rurealiam on Collarspace

11/1/2009 8:33:05 PM

This is very, very real.........

The door was open and some jazz station was playing. The house was lit
mostly by candles and low lights and when I found him in the kitchen he had
a drink already prepared for me. So like him not to ask what I'd like, but
to make the decision for me. Anyway it was good, Grand Marnier over ice in a
big round glass. I drank nervously, and I could feel the alcohol warm and
sweet, and I drank more.

We stood close and he kissed me and ran his hands slowly down the front of
my body. I tried to explain/complain about the delay, and say I was sorry
about being so late. He found my tits under my sweater and gently tweaked
them, stopping my nervous chatter. Still gently thumbing my tits, he asked
if I was going to behave and follow the house rules tonight, and I playfully
said "Like what?" (Rules? There are Rules?) He pulled up sharply on my
tits, forcing me to my toes. I gasped at his roughness - I guess he wasn't
in a playful mood tonight, and clearly he didn't like my answer. And he said
like always addressing him as Master or Sir, not using the word "I", being
absolutely obedient, never climaxing without permission, etc. (All these
are easy except the "I" thing, I can't seem to get the hang of referring to
myself that way) but he had me in a vulnerable spot and so I said, "Yes,
Sir", thinking he would release my tits. But he continued to keep me on my
toes, and I started shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying in vain to
find a little release. I looked into his eyes, pleading, but he still held
tight.

"Hands behind your back, arms straight" he said, and I struggled to do so,
even though it pulled my tits even tighter. He spoke slowly, like he had
all the time in the world. "First you're late arriving, now you're giving
me attitude. Hmmm. You must want to be punished very badly." I moaned and
looked away - I couldn't think of any appropriate response, how come these
things always get out of hand so quickly? "Kiss me" he said, not moving any
closer to me, not releasing my throbbing tits. I leaned into him,
struggling to reach his mouth, gasping at each inch. I could almost reach
him, but he purposefully kept me out of reach. I felt stretched from head
to toe, and my tits were painfully distended. "Please Sir?" I stammered,
and he finally let me reach him, releasing my tits. He covered my moan with
his mouth and kissed me long and deep. I wanted so much to put my arms
around him, but I kept them behind my back, afraid that he would see it as
disobedience. He slipped my sweater off, rubbing his palms over my stiff
little tits, and I let my hands fall to my side. He pulled my skirt and
panties down and I stepped out of them and when he stopped kissing me it was
to tell me to get on my knees and crawl down the hall and into the studio,
and wait there for him.

The studio is a converted garage, with that foamy egg-crate stuff on the
walls and ceilings and carpeted floors for recording sessions (not This kind
of session, music recording sessions). Anyhow, it's comfortable and dark
and very, very private. I waited obediently on my knees in the middle of
the room and he soon returned carrying a bunch of jangling metal pieces
which I knew from experience were handcuffs. I kinda hate handcuffs, the
metal is so cold and hard, and soft rope or even a scarf is enough to hold
me, but complaining didn't seem to be in my interest, so I just extended my
wrists to him. Sure enough, he quickly put the cuffs on my wrists and then
pulled me to my feet and attached the cuffs to a chain dangling from an eye
bolt in the ceiling. Funny, I hadn't seen that when I crawled in (ha ha),
and no sooner had I looked up to see how it was all attached, when he put
another set of cuffs on my ankles. These were separated by about a foot of
chain, just enough for me to keep my balance. He moved the chain on the
handcuffs up a link or two so that I was on my toes, my arms stretched
straight up. The cuffs pressed into my wrist and I found I could take off a
little (very little) slack by grabbing the chain going to the ceiling. I
wasn't in serious pain, merely discomfort and very aware of any attempt to
relax.

He stepped back and turned on a stage light with a red/orange gel and I
could feel the heat from the light wash over me, putting me on display and
him in shadows. "That's a nice touch, Master" I said. He agreed and said
he'd like to photograph me that way. I thought, Gee, this isn't so bad,
we're having a nice little conversation, like normal people. That's when I
noticed the half dozen paddles, whips and crops neatly laid out on top of
his keyboard. He moved around behind me and grabbed the back of my hair.
"Head back and open that mouth wide" he said sternly, and very quickly he
plopped a ball gag into my mouth and secured it around my head with a thin
leather strap.   I was breathing fast through my nose and I could feel the
gag filling my mouth, forcing my tongue back and my jaw wide. It was one of
those dog toys, a hard rubber ball with little nubs all over it and to my
dismay it had a humiliating little bell inside that jingled whenever I moved
my head. What next, I thought? I moaned and tried to communicate my
supplication with my eyes.

