Tie Me

So i am helplessly in your power.
Use my body as your plaything.
Whip me.
Use my holes.
Restrain me.
Let me be used by your friends
I am yours to do with as you want
christinemelody christinemelody
56-60, T
1 Response Dec 14, 2012

"I'm glad you came over tonight. Better to spend an evening as my sextoy than get turned over to the police for trying to forge a check in my name," he said as I entered his living room.

He sat on his couch in the dimly lit room - he was dressed in the same clothes as he had been wearing that day when he called me into his office and confronted me with my forged check, giving me the chance to take my punishment from him personally or be fired immediately and referred to the police. I figured I'd take my chances with him. After all, he was tall at 6'4," fairly handsome, in his early to mid-thirties, fit, clean-shaven. How bad could it be? I'd suck his ****, let him **** me and that would be it. He was rather particular on what I wore over for the evening (panties, skirt, heels, a bra and a blouse that buttoned down the front), but this would all be over in half an hour.

"Let's get going," he said. He motioned me in front of him and I took his meaning. I kneeled in front of his spread legs, unzipped his fly and started to take out his ****. He brushed my hands away and took it out himself.

"It's those hands that got you into trouble in the first place, trying to forge a check. I want you to suck my ****, but don't put your hands on it - use only your mouth - and this better be up to my standards or the punishment phase of this evening is going to be worse for you than I originally planned"

Punishment phase? Wasn't it punishment enough to have to give him head? Oh well, it was out of my hands and I figured I'd best get started. He was already semi-hard and I quickly got him the rest of the way there with my expert ministrations. It was a pity I couldn't use my hands as I could have finished him off faster. His **** was bigger than usual; I judged it be about 7," maybe a little bit longer. It was also pretty thick, it must have been 2" wide and I was having a little bit of a gag reflex on those occasions when I tried to take him a little deeper.

After about ten minutes, I began to wonder when he was going to come. I'd been working him to the best of my ability and, although, he was rock-hard, he wasn't breathing hard or making any of the usual noises I was used to. His nutsack was still loose - no telltale tightness to let me know he was ready to unload.

"Look at me when you suck my ****" he intoned.

Oh...Now I get it, he's one of those guys that gets off when the girl acts like she's submissive. Well, if that's what he wants. I changed the angle of my head a little bit and looked up at him as I continued to work him over. He just looked at me steadily with a slight satisfied expression on his face. It was kind of embarrassing to be kneeling in front of my boss like this, ordered not to use my hands, gazing into his face while my mouth rocked back and forth on his 7" pole.

"Start taking your clothes off, but under no circumstances are you to take your mouth off my ****"

Jesus! Where does this guy get off ordering me around like this! I would have told him off, but I was unable to, my mouth being filled at the moment. However, he must not have liked my hesitation.

"Do what I tell you, or it's your job and the police. Don't give me any attitude"

At least now I understood why the strange clothing request. I unbuttoned my blouse, while continuing to mouth-stroke his **** and, reaching behind me, removed my arms from the blouse, discarding it on the floor. I had to reach behind me again to undo the zipper in the back of my skirt. It was a little tougher to remove my blouse while keeping his ***** firmly buried inside my oral cavity. I had to shimmy it down my legs and under my knees one at a time. It got caught on one of my heels, but I eventually got it all the way off. He then motioned to my bra and I knew what came next. I reached behind me to undo the clasps and removed my bra from the front and placed it on the pile that also included my skirt and blouse. Incidentally, I'd counted fifteen head-bobs on his **** while engaged in that last operation. I reached down to my panties and started to slip them over my hips...

"Leave your panties and your heels on" he instructed.

I recommenced trying to get him off. Incidentally, his mention of my panties made me think of them as well. I was a little embarrassed to notice a warm, damp sensation between my legs. I didn't feel too bad - I mean it's inevitable that being involved in sexual activity would get me excited, but I didn't want him to know that. It seemed that I'd been at it for 20-30 minutes by now. What was with this guy? When was he going to shoot his load?

Suddenly, he gripped my hair again and pulled me up over his knees on the couch.

"Now we'll see if you can take a spanking as easily as you can steal from me" he intoned as he began to run his hands over my back, *** and upper thighs.

Suddenly, he began spanking my ***. This got my attention real quick as he obviously had big strong hands to go along with his big strong body. As he rained more and more blows upon my poor ***, I really began to regret the choice I made. Losing my job and copping to a misdemeanor may have been better than letting this guy live out his fantasy.

He stopped and rubbed the hurt out of my *** a little bit. At least he wasn't a total monster. Then I heard him reach for something on the end table where my legs were pointing and he began to buckle a pair of furred leather cuffs around my elbows. Then I felt my elbows pulled behind and together pretty tightly and heard a click. He must have connected the two cuffs together with a metal snap or something. All of a sudden there was a lot more tension in my arms and shoulders as my **** were thrust out.

"What's going on...?" I protested.

"Shut your mouth, you ******* *****" he replied. "If I have to gag you, I will." He put another pair of leather cuffs around each wrist, although he didn't secure them to each other or anything else...

He then proceeded with another round of spankings on my *** and upper thighs, alternately rubbing me and spanking me. He also started running his hands down the crack of my ***, pressing against my mound, and, although I was protected at least somewhat by my panties, I was humiliated by the fact that it must now be abundantly clear to him that I was responding sexually to his ministrations as I could feel myself extremely wet.

