You are dressed as a classic dominatrix, thigh-high boots, corset and a leather g-string. I am kneeling naked on the floor in front of you.
"So, slave, I'm letting you make a choice. What do you want ?" you ask. I look up, uncertain. It's not often that you ask my opinion in anything.
"Go ahead," you say.
"Em," I clear my throat, "May I go down on you please, Mistress ?"
"You want to lick my pussy, do you ? Do you think your pathetic tongue would make me come ?" I sense that no answer is really required.
"I think you're only really worthy of licking my arsehole, slave. I don't think you could turn me on enough to come with your tongue on my clit."
"Please, Mistress ?"
We both know that I have spent hours at a time worshipping your pussy, and that you have trained me in exactly how to lick you, to bring you quickly to orgasm or to build so slowly that you scream when you come, and my tongue is so numb that I can't talk afterwards. But you also know that this is one of my greatest desires and often deny it, taking your pleasure in other ways.
"Well ... you'll need to get me interested first. Lets see if you can get me aroused and if I think you've earned it I might let you lick me."
You take a seat in an easy chair at one side of the room.
"Fetch the cane."
I quickly scurry off on my knees to where the canes are kept. There are several, but I know that when you ask for 'the cane' you are referring to the longest, nastiest one in the rack. I bring it back to where you are seated, and offer it to you.
"Please Mistress, will you cane me ?"
Please Mistress, will you cane me until I cry ? Will you cane me until I howl in pain, and beg you to stop, please Mistress will you ..."
"Well, since you ask so nicely, slave, I just might.", you say with a sarcastic smile on your face. "Lets start with 40, shall we."
I get into position, bent at the waist, hands grasping my ankles. After each stroke, I say "thank you Mistress", and mean it.
After 40 of your hardest strokes I am fighting back tears, my backside and upper thighs are on fire, and I am struggling to maintain my position.
"Come here slave," you command. I kneel in front of you as you tower over me, tapping the cane in one hand. You point to your leather covered crotch.
"Come closer." I raise my head and move closer. "Take a deep breath. Do you think I'm turned on yet ?"
I inhale and catch a faint whiff of your scent. My cock stiffens. But you're definitely not fully aroused yet.
"Well, what do you think we could do about that ?"
I take a deep breath. "May I have more strokes, please Mistress ?"
"Well that might help. I don't really see any sign that those got through to you. Lets try another 60, shall we ?"
Half way through this set, I am sure that I can't take any more. I am moaning involuntarily in pain, and my knees are starting to buckle. It feels like my flesh must have been cut open. How I endure the next 30 strokes I have no idea, but you take your time, seeming to enjoy my obvious suffering. But still every stroke comes as hard as those that preceeded it, and I howl my pain as I gasp "Thank you Mistress" after each one.
After this second set, you take your seat again.
"Glass of wine, slave."
My bruised arse protests as I scurry off to the kitchen to pour your wine, and I limp slightly as I return and place it on the table beside your chair. I take my place before you, my backside stinging abominably---I long to rub it but know that I'm not allowed.
After a couple of sips of wine you put a hand to your pussy, and snake a finger inside your g-string. It is clear to me from where I kneel that you're starting to get wet. You pretend to examine your finger.
"Nothing. You'll have to do better than that, slave. Maybe some more ?"
I feel that terrible/deliscious knot in my stomach that I get when my limits are being stretched. I really don't think I could take another 20 strokes of the cane. Still, I pick it up and offer it to you in both hands.
"Please will you cane me again, Mistress ?"
I hear the words but I don't quite believe what I'm saying. You pause for a moment, then say "No, perhaps later. I think I'd rather play with your other bits first."
You take me over to the bondage table, and tie me down on my back. You attach my ankles to a spreader bar, draw it upwards and clip it to a chain dangling from the ceiling, lifting and spreading my legs, leaving my arsehole and cock and balls exposed and vulnerable. You pull a blindfold over my eyes, and I hear you pulling a variety of toys out.
The next thing I feel is a cold pressure on my arsehole. Something lubricated is trying for entry. I feel you pushing something inside me, and I try to relax and allow it in. But it seems that no matter how much I relax, the intruder is wider. The pressure you are applying is unrelenting, and millimeter by millimeter the monster dildo stretches me open. I am panting in pain by the time the ridged head finally pushes past my outer anal opening, and I find I am crying out as the pain does not dissipate. I desperately want the giant intruder removed, but that's not your plan, and you keep slowly pushing it into my rectum. By the time the dildo is far enough in that I can't push it out, you stop forcing it in, and after a moment I feel your hand stroking my hair and hear your voice close in my ear.
"Shh. Shh... " you say soothingly. "It's alright. You want me to hurt you don't you ?"
I take a few deep breaths, and manage to control myself a bit.
"Yes, Mistress, thank you for hurting me", I say with difficulty. She strokes my face.
