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The innocent #3
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Joined: 22 Mar 2008
Posts: 4
Location: London

PostPosted: Tue Mar 25, 2008 5:03 pm    Post subject: The innocent #3 Reply with quote

I do not know how long he left me standing there alone. The room was silent, and the blindfold impairing my vision had heightened every other sense, but had also served to disorientate me. The silence deafened me, and I dared not to cry out or call to him. I simply waited, and the feeling of vulnerability grew stronger as time passed.
Goosebumps were forming on my thighs and buttocks. The room was growing colder, and I grew concerned that he would leave me there indefinitely. I barely knew this man, only that he was a tyrant to his staff, and a beast in the business world. He was used to people fearing him, and I became anxious that my brazen behaviour had caused some kind of madness, a lust that he would be unable to control. Disgust in my own behaviour grew, but I began to question myself. He had not taken me in the manner that most men would have, and despite his gazing upon me, and making clear his wanting of me, he had also been teasing in his gestures. He had left me here exposed, naked and humiliated. He was playing with me, but his intentions had not yet been made clear.
Something stirred in the room behind me. A fire was being lit. A maid perhaps, surely he would not light his own fires. I clamped my legs together self consciously and pulled closer to the bedpost, unsure as to whether I should speak, whether I should ask her to untie me. I realised quickly, however, that she wouldn’t. A master such as him would be enraged at such insolence as to interfere in such matters. This was a punishment. He had found me in his bedroom at night, and he sought to chastise me in some brutal manner. My only choice was to wait.
Another hour passed. I began counting the chimes on the clock in the grand entrance to the house. It seemed such a distace away, but I knew from the dull sound of it that the door was now closed. My wrists were sore, and my hands were numb. The fire had warmed the room, but the draughts of the old house gently mocked my skin, teasing my nipples until they stood erect, caressing the small of my back, the curve of my buttocks.
Then I heard him.
The chair by the fireside creaked as he rose from it, and my limbs stiffened as he came towards me. He stood behind me, his breath on my skin, and I could smell him, his scent intoxicating me, his prescence drowning me. My body began to soften in its longing for him, and as he moved towards me, I felt myself push back to him, my legs parting, my buttocks pressing into him, wanting him. He reached around to my hands and I let out an audible sigh. He was to release me. I planned in my head what I would say to him, the passion I would give him, the pleading for his forgiveness as he pushed himself inside me, the softness of our bodies together, finally. He untied my wrists, kissing my shoulders gently. I yielded to him, exposing my neck for him to embrace me more easily. The delight, the sensation of knowing he wanted me. The feeling of him kissing my skin so tenderly.
Then I gasped.
He had tricked me.
He moved quickly, my wrists firmly in his grasp, the ropes not untied but simply loosened. He was binding them again, this time lower. The weight of his body on mine, forcing me to bend forwards, my rear in the air, my face pushed roughly against the post. He forced my legs apart, then stepped away from me and I knew he was staring. His breathing grew heavier as he looked at me, my humiliation enhanced further by the exposing of my full nakedness. There was no waiting now. He knew what he wanted; I knew my punishment was imminent.
I heard him move away again and the air around me grew cold, as he slid open a drawer on the other side of the room, then slid it shut. The muscles in my legs contracted. I was mystified as to his next move, but it was as if my body knew. The openness of my sex made me shiver with a mix of pleasure and nervous anticipation, my hands gripping the post more tightly. He walked back, every one of his steps counted in my head, and then he stopped, wordlessly. I heard the air rush as he drew his arm back in one quick motion, then a sting sharp against my cheek.
I cried in pain, and my legs buckled beneath me, the skin pulsing where he had struck me. Then he struck me again, and again, each pain deeper than the last, each one forcing a sound to echo around the room that rung in my ears. Tears were streaming down my face now as he struck me again, sobs stuck in my throat as I tried to beg him to stop, tried to plead for his forgiveness.
He stopped and I listened, hearing only my own short breathing, my muscles begging to be released from their torture. I wanted to be free, I wanted to be home, I wanted to be back in my bed, the warmth of familiarity rocking me to sleep.
All was quiet and I thought he had finished, but I was wrong. The familiar swooping again as he came down hard on the other side, his wordless statements of power. My face once again pressed hard into the bedpost and my hands gripped the curtain as he struck me again and again. I counted, knowing him well, knowing that he would deliver the exact number on each side, knowing that he would want order and symmetry.
Then at last he stopped.
His instrument dropped to the floor, as did he. I felt him sink to his knees, his body tired from the exertion, his own breathing now heavier than mine, the sound of regret in his breath. He reached for my tender skin and the warmth seared through me, the tenderness of my wounds eased by the pressure of his hands. Then he embraced the redness, kissing the place that he had so brutally abused, his lips sensual against my buttocks. My head spun as he caressed me, the pleasure merging with the pain, the need for him now stronger than before, the longing obvious to him in my wetness. I longed for him to kiss me more deeply, in the place where I had wanted him for so long.
He pulled away from me, and stood up. Leaning over me carefully, he untied my wrists, removed my blindfold, and helped me to stand. His arms wrapped around me then, as he felt me buckle, he swept me up in them and carried me to his bed, lay me down, and covered me.
Then he left the room and quietly closed the door.
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PostPosted: Wed Mar 11, 2015 4:50 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

How importamt is this content.

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PostPosted: Tue Aug 22, 2017 3:22 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I would like to hear about this issue.
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