He then began to roll my panties down my legs, eventually removing them completely. Here I was, after blowing him for a good half-hour, my reward was to be self-********, spanked, shackled and ******** the rest of the way by him. Now it looks like I was in for more spanking as he returned to his prior ministrations. Although no individual blows were all that painful, the cumulative sensation of the spanking was starting to really get to me mentally. I felt him running his left hand, his non-spanking hand down the cleft of my buttocks until it reached my warm, moist cunny. Of course, his hand became soaked in my own juices. But the bastard wasn't content to rub the mere fact that I was responding like a ***** in heat to his spanking, he took his juice-covered fingers and brought them around to my face, right in front of my mouth.

I could smell my *****-juices on his fingers right in front of me and it was clear what he wanted. I opened my mouth and began to suck my own juices off of his fingers as he resumed his obsession with spanking my already reddened *** and thighs. Now, totally humiliated, I began to lose any sense of propriety and started to slowly grind against his lap. Maybe I could at least get a little bit of relief out of all of this. So, licking his fingers and grinding my hips against him I continued to suffer under his hand.

After he was satisfied with my clean-up job, he again took his left hand and ran it down to my *****, rejuicing it - so to speak - but instead of bringing it back to me for another cleaning job, he smeared my own juices around my most private of openings. Uh-oh...this was starting to get really serious. After dipping into my honeypot four or five times and lubricating my brown eye, he slowly worked one of his fingers into my back door. After initially tensing up and resisting him I bowed to the inevitable and he was soon inserted to the second digit. Then, incredibly, he began to spank me again, but this time with his FINGER still up my ***. He chuckled as I bucked against him, evidently self-satisfied as my *** involuntarily clenched and unclenched around his finger as he continued to administer his hateful punishment.

I had no secrets from him. I was wet, my elbows were fettered and useless to me, he was using his finger as an anal thermometer to gauge my response to his punishment. Last, and most humiliating, he wadded up my soaked panties and pushed them into my mouth to stifle my increasingly loud groans of pain and moans of pleasure.

Then, mercifully, it was all over. He pushed me again onto my knees in front of him and I kneeled looking into his eyes, tasting my ***** on the wadded panties inside my mouth.

He took a length of rope and secured it about my waist with the knot in back. He took the two trailing pieces, each about 36" long and looped them through my legs, and up in front of me. He then took one of my cuffed hands and stringed one of the rope pieces through the D-ring on the cuff, pulling it tight which pulled my hand and wrist down, around my back toward my belly. This simultaneously put even more pressure on my ****, f***ed out already by my cuffed elbows and tightened one of the two pieces of rope that were running through my ***** lips. He did the same with the other trailing piece of rope, securing it to my other wrist, making sure that both ropes bisected my ***** lips.

The bastard! Who the **** did he think he was.

"Now - we're going to try sucking my **** again" I heard him say, with a little bit of menace. How could I suck his ****! Here I was trussed, shackled, spanked, gagged, with my wrists tied to a rope that was splitting my ***** in half. As I bent down slightly to try to get my mouth closer to his ****, I realized that bending down slightly stretched my pelvis, putting even more pressure and tension on the rope between my legs!

Doubtless, he knew this as, chuckling to himself, he removed my panties from my mouth, took hold of my hair and guided my mouth down to his now turgid and rampant ****. I quickly learned that this was not to be the leisurely ******* I had previously administered. He used his grip in my hair to gradually, but inexorably, f***e my mouth lower and lower onto his **** until he was literally knocking at the entrance to my throat.

I had previously tried to deep-throat a few of my boyfriends, but had always been unable to do so. Tonight I learned that it wasn't that I was unable to do so, I had been unwilling to do so. I couldn't resist the strength of his grip on my hair, just like I couldn't resist the invasion of his finger in my *** earlier. Step by step, he f***ed his **** down my throat over the next 10 minutes, often leaving me impaled on his ***** for ten seconds at a time, enjoying the natural gagging reaction as it stimulated his ****. I was utterly defeated and humiliated. This was made even worse by the fact that I could feel myself gently tugging with my hands, the ropes that were strung through my crotch. I was using his crotch rope to get myself off while he was throat-******* me using his iron grip on my hair! Unbelievable.

Suddenly, my chin, buried against his balls during one of my extended sessions buried to the deepest extent possible on his ****, noticed a distinct tightening of his sack. Frantically, I began vigorously pulling on my crotch-rope in a desperate effort to get myself off before he came. I felt my own release wash over my body followed shortly thereafter by a warm, violent stream of liquid down my throat. As I looked up into his eyes, flush and sweating from my own ****** just moments before, he smiled at me, triggering another flush of pleasure to course through me at having pleased him.

He left his **** in my mouth for several moments as I continued to suckle and clean it. He then lowered my to my stomach on the floor and put me into a quick hogtie, wrapping the rope around my ankles and using the heels of my shoes to closely secure my legs back to my elbows....

"Sit tight, while I go get the rest of my things" he said as he left the room. Yeah right, like I was going anywhere.

Shortly, he returned with a number of straps, which he placed on a table in the next room. He then undid my hogtie and let me stand up. Admittedly, I was weak-kneed after my recent ordeal, but I luxuriated in being able to stand on my long, beautiful legs after spending so much time recently either on my knees or over his knees.

After all, it wasn't an everyday occurrence for me to blow a guy for 30 minutes, get spanked for another 30 and then be used in the degrading manner by which he'd finally satiated himself.

He undid the crotch rope, used my panties to dry off all the moisture accumulated around my puss, placed those same damn panties right back in my mouth (this guy had a thing for keeping my mouth occupied!), secured my wrists behind me with another metal clasp and then undid the clasp joining my elbows together. That feels better. I sighed in relief into my panty gag as he led me over to the desk in his home office. It was a large desk, 72"x36" with a modesty panel in the back, cleared of all equipment.

