She lifts her eyes up from the book she's reading and studies her slave
as he passes through the room to retrieve more cleaning supplies for the rug
she has ordered him to shampoo upstairs. She has commanded both his silence
and that he not look at her until otherwise commanded. As much as she liked
his begging, it had gotten tiresome and she had placed these injunctions on
him to get a little distance as he did his required housework. But his
obedience was now melting her heart again. 'He really tries so hard.'
"Slave?" He stopped in his tracks, faced her with his eyes averted and
opened his mouth to speak instinctively but pulled back before uttering a
sound and waited. "You may speak."
"Yes Mistress. Thank you Mistress." He stands motionless. She senses him
shivering on the inside.
"You've had a tough day. Haven't you?"
"Yes Mistress." She thinks she hears his voice cracking.
"Do you still want to come?"
"Yes Mistress. More than anything." She thinks she hears a subtext in his
voice something like, 'You've got to be kidding. I'm ready to explode and you
know it.' But she admires how well he hides his frustration. She did stop
asking him to beg this morning and now he's only following her orders. She
thinks, 'He really is a good slave'. But still she can't help playing with
him.
"How much?" His eyes dart back and forth but he still hasn't disobeyed
her. She like how well he obeys her now.
"How do you mean, Mistress?"
"Well would you accept 20 strokes for an orgasm?"
"Yes Mistress." There is no hesitation.
"Well then how about 30". He's already caught on.
"How about 25, Mistress?"
"Hard ones?"
"I've never know you to be light handed Mistress". 'Very good she thinks.
Nicely played. He doesn't say yes and he doesn't say no, but he flatters me
all the same'
"Well, my dear Manservant. I've thought about it some and I will make
you a deal."
"Yes Mistress?"
"Yes" She holds up an index card. "On the back of this card is the number
of strokes you need to receive to be allowed release from your cage and release
from you need. I will let you decide what the number should be. You can call
of as many as you want. If it exceeds the number I will permit you to come.
If not, then too bad for you. Want to play?"
"You are a devil, Mistress", said not entirely kiddingly. "Yes Mistress."
"Good. Let's get you ready"
Getting him ready meant chaining his collar to two bolts held immovably waist
high in the center of the room. His ankles were spread by being locked in a
spreader bar and as he stood bent over she carefully but firmly placed a
lasso around his balls and with the aid of a pulley and tie off made sure
he would keep his knees straight. She also locked his hands behind him pulled
somewhat uncomfortably toward his collar by the connecting chain. When she
was done preparing him she rested her hand on her helpless slave's ass.
"I can't believe I submit to these things, Mistress. I must be out of
my mind."
"I just think you're horny, lover. Are you ready?"
"Yes Mistress"
"Well then count them off love. Oh and one little hint."
"Yes Mistress?"
"The number on the back of the card is more then 30."
"Jesus", And the sound of clinking hardware as the shudder ran through her
slave's body. A long pause. Then "Mistress, I'm ready. One ..."
"Thirty-two"
I watch you quiver from the blow. Your ass is covered with
angry red and white stripes. I know you won't be able to
take many more blows and I fight the temptation to lessen
the severity of my swing.
"Thirty-three"
'I wonder if he knows how tempted I am to cheat and let him
come even if he doesn't guess correctly' I think to myself.
'He's tried so hard today.'
"Thirty-four"
I strike again, then pause, waiting for you to count the
next stroke. I look at the tension on the line attached
to your testicles. You've paid dearly for every flinch.
"Thirty-five"
I watch the blow land and see your ass jerk. I grimace,
thinking of the line. You groan a bit, but you're determined
to win some sexual relief for yourself tonight.
"Thirty-six"
You pull against the tether and I imagine I hear you
grinding your teeth. I'm beginning to wish I hadn't
started this game. You deserve to come tonight, I *want*
you to come tonight, but if you stop early honor will
prevent me from granting you the relief you crave.
There are times I hate being me.
"Thirty-seven"
You jerk again and groan louder. Again I wait to see
if you've had enough.
"Thirty-eight"
Another strike. Hard and fast. Another movement earning
you pain as your body tries to avoid the full force of
the blow.
"Thirty-nine"
With delight I smack your ass one more time -- you've hit
the secret number and earned your reward. Not that you
know it, of course. You groan and pull, stopping short
as the pain in your balls prevents you from moving away.
