Maid for Dessert

"Tell me, slave, what do you think I should do with you now?"

I cannot help myself. The day's chores, the long, drawn-out sexual anticipation has made my pussy so full, so tender - so very ready. I plead. "Please, Sir. Please? Take me. Use me. Oh please, fuck me, Sir, I beg you. I need to come, so badly."

I hear him chuckle low in his throat. "Do you really now? Rather anxious, aren't you girl?"

My face colours up and I whimper, "Yes, Sir. It has been a - a trying day. Please?"

"A trying day? Yes, I can see that these are very, very swollen, slave." The crop taps my outer labia, so gently. "Are these why your day has been so trying?" Tap. Tap. Tap.

I find it hard to catch my breath. "Y-yes, Sir," I gasp.

"Yes, I imagine that such a swelling must be quite an uncomfortable distraction, sweet." Tap. Tap. Tap. "It must be difficult for you to concentrate on anything..." Tap. Tap. Tap. "...but obtaining relief of your rousing affliction." Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Yes, Sir. I - I am very aroused." I whisper uncomfortably.

"Yes, you are in a delicate condition, aren't you, pet? I can see your slave cream glistening on these." Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I moan, long and low and deep in my throat.

"You believe being permitted to climax will ease your suffering, don't you, slave?"

Miserably, I nod, rubbing my cheek against the soft quilt. "Yes, oh yes! Please? Please, Sir, may I?"

The crop's tip licks a casual, easy stroke up one side of my vulva and down the other. "We'll see, dirty girl. I may permit you to orgasm - later. But first I wish to experience the fullness of your distress. I'm of a mind to feel your suffering." His voice drops to a menacing whisper. "You shall bear my will, slave, won't you? You will accept what I give you, when I give - if I give! - and will be thankful, won't you, slave?"

I nearly sob in fearful, delicious anticipation. "Y-yes, Sir. Yes! I accept your will and am grateful for whatever you choose to give me."

"Very good, girl - because tonight, it is necessary that you suffer for my pleasure. I want nothing less than your utter submission. I will have your abject surrender. You know this, don't you?"

The leather works itself against my inner folds, parting me, spreading my swollen flesh into a full-lipped pout, and I gasp with the intense pleasure of it. "Yes, Sir - yes, I know. My suffering, my surrender is necessary. For your pleasure."

"Gooood slave," he croons, flipping the crop's tip so that it dabs and pats delicately and entirely too sporadically at my clitoris. "You will brace yourself for my pleasure, pet. You will demonstrate your level of arousal with your body's language." Pat. Dab. Dab. Pat. "You will wriggle for me and you will writhe, but you will not move your knees or elbows even an inch out of position. Is this clear, slave?"

I quiver, then swallow with the effort it takes to keep my knees firmly anchored in place. My ass rotates in vain effort to maintain contact with the elusive, irregular dab-pat touches. "Yes, Sir." I breathe, brokenly.

"You will submit yourself to my control, slave. You shall bear my will on your body. You will surrender your most tender, sensitive, feminine parts to me to do with as I wish, won't you?" Pat. Dab. Pit-a-pit-a-pat. Dab.

I feel myself sinking, down into that dark place deep where my soul hides. "Yes, Sir," I whisper, "My heart, my body is yours. Please, Sir, I beg you, use me for your pleasure."

The crop lifts languidly away and I shiver, so very aware of my own heavy need, of my profound vulnerability in my submission to him.

"Tell me, slave. Tell me what a dirty little slave-girl you are."

I confess softly, "I - I am your dirty little slave-girl, Sir."

Of a sudden, the crop flashes against the underside of my ass, at the tender juncture where cheek meets thigh. I moan and shift in place, lifting my bottom into higher prominence.

"Not just dirty, slave - lewdly dirty!"

"Yes, Sir," I whisper.

Down the crop slices against the underside of my other cheek. Harder this time. Much harder! I sigh breathily and squirm.

"Tell me!" he hisses.

"I - I am a dirty girl, Sir. A lewdly dirty girl, Sir," I whimper.

"Yes, you are, slave." The crop licks again. And again. And again. Over and over. Rhythmically, its bite punctuates each deliberate word he voices. "You - are - a - dirty - lewd - greedy - lustful - juicy - salacious - naughty - hot - wicked - little - slave - girl - aren't - you - my - pet?

Oh! Oh! Oh! Helplessly, I gyrate my hips, rotating and tilting them so as to offer him my scent. "Yes! Yes, Sir! I - I am wicked!" I gasp.

He whips me harder still. "Annnnd?" Snap! Snap! Snap!

"I am lewd!" I vow, raggedly. "And - I - I am n-naughty!"

