She   1 comment

You’re on the floor, nude, with wrists bound behind your back, and a hood over your head that only allows breathing.  You’re not sure where you are, or if it is dark or light outside because all you can see is the inside of the hood, and when you stick your tongue out and feel around the corners of your mouth, you taste leather and the metallic tang of a zipper.  With each breath you take you feel a pulling sensation from both nipples, and you think that somehow they might be attached to your bound wrists but you’re not sure.

You become aware of someone standing next to you, silent, and you try to move toward where you think they are, but you can’t.  You were so focused on your wrists and the exquisite sensation of your arms being pulled back that you didn’t realize your ankles are actually bound to the floor.  Your breath catches, and the small sound you give out draws the person toward you.

You wait, trying to breathe softly, and your heartbeat feels incredibly loud as it pulses in your head.  You feel a hand reach out and trace across your neck, then down your chest.  Fingers pinch your left nipple gently, then twist it cruelly.

You cry out, and feel a finger go across your lips.  A whisper, “Shhhhh…”, and you go silent.

This time, when the hand traces down the other side, you determine you’ll be quiet.  Your right nipple is pinched gently, and then something is pulled that tugs on it, hard.  You grit your teeth, and manage only a whimper, and then feel the person move behind you. As the tugging begins to alternate from side to side, and your pulse quickens, you feel more than hear, “Good boy,” breathed onto the back of your neck.

The pressure on your nipples changes from intense to gentle, in no specific pattern so it is impossible to get used to.  You feel teeth sink into the back of your neck, and one hand traces down your chest and then takes hold of something else…another tie or chain?  You can’t tell what it is, but you feel a sharp tug against the root of your cock, and another gasp bursts from your mouth.

This time, your mouth is slapped firmly.   “Quiet,” the voice says.  You whimper again, but grit your teeth against another tug.  Instead, you feel a hand trace lower and wrap around your cock for a moment, then release and smack it.  You bite your own lip so you won’t cry out, and taste copper.

“If you can’t be quiet,” the voice says, “I’m going to have to gag you.”  You want to say something, anything, to let them know that you’ll do whatever they ask, but you remain silent.  Your cock is smacked three more times in succession, and then you feel whoever it is move away.


Time passes.  It might be a minute, or an hour, or a century as you wait on the floor – the anticipation is killing you.  “Will she leave me here?  How long?  Does it matter?”  And then, you hear her returning, footsteps echoing softly.

She moves you, gently, to your knees, but leaves your ankles and wrists bound and pushes your head down so your chin is touching your chest.  A sharp CRACK! and the back of your neck is struck with what feels like a leather thong.  It stings, and then grows warm.

“This is my favorite quirt,” she says, and your mind pictures braided strips of leather with two thongs on the end.  “They’re amazingly versatile, and the stripes will look amazing.”  Another crack! crack! crack! and you almost jump out of your skin as the quirt hits your back 1, 2, 3 times in succession.  She laughs, softly, and then moves to your front.

As the quirt hits your left nipple, then your right, you jerk backwards and the ties that attach them to your still-bound wrists wrench them sharply.  A hiss escapes your gritted teeth, and she laughs and says, “If you can’t keep still, you’ll hurt yourself.”  You struggle to keep your balance as she continues to beat your now throbbing nipples and you can feel rivulets of sweat beginning to stream down your back.  Just when you think you cannot take it anymore…she stops.

Your chest is warm and throbbing, and you pant like you’ve finished a marathon.  You hear the soft sound of water being poured into a glass, and the glass is held to your lips.  You take a sip, and then another, and she holds the glass so you may drink as long as you like.  When you finish, she removes the glass and walks away.  And, you wait again, in the dark of your hood.


Another indefinable length of time passes, and she returns.  “Those stripes,” she remarks as she walks around you, “they make you more than what you were.  Someone should arrange for you to carry them permanently.”

This thought lodges itself in your mind but, before you can really assess it, you feel a THUD! across your lower back.  White-hot pain blossoms from the impact site and you see stars for a moment.  She pauses, and then asks, “Too hard?”

The silence drags on for a bit before you realize she wants a response this time.

“Nooo………, ” you whimper, desperately trying not to cry.

You can almost feel her smile.  She says, “This particular tool of mine is rigid, but it doesn’t break the skin like some others might.  It leaves lovely bruises, though.”  Your breath catches in your throat, and she laughs again, softly.

You feel her breath against your ear as she leans in to whisper to you.  “Be good, little plaything.  You want to stay still and please me.”

You want to reply, but fear the repercussions, so you silently resolve not to move.  You feel the rod against your back again; over and over you hear a swish and then feel the thud, and the blows fall like rain.  Your back is sore, and she moves down to your ass.  Each stroke there licks across you like flame, and you struggle to remain in place.  When she brings two sharp blows across your calves, you nearly fall over.

And then, as suddenly as it began, it stops.  Her fingers begin to stroke across each place where the rod fell, and she lingers to pinch the raising welts.  You moan and your entire body shudders.


Her hands move down to your ankles, and you feel her unshackle you from the floor.  She unbuckles your wrist restraints, moves your arms to your front, then refastens them.  She guides you gently to lie on your back, facing up, and you hear the soft sounds of clothing being rearranged.  You feel her come to rest above your open mouth, and the air grows warm.  As she lowers herself to your lips, she whispers, “Please me.”


Posted June 6, 2014 by veggiewolf in Erotica, Storytelling

Tagged with , , ,

One response to “She

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  1. Your description of the physical sensations experienced by the narrator draws the reader right in. And you employ the second person POV very effectively.

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