Slut Chonicles 03

She grins as she stares at the clock, its 12 am and she looks forward to the countdown to 8pm. Wednesdays are always good days, even on the ones she's free. But two cancels in a row, so there is no way THIS wed could disappoint. Work goes by fast, she feels a little stressed on how she can manage all her plans for the day. It IS payday after all, bills to pay, food to buy. She gets home, already anticipating the upcoming evening. After she sleeps and runs errands, mostly going through the actions on autopilot, she checks her inbox.

"Today is a good day to be used." She nods, it most defiantly is. The anticipation is strong, the craving for the promises that await her are intense. If past has taught her anything, it's shown her she'll get exactly what she needs, and even some things she didn't know she needed. She leaves home with just enough time that she's not too early but not too late. She stands at the bottom of the staircase, she takes a few deep breathes to calm her nerves. She can't understand why she's so nervous; this is not her first trip up these steps.

And even with her nerves, she can't help but smile. The nerves aren't that bad, if anything they help amplify the anticipation. Her heart beats wildly and she can hardly breathe. As she reaches the door, she triple checks she's in the right place. A few more deep breaths, the door handle warming beneath her grip and she opens the door quickly, hurrying inside and shutting it behind her. She's taken aback; the apt is brighter than she's ever seen it. She cautiously glances into the living room, the TV is on, and the back porch blinds are open, but it is empty. She can see a cold glass of ice water as she takes off her coat and shoes, reassuring her she's defiantly expected. She chides herself for doubting it. She glances right and notices the bedroom door is closed. She removes her socks and places them carefully in each shoe. She knows what she's supposed to do next, but feels conflicted.

It's ingrained into her brain that you just don't enter a room if the door is closed, but she knows she supposed to go in there. Maybe this was some kind of test? She can't hear any noise over the sound of the revolving fan. She takes a few steps closer, and then takes a few steps back. Maybe if she waits long enough he'd call her in. Then she wonders if he's even in there. Maybe he got called for maintenance work. Her phone wasn't working properly so there was no way he could contact her if that happened. It's amazing how much a closed door can throw her off. After what feels like forever she hears the door open and finds him there standing in the doorway. Feeling reassured she makes her way passed him, focusing on the task before her.

She'd been talking herself up for days; surely he knew how hard this task would be for her. Perhaps that would be the point? Test her? Instructions that would cause her to test herself and push her comfort zone. She received a light smack to her backside that made her give a small yelp and a boost confidence. He leaves her alone, door shuting behind him. She takes a deep breath, not allowing herself anymore time to think. She quickly discarded her skirt and tank top, feeling instantly exposed. She can feel herself shaking slightly, and she tries to control it, unsuccessfully.

She kneels before the bed, nothing but her bondage bracelets on. She can barely hear anything over the sound of her own breathing and the only clue she has as to the evening plans is the rope at all four corners of the bed and the towel that lay across it.

Seconds tick by, maybe even minutes but it feels like hours. She begins to doubt, is he waiting on the other side of the door? Is he making her wait on purpose for not coming straight in? Was this some torturous mind game? She shakes her head; I'm being ridiculous she thinks to herself; because sometimes she over thinks things. She focus's on her breathing, struggling to remain calm and relaxed but she is failing miserably. Sweat trickles down her forehead; she's definitely warm, on fire it feels like.

Finally she can hear the door open behind her and she shifts on her knees a little. While the position is a bit uncomfortable she remains where she's at, staring at her hands she has folded on the bed. She waits for her next instructions.

"Go ahead and stand up sweetie," he announces after standing forever in silence. She obeys, hands automatically trying to cover her stomach. Being naked, even among someone who's already seen her so intimately is the hardest task she has ever been given; so far anyways. If it were not for the fact she'd been here before, she would have never done it. Self esteem was not her strong suit, but definitely a work in progress. She's instructed to lean forward and she does so, placing her arms on the bed before her; putting her in a presenting sort of position. Her legs shake furiously, and she can hear him chuckle as his hands move over her gently stroking. Up. Down. Across. Words were exchanged, her mind too hazy to really recall.

The rest of the evening almost steals the focus of the events leading up to it.

She can recall the sweet sting of his palm across her backside. Or at least she thinks it's his palm. Facing away she can't be sure. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, seems to echo in the silent room. She bites down on her lower lip, but a few more smacks and she's moaning. She can feel her skin turned ablaze as he rubs himself against her backside. And she knows she's not the only one in the mood. All she can think about is him giving it to her nice and hard with his hands bruisingly gripping her sides while he rams his long hard cock into her over and over until she screams from the overload of sensations. She's wet, has been from the moment she headed to his apartment, she seeks out his most powerful tool. And he decides to do just that; her shins slam against his box spring but the minor pain is nothing in comparison to the feeling of finally getting what she's been craving the most...a good fucking.

And just as she thinks she can't possibly take anymore he stops and instructs her to sprawl across the towel on his bed. Post orgasm endorphins giving her what looks like the dumbest grin, but she knows this is just the beginning. He sits at the head of bed, legs out and she knows without a word what's next. Distantly she recalls how she hated giving oral only a few short years ago. Boy had she been missing out. While her skills may not have been enough to brag about, she tried to make up with eagerness. Having a small mouth and sensitive gag reflex made it a difficult task, but she didn't, by any means, give up. The desire to do well and please him was too strong to override.

