Day 04

I dream that I am fucking you. My fingers are twined firmly in your hair, forcing your face against the wall, your knickers round your knees as I pound and grind up against the wall. I am murmuring filth into your ear, asking if you like my cock filling you, revelling in your moaning gasps and rolled back eyes as I almost- I am awoken abruptly as you tug my balls sharply.

"I want to beat you." You say, looming over my face, wet hair against my cheeks. I blink sleep sticky eyes, and mumble "at what?" My body coming achingly back to my mind, my balls so sore the ache arcs out to my knees.

You lean lower, and lick my cheek messily.

"Not at anything. I want to *beat* you, but the problem is you're too good."

My brain is sluggish, and I'm still half thinking too good at what? Scrabble? No, you always win at scrabble..

"I've been lying here for ages trying to think of a good excuse, but you're too good. Punishing you would be unfair."

"Punishing me? What?"

"And then I realised - I don't need an excuse, I can just do it because I want to." You sit back, straddling me, naked. I reach instinctively to cup your breast, and my mind catches up with the last few minutes. You allow this, and place your hand over mine, looking down at me and clearly delighted with your own cleverness.

"You want to beat me." I say.

"Uhuh. And I'm going to, tonight. Not because you've been bad, just because I want to. Ok?"

"Uh.. yes?" more seems to be expected so I add "hard?"

"Yep!" You say, reaching down to twist my nipples savagely hard, then climbing off me and padding to the wardrobe to dress.

I lie and stare at the ceiling. My balls hurt. My nipples hurt. My whole body feels stiff and bruised. My face is tender from being under your shoe for over an hour on the floor of the theatre. My mouth tastes, yet again, like dirt. And you're going to beat me tonight. I sigh, shut my eyes, and let this all wash over me. Behind my eyes I replay walking home with your print across my cheek, feeling the eyes of every one we passed, then the loving gentleness of bedtime. You kissing the back of my neck and curling your warm body against me.

You interrupt my reverie by running a hand up my stomach and over my chest, cupping my cheek and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You ok?" You ask me, genuinely solicitous.

"Yeah. It's just a lot, it's intense."

"Too much?"

I smile and place my hand over yours.

"No. Good intense." You nod, bite your lip and a hungry look crosses your face. Your hand pushes mine aside, strokes my cheek. You gaze deeply into my eyes, and slap me hard.

"God I love your face when I do that. That mixture of shock and betrayal and horn is just.." You wriggle "unfh."

I'm regrouping to deliver a snarky morning response, but you slap me again.

"Jerk your cock" You hiss. I obey, already throbbing hard, clumsily fisting as fast as I can. You climb on top of me, slip a hand into your panties and feint a hand at my face, making me flinch, my cheek stinging and burning. "Slow down." You say, speeding up. I slow my hand, regretfully, watching you finger yourself.

"You like watching me babe?"

"Yes, fuck yes." You hit me again, my head rings and my cheek is fire.

"Faster." You say huskily, and I obey, twitching and moaning.

"Stop." My abandoned prick pulses and twitches as I watch you cum, then you collapse against me, panting raggedly and I hold you while you gasp and laugh. You press your cheek to mine to feel the fire you put there. "Morning." I say, making you laugh against me.

You make me put your shoes on for you when you leave, allow me to kneel and kiss them, then crouch and lift my face to look into yours.

"When I get home, I am going to beat you until you have tears rolling down your cheeks, and then I'm going to fuck your pretty face until I cum all over it. I want you to think about that aaaaaaaallllll day." You ruffle my hair as you stand up, and disappear out of the door without another word. After a minute of staring at the door, I stand up, go to get dressed.