He placed me on my back on the desk, undoing my wrist cuffs long enough to secure them with a longer piece of rope, still keeping me secure, but allowing my wrists to lie at my sides rather than in the small of my back. He used the straps that he'd gone to get earlier to strap my calves to my thighs, both at the ankle and the knee. Next, he took a long piece of rope, secured it to one of the D-rings on the strap binding my ankle to my thigh, ran it under the desk and over to the opposing D-ring binding my knee. He then ran a second rope under the desk securing the second pair of straps.

This bastard had me trussed tightly to his desk, calves tied against my thighs, my legs spread obscenely by the ropes spreading them. Each time I tried to pull one of my legs up from it's spread position, it just served to pull the other leg farther down. He was using my own body against me. My entire torso was exposed to him, including my breasts, inner thighs and *****. The nature of my position also allowed him access to my little brown eye that he had so humiliatingly used earlier to enf***e his control over me.

He looked down at me again with one of his self-satisfied smirks and began exploring my body with his hands. They were rough hands and I could feel them scr**e along my smooth skin. As he ran them over my breasts and down my flanks, across my thighs and my puss, I shuddered involuntarily. After my recent ****** from the crotch-ropes, my body was on fire and I couldn't help but respond to his touches even in my helpless condition. Almost worse, I didn't want him to stop. Abused and humiliated, I was turned on as well.

He refocused his attention on my breasts, taking one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He worked it softly at first, but gradually harder until he was squeezing the nipple enough to cause me some pain. Then he began to twist it...and a bolt of fire ran straight from my nipple to my *****. I couldn't help myself. I arched my back, trying to relieve some of the pressure he was putting on it, but subconsciously responding to his manipulation. He responded by grabbing the other nipple in his other hand, using his grip on both of my nipples to f***e me to arch my back even further toward him. It was hard to distinguish the pain from the pleasure, but I could feel another flush of moisture flood through my **** as he continued to manipulate my nipples between his incredibly strong fingers.

Then he let go of one nipple and used that hand to cover my ****, gently rubbing it while continuing to twist and pull my other nipple.

I came.

I was surprised that my response was so f***eful and immediate. I was glad to have my panties still stuffed in my mouth to muffle the noises I was making. It was just too much to have this guy hurting and twisting my nipples, while I was tied and at his mercy and coming at the slightest manipulation of my *****!

He then switched nipples and began torturing the other one between his fingers, while continuing to rub my ***** with his other hand.

I came again!

I couldn't decide whether I was in heaven or hell. I wanted the pain in my breasts to stop, but I wanted to keep coming and I couldn't have both. I began to whimper through my panties. He got me off twice more in the space of the next few minutes and then gave me some respite, massaging my entire breasts now with his two big hands.

Suddenly, I heard a small click and I looked at him quickly. A frisson of terror raced down my spine as I saw that he had undone his belt buckle and was sliding his belt out of the loops on his pants. He doubled the belt over and laid it down on my tummy, slowly sliding the leather across my torso, my breasts, back down across my tummy, along my thighs.

I looked into his eyes and saw the answer there to my unasked question. He was going to strap me with his belt.

"You're going to learn not to steal from me again!" he said.

I shuddered in dread. He continued to slide his belt along my body, increasing my anticipation and dread as the seconds marched by. Then it started. He didn't strap me very hard, I'm sure, but it was hard enough...and all over. He didn't spare any part of my exposed body.

He strapped my tummy, my flanks, my thighs, my breasts, even between my legs. I bit down on my panties and could do nothing but endure. However, the human body is a wondrous organism. As he continued to strap me, even though it hurt, my body adjusted itself to the pain. Yes, it even responded, in a way. As the strapping progressed on all of my parts, it steadily got stricter and heavier. But he never let me get accustomed or comfortable. He kept moving randomly from place to place, varying the intensity of his stroke, never letting me anticipate what was coming next, to get into a groove.

With a f***eful stroke, he strapped my breasts repeatedly, while with his other hand, rubbing my *****.

I came.

He stopped. He came around the side of the desk, laying his belt on my tummy. He unzipped his pants again, pulled out his ****, removed my soaked panties from my mouth. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head over to the side of the desk, with his other hand guiding his **** into my mouth.

Without hesitation, I accepted him and began vigorously stroking and sucking on him. I was on fire. Anything I could do to repay some small measure of what he'd just done to me was imperative.

He picked up his belt again. My mouth trembled around his ****. Was he actually going to whip me with his belt while I was giving him head. That was impossible.

"If I feel any discomfort after I start strapping you, you're going to be in real trouble"

And with that, I knew. He was going to strap me while I serviced him.

It began again. I found it hard to concentrate on giving him good head while my thighs, tummy, breasts and ***** were alternately strapped, rubbed, pinched and generally worked over. But I gave it my best. It felt good to be able to service my boss after all that had happened. In a sense, I felt content. I had tried to steal from him and now I was paying for it. Whatever he wanted to do at this point, was okay with me.

Suddenly, the strapping stopped again. He let me suck his **** for a few more minutes as I recovered from the kiss of his belt across my body. He opened up a desk drawer and removed two black binder clips. With a smile down at me, my face stuffed with his ****, he applied them quickly to both of my nipples. Fire arced through my ****, down to my *****. He smiled and continued to slide his **** in and out of my mouth.

As the pain started to become unbearable, he removed his **** from my mouth, went down to the end of the desk and laid his turgid, rampant **** on top of my mound.

Then I was ashamed. I was ashamed at the noises coming from my mouth...the juices running from my ****...the arch of my back underneath my clamped nipples...and the feeble efforts I made, despite my bound state to move my ***** against his ****. I was there, in the present. I needed him more than I'd needed anything else at that point.

He inserted himself, stroked me five or six times and I came.

