Such an uncertainty. The only thing that could surely be known ahead of time is that he will be pleased. Not just because he will do what he wants and he will fill his needs, but because she will do anything to make that come true. She will do what he asks and what he tells her to. She will be as willing and as wanting as she can and when she can't, he is always there to help her manage.
When she panics, it's his voice that soothes her. When she is too afraid, it's his persistent gentleness that calms her. When she angers, it's his evenness that brings her back. He makes her feel the depths of her emotions.
She's been molded, yet never felt pushed or pressed. Just given the way to go. Last week he whipped her as she sucked him. Made her cum so hard it hurt and all the next day, her entire body held a deep ache wherever muscle lay over bone.
Two days ago he massaged her muscles until she finally stopped trying to reach him and tease him. The orgasms were gentle and many and she slept ever so sweetly the past two nights. It's always so different. Tonight, her hands were tied before she even reached for him. There's always a hesitation, not knowing what he will want and that gave him the time to grab her by the wrists and wrap them together.
The large shirt she wears some nights -- and wore tonight - is unbuttoned and her tits want to bounce out. It's hiked above her thigh and she can feel an occasional breeze across her groin. She always feared being tied before him, and at first he would keep them loose until she could accept them. Now he just ties her and she accepts that he will keep her safe. It doesn't stop the reactions of her body. The nerve tingles and the fear shivers. The nostrils flaring and the eyes tearing.
She tests the bindings on her hands. Sometimes she can pull them apart, there's a kind he uses that gives a little. Sometimes he uses the inflexible kind. Tonight, it's a silk robe tie. She knows from the experience of his neckties that silk tightens when she struggles so she stops. She feels a pang of terror knowing that that means she will surely be struggling. He wouldn't make it difficult if she wasn't meant to do it.
She's had cause to wonder before if the headboard would hold her panicked rages, but it always has. She wriggled side to side just to see how much leeway he would give her. apparently, all she wants. She could swing freely either way, limited only by the point where her wrists met somewhere at the top of her outstretched arms.
Her legs were another matter. They were stretched fully, even though she had tried to keep her knees bent a bit, he had tied and then retied her until they were stretched to the furthest outward reach. Her ankles strapped securely to the posts. They were held with the stretch binding, but it was wrapped so many times around that it was solid and immovable.
"Are you through testing?"
She stops. Her breathing does too. It's so hard to know what might come next and the times she thinks about it too much are the times she flies into a panic. Could she have imagined herself tied so tightly to the bed that she was open and vulnerable to anything? Would she have six months ago? There was a fantasy, to be sure and a moist heat that flared with the thought of it. But to actually feel it come true? Never!
There's been pain. Little tingles and jolts mixed so thoroughly with the charges of bliss that she can't recognize it as either one. More than anything else he has made her feel. There has been fear. As now. A quaking in her thigh muscles that said if he wanted to swing the bob onto her clit, she would only hear, see and feel it. She would do nothing to stop or slow it but beg and scream. And cry when it strikes.
Irrational as that seems when compared with the reality of him, she breathed in terror of a flick of the horse whip (bob, he called it). The smaller one (quirt) intrigued her and the broader one (crop) made her cringe. It was all so irrational. The broad leather of the crop felt so good on her ass. Like a paddle. Except that it looked evil to her and made her cringe involuntarily. She liked the feel the best of all three. The quirt, she loved the look of, but the slender strands of leather left strips of cut and raw skin if he got too excited. The bob he used for nothing more than tiny sharp snicks. She lived in terror of it. Of the day he would be driven to use it with wild abandon.
He'd taken these out each in turn as she watched, tied so tightly she could do nothing else. Her eyes were drawn to them though she wished she could close them and turn out the sound of the drawer opening and closing. The rustling of the toys inside. The whistle of them as he hefted and tested. Did he do this just to cause her more anxiety? Probably. Did it matter? No. The result was the same whether he meant it or not.
She wished he would turn her on her stomach. She felt so exposed this way. So vulnerable. He's mentioned spanking her clit and she thinks back to every mention of this now. Has he ever mentioned whipping it? It sounds agonizing. Like more pain than she can imagine feeling. She rolls the code around her mouth. The agreed on code that would free her. That would say to him that she couldn't go on. Her mouth is so dry she might not have enough spittle to push it past her lips. Her thighs quiver and she moans with the ache.
He's finished at the drawer and his hands are smoothing her brow. His soothing tones lotion her ear. "You can cum as much as you want tonight. You did so good the other night I think you should be rewarded, don't you?"
Her breath wouldn't come. When he spoke of reward or punishment, she no longer knew what he meant. She used to see these things as separate and means of behavior management. Now she had only the vaguest notion of what the words might mean to someone else. He'd told her this from the beginning. Made no secret of it. If she only believed then what she believed now.
She'd actually almost scoffed at his theories about the opposing systems. Reward was obviously good and punishment obviously bad. He'd told her that the idea is that they are actually only continuums. That the idea for her training was to find the rewards and punishments that she would both crave and loathe. Seek and avoid. After the "orientation", she pushed all the theories aside. The sex was heaven. The games so exciting and consuming that she had soon ceased thinking about anything systemic at all.
She certainly craved the rewards. When he would offer her a punishment, she found them so unthinkable that she would do anything to avoid them. For the first few times he would tie her and maintain her on the edge of orgasm until she finally would beg for release. She hadn't believed that of herself, but she did. The reward for that would be an orgasm so powerful that it would hurt with its intensity.
He began to link these orgasms with rewards and the threat of not having them with punishment. Then he forced her to have one. In the throes of anxiety, he overrode her fears and forced her to cum. She couldn't stop it. Couldn't help it.
She began to see how this wonderful new bliss could be both her hope and her despair. The next few times the rising tide brought with it a feeling of trepidation. Even as it threatened to engulf her -- and she's long since ceased trying to guess when he would finally allow her to cross that ledge - she would have a nagging doubt. Not just whether this would be the time he'd let her finish, but whether this would be the time he would introduce something new and punitive.
Reward and punishment. Craving and avoidance. In equal measure for both. That's what he says he looks for. She could think of so many of each and for each of her fears or hopes, he had more or a twist of his own. She no longer knew what to expect and even when he told her, she had a hesitation. Was this part of it? She wondered.
His hands moved to the back of her head and she moaned as her thighs shook again. The muscles felt her fear and presented it for him to see. His hands squeezed and pressed but she couldn't relax. Her body did without her and in spite of her. His hands were on her shoulders before she knew it. The sensation was taking her thoughts and slipping them out into a pile next to her pillow.
"You don't have to hold it, okay?" She didn't realize that she hadn't answered him. She was virtually oblivious, drowning in a sea of sensation. His fingers were rippling across her breasts as she caught breath enough to respond.
"Okay. Thank you. I want to cum. I want to cum with you inside me."
"You can cum anytime. I won't make you hold it. I won't tell you to stop. Okay?"
She wasn't sure what to say. She didn't know what he meant. She was sure that it meant something new because he'd never told her anything like this before, but she didn't know what this would bring. "Okay."
