Tongue and Claws

"Today is going to be a little different, boi."

"How do you mean, Sir?"

"Usually I like to beat you all over. I like things to be even. Not today."

"Yes, Sir."

"Up on the bench."

I climb up on to the spanking bench, wonder which part of me will be bearing your sadism today. There are so many choices. You usually focus on my ass, so that seems unlikely. You had me leave on my shirt and underwear, which limits the options somewhat.

You stand right by my face. I nuzzle my cheek against your palm. Your fingers wind their way into my hair and you tug up, forcing my neck and back to arch. I smile at you, ready to receive what you have in mind. You kiss my forehead softly and lower my head. I close my eyes and hear you walk to the bottom of the bench.

I wait, it seems, for several seconds before I feel your hand grip my right ankle. Your claws run over the sole of my foot. It almost tickles, which I would not like, but it scratches instead. I sigh in enjoyment. I feel the sharpened metal press against my skin, not quite breaking it, as you drag your fingers slowly across the sole. Now they make their way to the top of my foot. I whimper as you dig in between my big toe and second toe, and my leg muscles tighten in an effort to avoid the danger. Your thumb digs in just below the ball of my foot, and now there are two points of pain opposing each other. I dig my fingers in to the rails of the spanking bench and whimper until you release your claws. I sigh in relief and wiggle my ass just a little. But your desire to create symmetry comes back to bite me as you repeat the process - scraping, poking, tightening - on my other foot.

You come back to my head, run a sharp talon along my cheek. To my lips. They part for you instinctively, and you slide the sharp metal inside so slowly, looking into my eyes hungrily. I can feel my cunt getting wetter for you, but I know I won't be satisfied in that way. Not yet. Your carefully remove your finger and slide your hand down to my neck. The tips of the claws dig in to the back of my neck just enough to feel interesting, but your palm presses against the front of my throat. I smile.

You release and walk back to my feet. I feel a thin cane touch the sole of my left foot, rub along it. You start to tap it. Gently to start. Little taps, just enough to feel warm. Out of nowhere - swish, strike. Not a hard hit like you would use on a thigh, but a solid hit from the wrist. I cry out in pain, and arch my back. Little taps again, another strike to the sole, across the heel this time. Over and over you repeat the process, varying your rhythm so I can't tense up in anticipation. It hurts, and I know I will have redness on the soles of my feet later, but, predictably, my cunt is aching now, becoming more and more eager with each strike. You switch feet, making sure to vary where you strike so that my foot is evenly sore. You run the cane along my thighs, tempted to leave a welt with a hard strike across the back of my legs. But a plan is a plan. Next time.

Your hand does go exploring though, running up my inner thigh. You touch my briefs and find they are soaked. I lean against your hand, humping it slightly in my desperation. "Boi, I'm not going to fuck you now. Stop that. Beg with your mouth, if you must, not your cunt."

"Please Sir? Please put something inside of me. I want to fuck you so badly."

"I'm not done hurting you yet. But if it will help you focus - " you push aside the material between my legs and quickly force two fingers inside - "then accommodations can be made." You push your hand in and out of me a few times as I moan and rock back onto you. You pull out again.

"Thank you, Sir. More please?"

"No more. But you can clean my hand off, my greedy boi." I open my mouth to lick your hand clean, closing my lips around the knuckles and sucking hard, working my tongue to get every sticky drop off. You pull your hand away. A slap to the face catches me by surprise. Then another. I lower my head in pain, and find it lifted up again by your hand in my hair. A third slap, the hardest yet, brings tears to my eyes. You lift me up again and look into my eyes. "Mine," you growl, before kissing me hard and lowering my face back to the bench.

The dragon's tongue is an unexpected sharp pain on my toes and the arch of my foot. It stings badly with each flick of your wrist. I start to cry in earnest. The new searing pains across first one foot, then the other, are almost too much for me. And yet I find myself wanting more, and wanting to fuck you even more, with each strike. Each hot flare across my foot is more painful than the last, and I am sobbing for you. "Please Sir. Please."

"Please what, boi? More or less?"

"I don't know, Sir."

"Then four more cane strikes it is. Two per foot. Count for me."

After a moment, I feel a flash of pain in my right foot. "One, Sir." And then a gentle tap. "Two, Sir." A tap on my left foot. "Three, Sir." And a final jolt of pain as you deliver a well-aimed hard strike across the bottom of my arch. I dissolve into a puddle of tears. "Four Sir, yellow. Yellow."

"I know, boi. I know that was hard. Up." You help me off the bench gingerly, as my balance is not good after such trauma to my feet. "Kneel." I sink down in front of you and look up, still teary-eyed. "Thank you. But I'm going to ask more of you. Look in my eyes. Don't look away." You hold my chin with your left hand, stroking it fondly. But your right pulls back. I know the slap is coming, but I don't flinch, or close my eyes. Pain flows through my left cheek, and I start to sob.

"Thank you Sir. I'm yours."

"I know."

You come down next to me on the ground. Your lips gently find mine, tasting salt, as your hand finds my throat. You push me backwards and slide my briefs off. I watch you, still gasping through tears, as you unbuckle your pants, pull them down, and stroke your cock. I'm not hungry for it, desperate, as I usually am. You notice the difference.

"You're not begging me to fuck you, boi. I hope you don't think that means I won't. You're mine. I fuck you when I want to." Despite myself, I feel renewed warmth spreading through my cunt, and open my legs a little more to let you in. "That's more like it." You slide inside me, filling my cunt to the back. It isn't a romantic affair, but your eyes never leave mine as you take me. I feel so desired, so useful. As you fuck me, my body responds. Hips pressing up to yours, whining for more, harder, thank you. Yours.