One of Those Mornings

The sun awakes the bright white of our comforter, drenching the room with warm light. Sir shifts into my back and I feel the warmth of him curve into me. Gratitude and peace sweep over me as he spoons his body into mine. We fit. And every morning we fit like this.

"Good morning, love," he yawns.

I can't yet read the through the rasp of his morning voice. Sometimes our mornings are gentle and other times they are indescribably intense. I wonder what joys today would bring.

Pain...A sharp jolt at the crown of my head, swiftly followed by a roll of pleasure echoing down my spine. I cry out and he keeps his fist knotted firmly in my hair. This is not meant to be a gentle morning.

"Good morning, Sir," I moan in response.

He presses his lips to my neck and breathes out a warm, devious sigh, tickling me and urging my body to squirm meekly beneath his hand.

He unlaces his fingers from my hair and sits up purposefully. I sit up beside him, dutifully following him with my gaze as he bends down and retrieves our cuffs from under the bed. Almost instinctively, I offer him my wrists, palms up as he had once requested. I do always try to remember Sir's preferences.

The soft leather, though familiar, doesn't fail to titillate my skin as he wraps and secures each bare wrist. I breathe in the comfort of his bondage and feel myself fall a bit deeper into submission, messy hair and morning breath be damned.

I turn my attention to his face. Yes, I can feel his strong hands guide my wrists towards his collar and clasp them there, but more strongly I feel deeply lost in his eyes, focusing on me with admiration and clarity.

Hands locked at my chin, I met his gaze and follow it as he stands.

"Lay down again, little one, I have one more thing to do with you."

I obey. His words swirl in my head. He can play my mind like an instrument, forcing me to feel totally and adorably his.

He sneaks my nightdress upward, caressing my tummy with the soft fabric. I feel the roughness of his hands has he traces up my thighs, retrieves my panties, his prize, and urges them down and away.

I spread my legs slightly for his view, another instinct, curling my bound hands into my neck and blushing at how easily he takes me.

"My good girl," he swoons.

I giggle, flustered but also deeply proud of my status.

His fingers flick a few times against my clit and I buck my hips up towards him, and let out a whimper of satisfaction. Please, PLEASE I beg, silently. Please touch my clit. But I know better than to beg now. Not while his eyes are lit with fire and his purposeful mood is so clear.

Another chuckle escapes him. I know he was planning something deliciously bad.

"Wait there," he teases as he escapes to the next room.

I hear him call out to me, "and spread those legs much wider!"

When he returns, I have my knees pulled wide apart, fully revealing my pussy for him. I swim, eyes closed, in the peaceful pleasure of satisfying him for several glorious moments...until he beckons my gaze and displays for me the bright roll of surgical tape he's fetched.

I suddenly became fearfully aware of my exposed pussy. My heartbeat speeds and I started up at him. Fear shoots through me but trust holds my body open and still.

"Sir...What's that for?" I try not to beg. I am sure, though, that he won't reveal his plans.

He deviously twirls the tape around in his hands. "I've been thinking about how much you like that magic wand of yours and how hard you cum when I rub your little clit."

I smile at the truth in his words.

"I think that maybe you like that little clit of yours more than my dick inside you," he teases.

I shake my head rapidly, rattling the metal between my wrists and neck, "Oh no, Sir! I like getting fucked by you more, I promise! It's my favorite! It's the best!" Now I am unashamedly begging, my gut fighting against faux punishment for accusations that both of us know to be untrue. I fall helplessly into his words, as is my role.

And though I am aware that he is listening and focusing acutely on me, both body and mind, he continues as if I haven't spoken. This is his role. "I want to play a little game with you, my girl. Let's see how much of a clit slut you really are."

I shift, feeling helplessly little. In truth, Clit Slut is probably not an inaccurate title for me...but can't guess game he is planning and the uncertainty send shivers through me. I don't even know if he is talking about pain or pleasure, but my guess it both. My mind races and my breathing hastens. He smirks at my distress.

"Breathe. Relax, and let me take care of what is mine."

I close my eyes and drink his words in. He controls me like a yo-yo, throwing me into thoughtless white fear and whipping me back into serenity. I will my breath to slow and feel the truth in his words, the power and security in his touch. He slides between my legs and begins to unroll the tape. The ripping sound flows through me. Sir gently pinches at my labia with his free hand and pulls it taut outward towards my thigh. He secures it in place with a few long strips of tape and removes his hands. The strong glue pinches my skin and short hairs and pulls against me painfully. I whine at the sensations.

