"I said to count, my pet," he growls down at you, sounding both irritated and surprised at your lack of obedience.
"When You actually spank me, Master, I will deign to count," you respond back with an impertinent tone, trying to draw a rise out of him, make him truly punish you. As if your wish were his command, the next blow from his hand lands with a meaty smack, your flesh jiggling for a moment before you feel your skin warm and start to sting. "One," you count, voice meek as you realize you may have pushed him just a little too hard.
His hand rests on the curve of your flesh, rubbing softly as he pauses. You feel him lift it and tense up, awaiting the heavy blow. Just as you relax, the next slap against your flesh impacting the other cheek. It joins its mate in the warm stinging sensation as you whine out, "Two, Master. Thank you, Master." You look back at him, enjoying the look of faint shock on his face at your gratitude. Then you see him smile. A cold smile that makes you shiver on top of his lap, that then lets you enjoy the feeling of his length pressing up into your stomach. A third, fourth, fifth, and sixth blow crack across your ass, the flesh starting to throb as you count and thank him for each. He pauses now, considering you, before you hear a rustle. He rubs at your flesh lovingly, tender, fingers massaging your flanks in a token effort to soothe the stinging. Then you hear something cut the air, and feel the too familiar sting of your fishing rod being used as an impromptu cane across the previously untouched backs of your thighs. You choke off a sob, then remembering that he's waiting, and that he doesn't like to wait. "Seven, Master. Th-th-thank you Master," you manage to utter. As you speak, you feel him lean forward, folding in on himself slightly as his lips brush the rapidly rising welt against your pale skin. A soft kiss across the stripes, trailing from one thigh to the other before he leans back. "Eight! Master! Thank you Master!" you control your voice just shy of screaming at lick of metal against your thighs, the stripe perfectly positioned right next to the first. Again, he leans forward to kiss and caress the flesh, lips soothing the sting even as it pulses with your heartbeat.
The ninth is sheer agony, as it spans across the middle of your ass cheeks. Your scream is silent, voice refusing the make itself heard with the force that you put behind it. "Niiiiiiiiiiine, Master," you cry out finally, unable to form more words until both of his hands are cupping the globes of your ass, gently rubbing, soothing the angry flesh for as long as he touches it, pain transmuting to glowing pleasure at his touch. When he breaks contact, the pain barges back, a deep throbbing burning that seems more intense in the face of lacking the pleasure. "One more, dear love," comes the whisper from inside your being, his voice softly comforting as your tears spill onto the surface of the rock. "Just one more, and we can move on from this."
The last stripe from the rod is laid down atop the one already spanning your ass, the risen welt splitting open to let a thin trickle of blood flow across your skin. The pain is intense, as if a blade had been dragged across your skin. "Ten," you manage silently, willing your thoughts to be heard by him. "TEnteneTEnentenTEN THANK YOU MASTER," desperate now to be sure that he hears you counting, not wanting another blow to be laid down with the same precision.
"Good girl. Good my pet," comes the whispered response inside of you, the clatter of the pole hitting the ground breaking through the pain. He runs his tongue across your ass, licking the line of blood from your flesh, the pleasure that the line turns into radiating through the entirety of your body in time with the beat of your heart. Sublime is the only word for it, transcendent pleasure that dwarfs the memory of the pain that his touch produced, his touch now spiraling you to heights that seemed impossible to feel just seconds before. "This is what obedient my pets get, love," comes the silent whisper, along with a small, dark chuckle deep inside of you. You writhe atop his lap, lost in the thought stealing pleasure. You feel yourself lifted for a moment, moved to sit upright, and hear the catch of his fly before you're lowered. Thick and weeping, his cock easily slides home inside of you, your dripping snatch welcoming him into the slick, moist tunnel. The fit is perfect, length filling you entirely, girth stretching your entrance and tunnel just right. One hand cups your breast, having wormed its way inside of your coat and shirt to tug roughly at your piercing. Pain, then pleasure alternate from your sensitive nipple, looping over and over at his whim. His other hand rests a finger atop the silver piercing through the hypersensitive flesh of your clit and starts to stroke and tug it, an electric surge of pleasure firing the nerves all through your body. Your climax hits, wild and jagged, wrenched from your flesh and straddling that line between pleasure and anguish.
Then he starts to thrust into you. Short, hard strokes that send jarring jolts of alternating pain and rapture through the whole of your being. His pace is brutal, plundering his own pleasure from your raw core, his control over you seeming to fire at random transforming the two sensations back and forth. With a grunt, his own climax overtakes him, his hands forcing you down, shoving himself up into you as hard as he's able, your piercings tugged hard to envelope the flesh with pain before gleeful indulgence overtakes your senses and you let out a long, primal scream at the second orgasm pulled from you. It becomes too much, and consciousness slips from you.
When you come to, he's still inside of you, still hard, still wanting. And with merciless movements, his thrusts start again.