He withdrew, brought himself around the side of the table, slid his **** in my mouth and I cleaned him...and sucked him.

He put his **** in my ***** again. I came again. I licked my juices clean from his **** again. I sucked him again. Again....Again....AGAIN!

How long this went on, I don't know. I lost count after five ******* and five cleanings.

Finally, he came. I cleaned him one last time, this time his ***** in addition to my own **** juice. I was careful to swallow everything. He removed the clamps, undid the bindings on my legs, removed my hands from their cuffs. He gestured with his hand in my hair and a hand pointing at the desk. I bent over and licked up the moisture that had leaked onto his desk from my ***** during the ordeal. He carried me back to the couch. I lay there in exhaustion.

As he put away his things, I recovered myself and put my clothes back on.

"Come back next week. I intend to continue your punishment at that time," he intoned.

"Yes, Mr. B." I replied.

I approached Mr. B.'s door with trepidation for my second night of punishment, taking place a week after my first night, for forging a company check. The past week had been a difficult one for me. My nipples ached horribly from those hellish binder clips on Thursday and were very tender to the touch throughout the weekend. I dreaded him spending more time torturing my body tonight, but I especially couldn't bear the thought of him hurting my poor nipples again. The spanking wasn't that bad and the strapping with his belt, although humiliating and painful, was at least bearable, but my poor nips – I couldn't bear the thought of him abusing them again.

I thought real hard about approaching him and telling him it was a no-go, that I was done. Even if he fired me, I didn't think he'd call the police – after all, I'd just tell them about what he did to me and then he should be in trouble as well. But I was so humiliated and shocked from the experience that I couldn't bring myself to even look at him for the rest of the week. And of course, stupidly, by Monday, my body was feeling better and my memories of the pain began to fade some, albeit not by much. But it all came rushing back to me as I walked up to his door. What would he do to me tonight?

Of course I couldn't totally discount my body's powerful reaction to his sadistic and totally uncalled for punishment last week as a reason why I didn't ultimately confront him and tell him no more. Could I not be telling him to go **** himself because I'd had so many powerful ******* during that night? I didn't really feel bad about it. After all, when you're involved in blatantly sexual activity, you're bound to become aroused. And all the crap that he did to me, although painful, was also very sexual in nature. I didn't think that was the reason for my failure to put a stop to it, but in the back of my mind it bothered me a little bit.

He opened the door and let me in.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I mumbled something and he turned and headed back to the couch, the scene of the first phase of my previous week's 'punishment'. I took my clothes off, but left my panties and heels on at his command – another night of wearing my panties in my mouth, I guess.

"Do a better job and you can at least avoid a spanking this week" he said. I took from his expression, position and demeanor that he wanted me to repeat my ******* from last week. This guy really had a thing for oral devotion, typical male jerk – it's always about them, isn't it. Well, I decided to take him at his word and had learned some of his preferences last week. I'd be damned if I would give him the satisfaction of spanking me again.

I was not inexperienced in the art of the ******* and I was a little surprised that my first efforts last week hadn't resulted in an ****** from him. After he'd spanked me and tied my elbows and wrists in that crotch-rope combo, the way he'd utterly used and controlled my movements gave me at least somewhat of an idea of what would get him off quicker.

As I engulfed his **** in my mouth I was determined to take control of the situation. He again gestured my hands away from his **** and so, my hands on his thighs, I got to work. I really concentrated on working him to the best of my ability, based on what I'd learned seven days ago. Although he was long and thick, he wasn't obscenely so and I could really get quite a bit of him inside my mouth.

As I got him super hard, I began go down on him farther and farther. As I bottomed out, I held him in my mouth for 10 to 15 seconds at a time. I could feel the bl**d pulsing through the veins of his **** as I held it deep inside me. I could have told you his pulse rate. As I held it there for those long periods, he would flex his **** once or twice each time, holding the flex. Wow! As he flexed, I could feel it grow slightly bigger and longer all around as that flexing motion pumped even more bl**d, temporarily, into his shaft.

As I continued to service him in this manner, I became acutely aware of his overpowering male presence. It was a combination, I think, of his male body odor, not offensive, just different from that of women, his very large physical stature (the guy was 6'4" after all) and my extremely close association with his male parts. It was mildly intoxicating, to a certain extent, and as I continued to work his **** deeply in and out of my mouth and front of my throat I was drawn deeply into this act of giving him a blow job by that maleness, which he exuded.

Also, to my chagrin, I felt my body issue forth the first signs of its betrayal to me. I began to develop a slightly warm feeling in my tummy, I felt my nipples harden as they were exposed to the air in the room and my ***** began to moisten just a fraction.

I made sure to keep looking up at him as many times as possible during this *******. I knew he got off on submissiveness as well as inflicting pain. If I could avoid the pain, by giving him the submissiveness that he wanted, all the better for me. I never held his gaze too long or too boldly, but just kept glancing up to him to let him know that I knew that he was in charge and I was here for his pleasure.

"I'm your cockslut for the evening. I'm sucking you the way you want to be sucked, Mr. B., not the way I want to suck you. I like your **** in my mouth. I want your **** in my mouth. Please let me keep sucking your ****, Mr. B." All this, I tried to communicate with my eyes as I couldn't do so with my speech. I used my eyes to turn him on, to get him off.

But I was failing. The bastard was inhuman. Although it was clear he was turned on, (nobody with a **** that hard could not be enjoying himself), it didn't seem I was getting any closer to getting him off. I knew there was a time limit to this situation. He'd given me 20 or 30 minutes last week before taking matters 'under his hand' so to speak. I felt that my time was getting close.