"Want me to rip it off?" he warns, his tender voice suddenly lit with callousness.

I shake my head and return to stoic silence, laying helplessly as he repeats his procedure with the neighboring labia. When he pulls it outward I feel a cool rush of invading air against my clit, totally uncovered. I rock my hips in a desperate attempt to hide my most sensitive skin between the folds of my labia but the rocking only pulls against the tape, stinging my skin.

I lay still and let out a long whimper as I become fully aware of my predicament.

"Oh, I love it when you whine, pet. But I don't have time for it now. We must finish getting you ready. I have plans for us today." He displays a vibrator, a remote controlled clit vibe in the shape of a purple butterfly, attached to thong-like straps. We've used this before, Sir remotely controlling my sensations as we took banal trips to the grocery store. I stare up at him hopelessly, not daring to ask for details, and feel him work the straps over my feet. "Lift up your ass."

I obey, planting my feet and lifting up hips away from the bed. He positions the butterfly atop my exposed clit and tightened the straps. It fits like panties, snug and unmoving against my vulva, pressing down on my exposed pearl, just as Sir planned.

Riiiiipppp. Another strip of tape is prepared.

"For good measure," he laughs, securing the butterfly impossibly tighter against my sex. Now even my shallow breathing tugs at the tape, threatening to rip hairs and tear skin. I can't hold the string of muffled cries as he finishes his work. "Hips down," he commands.

I relax my legs and let my ass fall onto the bed.

"Aaaah! Fuck!" The tape pinches and pulls as I fall into a new position and tears escape my eyes.

"Oh, Sir, please. It's too painful," I whine, my teary eyes begging for mercy.

"I can help with that, my darling girl" he coos sadistically, and clicks the remote control connected to the butterfly vibe.

A strong, steady vibration assaults every inch of my exposed clit, tortuously strong.

"Shiiiiiiitttt!" My hips bucks in automatic response, trying to rid myself of the agonizing vibrations, but instead pulling the tape hard and pinching my skin painfully.

"No, no, no, no, NOOOO, OH!!" I will myself to stay still, fearful of the painful ripping of the tape and relinquish my control to the horrible sensation attacking my clit with vibrations far too strong to be pleasurable. I began to sob softly, ugly tears pouring from my red eyes and streaking my face. He clicks it off.

"Oh! Thank you! Thank you, Sir! Thank you!" I praise.

"You're going to have to learn to control that when we go out."

"Sir...please," I beg helplessly. There was no way I could walk trussed up like this, let alone in public...without screaming and crying...

A firm, rough hand slaps my pussy, stimulating my clit and rippling through the surrounding tape. It urges more tears and moans of pain.

"Oh God, Ouch."

"Who's pussy is this?"

"It...it's yours, Sir."

"What is?"

"This pussy is yours, Sir."

"And what will I do with it?"

"Anything you want, Sir." I cast my eyes downward in submission, struggling to resign myself to my situation as wet tears reach to my bound fingertips. My panicked breathing begins to slow a bit.

"Exactly." He rubs his palm into my vulva and holds still pressure for a moment before removing his hand. "Today I'd like to you to wear tight panties, those black skinny jeans of yours, heels, a low cut T-shirt, and a lot of make-up...not the waterproof kind."

I shutter. I am sure that I will cry I he takes me out...but he must also know that. That's why he has specified the type of make-up. He wants me to cry, to look like a tortured slut in public. With another deep breath, I resign. "Yes, Sir."

"I'm going to unclasp your hands now, and you're not going to touch your cunt except to get dressed. If you disobey me you will regret it dearly, understood?"

"Understood, Sir."

The walk from the bed to the closet is excruciating. I hobble, using the wall to lean against, each step inducing a tearing pain and an accompanying yelp.

"Control yourself, girl," he commands.

I am no stranger to pain but, somehow, willing myself to take each tender step is much harder than succumbing to his whip or belt. I must control myself. I grit my teeth and take a slightly less pathetic limp to the bathroom, pain searing through me with each step.

"Better," I hear him complement as I close the bathroom door and I feel a blush of accomplishment flood my checks. I so love to make him proud, and he wouldn't have placed me into this predicament if he believed I was incapable of doing so.

I stumble into my clothes and once my jeans press the tape and vibrator into me, it is surprisingly easier to move. The tight pants hold the tape securely and I can almost walk normally. I smile with relief at the red tear-stained face in the mirror and flush my face with water. My makeup is heavy, as Sir requested, with plump red lips and several coatings of non-waterproof mascara. With my low-cut red top, I look inappropriately sexual and begin to imagine the disapproving looks l will receive today. It doesn't matter though. I'm not dressed for the strangers out in the world. I'm dressed for him, and this is how he would like to see me.