Immediately she wraps her lips around him, and can only take in a fraction of his impossibly long cock at first. She goes through the steps of relaxing, focusing her breathing and enjoying the movement and growls from above. When she feels his hands brush the side of her head she has a few seconds before he starts to use his grip to pound away at her throat. Fighting her own gag reflex is a task and just when she feels lightheaded he stops, pulling out with a popping sound, drool running down her face. He always seems to pause just the exact moment she needs it. As she greedily starts again, he begins to tie her wrists up with the rope, a task done much easier with her bondage bracelets.

He rubs her back and she tenses, she's pretty sweaty, an unfortunate side effect from the muggy warmth of his room. But even as he mentions it, there seems to be no disgust in his voice so she relaxes and keeps at her task...until he decides to move on with his plans.

Next he wraps Velcro straps around her ankles and ties them apart too. There she lays, spread eagle, exposed, vulnerable and trying to get past the slight fog in her brain to decide if she likes it. She tests the rope, pulling with all limbs to test the strength. It's something she has always done when being restrained, on the few occasions she has been. There is a slight wiggle room, but there is no really getting anywhere without hurting herself in the process. She wipes her brow on the towel beneath her, slightly embarrassed at her perspiration, but Sir does not seem to be bothered by it so she forces herself to not worry. By now she has the blindfold on, not sure if she put it on or he did. The lack of sight is soothing and frightening at the same time. It brings a sense of security and at the same time an increased sense of apprehension.

She can feel something cold and hard pressed against her and it goes in so easily it's as if her greedy body just sucked it right in. as she tries to focus on what the object is the first hit comes. It's sudden, sharp and straight to the ass. She gasps, possibly moans at the same time. The pain is light and short lived. Sir alternates between light taps and hard quick ones. By this time endorphins have her all over the place. She can't seem to think clearly, and tenses at every move. Her skin is aflame and the sharp pain seems to radiate through her very core. Can't seem to recall exactly clearly or in order the events that pass after.

She knows his technique changes as does his instruments, not always focusing on the same spot twice. And every single time she feels like she seconds away from finally calling out the safe word he switches back to light strokes. Either his arm needs the break or he just knows when she's near the edge of too much.

She later recalls a previous conversation, one long before the first Wednesday; Sir talking about the 'energy' being right, and how they have to be right before they can play. She'd shamefully rolled her eyes and dismissed it as him spewing some type of hippy crap.

Then the first Wednesday came, then as well as now, she understood. Understood what words would never do justice. It all made sense when she entered through his door. She could feel the energy, and how he seems to be able to know just what she can take and when she's had enough. He just has it. A few lashes bring her to tears, but she finds sweet release in the pain. She wants it, craves it...needs it. And Sir never disappoints. Her world spins, body over loading on pleasure until she almost feels faint. Feeling good is still a feeling she's getting used to, before Wednesdays, orgasms were rare and always self induced, to have so many that she loses count feels amazing.

And with the confidence Sir has given her, she feels brave enough to venture out and seek it where she can find it. Finally he unties her, limbs a bit sore, holding still is never an option. Usually the sweet bliss is just too much to handle. And her screams can only cope with so much before the body reacts as well. She sits up and is offered some water which she gulps half way down. Sir instructs her then to lie on her back, butt near the edge of the bed. As she does so he begins to then connect her ankles to a long bar, a spreader bar according to her knowledge, but she could be wrong. There is still so much for her to learn, and she's a very eager student. Once both ankles are secured he lifts the bar up and hooks it up to the chain dangling from the ceiling, while she is blindfolded she recognizes the sound from the first Wednesday where she'd been strung up to the one in the living room. The memory makes her smile.

As her legs dangle she tries to relax, even though she's exposed now more than ever. She can feel the rope being tied around her thighs near her knees, putting her in a different position. Even if she strained against the rope her legs wouldn't move much without it digging into her flesh. He leaves her hands free, but she keeps them at her sides, nervously gripping the comforter. He mentions something about clothespins and how his next step might hurt a bit. Her heat beats madly and she feels almost near a panic, she should have guessed, she'd mentioned her dislike of clothespins. Was it a punishment? Or was he pushing her limits to see how far he could go? Or maybe even none of the above? As he places each individual one, he ties them, spreading her wide open. It hurts, and not really the good hurt, but it the pain fades as he presses something against her clit.

She cums within mere seconds, her body already sensitive from previous manipulation.

But even as she comes down, he doesn't let up. The sensitivity is almost too much to bear and wave after wave wash over her, leaving her, at many points, unable to breathe, brain not quite remembering how. Somewhere in the fog of her brain she can hear the sound of a glove and she panics as she struggles to come out of the haze. But not quick enough, she can feel it; not entirely sure what IT is...roller coaster of thoughts rush her. Discomfort, but its quickly gone when the toy makes it way back to her clit and suddenly the clearness in her brain goes back under the fog and she screams, almost close to losing consciousness.

As she finally starts to cum back Sir replaces the toys with his powerful tool and pounds her until she cums again, leaning forward enough to bite near her collarbone. It doesn't hurt, but she knows it will leave a nice little bruise. He walks to the side of the bed and strokes himself over her, the sound of his hand sliding up and down his long shaft speeds her pulse and she awaits it, hungers for it. And is momentarily rewarded with a hot powerful stream of his juice spraying on her chest and face. She sighs with a release all its own as he rubs some of it in.

Later as she sits in her car...she can feel soreness in places she never knew could feel so sore, and while she can't figure out exactly how she feels about it, she looks forward to another Wednesday.