Next, I learned, was a belt. Maybe he originally planned to strap me with
it, but instead cinched it around my upper chest, just above my tits. Again,
he tightened it just past the comfort point and I knew he was enjoying my
distress. I could glance down and see my tits bulging out below the belt. I
could just imagine how I looked, naked and strung up, gagged and cuffed hand
and foot, waiting helplessly under the stage light.

I whimpered as he took a multi-tailed whip from the array on the keyboard
and swung it lazily at his side. This one had many long, soft strips of
leather - it reminded me of a horse's tail the way it danced and moved in
his hand.   He took a couple of steps back and then started whipping me, the
strips landing on my ass, wrapping around my thighs, my stomach. He walked
around me in a wide circle and whipped me every which way, stinging my ass
and tits repeatedly. The first strikes didn't hurt so much, he wasn't using
much force, not even laying the strips out horizontal. But he kept at it
and soon I was I trying to dodge or to anticipate the blows, which seemed to
come from everywhere. He whipped me harder, flicking my tits with fast
snaps, making me dance in little hops and twists and plead for him to stop.
He didn't even slow down and instead tormented me by telling me how slutty I
looked, how much he was enjoying this, how he could do this all night. My
cries behind the gag were sounding like one long continuous moan.

When he finally tired of that, I slumped a little in my chains, not even
caring about the bruises I was getting on my wrists. I was just glad for a
break and a chance to cool the fire all over my body and get my breathing
back to normal.

Some break. He took two wooden clothes pins from his pocket and I stared in
horror as he used both of them on one tit, grabbing not the sensitive tip,
but the soft pink skin on either side. I moaned and cried out behind the gag
- those things really hurt. I mean, they start out hurting and get worse
from there. "These are just temporary, so I can apply the clamps" he
chided, and true to his word, he fastened a nipple clamp firmly and quickly
removed the clothes pins. I was so relieved and grateful that I didn't
complain when he repeated this on the other side. I was now adorned with a
pair of sturdy flat nipple clamps linked by a smooth heavy chain. He jiggled
the chain and gave it a good tug to make sure it wouldn't come off. I cried
out, the gag muffling my protests. I was in misery and there was more to
come.

Now he selected a riding crop from the table and started targeting my ass
and thighs with hard little smacks that weren't as wildly random as the
horsetail whip, but stung in a much more focused way. He cupped one of my
clamped tits in his hand, swelling it up against the belt around my chest,
and then delivered a half dozen tight smacks to the flesh trapped between.
I shrieked behind the gag and was seeing fireworks from the pain shooting
through my tit. It felt like I was on fire, and when he moved to start in
on the other tit, I tried to shrink away. Bad move, because this really
seemed to piss him off and instead of cupping my other tit, he grabbed the
chain linking the tit clamps and twisted it in his left hand and then
punished my other tit savagely with the crop. I kept protesting - I
couldn't help myself, I was miserable and was desperate for him to stop.
"Who are you trying to fool, girl? You love this." I shook my head, no and
he reach down and stuck a pair of fingers inside me, pulling them out shiny
and wet as evidence of my true self. "Liar" he said, matter of factly.
"Now I really do have to punish you."

He came up behind me, kicked my legs apart a little (that's all they could
go because of the cuffs). He forced my hips forward with his knee and
wrapped one arm around my waist so that I was stretch like a bow, supported
by his body. And then, very deliberately, he started spanking my cunt with
the leathery tongue of the crop. I thought I would die. One! Two! Three!
burning smacks, and then he ran the hard shaft of the crop between my
swollen lips. I struggled beneath him, but he had me completely
immobilized. He held my lips apart with one hand, and then - Smack! Smack!
Smack! - repeated his attack on my exposed cunt - the stinging was
unbelievable. He kept on this way, sometimes smacking my thighs and stomach,
but always returning to deliver three in a row to my wet cunt. The pain and
torment seemed to go on interminably, all the worse because I could see down
the front of my body, my reddened tits constricted by the belt, the clamps
biting into my tits, and the crop landing again and again on my most tender
parts and I knew no matter how badly I hurt, he wouldn't stop until it
pleased him to do so. I lost count of the stinging smacks and finally
surrendered, gave up any hope of ending this pain, and even raised my hips
to meet his blows, thinking it was all I deserved, to be used and punished
in this most debasing way, to be a mute object of torment for the enjoyment
of another.

