Darling 4

This is a longer, more emotional, less reality-based version of "The Coffee Table."

*****

She was instantly embarrassed when she clicked the like button. He was actually looking for someone much younger, according to the bits of the profile she hadn't read until after clicking the like button. The first part of his profile said, "you must love music" and that line drew her in right away, and she clicked impulsively without reading the rest.

She was thoroughly surprised when she received a message from him a few hours later. Honesty being the best policy—especially considering the kind of domination she needed in bed—she told him that she was a solid ten years out of his target demographic.

To her further surprise, he remained interested and they set a date a couple weeks away at one of her favorite restaurants.

She wasn't a first date kind of girl, more of a fifth date kind of girl, to be straightforward about it. But he owned her body and mind after that first date and the memories of that night rocked her even now.

And she had angered him, potentially betrayed the delicate balance of trust and respect that only exists between a submissive and the man that dominates her.

He set her free for several excruciating weeks.

But now, now she stands before him, on the opposite side of his kitchen. She still cannot catch her breath. The sight of him had taken her breath away the moment she walked through the door.

She meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, only to lower them instantly, submitting to the heat in his gaze. He leans against the wall in a well-tailored suit, sans tie, his shirt unbuttoned one more button than is strictly necessary even in the summer heat. Silently she wonders how it's even possible that someone can be so devastatingly sexy.

His eyes devour her, dressed for his pleasure in a brief, snug black skirt and an equally well-tailored shirt, seamed stockings, and high heels. Her blonde hair curled, also for his pleasure, at just the perfect length to grab a fistful should it suit him.

"You look fantastic."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you for agreeing to see me."

A warm, yet slightly forbidding smile brightens his eyes, "you are here to be punished, don't thank me yet".

He lifts her chin and forces her eyes to meet his. She finds him irresistible, yet he intimidates her in a way that no man has ever been able to accomplish before now. She drops her eyes.

He places the smallest, most tender kiss on the side of her neck, the warmth of his breath releases a different warmth between her thighs.

"You smell fantastic as well, it's a pity that I have to punish you this afternoon."

He steps back and offers her a sip of his water. She accepts with gratitude. He takes the bottle from her and holds her at arms length and checks that every detail of her appearance pleases him. Satisfied, he takes her hand, "come with me, slut."

Without meaning to, she stops dead. "Your slut?"

His first reaction is anger at her disobedience, but the earnestness and fear on her face softens him. "Perhaps, darling. But, come. Now."

She steps forward when he squeezes her hand, but the look of concern remains.

He continues to walk toward the living room but says, "that wasn't a 'no' darling. Come along before I lose my temper."

He leads her around the corner to the living room to where he has displayed a leather collar, ankle cuffs, and wrist cuffs next to a frightening array of chains, crops, and floggers beside his recliner. He settles down in his chair, and points to the coffee table, "stand on the table."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't talk anymore."

She nods, eyes cast downward.

"Undress."

He reaches over and turns on a slow, grinding blues song who's provocative rhythm reminds her of their first night together as she unbuttons her dress shirt distractedly.

"Pay attention, whore." He picks up a long dressage whip and she gasps when it strikes her thigh, leaving a long, thin, red welt. She opens her mouth to respond, but the whip stings her other thigh before she can get out a reply.

"I told you not to talk."

She unbuttons her skirt, balancing precariously on her high heels as she steps out of it one foot at a time.

"Fold your clothes and place them on the corner of the table."

She folds the skirt and starts to place it in the corner in front of her and to the right.

"No, behind you."

She turns around and slowly bends over to put down the folded skirt. Her garters stretch with the movement, tugging her stockings so they frame the curves of her ass. Her balance is precarious and she bends all the way down slowly, exposing her bald and dripping cunt, just as he intended.

She begins to take off her shirt but feels the whip on her thigh once again. Instinctively, she stops and turns around so he can watch as she removes the shirt to reveal a black lace bra that matches the garter belt and, while it cups her round breasts beautifully, does nothing to conceal her rock hard nipples. She turns around again to fold the shirt and place it with the skirt. She cannot see his smile of approval as her pussy is again on display. She turns around and begins to take off the garters.

