. You need reminding and I go and fetch another toy.

"What happens to horny little sluts?"

"I Don't know." You mumble. You feel elated and need the comfort of an embrace and the deep ache inside you, more immediately, needs that rather more visceral moment of release. You can feel my hands begin to massage your buttocks, drawing out some of the heat, making you wince a little where my rattan has bitten deeply.

Suddenly the zip at the back of the hood is being released. You find relief is mixed with disappointment as I slide the hood off. The perspiration has gathered and now falls from your forehead on to the leather of the bench in a steady drip, drip, drip. Your hair is soaked, clinging to your scalp and the nape of your neck and you can feel the coolness as it dries, making you a little light headed. You open your eyes cautiously. The sweat stings.

You cant see me in the gloom but you soon realise where I am.

I part your arse cheeks and pour between them a drizzle of lube. You give a little cry at the cold liquid KY, which is most affecting and I rub it into your crack and a little way into your arse. And now, where you can't see, I also rub some on to the strap-on that I am wearing.

"I'll show you what happens to horny little sluts!" I say and pull your hips back towards me, spreading your arse, my hands still slippery from the lube and I am smiling, smiling because I can hear you whimper and moan in anticipation and I can see you hands grip the bench.

"They get their tight little pussies fucked!" I say and slide the strap-on into your arse, just a little tease at first and then bearing down on you hard, pushing all the way in, taking sweet delight at hearing you cry out.

"Fuck you! Whore!" I shout and grab your hair, pulling your head back and pushing into you again, feeling you brace yourself against me and then push back. You cannot move away. You don't want to move away. You cannot close your legs and you don't want to. Each thrust inside you brings you on more and more. Your breath is coming in short, shallow gasps and you grunt with each deep stroke. You have forgotten that you have any other existence than this moment, than feeling me inside you, my hands on your hips forcing you back, pulling your hair, drawing my nails down your already spoilt back in such peaceful excoriation. There is just one thing more. Just one thing. One urgent thing.

I reach around your thighs. As I thrust into you again, I grab your cock with one hand. It is hard and tight and warm and I can feel the thick pre-come oozing desperately. All I have to do is squeeze once. I push again and your cock jerks in my hand as you cry out helplessly, a delicious sound torn from deep inside you as you come, the warm stream spurting again and again as I keep riding you, keep the rhythm going. Your legs buckle a little and I hold you there while you regain your balance, leaning forward, shaking, moaning, Jesus Christ, Godalmighty, Fuck, Shit.

You are only barely aware when I withdraw from you. Unbuckle the spreaders. Take off the strap-on. The warmth of the room has enclosed you, the candles are fainter and the only sound is of your breathing, long soft breaths like sleep. The sweat on your body is drying and you ache.

I hold you and you curl up in my arms like a child. You are smiling and I am happy. I haven't finished with you yet. There is still the small matter of my satisfaction.