As I glanced at him, I got very little indication of his mood. He returned my gaze at times. He concentrated on looking at the action of my mouth swallowing his engorged member at other times. Sometimes, he ran his hands through my hair or over my shoulders, with the slightest of gestures, letting me know to stay impaled on him for a little longer or to come up for air now. I always obeyed these gestures, but I wasn't getting substantially closer to my goal.

I made a Herculean effort to get him all the way in. Maybe my throat convulsing around his tool would do the trick. But my efforts didn't bear fruit. Although I took him deeper than I'd ever gone before on him or anyone else (with the exception of his brutal oral r**e last week when he simply overpowered me!) I wasn't able to go all the way. But the efforts were very taxing physically and I could feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes from my efforts. I was on the verge of being humiliated for the first time tonight.

First, I wanted to avoid the humiliation of getting spanked. It made me feel like such a little girl to be bent over his knee, like he was my daddy or something.

But the second humiliation, almost worse, was the knowledge that all my efforts as a woman to please him, to 'serve' him, to blow him like he wanted, weren't enough. After I'd given him my best, the bastard wouldn't even throw me a bone. He would take my best and cruelly spank me anyway. This, combined with my physical efforts that were making my teary, made the waterworks really begin to flow. As I sucked him, the tears started to roll down my cheeks. He noticed, of course and smiled in what seemed to me a satisfied manner. ******* bastard! I was defeated.

And then he rubbed it in. He let me keep going on his *************, impossible-to-please ****, let me keep sucking it even though he and I both knew that I'd be spanked anyway, that all my efforts would go for naught. I didn't have any choice. So, crying, humiliated and making whimpering, blubbering noises around his ****, I continued to do my best, for the next half-hour, to worship his **** with my mouth, to be his cockslave.

"Are you ready for your spanking?" he finally asked.

NO! I want to go home! Fire me, you bastard. I never want to see you again. This is what I thought, but what I did was simply look at him, mouth still ensconced around his rock-hard member, and nodded slightly. With his hand firmly gripping my hair, he directed me over his lap and I buried my head in the cushions in exhaustion and shame.

His hands roamed around my back, *** and legs, just like last week. Again, he started slow, but quickly increased the intensity of his spanking, not letting me get comfortable at any point. I was a little bit more used to the sensation now and had a better idea of what to expect, but it didn't help me that much. As he spanked my upper thighs and *** I began to squirm ever so slightly underneath him. It was only a matter of time before I'd lose my pride here as well. My panties were soon soaked by my own secretions as he, at odd times, paused his spanking to press them against my overheated ****. Eventually, inevitably, he sneaked his fingers under my panties and sampled my overheated *****. Withdrawing them, soaked of course, he had me lick them clean.

Eventually, I lost my panties as the spanking continued. I got reacquainted with the taste and smell of my own ***** as he placed them in my already used and tired mouth. As I broke down under his punishment and began using my hands and arms to protect myself from his brutal right hand, he reattached the furred leather cuffs to my elbows and wrists.

But this time, instead of attaching my elbows cuffs together, he used a metal clasp of some kind to hook one wrist to the opposite elbow and the other wrist to its opposite elbow. This effectively removed my hands from being able to protect myself and created a big U – my upper arms creating the legs of the U and my two forearms creating the base of the U – each wrist cuff attached to the opposing elbow cuff. He was creative; I'll give him that.

My *** punishment continued. The heat continued to rise in my body. Shamelessly, I ground my ***** against his pants, seeking any kind of relief from the torture he was inflicting. I felt his **** there, big, looming, but of course not in a position to satisfy me. He reinf***ed my helpless responses to his ministrations by continuing to run his fingers down through my crease and confirming my high state of arousal. He would often insert one or two fingers of his left hand into my most private hole, as he had done last week and revel in the clenching of my *** around his digits. My reactions were involuntary, but extremely degrading at the same time. He was obviously deriving pleasure from my predicament and suffering and used his constant probing of my crease to remind me that I was dripping moisture in response to his cruelty.

Then it was over.

Again, I was on my knees. Again, my mouth was around his ****, but this time on his terms, not my own. Again, I lost the struggle against his hands and was f***ed by his unconquerable strength, slowly but surely, straight down onto his member until my nose kissed his pelvis and was made to stay there, obscenely, as he flexed his long muscle time and time again in my throat, humiliating and degrading me to the utter depths, letting me up long just long enough to desperately suck in more air before I was plunged back onto his spear. He used my mouth and throat as a fucktoy to please him until he found his release, with no regard for me. Whether it was five minutes or fifteen minutes, I didn't know. I was locked in the present, unable to concentrate on time, on myself, on anything except his *****. His ****, rampant, turgid, a steel rod impaling my mouth, finally exploded at its deepest point possible inside me. The swelling of his **** at its release was both thrilling and humiliating at the same time. The humiliation was obvious. But I don't know if I was thrilled because this part of my ordeal, at least, was over or because he had come inside me, because at last I was good enough for him! I was too tired to think about it, but the continuing warmth in my tummy was telling and it confused me.

Typical male ******* (of course), he pulled back to finish his ****** in my mouth, making me taste the last couple spurts of his ****. Dutifully, I swallowed it as I had the first spurts and was f***ed to lick him clean as he came down from his ******. I was beginning to think of his **** as separate from him – as my enemy. After all, I hadn't been able to make it *** and he had punished me for it. That **** humiliated me, hurt my mouth and throat and, through lack of making it come, caused him to spank me. It was too much.

Throughout this whole episode however, unlike last week, I didn't have the crotch rope that he allowed me in our previous session to obtain my own relief. My hands, cuffed to my wrists behind me, were useless to me throughout this ordeal. The pain that I had experienced was not balanced by the brief moments of pleasure I experienced last week. There had been intense arousement, but not release. I was frustrated.