"Forty"
Again I'm tempted to cheat and start hitting you with
less force. I fight the temptation.
"Forty-one"
The blow lands and I wait. I'm beginning to think
you've had as much as you can stand when you manage to
choke out,
"Forty-two"
I lash out again, and watch the welt rise on your behind.
A longer pause, then
"Forty-three"
'Your so beautiful my love and I love the games we play'
I wait for you to count the next stroke.
"No more, Mistress."
I smile and put down my implement. A second or two later
I'm unhooking your collar from it's fastening points on
the wall. As soon as I release the tension on the line
to your balls you'll be able to stand up straight. I
release the tension enough to allow you to stand, but no
more. You look a little confused but say nothing.
"How's your back?" I inquire.
"Not as bad as my ass." "If it pleases you Mistress," you
add as an afterthought.
Your reply says volumes about how hard I've pushed you
tonight. I squat down and release one side of the
spreader bar, then the other. While I'm on the floor
I look at your prick. It isn't even beginning to stir.
'Does it think you failed?' I wonder.
I look up at your face. You look tired. "You may stand
comfortably now Love." You move your legs, flexing the
muscles and allowing them to relax. With your balls
still tethered you aren't going anywhere though.
Still on the floor, I reach up and gently stroke your
penis. "You've done well and earned some relief."
I continue stroking it as it slowly hardens. You must
really need to come if you're capable of getting hard
this soon after such a strident whipping.
"You really need to come, don't you Manservant?"
"Yes Mistress," you say huskily.
I continue stroking your prick very gently. You'll
never get off at this rate and you know it. But it's
been a long time since anyone touched your member
and the contact feels great. I can sense your
increasing need, and as I do an accompanying feeling
of deviltry overtakes me. 'You called me a devil,
didn't you?' I think to myself. 'Or was it just
devilish. Either way.' I pull back, stroking just
under the tip. I know that's your favorite spot,
but nevertheless you crave more contact.
You pull forward and your already sore balls remind
you that they're tethered. Your need overcomes the
pain and you strain against them. I pull back more.
'God, I really am a devil. I just can't seem to
help myself.'
You pull against the tether, desperate for continued
contact with your needy prick. Despite the fact
that it wasn't hard during your beating, it feels
like it's been erect weeks. I stroke it a few more
times before I look up at you.
"Sorry, Manservant. My knees are killing me."
I stand, turn my back on you, and walk out of the
room.
I don't know what thoughts go through your head as I
do. You're standing there, tired, aching, your ass
still on fire, your prick demanding attention, your
balls preventing you from going anywhere, your arms
useless. Whatever your thoughts, I'm sure they aren't
complimentary.
You hear water running in the kitchen, and I return
a few moments later carrying a glass. You see me
take a sip and then motion with the glass. "Drink
this."
I hold it to your lips and watch you guzzle it down.
When the glass is empty I carry it over to an end
table and set it down. "You can clean that up later."
I walk back and with my right handle return to fondling
your prick. It isn't as hard as it was when I left
the room, but it's quickly getting that way. I lift
my head and offer you my lips. You bow yours and we
kiss, passionately, soulfully. I don't want that
moment to end. As the kiss grows in intensity, my
hand stays on your prick, moving in the ways I've
learned are most pleasurable for you. Soon you can't
help but thrust against my hand, but it isn't as bad
as before since I'm standing close and there's enough
slack for you to do so without serious consequence.
Before my wrist gives out you're groaning with pleasure
and I can feel from the tension you're on the brink.
'I *am* a devil,' I think as I move back just a
hair. The tension in your nuts increases, but it's a
pleasurable increase this time. Two thrusts later
you let out the sexiest moan I've ever heard you produce
and your seed gushes into the air. When your prick
ceases its pulsating, I let go of it and put my arms
around you. I kiss your collar bone, and quietly
whisper "I love you," as my hands reach behind
you to unsnap your manacles from the chain attached
to your collar. When your hands are free and the
chain hangs limply down your back, you put your arms
around me and enfold me with your love. We kiss,
again and again, as my hands go to your groin to
unfasten the tether. When you're free from your
bonds, and I've drunk my fill of kisses, I smile
up at you, "Leave the mess until morning, you're
coming to bed with me."
--
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