My Masters Imzazi Ch 05

I wrote this for my Master after we'd been together about four months. Our relationship had shifted from a simple affair to talk to D/S to us deciding he would be my Master and I, his submissive. He had given me my name months ago. As we began engaging in D/s play, our bond grew quickly, and we fell quite in love with one another. The power of our connection surprised us both, the space we move into when we make love is almost psychedelic. Sometimes I can barely remember the details of a session. It becomes a blur of images, thoughts, sensations. We live in different towns, and our jobs and my parenting responsibilities keep us apart for long, painful stretches. This piece began as a series of texts I sent to him. It is emblematic of how our relationship had shifted from the erotic stories I wrote earlier. This is us.

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Think first of my dark smoky eyes staring into yours as you grasp my hair and pull my head back to kiss me. The submission and lust you draw out of me with that simple gesture. My neck exposed. You kiss and lick and bite my lips, my neck. You put on my collar. Now I must call you Master. I am your Imzadi.

Imzadi is wearing a lacy black bra, garter belt, stockings and those gold high heels. No panties, for they just get in the way. She is kneeling in front of her Master. Her breasts, or rather his breasts (for Imzadi's body belongs entirely to Master to spank and fuck and use as he desires) are pulled out of the bra, spilling over the cups. Imzadi's eyes are locked on Master's. What does my Master want tonight? Imzadi knows what she wants...Imzadi wants to be bound, handcuffed.

Picture Imzadi in that outfit. Kneeling at Master's feet. Collared. Now picture Imzadi's hands cuffed behind her back. Eyes dark and smoky. Staring into Master's. What does Master want from her? First, he wants to spank her tits, her ass. Make them red and warm and beautiful. He wants her wet and begging him to stop, then begging for more.

Her tits are free, ready for the crop. He orders Imzadi to arch her back and present her tits for the crop. Master takes his crop, and smacks her nipples once, twice, three time each, with progressively more force. Imzadi cries out, arching her back more, presenting her tits to Master for more.

He crops his nipples some more, until they are hard and purple, and he can see the marks of the crop on the soft white flesh. She flinches, struggling to maintain the posture. And then he reaches down to cup her breasts, soothing them. He orders her to stand, and she complies, a bit wobbly. After all, her hands are bound behind her, and the heals are high.

How does Master wish Imzadi to present herself for him? He needs to warm her bottom. Master orders Imzadi face down on the bed. Her hands are still bound behind her back...it is an uncomfortable position when handcuffed. He arranges her so that her ass is in the air, a couple of pillows under her stomach help her maintain this position. Her face is pressed into the bed, head turned to the side. Her legs are spread wide; Master can see the anal jewel that marks her as his. He reaches for the paddle.

Master knows it takes quite a bit of paddling for his Imzadi's bottom to redden. He orders her to count the strokes, and spanks her hard with the paddle, making sure to spank a different area each time...at least at first. The fleshy cheeks, the thighs, the lower back. How many strokes? 10? At least to start. Imzadi counts, she thanks her Master, she keeps her body as still as possible because she wants to please her Master above all else.

Her voice sounds strained, it's starting to hurt, it's harder to stay still. Master soothes her, he strokes her bottom, he kisses it. He positions himself as though he's going to enter her from behind. She feels his hard cock slide between her legs, Master's body against her warm sore bottom. He's teasing her. She pushes against him, thrusts, hoping he'll fuck her. His cock rubs against her wet and ready pussy. His pussy. It's his, just as her ass is his, her tits are his, her lips are his.

Master won't give her what she wants. Not until he's ready, and right now he wants to paddle her a bit more now that she's recovered. He aims his strokes atop the marks he's already left. He wants Imzadi to remember this tomorrow. Her bottom will be sore, just a little, a few areas might be bruised. It's hard to stay still. She cries out, she tries to avoid the paddle. But she still counts the strokes and thanks her Master. He's inclined to let her lapse go, considering he is paddling her harder and longer than he has previously. Remember that her hands are handcuffed behind her, her face is turned to the side and pressed into the bed.