As I lay on my back in exhaustion, physically, mentally, and morally – I tried to compose myself for the proceedings to come.

Within a couple of minutes, he laid me on my back in the same office as last week, on the same desk. He had placed a thickly padded goose feather quilt on the desk, which I was grateful for, as he had left my hands secured behind me in that U position. Again, he secured my ankles to my thighs and tied my legs apart so that I was open obscenely to him and extremely vulnerable, my legs being used against me to keep themselves spread open to him.

My breasts were exposed, as well as my flanks, my tummy, my inner thighs, and my *****. That familiar feeling of helplessness and dread welled up inside me as he began to run his rough hands over my body.

As he squeezed, kneaded and otherwise manhandled my breasts, I couldn't help myself.

"Please don't hurt my **** again," I begged. "Please, you can do anything else, but please don't put those things back on my nipples. They hurt so much, I can't stand it. Please, Mr. B."

"Be quiet, you ******* thief. If you hadn't tried to steal from me, you wouldn't be in this position"

With that, obviously displeased with my outburst, he again took my panties, having put them in his pocket in the other room, and popped them right back into my mouth. Unlike every other time that he'd gagged me with that damned article of clothing, this time he withdrew a wide roll of tape from his desk drawer and taped my mouth shut over my panties! Now, with my panties partly in my mouth and partly hanging out, but taped against my cheeks and chin, I was unable to communicate anything intelligible to him. The ******* bastard! This 'gag' didn't even muffle much noise, it was just all designed to humiliate me even more. I'd begged him not to hurt my **** again after sucking him for at least 45 minutes, getting spanked mercilessly for my trouble and then deep throating him, under his absolute control, for another unknown period of time. The bastard obviously just got off on seeing my own panties inside my mouth!

Silencing my speech, if not the pleading noises emanating from my vocal chords, he recommenced rubbing, exploring, pinching and otherwise manhandling my entire torso, cleft and thighs. After what he'd already done to me during the past hour or so, this sent my body, if not my mind, right back to the height of arousal.

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a black stick with a thong at one end and a flap of leather at the other end. It looked exactly like a riding crop that I'd seen before in various pictures or on television connected with horse riding. It looked like that would replace his punishment tool of choice from last week, his belt.

He inserted his hand into the thong and ran the flap of leather all across me. I could feel goose pimples rise up on my skin in a sympathetic reaction to the cropping that it was about to receive. Like last week with the strapping and earlier that night with the spanking, he didn't start off too intensely. Why, I'm not sure. He seemed to have no compunction about causing me intolerable pain either last week or today. Maybe he was just unsure of his own strength and was starting out slowly to make sure he didn't kill me – although that would serve him right – to kill me and then go to jail to be beaten and r**ed by a bunch of male prisoners! Unfortunately, that would also be bad news for me.

However, just like his spankings and his strappings, he didn't let me get accustomed to it. He kept increasing the intensity and was always random where he struck me next. Every time he cropped the flesh of my breasts, I winced in pain. Every time he cropped one of my thighs, it would cause that leg to jerk, which, through being tied to the other leg, caused that one to react oppositely. He was playing my body like a fiddle.

Suddenly, he struck me right on my left nipple. A sharp bolt of pain arced through my breast to my tummy. I cried out in anguish. Of course, he repeated this hellish maneuver on my right nipple and got the same reaction. He then resumed my general punishment, but from that point forward he returned often to my nipples, beating their tender flesh and keeping me in agony.

He began also to work dangerously close to my poor cunny. I wasn't even mad at myself for shamelessly being wet down there. Sure, I'd been completely used to this point and I was dumbstruck that even as he continued to punish me with his riding crop, I continued to leak moisture from my *****. I didn't really understand it, but I accepted that my body was responding to this sexually charged punishment. Regardless, as he cropped me on my pelvis and at the junction of my legs to my crotch, I prepared myself for the inevitable blows that would land straight on my mound.

It came after another quick succession of blows to my nipples. As the crop connected with my mound, my whole body simultaneously convulsed in pain and agony. As I fought through that, I recognized that I also convulsed in ecstasy as well. He slapped the leather into my ***** again and I realized that eventually, if he kept doing that, I'd ***.

He was using my ***** against me this week like he'd used my nipples against me last week. I remembered back to last week when, as he was pinching my nipples cruelly between his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed my ***** at the same time, forcing me to come while being tortured. I hadn't orgasmed yet, but if he kept cropping my ***** as he was doing now, it was inevitable. Of course, I didn't want to be cropped anymore, but I was supremely frustrated sexually as well. I wanted to come. And the only way to come, at the present time, since he wasn't ******* me and he wasn't rubbing my ***** with his hand, was to come from the kiss of the crop to my ****.

Here I was, having serviced him, then been spanked, dominated, humiliated, throat ******, tied down, spread open, manhandled, cropped – and after all this I was aching for that crop so that I could ***! The dichotomy was just too much. But he wouldn't give even that to me! He seemed to be concentrating solely now on my two nipples and my *****, alternately striking each of them in turn or multiple times. But I needed constant attention to my ***** in order to build enough heat to get over the precipice. The crop landing on my breasts was painful and arousing at the same time, but it couldn't generate enough heat to satisfy my ****.

Then he struck my ***** several times (3 or 4 at least) very hard with the last one up high enough to make contact with my **** as well!

I came explosively!

My back arched. Strange, inarticulate noises came out of my muffled, panties-stuffed mouth. My thighs flexed. My ***** reached up as far as it could to accept the next and final kiss of the leather which exploded in my mound, in my breasts and in my mind so that I saw bright stars on the insides of my tightly closed eyelids.

