In the Velvet of the Night

This is my first story here, I feel excited about it. Please, feel free to let me know what you think

In advance, excuse my sometimes poor English. I tried to find the most precise and appropriate words to express my thoughts.

In the velvet of the night, she delves into herself, she takes all the time but she searches herself. She searches for her desires, she gathers her thoughts. She's all hers and she dives into herself. And she dreams.

She wears a black satin blindfold. In the room there is Madame and there are the Women, she can hear them, she guesses them. She hears the murmurs and whispers. She knows they are sitting in the room, around the bed, but she can't see their faces, of course.

As for her, she's on all fours on the bed. The bed is in the centre of the room, also covered with a black satin sheet. She's positioned just right. She's arching her back with her arse in the air.

She loves having her arse in the air. She feels that she's the centre of all the attentions, that she's the centre of all the gazes, which are focused on her. She feels their approval. They whisper that, yes, indeed, she's fine like this, that she's pretty like this, on all fours. She even can imagine them whispering that she's a pretty slut like this, on all fours, with her arse in the air.

Madame puts her gagging panties in her mouth, all crumpled and plugged up. Earlier she tasted her wetness and smelt her fresh nutmeg aroma. Now, with the saliva, it's gone a bit, but the aroma is still there. She loves her aroma so much.

Hands are touching her skin, soft and light. Sometimes palms, sometimes fingertips. But the hands don't press, the fingertips don't pinch, they just draw or brush against her skin, her back especially. And as she has a very sensitive back, it makes her arch her back more. It makes her lift her bum. And it also makes her open up. She spreads her knees wide, exposing the slit of her sex, she can feel it opening out, she can feel the air on her moistened flesh.

Palms touch her breasts, but they don't close, just gently squeeze. Fingertips trace her breasts, they don't pinch, they just trace them, the areolas, the nipples. They tease her erect, hard nipples. This resonates deep inside her sex, making the ball of heat in her belly grow like a sun. She's getting horny, she feels hollow. She's more and more aware of her holes.

One more finger, it rests on the festoon of her sex lips. It just rests there, tracing her lips from top to bottom, from bottom to top. Then the finger separates her sex lips, but just a little, without entering.

The Woman announces that, yes, she's ready, that her wetness bears witness to this.

But she wants more, she wants obscene things. So her arse stands up even more, it seeks its satisfaction, it tries, it searches, to the right, to the left, needing to meet hypothetical fingers that will offer it this deep satisfaction. All in vain.

She can't do anything, she's on all fours, her face is hidden in a pillow that she's clutching in her forearms, so, no, she really can't do anything to appease her sex that's calling out to her and warning her how hungry it is.

The only thing she's allowed to have is a whip slapped across her back. Of course she knew this was going to happen. It was necessary to divert her attention from her needs and desires, to help her concentrating on these straps that are stinging her. She concentrates on the bite of each of them.

Her back is intended for the whipping, especially her lower back, where she curves, where she likes to arch her back as much as she can. The bite of the straps is intended to distract her from her little bitch thoughts, to direct them, to channel them.

See you later, thoughts! For now breathe, forget about your sex, its tension, its wetness. Just count! Feel the thousands of straps pinching your skin, heating it up. Can you feel the heat?

She also feels the stares on her. The ass in the air, now it's the whip, unless it's the spanking, a strong one...

The whip, or the hand, arrives with regularity, never getting tired, it responds to her heartbeat. It's as simple and natural as that. She receives the stinging blows as she feels her heart beating. The blows hit her buttocks: she stretches out her buttocks. She opens her knees, she wants to open herself very wide.

On the bed, between her knees, Madame has placed a duffel bag under a black satin sheet. All she has to do is lower her arse to bring her vulva into contact with the satin.

While the blows sting regularly, this is how she is going to miserably try to soothe her pussy and her desire. She knows that her wetness leaves a very shiny and noticeable mark on the black satin. That's what it was made for. It's the trace of her powerlessness and dissatisfaction. That's what was intended.

She knows that, deep down, she's looking for her punishment. She's always been looking for it. So, tonight again, she receives it. She is made that way. So even if she opens up, it's no use, she concentrates on the impacts. They too are designed to take her thoughts away. So she thinks about the lines on the skin of her buttocks. She wants them to be perfectly regular, parallel and well marked, she wants a nice grid pattern. That will be the mark of her punishment. That's the way it is.

In the velvet of the night, she delves into herself and she can't decide. She doesn't know how she's going to decide to come.