The combination of the tight jeans and prolonged exposure to the tape have made the pain of walking bearable and I begin to feel confident that I may actually survive the day without sobbing again. I slip on my heels and exit the bathroom to present myself to Sir, who is lounging, legs spread, on the chase sofa.

"You look hot," he growls, simple and feral. Now is not the time for sweet romantic nothings. After all, I don't look like a pretty princess. I look like a sex toy, trussed and wired for his amusement. And then it happens.

He clicks the remote in his right hand and an unbearably deep wave rushes up and into me. My legs buckle and I fall to my knees, catching myself on my hands and I hear myself burst into a scream. As soon as it begins, it is over and I am panting on my hands and knees, Mascara already running with fresh tears.

"I was hoping those jeans could push that vibrator a bit tighter," he notes, staring down at me with calculating eyes, reading me. "Was I correct?"

I nod still breathing fast on the floor. A whispered, "Yes, Sir," is all I can muster.

"Crawl over here," he commands, unzipping his jeans, and I oblige. Finally, something I know I can do well. I may be flailing haphazardly under the torturous tape and vibrator, but at least I can suck a cock well. The thought is silly and comforting and I would smile at myself if my lips weren't already wrapped around him.

I settle onto my knees and begin his preferred steady pumping action as I am supposed to, and await more specific instructions. For a while, he lays his head backwards on the sofa and yields to sighs of pleasure at my tongue, my lips painting smears of red onto his cock. I relax and let myself drift into happy thoughtless repetition as I swoon with the satisfaction of pleasuring him.

"Don't you stop," he growls, not a moan of passion, but a warning. He clicks his remote and I am on fire, pleasurable sensations reaching past the point of pleasure and burning into me.

The vibrations concentrate solely on the nerve cluster that is my clit and press unbelievably deep. My shocked scream of pain is muffled by his cock and reflex jerks my head up and off. It's stopped though, by his firm hand, coaxing my head down and pulling it up by my hair. My leg muscles fail me, collapsing as I grasp fervently as Sir's legs, arms, chest, anyhing for support. Somehow, the steady bobbing of my head continues, guided entirely by a fist in my hair so all I have to do is keep my mouth open. This isn't a problem as my strained cry hasn't stopped. But it has changed from a sharp wail of surprise to a panicked plea and I hear myself repeating the stifled word.

"Please...Please...Please...Please," spills out, each word faster and more frantic than the last. The words are ugly, full of spit and desperation. Salty tears ruin my face and lubricate my work as I continue pumping, up and down, faster.

"Please...Please..." The words are wild and my hands find a spot on Sir's legs to clamp as a wave of painful pleasure drowns me.

I hear a woman scream. It is loud like a girls scream. Colors are happening: juicy orange and swirly green, flashes of fragrant pink and sweet red. I am somewhere else. I float somewhere, confused, but happy...more than happy...and so alive.

The tortuous vibration clicks off and I let out of sob of relief, reclaiming my body and yet unable to move. I slump, muscles aching and limp, so that the weight of me hangs by my hair. He continues to use me, pushing and pulling my face so fast now that I hear my gurgled sounds escape my throat, but I don't feel them. I feel dazed and surreal. His grunted pleasure shoots me back into reality and I call my muscles into action, giving him the very last of my effort. He tenses, and shutters. I swallow him instinctively and lay my head, free but aching at the roots of my hair, onto his lap. He pets me, cooing sweet words at me, but I can't process most of what he says. I feel certain that if he stops touching me now, I will die, so he continues.

Soon, I am lifted onto the bed and am stripped of my clothes.

"But going out?" I protest pathetically, my words slurred like a sleepy child arguing against bedtime.

A coddling "shhh," is the response he gives. I hear a sharp rip of the tape from my body but I can't feel it. In seconds I am naked before him again and he folds me into myself, crawling behind me to spoon. I notice that he is naked too, though I don't know how he got that way. My mind swims away from the thought and his touch dominates my awareness.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the room is dark and my pillow is stained with makeup. But he is behind me, gently petting my head and planting sweet kisses around my ear.

"Aren't we going out?" I ask again, ever so quietly.

"Don't you think we've done enough today, little one? It's already quite late."

I look at the window at the night sky, twinkling with stars, and shift my body. My pussy aches with use, protesting at the slightest movement. I give a small nod.

He kisses me again. "Don't worry," he assures me, "we will try again tomorrow. I promise."