It was over. I heard him open his desk drawer again and I shuddered in fear at what he would do to me next. He pulled out a couple of what looked to be miniature metal C-clamps, like you would buy at a hardware store. They had a fixed metal end (the top of the C) and then a post that screwed through a housing to shorten or lengthen the distance between the fixed end of the clamp and the adjustable post (the bottom of the C). He laid the two clamps in the space between my breasts as he pulled up a chair and sat down to my side. The coolness of the metal was a pleasant change, but offset by my sense of dread at what he would do with these new things.

I tried to speak to him through my panties and through the tape. I tried to beg him not to do anymore to me, to let me go, to fire me, to turn me into the cops. I didn't think I could survive any more. He ignored me though. The noise I was making must have been similar to the rest of the gibberish I'd been communicating through my 'gag' because he didn't even look at me before lowering his mouth to my right nipple and gently licking and sucking it with his tongue.

This caused incredible feelings to course through me. My nipples, at present, were soft. They'd briefly been f***ed into hard little buttons during my ******, but now they'd reverted to their natural state. As he continued to lick and suckle my right nipple, however, it hardened into its aroused state and the tenderness of his ministrations felt so good that I felt myself sighing inwardly, losing myself in the feeling of his gentle tongue.

As he continued to suckle and caress it, he picked up one of the C-clamps and twirled the post until there was about a ½ inch gap between the fixed end and the post. He then lifted his head from my nipple and positioned it inside the gap. He twirled the post until I felt the metal kiss and then close around my erect nipple. He twirled the post two more full revolutions until my nipple was firmly trapped inside the metal. He had positioned the clamp vertically so that the post was below my nipple and the fixed metal end (the top of the C) was above it.

He then moved the chair around to the other side of the desk and repeated the entire process. Again I felt his wonderful tongue soothe, caress and then harden my left nipple. Again, he picked up the second clamp from between my breasts and affixed it on my now hardened nipple in the same fashion as the first.

I lay there, tied, having *** under the kiss of his crop, now looking up into his face, my nipples captured in these strange miniature devices from Home Depot (or some other hardware store that this sicko frequented). He looked into my eyes, at the same time reaching into the fly of his pants and extricating his recently fellated ****. He stroked it in his hands a couple of times, bringing it to an almost full hardness. I couldn't help glancing at that enemy of mine as it grew in his right hand.

He moved down around the desk to the cleft between my legs and inserted his ***** deeply into my wet, trembling crevice. He began to stroke me and I could immediately feel the heat begin to rise in my belly and spread throughout my whole body. This is what I needed, what I deserved after my harsh treatment.

I came.

I welcomed the wave of ****** as it washed through me and my **** shuddered and clamped around his ****.

He withdrew his **** from my ****, just as he had done last week. At that time, he had f***ed me to clean his **** with my mouth after every ****** until he had blown his wad. This was good – I'd get these damn panties out of my mouth and put an end to this farce – or at least get a little moisture back into my mouth. I was extremely dry and thirsty and relished the thought of having something besides these cotton underwear in my mouth so I could generate a little bit of spit.

But instead of moving to untape my mouth, he simply leaned over and adjusted the C-clamps, tightening each clamp by a half of a turn. Of course, this put more pressure on each of my nipples. I hadn't really felt them before, as there was no bite to these clamps, not like last week, just a steady pressure. And he had only tightened them enough to capture my nips firmly. Now they were noticeably tighter and my breasts tingled from the pressure.

He slid himself into me again and quickly stroked me, within three or four minutes, to another ******. As the pleasure washed through me, he pulled himself out and tightened the clamps another little bit. Now the clamps were truly causing some pain in my poor ****. Again, he began to **** me. A sudden stab of fear shot through my mind. If he tightened those clamps every time I had an ******, pretty soon they were going to be unbelievably tight and hurt like hell. I had horrible visions of my poor rosebuds bursting from the intense pressure.

The only thing I could think to do was to not have another ******. This ******* bastard was using my body against me again. He was basically telling me that every time I came, I would get my **** clamped tighter and tighter. It was a Faustian bargain. The more I came, the more cruelly I would be tortured.

But resisting my ******* was easier said than done. That **** of his, even though I hated it, was pretty thick and pretty long. It really did a fairly good job of stuffing me and, in my aroused state, it was impossible to ignore the sensation it caused as it slid greasily back and forth in my moisture-filled slot.

Normally, it had been my experience that if I was being ****** well by my lover, if he had spent enough time in foreplay, then, if I was in the right frame of mind, I could come. But if I wasn't in the right frame of mind, or didn't want to summon the energy to concentrate on getting to my ******, or if I really wasn't into the sex, I could avoid one. In a sense, I could always control my own ******. But tonight and last week, although I had tried to suppress my *******, they really were not under my control under these intense conditions and sensations I had been subjected to. I found myself unable to deny the sensations welling up within my belly and my ****.

As I climbed the inevitable ladder to my third ******, still clamped with those horrid little implements, I stiffened my body to resist it. As the ****** washed over me, though, Mr. K kept ******* me. What happened? He must not have noticed it! This gave me new hope. I could ****** as much as I wanted, I just couldn't let him know that I had! I felt a new one building in intensity quickly and rode the wave through that one as well. This was heaven!

The third one got me though. He must have sensed something was up because suddenly he pulled out and slapped my face. He had never done that before and it completely shocked me, humiliating me once again. I could feel the sting in my cheek as he waggled his index finger at me and proceeded to tighten the clamps by a half turn, making up, in his mind, I guess, for my earlier deception. I felt the excruciating sensations in my breasts as he turned the handle of those two C-clamps slowly, one by one. My nipples were being flattened like a pancake!

