Finally.
Finally he walks through the door.
Tonight he's made me wait for my punishment. Kneeling alone and naked on the
floor. Hands cuffed behind my back.
His voice is soft and threatening. Promising pain and satisfaction beyond what
anyone else has ever been able to give.
I'm already half erect from waiting. From wondering what he will choose to do to
me this time. And when I see him my cock swells to aching proportions.
God, he's breathtaking. All in black. Shirt open at the neck, revealing the
glowing whiteness of his skin. Sleeves rolled up, ready to get down to business.
And in his hand...
A riding whip. The English kind. Black leather tightly braided round hard but
bendable plastic. Short and thin and stinging. As he flexes it between his hands
I feel my mouth water and can't help but lick my lips.
He smiles. Viciously.
Fuck.
I hate it when he sees just how much I want this. How much I need it. But that
last remnant of pride has no place here.
He moves closer and lets the folded piece of leather at the end of the whip
caress my face. The line of my jaw. My earlobe. The mixture of fear and
anticipation that fills me is so strong I have to close my eyes, and my breathing
becomes erratic.
Then he pushes my chin up. Roughly. Demanding me to look at him.
His eyes have taken on the colour I love the most. The deepest, coldest shade of
green. A gaze without mercy or compassion.
I wonder if that is what convinces me that no one else can ever give me relief
and fulfilment the way he does. The whip turns me on, but it's the mind of the
man holding it that makes me tremble.
He knows. He knows what my body craves, what my soul can't live without. And he
is relentless in giving it. On nights like this I relinquish everything to him,
because those cruel eyes tell me that he will not stop until I've had it all.
Even if it takes blood and suffering and agonizing screams. He isn't weak and he
will not fail me.
He understands.
He is the sadist I always needed but never dared to look for. When he hurts me
his pleasure is as great as mine, as if this is why we were created. Two pieces
of the same puzzle, fitting perfectly together.
As the whip slowly travels down my throat his eyes fill with amusement.
Satisfaction that I cannot hide the way it makes me feel. Then his features
harden, and I know that we are getting close.
He tells me to get up, and I comply without a sound. He doesn't gag me, because
he likes to hear me scream and beg, but though I have the full use of my mouth I
never talk back. Here there is no need for words. When he is in control I can
strip myself of all defences, lay all my weapons at his feet. Even the power of
repartee that is like a life raft for me to cling to when there is nothing else.
With him I have the strength to drown.
He directs me to the table and removes the handcuffs, then makes me bend over and
place my palms on the flat surface. Every inch of my skin is crying to be
touched, and though I know it's only a matter of seconds it seems like an
eternity before the leather ruffles the hair at the nape of my neck.
With excruciating gentleness he trails the whip along my spine. Down towards my
ass where the muscles are already tightening in expectation. Teasingly he circles
first one cheek, then the other, and lets the cool smoothness slide inside my
cleft. Rub against my hot opening before it glides down to the back of my thighs.
Every sweet caress is a whisper in my ear of blissful torment soon to come, and
as the touch moves up between my parted legs to stroke my trembling balls a
helpless whimper leaves my throat.
I won't be able to take much more of this before I break down and begin to beg,
but he never hurries. He acts as if he had all the time in the world, which never
ceases to amaze me in a man with his experiences of life. But I suppose the
unimaginable horrors he has been through have given him a level of self-control
that I can only dream of.
The almost imperceptible softness of his caresses is unbearable, and he knows it.
It awakens my nerves, stimulates them to increase the torture of the blows that
will follow. But more than that it increases my fear.
I have always been afraid of the pain. I long for it, yearn for it like a junkie
for his fix, because I know that it's the only thing that can set me free. That
only the ecstasy of physical agony can release me from the prison of my own
tormented thoughts. But I never found the courage to seek it out. I always held
back and let the fear stand in the way.
With Alex it is different. He drinks in my dread, my terror, savours it as he
savours the knowledge of his power over me. It is his greatest kick, and he
comprehends. Where other, weaker lovers have seen the panic in my eyes and turned
away he looks deeper and sees the need beneath it all. He pulls me kicking and
screaming through the barriers of my own mind, and he will not let go until I've
reached the perfect satisfaction on the other side. The relief that only he can
give.
He pulls the whip away from my balls, then brings it round to graze my already
leaking cock. And so expert is his hand that it feels like being stroked by the
fluttering wings of butterflies.
I can't stand it, and I start to plead for him to give me what I came here to
get. At first he pretends that he doesn't hear me, but at last he stops working
my shaft and lets the length of the leather rest against my ass.
I draw a deep breath and do my best to relax. In a second it will begin.
As I hear the whip whistle through the air my heart stops dead in my chest.
And then it hits me.
He isn't beating hard yet, far from it, but for now it is enough. Enough to make
every cell in my body sing with pleasure and my lips open in a breathless gasp of
"Yes!"
Soon I will be there.
With each new blow he increases his force, steadily building the pressure. My ass
is burning under his assault, searing fire running through my veins. Heated blood
filling my cock until it is itself a point of throbbing, wonderful pain.
As he changes the target of his attack and moves lower, to where the skin is thin
and sensitive, my arms begin to tremble. Unable to hold myself up I fall down on
my elbows and forearms, the deeper bow exposing me more, opening up my body.
The whip meets my balls, a tidal wave of hydrochloric acid in my nerves, and I
scream. From the depth of my soul I yell my agony, and I cannot cease. The panic
is setting in.
The lashes break through the skin. Tear my flesh open. Rip me apart.
And it hurts. It hurts so much. A pain beyond words, beyond reason. Beyond what
anyone should ever have to live through.
I cry for him to stop. I beg him. At the top of my lungs, with tears flowing down
my face, I beg him, crying his name over and over. But he does not yield.
And then it happens.
The miracle.
I reach the edge of the cliff, certain that the next blow will push me over, into
death or insanity. But as the wave hits and I fall, everything changes.
I still feel the pain. The leather ruthlessly snatching at my wounds. The blood
trickling down my legs. But there is no fear. No guilt. No knife being slowly
twisted around and around in my heart. Only unendurable bodily pain transformed
into pleasure paradisiac, divine.
I soar on a whirlwind of indescribable delight. Higher with every untiring lash
of the whip. The ecstasy is growing within me. Filling me. Filling the space
where sorrow and bitterness and misery live. Driving them out. Until every part
of my being aches with joy.
Then I come.
The orgasm is an explosion that strips the flesh from my bones. Splits my atoms
and sends the particles hurling through space. And in this moment, as I cease to
exist, there is finally freedom. No outer boundaries, no inner compulsions.
Complete and utter liberation.
In the calm that follows, after my screams have died down, I am joined together
again. Am once more alive. Cleansed and purified. Purged of all the suffering
that weighed down my soul. Released from the bonds of my obsessions. Broken and
tired and free.
Then he enters me. His hips slam against my open wounds and make my sweat-soaked
body shiver, but I want him there. In this state of perfection nothing can harm
me, and he is the man who brings me here. I want him closer than my own blood. As
he empties his completion into me the warmth in my heart is unending.
When he pulls out I lie sprawled across the table, too exhausted to move. But he
lifts me up, turns me around. Enfolds me in his arms. I bury my face in his
shoulder and weep. Gently, soothingly his hand strokes my hair while he mumbles
comforting words in my ear.
Here there is peace, and though that bliss can never last I feel no pain.
I know the thing that this alone has taught me.
There is happiness after all.
The Strength to Drown
by Isagel
"Fox, you've been a bad boy. Very, very bad."