"Leave them on, please. But put this on." He hands her a weighty leather collar with several D-rings. Her heart sinks a bit, shouldn't he be putting on the collar? Is this part of the punishment, making her do it herself? Worry furrows her brow again, she feels the dressage whip against her other thigh, and looks up with surprise.

"Do you trust me? You may speak to answer this question."

"Y-yes, sir," she stammers.

"Then trust me fully, pet. Take the punishment you so royally deserve and stop worrying about it. You're not as pretty when you frown and my sub should be happy, relaxed, and beautiful in my presence."

"Yes, sir."

"No more talking."

He hands her the wrist and ankle cuffs, which she also dons. When she's tightened the last buckle, she presents herself to him for inspection, tits out, legs slightly spread to show off her smoothly shaven pussy. He stands, slowly circles the coffee table and takes in her every detail.

"Spread your fucking legs."

She complies in silence.

"Mmmm. Good girl."

He picks up the chains and she notices the snaps for the first time. He summons her to the edge of the table and snaps the heavy chains to her collar, wrists, and ankles, limiting her movements. He returns to his chair and changes the song, still blues, but slower, more sensual.

He sits back down in his recliner and just looks at her. He continues to enjoy the view as she stands there, displayed for him, restrained, nearly naked and totally at his mercy. The song transitions to another and yet another and he continues to watch her, testing her patience.

"Put your arms above your head."

She lifts her arms as high as the chains will allow. Her lithe frame begins to shake with fatigue but she dares not move. She hates that he is just far enough away that she can't touch him—or she couldn't touch him even if the chains were long enough for her to do so. Finally, he speaks, "do you feel exposed, slut? Vulnerable? You may speak to answer this question."

"No sir, not really, well, a little bit..."

She is startled by how quickly his hand is at her throat, just under the collar, squeezing tightly.

"I won't tolerate your lies, bitch."

Her eyes water from the surprise and the lack of air, "I'm sorry, sir! I feel terribly exposed and cold. And my arms hurt. I hate it, I want you to hold me and protect me and keep me warm and make the pain go away. I need your attention, but not like this, sir, please, it's like I'm baring my soul to you," she sobs.

"Much better. No more lies. No more partial truths. Answer all my questions fully. I need to know how you're feeling and I need to know you're learning your lesson. I need to know that you are trying to prove that you are worthy of my dominance. Do not speak again until I give you permission. Now get on your knees. Part of your punishment is a beating, the likes of which you've not yet known. You will be quiet and still. If you are not quiet and still, I will force you to be both."

He walks around the coffee table back to the implements displayed next to his chair. He studies them and then her. Her eyes dart between him and the paddle she fears the most but a blindfold materializes from his pocket and then all she can see is blackness. She jumps involuntarily when he places the ear plugs in her ears. She can see and hear nothing but she can feel the low rumblings of the sultry blues that continue to play on the surround sound. Deprived of sight and hearing, her skin seems to tune into the air that moves out of his way as he walks back towards the collection beside his chair.

The flogger stings her breasts through the thin lace of her bra, but she's grateful he didn't start with anything more severe. The skin on her chest and stomach and upper thighs glows a brilliant pink when he steps away to chose his next punishment tool. She's managed to keep mostly still and quiet thus far but she tenses in fear when she feels the paddle swing towards her clenched ass cheeks. She calls out when the paddle violently contacts the tender skin. The second blow knocks her on her face, literally. She is not able to catch herself with her hands restrained by the chains and she can feel the bruises form on her arms when she hits the hard top of the coffee table just as they form on her aching bottom.

He presses her chest into the coffee table when she tries to rise. "God. You worthless whore. You disappoint me. Not even two strokes. You know you deserve this. I can't believe you're not strong enough to take your punishment. You seemed strong enough when you were disobeying me, didn't you?"

She tries to shake her head, but he is pinning her so tightly to the coffee table that her efforts are useless. He holds her down and administers the third stroke. This time she screams and tries to wiggle away. If she could see and hear him, she would understand his anger at her inability to control herself for him. But her world is pain and silence and darknesses. He pries open her mouth and she stops resisting as soon as she realized what he wants. She has worn a ball gag before, but never one so large nor strapped on so tightly.