He loves his Imzadi like this, and knows she needs what he is giving her. A little humiliation, painful and pleasurable, symbolic of his ownership. It's a bit different than what he needs but that's OK. He loves his Imzadi and knows he can take what he needs at any time. She'll never deny him.

Right now he needs to possess her fully, remind them both that she belongs entirety to him. Her poor bottom is so red and sore, but it excites them both. He runs his hand over the redness, he kisses her neck. He sees the tears in her eyes. He wants his pussy. But first he needs his ass.

He whispers to her that he's going to fuck his ass. She moans and begs him to be gentle. She wants this and doesn't at the same time. It excites her and scares her. It hurts but turns her on to be taken by him so completely. She's helpless to prevent it still handcuffed, still on her knees with her ass in the air, presented to him. Red, throbbing. He removes the anal jewel.

He dribbles lube on her ass, rubs her, feels her tighten up, resistant. He whispers, "Relax, Imzadi. It's OK, I'll take it slow. It will be easier if you breathe, open for me." He continues to rub her, inserting a finger and feeling her bottom tighten around it. "Please Master. Please be gentle." She begs. He runs his hand on her head soothing back her hair. "I'll be as gentle as I can, my love, but this is my ass and I need it tonight." He slips on a condom, more lube, and she feels his hard cock, the cock she loves so well, positioned at the very entrance. Patient, but insistent.

She feels him begin to enter her and no matter how much she wants it, it fucking hurts! She cries out and he pauses, then slowly continues until the head of his cock is fully embraced by her tight little ass. It's exquisite, it's painful, it's necessary for them both. He waits a moment until he feels her still beneath him. "Are you ready for more?" He asks" Yes, my Master, but please. Slowly," She pants. He inches his way, hearing her cry out, pausing, waiting until she's ready for more.

Slowly, inch by inch, he fills her, pausing, pushing and pausing again. She has tears in her eyes, he can hear in her cries that this is a different kind of pain than when he spanks her. Her cries are wilder. It hurts him to hurt her, but he knows he must possess her in this way, and she knows it too. It excites him, and despite her discomfort, it excites her too. Finally, he is fully sheathed, his balls shoved up against her ass cheeks, his cock deep within her. "Please wait a moment, Master." She begs, tears in her voice. "Of course, Imzadi, let me know when you are ready." He strokes her back, her bottom, soothing her, remaining as still as possible, attuned to her cues. He tells her he loves her, that she is beautiful to him. He thinks to himself that her submission is a gift he could never have anticipated. God, it's remarkable what she gives and what she needs. He feels his love for her acutely at this moment.

He feels her relaxing, loosening, her breath slowing. "Ok?" He asks and she nods, whispering for him to continue. And carefully he withdraws just a bit, hears her breath catch, and pushes deep inside her once again. Again and again, slowly, carefully, he is training her to be taken this way. It's the ultimate symbol of his ownership of her body, more than binding her and spanking every part of her body--tits, pussy, bottom, thighs--until they are red, purple, swollen, engorged, wet, bruised, and his. He increases the length of his thrusts, God she's tight, it feels indescribably good, to be inside her like this, held tightly, hearing her moan and cry out, her body pliant beneath him, his. Entirely his. He feels his orgasm building, but this isn't how he wants to come. He stills himself, regains control, tries to continue but he can't. He must have his pussy, no barrier between them, their bodies one, her eyes locked on his. He feels crazed with desire for this woman who gives herself to him so completely and so willingly.

"Whose ass is this?" he groans, his voice is ragged, insistent. He is trying so hard to not lose control and fuck his ass as hard as he will fuck his pussy.

"It is your ass, Master." She replies, her voice wobbly, she sounds wild with the intensity of the sensations she's experiencing. "Who do you belong to?" He asks. "I am yours, my Master! Imzadi belongs to you, only you." She cries out, sobbing a little.

Ah, those pesky pronouns again. She still has trouble with them. He will discipline her for it later. But right now, he knows she's barely holding on. He withdraws, leaves her alone on the bed and heads to the bathroom to clean up.

To be continued...