The Marquis-Noir orders me to offer myself to a young man after I flog him.
///
When I saw him come in the club wearing his black T-shirt, I thought : "this guy's clueless". Psychic alarms flashed around him as I see a white aura vibrating, warning me.
He's nervous behind his mask & he makes the mistake of touching the weights on the chain that you've clamped between my labial lips. "C'est lourd ?" he asks, as you run over to protect me, telling him that he needs to ask first.
Yet, you tantalize him later, telling me to sit with my legs spread open even wider since he wants to look, sitting across from me. I don't meet his eyes, I don't care about him behind his mask.
During this goûter, you've asked me to switch, and i've already flogged two men and a woman when this young man asks your permission to be flogged too. That is, he asks me when I'm handing the martinet back to Ôda, and we both tell him he has to ask you. To my surprise, you agree.
I take the two martinets & take him upstairs. You quickly appear & sit in a corner chair to watch. He slides down his pants slightly, but I tell him to drop them to his ankles. You encourage him. And I begin to whip, aiming as best I can, only looking at you in our amused complicity. His hand goes to stroke his cock, but I tell him that he doesn't have the right to touch himself & go over to check when you tell me to.
"T'as vu comment il bande ? Tu vas lui vider les couilles plus tard" you say. I stroke him only for your benefit.
Finally you decide that he should sodomize me. I have absolutely no desire, but I obey you nevertheless. I place the martinets on the shelf, and follow you into the bedroom.
He comes into the room as I stand with you, his hands reach out to directly pinch my tits really hard in a hurtful way, & I tell him to stop, pushing his hands away. You remind him to be more gentle in his approch to my sensitive nipples.
He drops his pants down slightly & I tell him to take them off, so he completely undresses except perhaps his socks (I hate it when men keep their socks on !).
You order me to position myself à 4 pattes, & I kneel on the bed as you give him a rubber. Someone puts gel on my ass — he begins to penetrate me & I ask for more. I think of Monsieur Os, of his huge cock.
He plunges into me & his hand strikes me hard on my flank, deflecting the pain from the penetration to my thigh. It hurts, as he strikes several times & I go into that dark space inside me, all thoughts & feelings jumbled as my brain focusses on my ass, his hand, your presence, and especially my emotions. I'm face down, nestled in my arms beneath my hair. I cry out, no, no ... as he continues to hit. His hands reach forward to pinch my tits, but I swat them away.
You're lying on the bed to my right & I tell you "Il est méchant." A mean muthafuka.
He stops hitting me, I don't know if you've told him or if he's heard what I said.
I feel angry & sad, angry at him for being a mean muthafuka, angry at you for offering me to him, sad for myself.
I turn my desire towards you as he continues to pump into me. The body feels the physical excitement even when the mind has conflicting emotions. So I turn my energy towards you.
"Salope" you say, "you bad girl".
"Yes, I'm a bad girl", I reply & smile because you know how to make that click for me, & now I'm totally doing this only for your benefit.
I stroke my pussy to help the pleasure mount, swollen, soft wet flesh, but my fingers seem distant so I ask for yours. ("Please"... you remind me). I lean up, clinging to you, kissing your neck as your fingers stimulate me & the electricity makes me twitch & arch.
And then you decide that he should come on my tits. I sit or stand before him, my hands lift & offer my breasts. He pulls off the rubber, jerking off —your arm is around my waist, I think— I look up at the ceiling, closing my eyes, don't wanna watch him, then the warm jets splat over my chest. The warmth is pleasurable, but I don't want to smell his sperm. He's done & reaches for a kleenex. I ask for "beaucoup de kleenex" as he gives me one. You repeat : elle a dit "beaucoup" ! He hands me a bunch & I wipe myself as best I can before going to the sink.
He follows me, impatiently standing outside the curtain, asking for a towel. I'm at the sink, rinsing off his sperm. I ask him, "Au début, il y a eu des coups, mais je ne savais pas si c'était toi ou lui".
"C'était lui", he lies & we both know it. Yet, because it was so unpleasant for me, I'm in a strange moment of doubt.
The next day, a black bruise the size of a thumb is oddly placed on the front of my thigh.
///
When I saw him come in the club wearing his black T-shirt, I thought : "this guy's clueless". Psychic alarms flashed around him as I see a white aura vibrating, warning me.
He's nervous behind his mask & he makes the mistake of touching the weights on the chain that you've clamped between my labial lips. "C'est lourd ?" he asks, as you run over to protect me, telling him that he needs to ask first.
Yet, you tantalize him later, telling me to sit with my legs spread open even wider since he wants to look, sitting across from me. I don't meet his eyes, I don't care about him behind his mask.
During this goûter, you've asked me to switch, and i've already flogged two men and a woman when this young man asks your permission to be flogged too. That is, he asks me when I'm handing the martinet back to Ôda, and we both tell him he has to ask you. To my surprise, you agree.