It was like he could read my mind because the rain of pain subsided and he
and set me back on my feet. My hair was matted against my forehead, I was
on the verge of tears and I couldn't believe how my body throbbed all over,
especially between my legs - I couldn't put my legs together, the rubbing
only added to my torment and I had a terrible fear that if I did, I might
climax without permission. That was too scary to even contemplate.

After a few moments I regained myself and he pulled the ball gag from my
mouth, leaving it to dangle around my neck. It felt so strange and
wonderful to be able to put my lips together and I ran my tongue over my
lips as he fed me some of the Grand Marnier and let me drink. I was
unspeakably grateful but managed a weak Thank you, Master. It wasn't
protocol, I meant it.

He unhooked my hands and my arms felt so heavy that I nearly folded in half,
my cuffed hands resting on my thighs. I longed to touch myself, my cunt
felt hot and swollen, but I didn't dare. He laughed a little at my weakened
condition and said "Now get on over here" leading me across the studio at a
normal gait, using the chain that joined my nipples as a leash, forcing me
to scamper and hop to keep from tripping on the ankle cuffs. Near the
corner was a large metal structure, sort of a big tripod - a light stand, I
think -- and he backed me into it until my back was flat against the
vertical bar. He came around and re-fastened the belt around my chest to
also go around this bar (he was getting a lot of use out of that belt), and
he again secured my wrists above my head. He seemed pretty satisfied with
this tableau, but then reached into my glass and pulled out an ice cube and
tucked it into the cleavage where my tits met the belt, and let it slowly
drip down my chest and into my pubic hair. He gently smoothed the hair off
of my face, and kissed my forehead.

I spoke, "Master, please, could I have some more of my drink?" He let me sip
from the glass and then said with a note of true disbelief in his voice,
"You used the word "I"." "Omigod" I said, "I'm so sorry!" and then realized
with a start I'd done it again. (you try this some time, it's a bitch).
His face changed into his this-is-the-last-straw look and he said, "Open
your mouth and give me your tongue." I started to comply but then saw that
he intended to use a clothes pin on my tongue, and involuntarily (honest!) I
withdrew with a scared shake of my head. He looked angry for the first time
that night and said, "Do it NOW, autumn, or I WILL hurt you." That got me,
and I opened my mouth and offered my tongue, searching his eyes for
compassion. He applied the wooden pin to the meatiest part of my tongue,
then stood back a few feet and just watched me for several minutes. It
didn't hurt so bad, but for some reason I found this little tongue torture
completely humiliating, worse than anything else he'd done. I could feel my
jaw start to tremble and the tears welling in my eyes.

Then I saw it, off to the side of the room. A mirror on the wall captured
me, tethered to this metal post, the chain of the ever-present tit clamps
swaying prettily, a little river of melting ice trickling down my belly, and
me with my mouth open and panting, a clothes pin obscenely secured to my
offending tongue. I was a mess.

"I'm going to take that off now, but if you slip up again, I'll have you
wearing clothespins on your cunt lips for the rest of the night - do you
understand?" I knew he meant it and my heart skipped several beats as I
nodded. He removed the clothes pin and said, "Let's hear your apology."

My head swam, this was a quicksand trap. "Your slave -- this slave -- is
sorry, Master." God, it sounded so foreign, but I knew he wanted more.
"Please Sir. This slave begs for forgiveness, begs to show you how sorry she
is for breaking the rules."

He stepped toward me and jingled the chain on the nipple clamps. "How sorry
are you?" he taunted.

"This slave is very sorry Master." I hoped I sounded appropriately scared
and contrite, I sure felt that way.

"Louder!" he said, giving the chain a sharp upward tug that I could feel in
the base of my belly.

"Very Sorry Master!"

He gave the chain a twist, forcing me to my toes. "How sorry?" he repeated,
his face inches from mine, his eyes hard.

"Very very sorry Master!"

He nodded once. "March in place!" he growled. "NOW!"