Beating is ill specified, I think to myself. With what? Where? More face slapping? I rub my face gingerly, thinking about the pure joy in your eyes as your hand met my cheek. Can't just be that. We don't have an extensive collection of toys for this purpose - you usually prefer to use your hands, You say you like to feel it when you're spanking me. But you didn't say 'spank', you said 'beat'. Beating means.. implements. Paddles, whips, crops? My mind conjures you standing over me grinning wickedly as you slap a leather strap against your hand. I look down at my own belt, shifting in a fruitless effort to find a position where the feel of my balls doesn't overwhelm my thoughts. I imagine you making me take off my belt, crawl to you with it in my mouth, you taking it, the searing thwack of it against my backside. This isn't helping my discomfort, or my concentration.

With a great effort, I answer some emails, the screen blurring as I struggle to bring my attention back to the world and away from the sound of leather meeting bared skin. I manage half an hour before I catch myself daydreaming, gazing at the kitchen utensils and wondering whether a wooden spoon or a silicon spatula would be more painful. Wouldn't be the spatula, I think, you don't like the handle - too big for a comfortable grip.

You message me to ask how my day is going. Not bad, bit distracted, I answer. Good, is your reply.

By the afternoon, I can't sit. I prowl restlessly through the quiet rooms filled with hungry dread. Will you tie me down? Will you expect me to take... it, whatever it is, obediently? What if I can't? Will you bend me over the arm of the sofa, jeans round my ankles and brutalise my backside with a ruler?

Intellectually, I know that whatever it is you have in store for me I can stop it with a word. This is a game, and games are only fun when you choose to play. This does not calm the fluttering butterflies in my gut. I message you to say I can't sit still. You reply that tomorrow, I won't be able to sit down so this is a good rehearsal. This must be hyperbole, must be.

"Home in 5"

I'm always thrilled when you come home. I don't normally feel my insides quavering at the sound of your key in the door.

"Hiya!" You call from the hall.

"Hey!" Jumping up from the sofa I have briefly come to rest on as I answer, my voice sounding strange and squeaky in my ears. "How.. how was your day?"

You stride towards me and hug me, then push me back and regard me critically.

"Fuck my day, I've been thinking about this since I left this morning. Strip."

You watch me undress, ogling ostentatiously. Once I'm naked, you embrace me, stroke my back, run a hand softly over my backside, and without warning drop to your knees and start kissing my cock hungrily. You slide it into your mouth, cupping my balls softly with one hand, your tongue slippery against me, then abruptly gone. You stand up, and trace gentle circles around my foreskin.

"Go to the garden, and bring me a cane." You say lazily. "Now."

Oh fuck, I didn't even think about the stack of bamboo lying ready to brace the sunflowers we planted last month.

"Don't just stand there gawping at me." You say cheerfully, patting my cheek. "Fetch."

You walk past me, and into our bedroom.

My cock bobs as I walk. Walking with a loose erection always feels slightly comical to me, although this is undercut by the rhythmic ache as my heavy, heavy balls tug with each step. I pause at the door to the garden. It isn't dark yet, and the heap of bamboo canes are, naturally, at the far end of the garden. Unreachable without crossing the sight line of the neighbouring house's windows. I steel myself and march across the lawn, keeping my eyes fixed on my goal. The grass is soft under my bare feet. I crouch, select a cane at random. I'm about to stand, but pause to examine the length of bamboo in my hands, feeling the smooth cool surface to check there are no splits or cracks - you wouldn't hesitate to send me back if I brought you an imperfect tool. Satisfied, I stand, walk-run back across the grass and into the safety of the house, pulse running double time, eager to escape potential humiliation, churning dread and excitement about what will happen when I do.

I hurry to you, and enter the bedroom. You don't immediately acknowledge my arrival, busy arranging the bed to your liking. I stand awkwardly, holding the instrument of my own torment.

You turn to me and smile, "Ah, there you are! You may kneel." You point to the floor in front of you, and I drop down, hold out the cane in both hands. You smile beatifically down on me, still dressed in your work clothes, still wearing your shoes. You reach down and take the cane from me, inspect it carefully, trace the length of it with your fingertip, heft it in one hand and adjust your grip, frowning thoughtfully. I look up at you with expectant fear written all over my face.

