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Scene Write Up

November 10th, 2007

Yesterday was beef stew for dinner. Which means that if I want dinner ready almost exactly when Master gets home (I’m off on Friday and Saturday), everything has to go in the slow cooker at 9:15am. I forgot. I forgot until I went into the kitchen and saw the slow cooker sitting on the stove. It was 10:30 when I got everything in the pot and turned on, pushing dinner time to 6:30. A full hour after He got home. That could be hazardous to my health.

Not because dinner was supposed to be ready by the time He got home. But because that gives Him a full hour between when He walks through the door and when He sits down to eat to do whatever it is He wants with my body while He’s still wired from work. While He still has energy. And the second “You should be naked, slut.” left His lips, almost as soon as He stepped in the door, I realized He planned to take advantage.

“Come over here and spend some time on the floor.” He said. And I cringed a little as I scrubbed the lip gloss from my lips. His voice had that tone that says, I have an idea. And my stomach fluttered nervously as I realized it meant He wouldn’t reveal His plans until the minute He was ready to.

I curled up at His feet and licked and kissed His thigh as He searched online for a new game to play. I remember getting annoyed because He always makes it seem like He’s ignoring me when I’m on the floor, which is well within His right. And then He told me to rub my tits on Him (“Let me feel those big tits, cunt.”) and the annoyance was gone. Overcome by embarrassment. Humiliation.

It wasn’t long before He sent me on my way to find something for Him to hurt me with. I asked what He wanted and He said “Surprise me.” I knelt before the toy trunk and stared as my pussy got wetter and wetter and my body began to tremble with anticipation and I wished I didn’t have to choose. Choosing the implement of torture He uses on my body fills me with so much anxiety. What if it’s not what He wanted? What if it’s more than I can handle? What if…

The answer to the first is simple. He’ll send me for something else. The answer to the second is if it’s more than I can handle I’ll cry and probably be more turned on and He’ll enjoy my tears and be more horny. Everyone wins. Right?

A wave of relief washed over me as I noticed I couldn’t find the cane. But then I realized my other surefire way to please Him was the knotty cat and I wasn’t sure I wanted that either. My eye turned to the crop and I winced remembering the way the tip feels like it’s tearing my flesh and the ungiving shaft feels more like a hot iron striking my skin than a toy crop bought from an adult book store. I eyed the wooden paddle and realized that would be sort of difficult to use in the positions I’d be in. The slut paddle is lame unless He’s using it to obliterate my pussy. And then there it was. The tiny suede handle peeking out from beneath the kangaroo flogger. The rattan cane was not missing after all.

I stared for a moment willing the tears welling up behind my eyes to wait until He starting beating me, then reached inside and closed my hand around the cold, flexible shaft. Careful not to break it, I slid it out from between all the other implements of torture and rose to my feet. After inspecting the cane thoroughly for cracks and splinters, I closed the lid and walked back to the office with it dangling loosely from my fingers.

I hesitated in handing it to Him. I hate being the one to give up the thing He uses to hurt me. Even when I’m in the mood to be hurt. He rarely, if ever, hurts me in a way that is meant specifically to bring me pleasure. His interest lies somewhere between what’s way too much for me and what I enjoy immensely. And the cane makes me cry. Almost every single time.

The first few strokes were light and He only used the end. Not the full length, full swing sting I was used to. And it didn’t matter. Within seconds I was trying to squirm away from the blows and running into the leg that was planted firmly between my thighs and before my chest. Have I mentioned how much I hate the cane? The next few strokes almost forced the tears from behind my lids and I found myself thinking, “He likes it when you cry. It turns Him on to see the tears streaming from your eyes. And it’ll be even more dramatic with your mascara and eyeliner running.” So with the next series of strokes, I gave in to the urge to cry. I stopped fighting to hold the tears back. And I gave Him what He wanted.

I still twisted and writhed to try to affect where the blows landed. I whimpered and gripped His leg in my clenched fingers. And more than one blow was too much for me to keep my tongue dancing across His flesh. That was unacceptable.

“Take off my socks and get your lips on my feet with your ass high in the air. You hear me, cunt?”

“Yes, Master.” and I worked His socks off, then hesitantly moved into position. The first whack across my back sent my hands clawing at the tightly woven carpet trying to grip something in my fists. The second made me lift up and move as if to skitter away. And He asked, “Does that hurt, cunt?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Are you allowed to stop licking me because it hurts?”

“No, Master.”

“Then maybe you should keep your mouth moving? Unless you want me to hit you as hard as I usually do. Do you want me to hit you as hard as I usually do?”

“No, Master.”

And then, “Is that your pussy I smell?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You’re such a dirty fucking whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

I sniffled and whimpered and tensed and clawed as He rained blow after blow down on my ass cheeks and my back. I forced myself to keep my open mouth on His feet with each blow even if I couldn’t keep it moving. I bit back sobs in attempt to keep my voice low and I listened to the whistle of the cane and the sound of His voice allowing Him to lead me where He wanted to take me.

“Go get your cunt ass on the bed with your legs spread wide, whore.”

“Yes, Master.” and I didn’t move fast enough because the cane caught me again. I froze, afraid if I moved I wouldn’t like where it caught me next.

“Get moving.”

And I sprung to my feet and hurried to the bedroom.

Once there, I swept the blankets and clothes off the bed and climbed in. I was too slow because when He got there I was still pulling my own socks off and my legs weren’t spread yet.

I stopped crying, even with the blows to my tits directly before He plunged into me, and I held my breath. I wasn’t sure if tonight was a night He wanted to hear me or a night that I wasn’t supposed to be enjoying and so I tried to remain quiet. A soft moan escaped my lips and He slapped me starting the fountain of tears all over again. And then He jerked His cock out of me and told me to turn over.

I stared up at Him in horror. Turning over meant more of the cane. Turning over meant it would be impossible for me to remain quiet.

“Move it, cunt.” He punctuated the words with strokes of the cane and I flipped onto my stomach and pushed myself up to my hands and knees.

As He impaled me roughly, He whipped my ass and I cried out with my face buried in the pillows. And yet, as I sobbed over the pain, I moaned with pleasure, unsure if I wanted it to stop or if I wanted to continue to endure for Him. Knowing it didn’t matter what I wanted, I buckled down and tried desperately to hold position after He’d adjusted me once. Once is usually all He’ll let slide.

Eventually, He ordered me back to my back and came in my cunt, then ordered me to cum after He’d pulled out and laid down beside me. And while I played with my clit, He tugged at the nipples He had just beaten with the cane. The sting of the cane still lingering and the alternating gentle and rough tugging of His fingers pushed me over the edge and I came so hard I could barely breathe.

After, I curled to His side, I smiled up at Him and snuggled into Him. I had to duck and weave a bit as He kept trying to bite my nose. I teased Him saying I was going to touch Him with my pussy and cum covered fingers if He didn’t cut it out and He grabbed my hair (which almost annoyed me since I’d so carefully put myself together for Him ::grin::) and shoved my face down to His cock.

“Here. How bout I rub your face all over my pussy and cum covered cock.” And He did. He roughly scrubbed my face in our combined juices and I opened my mouth so I could taste them. We taste good.

I’m not sure why my scene write ups always sound so detached. I should work on that, I think.

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