He whips me tirelessly, unceasingly, rhythmically, one cheek, then the other, back and forth. "What - else - are - you - slave?"

My hips twist, first one way, back again, dipping and rising, dancing to the stinging tune he plays upon me. A burn wells up from deep within. My inner thighs feel slick. "I am salacious! I am g-greedy, Sir!" I bleat.

"You - are - that - indeed - girl - and - what - else - besides?"

Oh! The heat! Flaming across my ass! Kindling in my pussy! I buck, and begin to pump thin air, in time with his strokes, yielding what he so exactingly demands of me. "I am - I am - lusty!" I cry, piteously.

"What - else - slave?" Slap! Lick! Snap! goes the crop.

"I - I - am - am - juicieeee!" I sob, undulating as my need crowns in desperate, pathetic tears.

The strikes ease, softening their bite to milder taps that burn no less for all their gentleness. "Yes, slave, you are very, very juicy! In fact, you're in full flood, aren't you, my sweet?"

I shudder. "Yes, Sir," I sniffle, "I - I am, Sir. I - I burn...." Oh! How I burn!

"I know, baby. I know you do. You're such a ripe little thing! You please me, greatly, slave." As if to substantiate his approval, he cups my sex in the warmth of his palm. A trembling moan wrenches from my throat. My labia flutter like dainty wings, encased in his heat. I need so badly to come that I fear I will fail to hold myself in check should he graze my twitching button with a careless finger.

His shirt brushes against my side; his whisper feathers my ear. "You need to spend, don't you darling?"

I know from his tone, from experience, from the fact that the night is still young, that he has no intention of providing me relief any time soon. Miserably, I nod. "Yes, Sir," I whisper. "Please? Please, may I come, Sir?"

Leaning over me, he rubs his face against mine and the shadow of his beard scrapes my softer skin. "Poor, sweet, dirty little girl. You're having a hard time of it tonight, aren't you?"

Whimpering, I bite into my lower lip and nod mutely. His hand cups me still. I wait, tense with the agony of yearning, pulsing, expectant sensation.

"I know, slave. But I am not through with you, not yet. You have so much more to relinquish, don't you?"

His eyes bore into mine, snaring me. Sensually, yet firmly he prods my mouth with the crop's leather tip. "Taste it," he whispers.

Shaking, I part my lips and he insinuates the leather inside my mouth, where he allows it to rest on the bed of my tongue. It tastes sweet. Tangy. It tastes of me.

"Suckle it, slave. Suck your sweet puss-cream from my crop. Savour it, dirty girl. Your sex-syrup."

Diligently I nurse upon the leather, as much to please Sir as to distract myself from the throbbing blaze that burns yet within his cupped palm. My lashes drift down and I lose myself in the taste, the scent, the buttery slipperiness of the soft hide.

"That's it, girl. Suck it good. Clean it well for me, and you will be rewarded."

My pussy spasms weakly, as much at the tone of his voice as at the content of his promise. I renew my effort on the crop's tip, laving it well with my tongue, sucking it deep into the well of my hot mouth, careful not to mark Sir's property with my teeth, sighing with the pleasure of knowing that soon perhaps, if Sir deems me worthy, I shall have my reward.

"Yes, that's very good, slave." Slowly, lingeringly, the crop is withdrawn. Hopefully, pleadingly, I gaze into Sir's eyes.

"Beautiful slave, you please me very well."

I blush with the ecstasy his praise always invokes.

Removing his hand from between my legs, he gathers me to him and lifts me smoothly from the table. Up I rise, high over his shoulder. I feel the heat seep into my face as he maneuvers me so that I hang helplessly, head and bound hands resting near the back of his waist, welted rump raised high in the air by his head, my feet dangling near his hipbones, legs kept in lewd splay by the spreader bar still anchored to my ankle cuffs. His hand caresses my ass at leisure. Gently he traces the raised welts left by his attention and he kneads the rosy flesh in such a way that, though his fingers don't approach my pussy, still, my pouty lips are manipulated in altogether maddening, luscious little tugs that leave me gasping.

"Yes, love, soon now, you will be relieved of your suffering. But first, your reward, for being such a good, pleasing dirty little slave-girl."

Carefully he lowers me to my kneeling cushion, keeping his hands on my shoulders to steady me until the dizziness passes and I am able to kneel up before him without swaying.

"Hands behind your neck, slave."

Shakily, I raise my bound wrists and place them behind my neck.

"Good girl. Now, I know you're in distress. I know you feel you cannot bear the fullness of your sex even a moment more without it bursting like an over-ripe fruit. I recognise that you've borne your suffering with no complaint and only the prettiest of pleas, and I should be satisfied with your surrender in this. But you see, sweet, I am not satisfied. Not yet. I would have you suffer more for me."