I marched frantically, my tits bouncing and pulling and distended under the
chain. "Sorry! Sorry! This slave is Very Sorry! Please Master, please have
mercy!" I pleaded, my voice all choppy as I marched at his command.

"Who do you belong to?" he demanded.

"This slave is yours, Master!"

"Who do these tits belong to?"

"To you, Master!" I cried, and with that he pulled the clamps off and the
pain increased ten-fold, and in one motion he stepped back and slapped my
tits with his open hand, first to the left, then to the right.

"And. . . I. . . can . . . punish . . . them . . . how. . .ever . . . I . .
. want?" he taunted, punctuating each word with another stinging slap to my
punished tits.

"Yes! Yes Master!" Miserable doesn't begin to describe how I felt, and yet
underneath it all, deep in the secret part of me, I could feel a climax
building fast. "Oh-oooo Master!" I stammered helplessly. He knew right
away what was going on and simply said, "autumn, you don't dare." And I
forced the climax away, more desperate than ever. He covered both tits with
his hands and held them still. My tits felt hot and huge and throbbed like
a bee sting. He ran his thumbs over the reddened flesh and even his softest
touch was a maddening torment, bringing tears to my eyes. "Crocodile tears"
he said dismissively. "You don't fool me."

He unhooked my hands, and the belt around my chest, then tossed the handcuff
keys at my feet. "Undo yourself and get back on your knees" he said, then
left the room.

I fumbled with the keys, finally finding the right one and undoing the cuffs
on my wrists and ankles and dropping them in a messy pile on the carpet. I
found my glass and drank what little remained, and then got on my knees,
where I belonged.

He returned with a jug of water and he took a long drink, as if he had been
the one working so hard and struggling so long. I watched enviously. He
placed a dinner plate on the floor at his feet, and poured a thin film of
water on it. "There's yours, pet." he said, and although I was ashamed, I
lowered my head nearly to the floor and licked the plate dry with long
strokes of my tongue. I knew he expected me to keep my knees apart and my
ass up high, and I was not ready to invite more strict abuse. He walked
behind me, I knew he had a clear view of my wet hungry sex and my ass and
even my tight little hole. He pushed the plate away with his booted foot and
I knew he wanted me to lick his boot. I took a few tentative licks of the
hard black leather, watching it turn shiny and wet under my tongue. He made
pleased sounds and I continued to lick the instep and the shaft, and then
down again to the pointy toe. He lifted it slightly and I gingerly mouthed
the toe of his boot. Almost under his breath he said, "If you knew where
that was going next, I believe you'd be licking that part very well." I
didn't know, but I could guess, so I wet it even more and tried to force
more of the hard leather boot into my mouth.

His slid a hand down my back, slid a finger into my wet pussy and stroked my
labia. I craved him to touch my clitoris, or to really finger-fuck me, but
he kept it maddeningly light, stroking my swollen lips, barely entering me.
When I rocked back onto his hand, he withdrew it completely and slapped me
hard on that little piece of skin between my pussy and my ass. God, wouldn't
he cut me any slack tonight? I licked his boot a little more feverishly,
determined to be pleasing and good.   Then I felt his finger press on my
tight anal opening, circling, exploring. I whimpered a little, and he
pressed into me, working his finger into my ass. God, it felt good and I
raised my ass a little higher. He started moving his hand in small circles
and I was forced to follow, wagging my ass from left to right, all the while
working on shining his boots with my tongue.

"You are such a slut" he chided, "You try to be difficult and yet you are so
easy to control." I lapped continuously at his shoes, hating his words,
hating that he knew this about me, unable to stop from debasing myself.
"I'll bet I could have you shining shoes like this up at PDX. All kinds of
people walking by, plenty of men and women who want their shoes licked
cleaned by a naked, whipped little slut like you." Now his finger was
sliding in and out of my asshole, causing all kinds of wicked sensations.
"What do you think of that, girl? How'd you like to lick the shoes of some
snooty business woman as she talked on her cellphone? Or some old black
security guard? Heck, anybody could afford you - a nickel apiece and you
can't quit til you fill a jelly jar. How's that sound?"

It sounded too real and I was panting and moaning and kissing and licking
his boot frantically, imagining the humiliation of the scene he described.