"Does your mouth ache, slut?" He asks.

She nods.

"Good. You'll feel it that much more when I fill it with my thick cock," he smirks.

He stands over her and administers the fourth blow. She nearly falls off the table trying to escape the pain.

He has a solution to her weakness, of course, and he connects both the wrist and ankle cuffs to each corner of the table before lifting her hips and spreading her knees so her ass is in the air and her tender pussy is exposed. There is a fifth connection for her collar to ensue that her head stays down on the coffee table and she cannot wiggle away from her punishment. The paddle lands squarely on her upturned ass six more times and she is sobbing from the pain, the skin blossoming pink. But she has not been still for the last six strokes and he is not happy. He places a strap around her waist, also with d rings, and attaches it to a bolster placed under her hips. She cannot move more than a few inches in either direction. She cries uselessly into the ball gag.

"I like how wet your pretty mouth is, slut. It will feel especially good on my cock when I'm fucking your lovely face." Her sobs escalate, dreading the inevitable.

There is no escape now from the rest of the beating. He moves from her ample buttocks down to her sit spot where she loses count of the stokes he concentrates there. She cries not only for the immediate, searing pain, but for the slow ache that will remind her of her transgression for weeks to come. He slowly and mercilessly moves down her thighs, checking to see how wet her pussy is between every few strokes. Finally, he fingers her deeply, soaking his fingers. She sighs with relief when he removes ear plugs and the ball gag. But he immediately replaces the gag with two fingers thickly coated with her own juices and shoves them to the back of her throat. She gags and struggles to breathe. He gives her a moment and then roughly replaces the gag.

Then he's gone. She can feel the air moving around her flaming skin, but she doesn't know that he's undressing. She doesn't know that he intends to own her tight asshole until she feels his well-lubed cock slide inside her.

He is not gentle with her but he is kind enough to hold a vibrator to her clit while he ravages her ass deep and hard and fast. Then he stops. She is about to fall over the edge into an orgasm. But she hasn't asked permission—she cannot with the tightened gag—and he will not allow her to cum. He slowly, excruciatingly pulls his thick, cum-covered cock out of her asshole, every nerve ending on fire with the sensation.

And then he is gone.

She can feel the bass line of the song change on the surround sound, three, four, five times. And she begins to worry and struggle against her bonds and finally to panic.

"Stop it, pet," he says, grabbing a fist full of hair and pinning her even more tightly to the table. When her breathing slows, he rewards her by stroking her hair, removing the gag, and allowing her some water with a straw. He unhooks her from the table and tells her to roll slowly to her side and sit up. She obeys but her ass and legs protest. She can tell already that the bruises will prevent her from wearing shorts for weeks if not months.

The fifth restraint on her collar is a leash. He pulls on it and she begins to follow. But he backhands her and she stumbles to her knees. "Crawl, you worthless skank," he says as he drags her across the carpet towards the bathroom.

"Wash your filthy asshole off my cock, bitch."

She kneels before him and gently washes her smut from his hardening cock, rubbing the soap down his shaft until it is fully erect again. She rinses it clean and traces the droplets of water down his thighs before looking up at him.

"Do you want it in your mouth, whore?" She nods and opens her mouth to take its full length slowly into her throat, her tongue undulating over his warm skin. She grips his legs and then his firm ass and puts all her energy into worshiping his cock.

"Good girl," he moans and she braces for him to cum in her mouth. He pulls her leash unexpectedly and yanks her forcibly to her feet, stopping his impending orgasm. She frowns and stares at the floor, disappointed that she did not get the privilege of swallowing his cum. He tugs upward on the leash and she meets his eyes.

"Do not be disappointed, pet. You have done well and you will be rewarded with my cum. Just not yet."

He leads her to the bed, allowing her to walk this time, though she must do so carefully in the heavy chains in order to keep her balance. She stands next to the bed awaiting his next command.