I tremble with the depth of my vulnerability to him, to his will - even while I feel weak with gratitude for it. "Yes, Sir," I manage to whisper, "Please, use me for your pleasure."

"Ahh, such a compliant, compellingly submissive sweetmeat you are," he comments, as he casually pulls a deceptively innocent-appearing golden chain from his pocket. I swallow hard as he swings the chain like a pendulum slowly before my eyes.

"You remember this, don't you, slave?"

"Y-yes, Sir." I cannot keep the shake from my voice.

Smiling he reaches into his other pocket and pulls out two wickedly-toothed clamps. "Yes, I thought you might, slave," he remarks, as he affixes the clamps to either end of the chain.

I am unable to find my voice, so only whimper in response.

Bending toward me, he flicks at my right nipple with his forefinger. The traitorous nub rises proud and stiff as the best-trained soldier.

"I wish you to wear these for me, girl. I know they pinch at you terribly, but it pleases me to hear the way they make you moan and gasp and pant. You understand this, don't you, love?"

"Y-yes, Sir." I understand that he loves to hear my soft cries, that my meek acquiescence in the face of my deep reluctance to endure this pain inevitably turns him hard as granite. I feel a trickle of desire against my thighs and I shudder weakly.

"Gooooood girl, " he soothes, as he flicks at my other nipple, coaxing it into conspicuous display as well. Satisfied by their prominence, he instructs me quietly, "Deep breath, now, slave."

Eyes wide, I draw in as much air as I can. The clamp bites gently at my right nipple. Sir smiles into my eyes as he tightens the screw and the jaws grip my sensitive cone harder. Tighter. Ohhh! I gasp. I flinch. I whimper.

"Steady," he intones, "Just a little more now, sweet. Take it for me."

Tears gather in my eyes and my lower lip quivers. I cannot! But I will. I do. I pant against the stinging pain. My nipple throbs. It burns! I moan, deep in my throat.

"Yesssssss...." he approves, as he finishes with the first clamp and reaches to set the second. "Deep breath."

I gulp in air, but it doesn't seem to help and I wince as he clamps me much faster, with far less care, this time. My eyes close as the tears spill down my cheeks and I keen softly. My nipples, caught in a vise of fire, feel seared. My breasts ache dully. My pussy pangs and floods. I tremble and moan as Sir tugs lightly at the chain to send sparks of flame shooting through my nipples and down, down into my belly and slick, pulsing sex.

One-handed, Sir unzips his jeans and takes his cock in hand, holding it only inches from my face. He strokes it, long, firm, gliding strokes. "See what you do to me, slave. Your suffering has brought me to this. Your pain is my pleasure. My cock down your throat is your reward."

Eagerly, my tongue slips out, wetting my lips with anticipation. Desire swells. His cock, so beautiful, fully erect, purple-headed and bulging with veins, twitches in testament to his physical state. Guiding himself with his hand, he presses his flesh, hot and throbbing, just between my parted lips and sighs his pleasure.

I can hardly think with the sensations assaulting me. His cock, at rest, lying in patient wait between my pursed lips; my breasts, full near to bursting; my nipples, seared with sharp needling pain; my vulva, beating with its own moist, throbbing pulse.

"Take my cock, slave, and give me suck," he growls, twitching the chain running to my nipples.

Breathing raggedly, I afford him entry, pouted lips parting silkily to his prodded insistence. Opening my mouth invitingly wide, I bid him warm welcome with wet tongue and satin lips. Tasting deeply of him, I dab solicitously at the crystalline tears that begin to weep from his slitted eye. I feel him twitch again and my throat vibrates with my shaken moan.

His fingers flex in my hair and his breath hisses as my moan dies. Fluidly I sculpt his sensitive glans with my tongue. Holding him wrapped in my bathing warmth, I begin to suckle upon his hard shaft.

With one hand in my hair he tilts my head back, elongating my throat to accommodate him, while his other hand clenches on the chain he holds. Fire darts like quicksilver from my nipples to reverberate deep inside my womb. I feel my drenched sex quiver. I tremble.

"Move faster on me, girl," he bites out, at the very instant he slides himself out to the very tip. "Suck me hard!" he rasps, working himself back in.

His hand clenches into my hair, and sliding my head up, then down, he pulls himself almost free before driving forward in a fluid thrust that just nudges my throat. Back and forth, over and over, he penetrates me. It is almost primeval, the way he pumps me, with resolute, cruel, forceful strokes - self-gratifying thrusts meant solely for his own self-satisfaction. My lips swell painfully against his savage ravishment. Yet I suck upon him willingly - even greedily - driven by my own primordial beast to fulfill my purpose and thereby find my own sweet pleasure, the pleasure I find in serving him. Matching his strokes, my own hips pump in futility, as my breathless moans hum along his pistoning cock.