He pulled his finger out abruptly. "On your back, slut" he said. He moved
a chair between my legs and sat on the edge. Part of me couldn't believe
what was coming, and yet I knew he was going to force the pointy toe of his
black boot into my cunt and I was going to let him. "Spread them wide" he
said and I reached down, separated my wet cunt lips, then watched with a
mixture of amazement and horror as he pressed an inch or so of his cowboy
boot into me. "Give me your hands" he said and he pulled me almost up to a
sitting position, and then almost down flat again, see-sawing me on the
point of his boot, working it in further. "Christ, I can feel your heat
right through the leather. You know for this, I could charge a dime. . . of
course, they're smaller so it would take twice as long to fill the jar." He
laughed at his little joke, and I thought my humiliation was complete. But
I was wrong.

"Thank me" he growled.

I moaned miserably, rocking back and forth on the tip of his boot.
"Th-thank you Master. Thank you for fucking your slave with your boot."
God, did I actually say that?

He let go of my hands, "Rodeo time" he said cheerfully, and once again he
had the riding crop in his hand, lifting my chin up with it's leathery
tongue. "You're going to hold yourself up and ride my boot, bitch" he said
and I did, raising my ass off the carpet and sliding my cunt back and forth
obediently over his boot. He used the crop randomly on my body tormenting
all the places he'd already made so tender. "Work it in deeper. That's
right, ride my boot you rodeo bitch. I'll give you to the count of twenty to
bring yourself off on my boot. Start counting NOW!"

Oh jeez, a counting game! I started grinding hard and counting out loud, and
with each count he struck me again with the crop. "One. . .CRACK . .two . .
CRACK . .three, ouch! . . . SMACK . . . f-four . . CRACK . . . five . .
CRACK .. . six. . .CRACK . ." I didn't think I could do it, the
perverseness of being fucked by his boot countered by the stinging rain from
the crop, on my stomach, my tits, even my face. "Nine, oh please, Sir . .
ten . . . eleven . . . twelve. . ." I finally found the right rhythm and
could feel my orgasm starting to build, and I ground harder, my voice was
ragged. "Fifteen . . . sixteen . . ." Could I make it? I was so close,
just a few more strokes! "Eighteen . . .nineteen. . . twenty!" I held at
twenty and ground hard, but my climax remained just out of reach. I failed
and he knew it.

"Too bad, autumn" he said and pulled his boot out. I collapsed on the
floor, desperate and miserable, not only because I didn't come, but because
I was ashamed of my failure.

"As a consolation prize, you get to suck my cock" he had undone his jeans
and his cock dangled between his legs.   I crawled over to him and eagerly
took him in my mouth, sucking and licking and kissing his rapidly hardening
cock. He hadn't given me permission to use my hands, so I placed them
behind my back. He grabbed me by the hair and forced my mouth up and down
on his cock. After all the unforgiving objects I'd had in my mouth that
night - the ball gag, his boot - it felt unbelievably sweet and good.

I ran my tongue up and down his shaft as he stood and dropped his jeans to
the floor, somehow stepping out of them and his boots while I kept glued to
his cock. He moved onto the floor, straddling me, pinning my arms by my
side with the weight of his body. I was helpless beneath him -- there was
no way I could control the depth of his thrusts, or even turn my head, and
he fucked my mouth as if it were a pussy, stroking and grinding to his own
rhythm, oblivious to my protests when he hit the back of my throat, choking
me briefly before pulling back. I so wished it was my pussy he was fucking,
and I bucked my hips on the carpet, my need growing wildly.

He reached back and smacked my pussy hard, and I instinctively closed my
legs and twisted to the side. He smacked again, this time on my ass - I
knew I was being bad, but I didn't care - fuck him I thought. I'd been a
good little submissive all night, and what had it got me?

"Open your legs" he said. I refused, and he spanked me, really hard, on the
same spot and I could feel the heat spreading. He smacked me again, and my
whole body tensed up and I twisted again, but I didn't open my legs. It's
funny, I knew he would eventually win and I would suffer worse for
resisting, but I just didn't care. I was pushing him as much as he was
pushing me, and the tiny bit of control it gave me felt good.

He thrust deeply into my mouth, and held himself there, choking off my air.
He peered down at me, watching my eyes as I realized he wasn't going to let
me get a decent breath. His cock was rock hard in my mouth, my nose buried
in his pubic hair. He certainly had the upper hand, but I closed my eyes,
determined to wait him out. He wouldn't suffocate me, I knew, but how far
would this go? He let out a little incredulous laugh, "Do you really want
to defy me?" he said in the same tone of voice that Dirty Harry uses on the
bad guys. And suddenly I could feel my lungs growing needy for air, and my
eyes flew open wondering how far he would take this. His calmness was
unnerving, and I could feel my resistance failing fast.