"Hmmm. Good. Kiss my shoes slave." You say, filling me with warm relief at your satisfaction. I bend lower and place loving kisses on the toes of your shoes, smelling the leather, feeling it smooth and cool against my lips.

"Now, it is important to me that you know you are not being punished. I'm very pleased with you - such an obedient little bitch. So what I want you to remember, is that I am doing this to you because I feel like it. Not because you're bad, not because I think you'll get off on it, not because of you at all. Purely for my own enjoyment. Is that clear, slave?"

"Yes mistress" I answer between kisses.

"Does that bother you?" You ask, and I feel the tip of the cane stroke my back softly.

"No mistress, I'm yours. I want to please you. That's what I want most in the world!" I say emphatically.

"Yeah you do." You say affectionately. "Now, up on the bed, bitch. I want you on your knees and elbows with that pretty little arse where I can enjoy it."

I climb onto the bed, assume the position. I feel exposed, vulnerable. You stand behind me quietly, and I can feel your eyes hungry on my body. Your hand reaches between my legs and caresses my cock and balls softly, then I hear the swish of the cane as you swing it, sizing up the motion.

"Ready, slave?" You ask softly.

I take a deep breath and shut my eyes. "I'm ready mistress."

The first few strikes are fast and light, a ratatatat across my buttocks. You stroke the cane across my skin, smooth cool.

The second flurry is harder, but not by much. The ringing smack the flat of your hand a second layer is much harder, and makes me hiss in surprise.

"Oh dear, did that hurt slave?" You say mockingly from behind me.

"Yes mistress, you surprised me." I answer.

"Mmmm. Good."

I hear the first real blow with the cane before I feel it, swish-crack, cutting a line of fire across the width of my backside, making me gasp and flinch.

You lean over and hiss into my ear "How about that slave?"

Before I can answer it comes again, again, again. My fingers curl into the sheets, and I stifled grunts of pain escape my lips.

I feel you trace a finger along a line of agony that seems to be illuminated in glowing white neon across my left buttock.

"Good boy." You say affectionately, then the cane cuts the air again and slices a new line of stinging fire across the other buttock. "Hngh" I grunt, forcing myself to breath through the pain.

You let me 'rest' for a few minutes, while you admire the red stripes you've given me.

"Does it hurt a lot slave?"

"Yes." I pant, feeling the stinging throb pulsing in my ass. You stroke my back affectionately, calming me. I sigh, and then the cane flashes across the soles of my feet making me yelp, and again, and again, and against my backside, and again, and again, and again. I squeal a curdled uncontrolled yelping wail of agony, tears springing from my eyes - it is unbearable, my body flinches away without my control.

"I didn't say you could move, slave." You say calmly. I hear you through cotton wool, scowl back over my shoulder at you standing smirking behind me with the cane held lightly in your hand. Fuck you look so good, it hurts so much, the pain feels so good, I want you, I want to please you.

I take a deep shuddering breath, and apologise. You run a cool hand up the inside of my thigh and along the shaft of my cock, slip your fingers into my slack mouth, inviting me to lap the precum from them. You crouch near my face and examine me. You are serene, I am shaking, sweating, panting, ruined.

"More." You say, watching the fear roll across my face and drinking it in. You stand, and begin.

At first each swish-crack makes me yelp, then I'm nearly screaming, and at last I have disappeared and I am burning with white hot light in the bleakness of space. Then you slowly bring me back, you cradle my head in your lap and run one hand through my hair and the other over my shoulders, softly telling me I'm a good boy, I did so well, you love me. I come back into myself, tingling and raw, face wet with tears, your eyes looking down into mine. I feel overcome with exhaustion, shut my eyes and sigh deeply - the deep breath filling my lungs makes me shudder against you with pleasure. "Thank you." I whisper. You let me rest there, engulfed and contained by you. I feel small, fragile, precious. You wait for me to come all the way back into myself before speaking beyond soothing noises and gentle but firm caresses. Then you bend almost double, and lick my face, tasting the salty wet mixture of tears and sweat, and growl with delight. "Lick me until I'm bored of cumming on your face, slut."