"Face down, ass up, feet on the edge of the bed." When her position pleases him, he pulls her arms above her head and out to the side and snaps the wrist cuffs to the bed restraints. He then snaps a spreader bar between her legs. He is well-pleased with his work: her skin is a lovely shade of dark pink and he can see the bruises beginning to form. Her eyes are closed and framed by the blond curls and she is trying to breathe slowly, despite her state of arousal.

He touches her wet clit and she wiggles towards his fingers, desperate for the release. Slowly, he rubs circles in just the right spot. She allows herself to enjoy it because she knows that he owns her orgasms and will be in now hurry.

She finally speaks when she is close to the edge of orgasm again, "Sir? I won't be able to stop myself from coming very soon. May I please cum for your pleasure?"

"Yes, you may."

The motion of his fingers on her clit is steady but slow and it takes a few more minutes for her to climax. After the long build-up, it is not the earth shattering orgasm she wanted, but she is grateful to finally cum, her heart pounding but her body still aches for more.

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank me when I'm done with you," he chuckles, placing the vibrator on her clit again. She barely has time to enjoy the vibrations before he slams his cock into her pussy with several deep stokes. He holds himself deep inside her and grabs a fistful of her hair. Back arched, she gyrates on him, moaning with pleasure.

"My how you please me," he grins. "You may cum as hard and as often as you like until I'm done with you, slut," and he begins to pound her again.

He hits her g-spot over and over and she is barely able to whisper her gratitude to him before the orgasms begin. She isn't sure if it is one or dozens, the way the sensations overlap and tear through her entire body. She gives up on trying to control her primal screams and simply enjoys his use of her body, biting down on the bed sheets as best she can in the restraints. At last his merciless pounding stops. The vibrator continues to buzz on her clit and the pleasure is nearly unbearable. He seems to read the tension in her body and he pumps deeply inside her once more, triggering yet another internal earthquake. He pulls out of her as the orgasm subsides, leaving her there, bound, shaking and covered in their sweat.

"I want to fuck your face, whore," he says as he releases her from the bed. Trembling, she crawls to the floor, kneels for him, and opens her mouth. Her throat is dry and she tries and fails to swallow. "Don't move," he says walking away. He allows her a few sips of water before forcing her face down over his wet cock. He holds her there until she squirms from the lack of oxygen. She begins to suck him feverishly; the vibrator is still buzzing merrily on her clit and she finds herself wanting more.

"My, you are a greedy, whore aren't you."

"Yes, sir. I want your cock so badly, sir."

"Get back on the bed, keep the vibrator on your clit."

She returns to her position on the bed and he enters her soaking cunt. He builds speed and force gradually and soon she is convulsing again with overlapping orgasms. He begins to pump faster with his own orgasm and she ejaculates just as he does, this final orgasm bringing her to tears and their combined juices streaming down her legs.

She falls over on the bed, incoherent. The last thing she notices his the slight tremble in his hand as he pulls the covers around her.

—

When she awakens, there is no more sunlight pouring through the bedroom windows. Her skin still tingles from the beating and the orgasms and she smiles to herself and brushes a lock of hair from her face. She'd hoped he'd be lying beside her and wonders where he is. Her worry turns to panic when she tries to tuck the truant curl back behind her ear and she notices the collar is gone.

"Why would he take it from me?" she asks no one, trying to choke back the tears and feeling the fear rise up through her chest. She is trying to formulate a plan to find her clothes and her keys but the hollow feeling consumes her and she cannot breathe, further fueling her panic.

"Did you call me, pet?" He appears around the corner, freshly showered and bearing a tall glass of water and a pewter-toned box. She doesn't need to read its gold letters, as the orange ribbon and eight-pointed star give them away. But she is overcome with relief that he has returned and she collapses again on the bed again, sobbing. He doesn't notice her distress until he sits the water on the night stand.

"Darling, what has happened? What is wrong?!" He sits beside her and scoops her up and holds her until she asks, "why did you take the collar? Why did you take it away?!"

He turns away and she tries to force his attention back to her, then she quails under his stern look. He reaches for the box on the tray, "because I wanted to replace it with something better. I'd wanted to be here when you woke up, I'm sorry about my bad timing."