"Open your legs" he said, and with tears in my eyes, I spread my legs
tentatively, fearing his wrath, getting a tiny bit of air, but growing
desperate.

"Get your ass off the carpet, high, and keep your legs wide open." I
responded instantly, lifting my pelvis as high as I could, knees spread
wide, pussy fully exposed for the punishment I knew was coming, the
punishment certainly I now had earned. Bare seconds were going by, but it
seemed forever. He kept watching my eyes, panicky now for air, all
resistance gone. He reach back and laid his hand gently on my pussy for a
moment, then gave me three stinging slaps in a row. A cry choked in my
throat, still filled with his cock. The pain was incredible, like a wave of
fire that began in my pussy and spread across my bottom and down my legs. I
held my position for him like a good girl, and he pulled his cock half way
out of my mouth. I gasped for air repeatedly, the relief washing over me. I
could feel my punished pussy throbbing and contracting in the open air. He
laid his hand across my pussy again, feeling the heat and the wetness there,
letting me get my breath. Then he plunged deep, choking me again, and
delivered another three smacks with his open hand to my pussy. I groaned
into his cock and I squeezed my eyes shut with the pain, but willed my legs
to stay open, my hips to stay high. He repeated this one more time and now
the pain was overwhelming, my whole lower body was trembling and it took
everything I had to hold my position, but I did. I was his slave, I needed
punishing and I took it. Tears were sliding down my face, and I felt the
strangest combination of gratefulness, desperation and defeat.

Suddenly he withdrew his cock from my mouth and immediately buried it to the
hilt in my burning pussy. He fucked me savagely that way, like a rapist,
moving me across the carpet with his thrusts. He was testing me, and I
cried out, but there was no resistance in me now. He flipped me over,
fucking me from behind, one hand cruelly grasping my hair, the other
paddling my ass to a bright crimson, his hard strokes forcing me to crawl
forward by inches. I was defeated, so defeated, but he was like a man
possessed, fucking me, using me, searching for any shred of dignity I might
have left. "Where's my defiant girl now?" he taunted. Tears came to my
eyes and I shook my head from side to side in hopelessness, "Gone" I
whispered, "she's gone." He grabbed both my tits like the reins on a horse,
and pulled them hard, and in a few more hard strokes, he came with a loud
growl, filling me with his hot juice.

He held me that way for a while, and I tentatively humped back on his
semi-rigid cock, wondering if and when I would be allowed to come. He
withdrew and I remained as he'd left me, on my hands and knees, my red ass
in the air, cum dripping from my sore, gaping pussy, like overripe fruit
that's split in the sun.

He came around in front of me. "Clean me up slave" he said, and I did,
licking all traces of come from his cock, and then licking his balls,
rolling them gently with my tongue, feeling their weight.   I let my tongue
drift down to his ass, finding his tight hole, exploring it with the tip of
my tongue. He pressed back a little and I obediently licked his crack and
hole, stabbing my tongue into the musty silkiness there, thinking how very
nasty I was to do so, how appropriate it was for a naughty little slave girl
to do this on her knees for her Master. My pussy thumped with need at the
thought.

"Does my little slave expect to come?" he asked.

What could I possibly answer? Did I deserve it? "If it pleases you Sir" I
whispered hoping it was a suitable reply. I was desperate for release,
humping the air in vain.

"Feel your pussy" he said, and I reached between my legs and touched myself,
so wet with his come, so swollen with the punishment he'd given me. "Now
lick my ass like you'd want your pussy licked." I flicked my tongue all
around his ass, forcing it into his hole, licking and kissing and nibbling
at him. My fingers found my clit, engorged and sensitive, and my tongue
stabbed into him, fucking his asshole. "That's right, bury your tongue in my
ass." I did so. "Keep it there, and you can come" he said.    I finger
fucked myself to a blinding climax and little bits of the evening flew by
like snapshots -- Being strung from the rafter, whipped, my tits clamped
and beaten with the crop, marching at his command, polishing his boot with
my tongue, my brief rebellion, the way he mastered me completely.