"Thank you Mistress," I manage to utter, before I feel you between my legs and pushing the dildo further inside me. This time there's no gentleness, you're pushing it in as hard as you can, splitting me in two, voilating me with what feels like a monster dildo. As I cry out in pain, you start fucking me with the dildo, a burning pain that never quite turns into pleasure.
You stop---after how long I don't know because time has stopped for me---and pull the dildo out, leaving me burning and aching. I feel you mounting the table, and your arse descending on my face.
"Lick" you say sharply.
I stick my tongue out and am greeted with the bitter-sweet taste of your arsehole. As I start licking, I feel you lean forward, and feel your fingers inside my hole. It is a couple of seconds before I realise that your fingers must have been smeared liberally with Dencorub. The pain quickly builds, and particularly after the brutal preperation, it becomes overwhelming, and it is all I can do not to scream.
"I feel your bottom wiggle on my face, as if to get my attention.
"Don't stop, fuckface." you say.
The pain in my anus builds to a crescendo as I struggle to keep licking your arsehole. A couple of times, the pain becomes too much and I lose concentration, crying out and arching my back. You grab my hair and force my face into your backside, and I remember my purpose and keep licking. Eventually you climb off my face, but the pain still burns inside me.
"Well that was a pretty pathetic effort," you say sharply, although I suspect you had a very nice orgasm while my tongue was rimming you. "I think I might grant your request now ... and give you another 60 strokes with that cane."
You untie me and take your seat again, as I fetch you more wine and kneel at your feet holding the cane up for you to use when it eventually pleases you.
This time as you cane my ass I cannot maintain my composure and my position, and fall to my knees 5 times. You punish this lack of discipline by repeating each stroke I can't stay upright for. On the 45th stroke, as I fall to my knees for the seventh time you bend down and say softly to me,
"You can't do this, can you ? We can stop now. You're really only worthy to lick my arsehole, aren't you ?"
"Please, Mistress," I sob, "I can do it, I'll try harder. Please let me worship your pussy."
You deliver a smarting crack to my cheek.
"Then get the fuck up then, you useless wanker," you yell, "don't keep me waiting."
After the caning is finished, I am sobbing, oblivious, and you relax again in the easy chair as I try to regain my composure.
"I know," you say, "I've got the perfect way to find out how much you really want to lick my pussy."
You go over to a cupboard, and come back with what looks like a rope. You have me kneel on all fours as you tie a loop very tightly around my balls. You attach the other end to a bolt in the floor, and I notice that most of its length is actually bunjee cord, or some similar elastic.
You take your place on the chair again, shift back in the seat, and spread your legs.
"Well, come and get it," you say with a cruel smile on your face.
I crawl over towards my prize, your glorious pussy, glistening with the juices of your arousal. As I approach you I feel the cord around my balls start to pull tight, and by the time I am two inches or so away from heaven, it feels like my balls are about to be wrenched from my body completely. Your scent is intoxicating, and I push myself forward again, but before I can reach you, the pain in my balls becomes too extreme and I can't go any further.
"Aww ... " you say, mock sympathetic, "And I thought you wanted to lick me ? You haven't changed your mind have you ?"
I try again, trying to put my stretched balls out of my mind, and by reaching my tongue out as far as it will go, make contact with your inner labia. The pain recedes slightly, and I manage to push myself a few millimeters closer, enough to very very lightly lick you.
"I don't think much of your technique," you say after a few minutes, "that's never going to get me off. More pressure, slave."
I edge forward again, and as the pain in my balls rises to yet another level (surely they're going to get pulled clean off any minute), I manage to apply slightly more pressure.
"That's better, but slower now, slave I wouldn't want to come too soon."
I slow my tongue strokes down, savouring the delicious cruelty of your last order, but wondering how I'm going to stand this for another minute, let alone the half-hour it could take you to reach a leisurely orgasm. I sense that you are responding to my attentions, when all of a sudden you shift backwards in the seat, placing yourself another 2 inches further from my tongue.
"Oh that's much more comfortable," you say, "continue."
We both know that two more inches forward would tear my poor aching balls from my body completely, but by now I'm hooked, so I try. I get about half an inch forward before the pain in my balls doubles again and I cry out. I can't go any further, and start to edge backwards.
"Don't you dare go away," you smile down at my tear stained face, "don't you want to lick me ?"
"Please Mistress, I can't go any closer."
"I'm not interested in your miserable excuses," you say, Get that tongue in here NOW," and you punctuate the sentence with a finger on your clit.
I lean forwards again, but still can't close the gap, and I can't stop crying out. But after a minute or so it becomes plain I won't be pleasing Mistress in person today.
"Pathetic," you sneer. "But stay just where you are, and I'll let you watch."
My balls are being torn from my body, and I'm an inch away from your glorious pussy, and all I can do is watch as your fingers caress your clit, and you come to a magnificent orgasm. I am tantalised by the scent of your arousal, tormented by the fact that I haven't given you the pleasure I wished to, half out of my mind with the pain in my overstretched balls, but content that at least my suffering might have given you pleasure.