Writer's Bloc

Writer's block is a horrible thing for a writer. Words just won't come out. Ideas float across the brain, but getting them out of your head is another matter entirely. Never mind putting them into coherent sentences for public consumption.

It had been weeks since he had been able to write so much as a sentence. A flurry of activity had seen his start, had earned the admiration and love of a very dominant woman, who had taken him as hers, and who insisted that he write those words that stirred not just her loins, but her heart as well.

Yet, here he sat. Staring at a blank page, words appearing in his mind, then fluttering away on the winds of this horrible writer's block. He had sat, chained to this chair for the last 3 hours. Mistress had been adamant, and it had been long enough.

She came in, and he immediately straightened out of the slouch into proper posture, something she insisted on. A sharp smack to the back of his head let him know she had noticed. She rarely missed anything.

"No words, yet, my pet?" she asked. Her melodious voice, usually something that stirred his loins held a menacing tone and he gulped audibly.

"No, mistress, they just won't come out. I keep starting, then deleting, nothing sounds right."

"hmmm, well, it seems we need something a bit more...drastic, pet," the way she said those words send shivers down his spine as he felt her hands releasing the chains that held him and clipping a leash to his collar.

She led him down to her basement dungeon, and straight over to the post that stood in the middle of the room. Fixing his arms into the cuffs, she leaned into his back and he felt her lips brush his ear as she whispered, "i guess, i will have to whip the words out of you, my pet." a throaty chuckle told him that she would enjoy this much more than he.

She made a show of selecting the whip she would be using to "inspire" his words. A 3 foot long simple single-tail braided leather whip, shined, and whistled and snapped as she gave it a few practice swings. Then stepped up, and let fly. The first slash, slicing across his back causing him to arch and cry out in sudden fiery pain.

How he danced for her when she whipped him. His feet bouncing around the base of the post as he sobbed, cried, screamed with each snapping lash that criss-crossed his back, his ass, his thighs. Mistress covered all bases. She was serious about her whips.

For a good 45 minutes her arm swung, until he felt her tender touch. Soft, fingertips traced the harsh lines on his back as she whispered, "you will try again tomorrow, my pet, and you will succeed, i insist. For tonight...your ass is simply looking too inviting right now."

He soon found himself bent over the bench, his legs spread, mistress placing the 9" thick black strap on around her waist and stepping up to him. He felt the lube, generously applied to his tender hole. Her fingers pushing deep into him, coating his insides liberally with the cool gel.

He moaned softly, as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks, his back, his ass, his thighs still on fire from the whip.

Then he felt the thick head of her "cock" press insistently to his winking hole. She thrust, one fluid smooth thrust. The faux cock burying itself into his tight hole. He heard her sigh in lustful contentment as her nails dug into his waist and soon, and fierce thrusting began as sweat formed on his brown. He felt so full from her dildo every time, and every it almost felt like it was the first.

The sheer joy with which she fucked him with was always something that he enjoyed seeing. He could see her face in the mirror in front of him. As he grunted with each smack of her hips to his tortured ass, the dildo burying to the hilt with each thrust. Her face was a mask of intense pleasure, her eyes shining with lust and love for the pet she had claimed.

In that moment, he loved her more than ever. Oh, he loved her with every fiber of his being, but it was in these moments, when his mistress, his owner, made "love" to him, his heart felt like it could burst right through his chest with the love that filled him. The adoration he felt for this strong, dominant woman was almost too much for him, and he felt himself shudder as she thrust.

She felt it too, and with a primal scream, she thrust hard, deep and shuddered with her own orgasm. Each of them shaking and moaning as she lay against his fiery, welted back. Her breasts mashing to his chest as she breathed deep from the pleasure of her climax, still feeling him shuddering beneath her.

She leaned forward a bit and bit his earlobe and whispered hotly, "you are such a good fuck, pet. Now get me a cigarette and lick me to a few more of those fabulous orgasms."

He needed nothing else. Fetching her cigarettes, he joined her where she had seated herself on a loveseat and spread her thighs having removed the dildo. Her pussy glistened, and beckoned his tongue.

He lit her cigarette, then buried his face in the moist, folds of the center of his world. His mistress' divine pussy. Where he could worship her with his entire being. His tongue, his lips, when she allowed it, his fingers and even on very rare occasions, his cock.

How he loved pleasing her, and when he felt her body begin to shake, to shudder, felt her fingers tangle in and grip his hair as she ground hard against his face, his tongue sped up and he rode out several massive orgasms, drinking deep of her nectar.

The next day, he wrote three chapters of what would be an epic tale of lust and love in a female dominated society where men were bred as slaves. Yes, mistress would like that.