I take the two martinets & take him upstairs. You quickly appear & sit in a corner chair to watch. He slides down his pants slightly, but I tell him to drop them to his ankles. You encourage him. And I begin to whip, aiming as best I can, only looking at you in our amused complicity. His hand goes to stroke his cock, but I tell him that he doesn't have the right to touch himself & go over to check when you tell me to.
"T'as vu comment il bande ? Tu vas lui vider les couilles plus tard" you say. I stroke him only for your benefit.
Finally you decide that he should sodomize me. I have absolutely no desire, but I obey you nevertheless. I place the martinets on the shelf, and follow you into the bedroom.
He comes into the room as I stand with you, his hands reach out to directly pinch my tits really hard in a hurtful way, & I tell him to stop, pushing his hands away. You remind him to be more gentle in his approch to my sensitive nipples.
He drops his pants down slightly & I tell him to take them off, so he completely undresses except perhaps his socks (I hate it when men keep their socks on !).
You order me to position myself à 4 pattes, & I kneel on the bed as you give him a rubber. Someone puts gel on my ass — he begins to penetrate me & I ask for more. I think of Monsieur Os, of his huge cock.
He plunges into me & his hand strikes me hard on my flank, deflecting the pain from the penetration to my thigh. It hurts, as he strikes several times & I go into that dark space inside me, all thoughts & feelings jumbled as my brain focusses on my ass, his hand, your presence, and especially my emotions. I'm face down, nestled in my arms beneath my hair. I cry out, no, no ... as he continues to hit. His hands reach forward to pinch my tits, but I swat them away.
You're lying on the bed to my right & I tell you "Il est méchant." A mean muthafuka.
He stops hitting me, I don't know if you've told him or if he's heard what I said.
I feel angry & sad, angry at him for being a mean muthafuka, angry at you for offering me to him, sad for myself.
I turn my desire towards you as he continues to pump into me. The body feels the physical excitement even when the mind has conflicting emotions. So I turn my energy towards you.
"Salope" you say, "you bad girl".
"Yes, I'm a bad girl", I reply & smile because you know how to make that click for me, & now I'm totally doing this only for your benefit.
I stroke my pussy to help the pleasure mount, swollen, soft wet flesh, but my fingers seem distant so I ask for yours. ("Please"... you remind me). I lean up, clinging to you, kissing your neck as your fingers stimulate me & the electricity makes me twitch & arch.
And then you decide that he should come on my tits. I sit or stand before him, my hands lift & offer my breasts. He pulls off the rubber, jerking off —your arm is around my waist, I think— I look up at the ceiling, closing my eyes, don't wanna watch him, then the warm jets splat over my chest. The warmth is pleasurable, but I don't want to smell his sperm. He's done & reaches for a kleenex. I ask for "beaucoup de kleenex" as he gives me one. You repeat : elle a dit "beaucoup" ! He hands me a bunch & I wipe myself as best I can before going to the sink.
He follows me, impatiently standing outside the curtain, asking for a towel. I'm at the sink, rinsing off his sperm. I ask him, "Au début, il y a eu des coups, mais je ne savais pas si c'était toi ou lui".
"C'était lui", he lies & we both know it. Yet, because it was so unpleasant for me, I'm in a strange moment of doubt.
The next day, a black bruise the size of a thumb is oddly placed on the front of my thigh.
2 comments:
Later I write you :
J'aimerais savoir un détail, s'il te plaît. Quand ce jeune homme m'a pénétré, j'ai eu l'impression que c'est lui qui m'as claqué des fesses très fort. C'était bien lui, non ? Parce qu'après, quand je me lavais, je lui ai posé la question, et il m'a dit que c'était toi.
Je ne sais pas encore exactement ce que je ressens du fait de me faire prendre par un homme qui ne me plaît pas. Je laisse les sentiments faire surface pour le récit...
You reply :
Pour le jeune homme, tu m'as déjà posé la question.... et je t'ai répondu, si tu m'avais dit, cela au club, je l'aurais appelé devant toi, et je l'aurais mis face a ses mensonges, je déteste cela... une manière surement de ne pas assumer ses pulsions, ce qui d'ailleurs ne m'etonne pas, c'est en cela qu'il ne peux les contenir, ni les encadrer, car pour se faire, il faut déjà les accepter et les assumer.
.:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:.
About this confusion :
I suppose it goes into a deep subconscious space. If I thought it was you, perhaps it's because somewhere I thought that it could be you. Or that it somehow made it "better", since you're my Master & I'm obeying you. Or that it is difficult for me to acknowlege that you offered me to a jerk who hurt me. So if I think it's you, my anger deflects from his hand to yours, tranferring the basic anger of being mistreated. Yet I know that your touch would be much different.
The more I think of this, the more angry I feel. Is this anger disproportionate ?
Must I accept every advance, sending the person to ask your permission every time, or can I refuse or decline, saying "I don't want to play with you" ? When can I choose ?
Post a Comment