You slide from under me and push me down onto my back, the bedclothes screeching against my pulsing backside. You stand over me on the bed, balance against the wall and raise one foot so I can remove your shoe. You pause to mash your socked foot roughly against my face and nose, then repeat your slightly wobbling dance, shimmy your trousers down, let me tug them loose from your ankles. I can see them wetness of you already soaking your underwear as you slip it off, drop it carelessly onto my face. You drop down, lean forward and push your panties into my mouth, then arch yourself backwards and guide my cock into you, bringing yourself down hard into my sternum once, twice.. then letting me slip away and slap back against my belly. You laugh at my indignant expression, then chamber up me, tugging the underwear from my mouth, tossing it aside and pinning my wrists to the bed as you bring your cunt to my mouth and grind yourself against my eager tongue. My hips fruitlessly thrust against the air as you fuck my mouth, your wetness soaking my beard and the smell of you filling my nose. You moan and writhe and arch, your nails digging into my wrists, and then you cum screaming and panting and pulling yourself back from me with a convulsive cathartic shudder. You sit on my chest, and say "Unfh fuck! That was good!"

I smile messily, happy that I have been allowed to please you and have pleased you so. "How do you feel babe?" You ask, looking down at me, one hand reaching out to run a finger through the slick mess of my face.

"Sore, but good. I love you. I love you fucking my mouth. And... oh man I need to fuck you so bad." I say, the last words somewhere between a chuckle and a son of desperation.

You nod sympathetically, then push your fingers into my mouth. Instinctively I lick, suck, taste your orgasm on them. I try to read your thoughts through your eyes, sense whether you're considering it.

"I know babe. But, what I want is more important than what you need." You say. "Because" You pull your fingers free from my mouth, reach behind you and swirl them around the head of my still aching hard cock as you continue, "You are my slave." You punctuate the final word by pinching my frenulum to the point of agony. Not fun agony, real unbearable agony I immediately want to escape from. The shock must be evident in my face, and you release me. "Yes mistress! I'm sorry mistress, I am your slave, nothing matters except what you want mistress. I am yours, thank you for reminding me." You wave dismissively and roll your eyes "enough already!" then grinning "but nice to know how much of an impact that has. You can massage me now slave. I want you to especially focus on my ass, and my feet." the better to remind me of the throbbing stripes across my own.

"Of course mistress, thank you mistress." I say as you roll off me and lie comfortably on your stomach, pillowing your head on one arm.

"Hands only mind." You say, warning, as you read my thoughts before they even reach my conscious mind. I laugh, and climb gingerly across you, running my hands softly over your smooth, firm backside, greeting your body.

"How was it?" I ask, fingers firmly but tenderly kneading.

"Hmmm? How was what?"

"Uh, beating me?"

"Oh my god, so hot. I really let myself go, and seeing you yelping and squirming.." You slide one hand down under yourself and shift your hips under my hands. I keep massaging your buttocks, hands beginning to ache as you masturbate.

"I felt so fucking powerful, doing that to you. Oh! Ohhhhhh... My bitchboy slut squeaking and powerless, hahHahHaaaah. Oh fuck, stop rubbing. Tell me how you felt when I caned you, you little whore." Your eyes are screwed shut and I can feel you twitching under me, I can just see your busy fingers as I talk. I tell you how much it hurt, how it stung, how I wanted it to stop and you never stop, how powerless I felt and the strange mixture of fear and safety. My dick twitches sympathetically as I watch you cum, again, and sink into the bed with a deep sigh. "Hold me." You say, and I wrap you in my arms and curl around you. It is only moments before I feel you sleeping against me. I lie awake breathing in the smell of your hair, your sweat, feeling the softness of your bare backside against my chiming genitals, ringing a three note riff in harmony with my ass and the soles of my feet. I don't think, and just feel.