His barked order jerks me back from the brink. "You will not climax, slave! Do not come!" His hand wraps itself painfully into my hair and his fingers twitch cruelly on the chain. My nipples would scream if they could, but instead only silent tears spill down my cheeks. They dribble from my chin onto his tensed balls.

"That's better," he breathes harshly. "Now, you will swallow all of me, slave."

Lifting my chin farther up and back, he lengthens me to the limit for the full impaling he intends. My eyes widen as his cock glides past the back of my throat. Smiling ruthlessly, he casually feeds me more until I am finally, deliberately transfixed on his thick heat. Breath held in check, my lashes flicker, then flutter softly closed. My tight swallow ripples around the hardness filling my throat and my dripping sex throbs plaintively. He holds me arrested there, hand firm in my hair to keep me still, eyes boring intensely into mine. The seconds pass. I can do nothing but yield the harbour he insists on, deep in my throat. Fighting my mounting distress, I surrender myself to his will, for his pleasure. At last, he smiles his satisfaction, loosens his merciless hold on my head and draws languidly, almost liquidly in retreat. I am permitted no more than a deeply gasped breath, a desolate whimper, before he sinks himself smoothly, deeply, fully once more.

With a skill drawn from long experience, he keeps me teetering precariously on the fine wire that he has strung between utter surrender and wild panic. His absolute control over his own aggressiveness forces my world to tilt so that I am left whirling madly in the shockwave, goaded into near senselessness by the hard tool so mercilessly threatening me. Held immobile by his hands, with his straining cock buried deep in my throat, I am made completely feminine. Possessed by him, under his control, I am made utterly, irrevocably submissive. I am made undeniably his and that knowing nearly sears my soul to ash.

Strangling back a deep groan, he withdraws from me a final time. Ruefully he unwraps my hair from his fist and breathes in somewhat raggedly. "You know you test the very boundary of my control, with your glazed, teary eyes and those lost, desperate sounds you make, don't you slave?"

Adrift on a sea of raw, emotional, smothering need, I realize I've broken position only when I find myself sprawled forward with my bound hands desperately clutching Sir's pant legs. "Pleaseohpleaseplease," I hear myself whimpering almost incoherently.

I sense him bending over me before I feel his hand gently caressing my hair, brushing it back from my eyes. "Yes, that's right, you test me as much as I test you at times - but, it is my will that will prevail, slave." Resolutely he pries my fingers loose, sets me back on my knees and, lifting my arms over my head, places my bound wrists back behind my neck. "My will, slave! Not yours!" he hisses.

I haven't the wits to do anything more than gaze up at him imploringly and tremble violently.

"Do you understand me?" he demands in a quiet, strained voice.

Closing my eyes, I concentrate on repressing the tremors that shudder through me. He strokes my cheek and my trembling eases, but does not still. It is enough to enable me to draw the breath to chatter, "Y-Yes, S-sir. F-forgive me. P-please?"

"You are forgiven, slave. Your disobedience, while unacceptable, is not completely displeasing to me. I know you must be half-crazed with need for you to have forgotten your training and broken position like that, pet. Knowing you suffer to that extent pleases me greatly."

I could be, perhaps even should be, angered by his rationale, but instead I feel inordinately pleased by his roundabout praise. A deep flush of pleasure washes across my cheeks. "Thank you, Sir," I murmur adoringly.

He nods and casually tucks his tumescent cock back inside his pants. With a finality that wrings a quivery sigh from me, he zips himself away from view. With that one silent move, I am made to understand that his pleasure and my suffering have not nearly ended.

He smiles. "You obviously cannot be trusted tonight not to break position again. Therefore, I will prevent you from doing so." So saying, he takes a length of chain, with a clip at either end, from his bag. My heart pounds painfully as I feel him fasten one end of the chain to my joined wrist cuffs and the other to the eyebolt in the middle of the spreader bar between my ankles. I am effectively restrained, unable to remove my wrists from the back of my neck without risking tottering off-balance and toppling flat on my face.

"Now slave, I have a few things to do. You may use this time to repent of your disobedience and to renew your commitment to my will and my pleasure. I'm certain this little interval will also help ease some of your suffering - at least to the extent that you will be capable of bearing further torment without breaking until I am ready for you to break." He flashes a ruthless smiles as he stoops to retrieve his empty bag. "I will return in ten minutes, slave."