The pain from my nipples was now uppermost in my mind. The steady, intense pressure from the C-clamps was like a hot nail driven through my poor rosebuds that wouldn't go away. And even worse, from my standpoint, I knew that the pain from the clamps could and probably would get worse as he continued to **** me and I continued to ******. At least with those binder clips last week, the pain was terrible and intense, but it was what it was. It was all there immediately. There was not the dread promise of more pain in the future from the binder clips – but there was in these C-clamps that were currently smashing the life out of my ****.

All of this combined to overwhelm the natural, ongoing arousal in my ***** as he started ******* me again. We went on like this for several minutes – me concentrating on the pain in my nipples, him enjoying himself in my ***** with a writhing, moaning woman beneath him, totally in his power, totally subjugated, unable to speak, unable to beg, just able to moan and cry and whimper.

I gave in to the situation and let my mind float above the pain and the pleasure. After all, there was nothing I could do. I was tied, unable to move, unable to use my voice to plead. My mind consisted of three points – the intense pressure on my left nipple, the intense pressure on my right nipple and the big **** sawing back and forth in my *****. The three sensations combined, in my state, to take me to a plateau where I wasn't *******, but I wasn't not ******* – I was just there, in the present, beyond ******, in an area of intense feeling and heightened awareness.

Suddenly, a white hot flash of pain struck my right nipple. My eyes flew open and I saw the crop descending a second time on my left nipple as another flash of liquid fire ran through my body, erupting in my belly, behind my ***** as I spasmed under his **** in uncontrollable ******.

He spoke then.

"I am trying to punish you for stealing from me. But it's becoming clear to me that all of this has been a waste of time. You keep having ******* no matter what I do. You keep enjoying all of this. You must be some kind of a painslut," he said. "What do I have to do to inflict real punishment on you for stealing? What is it that you will not enjoy? What can I do that will teach you a real lesson?"

My brain could not make sense of what he had just uttered. Was he trying to say that I wasn't being punished, that what he had done to me, constituted, in his mind, as enjoyment for me? What ******* planet was this moron from? Could he really be that stupid.

I was unable to respond to the patent lunacy of his statement, since I was gagged. Could I help that my body was physiologically responding to his sexual torture? Did he think I would volunteer for this? Did he think that I would proactively seek out someone to do this to me? This guy was certifiable. Maybe it was better that I was gagged. I was speechless.

I looked at him in disbelief as, this time, still with his **** seated deep in my *****, he reached down and tightened the clamps one more time. As the additional, incremental pain registered in my ****, connected by a whip-like steel wire of nerves to my *****, I began a long, continuous, muffled scream of agony, ecstasy, despair, submission and terror as he again raised the crop to strike my clamped nipples. As if in slow motion, still ******* me, I saw him bring the crop onto my clamped right nipple.

I came.

He raised the crop and I saw it descend again on my left nipple, with even more f***e.

I came again.

I felt his **** grow suddenly in my ***** and a stream of hot fluid scalded the inside of my tormented ****.

My whole body, as well as my being, sagged in relief. Even as I came down from the spasms of my own third, immediate ****** triggered by the release of his **** inside of me, I consoled myself that it was over. He had sated himself, finally, within me. It was over.

I lay unmoving as he untied my legs. I said nothing as he removed the tape from my cheeks and chin and removed my panties from my mouth. What was there to say? I lay absolutely still as he twirled the post of the two C-clamps in the opposite direction, releasing my nipples from the torture of their bite. As the bl**d rushed back into my nips, fresh pain washed through my breasts. I wanted to cover them with my hands, console them. But they were still locked behind me in the U bondage.

He picked me up in his arms and carried me to the couch, laying me down. I turned my body towards the back of the couch, curling my knees up in front of me, burying my face in the cushions. He walked back into the office, presumably to clean up. I must have drifted into a light sl**p.

When I woke up, my hands and elbows had been released from their U-bondage. As I became aware of my surroundings, I noticed Mr. B. on the other side of the couch. He was dressed in a bathrobe and the TV was on. I think it was SportsCenter. This was the most undressed I had seen him. Up until now, he had simply unzipped his fly when he'd wanted to **** my ***** or my mouth. He had a drink in his hand.

When he saw me stirring, he grabbed a tall glass from the end table on his side of the couch and gave it me. I gulped the ice water down greedily and looked at him.

"I guess I should leave?" I asked, as if needing his permission to leave.

"I'm still excited and aroused from this evening's activities" he replied. "Why don't you work me with your mouth a little bit before you leave"

What could I do? I considered refusing, but his tone didn't carry the threat of additional punishment – I figured it was just best to humor him and get out of here as soon as I could. I had to get away. I had to think. So I crawled over in front of him, parted his bathrobe and immediately began the familiar duty of servicing his ****. As I gave him this *******, he continued to watch the sports news. He didn't seem to mind as I made tentative movements with my hands toward his shaft. I guess this was not 'punishment' time in his eyes.

As I continued to suckle and service him with my mouth, he grew alternately rock-hard and softened up slightly. At odd times, I would lick and mouth his balls – he didn't seem to mind and gave me freedom in servicing him. Once, I tried to lick a little farther below his balls as some of my lovers had enjoyed that kind of play. With a gentle gesture in my hair, he directed me back to his shaft. This man didn't go in for anything but pleasure to his **** - that seemed evident. Once even, he stopped me briefly and had me pour him another drink in the other room, a gin and tonic. I sneaked a taste of it before bringing it back to him and recommencing my oral service.

Sooner than I expected, I felt his balls tense up in anticipation of their release. This was odd because I had been unable to make him *** earlier tonight when I was trying much harder. Was it the state of his arousal now compared to earlier tonight? I didn't think so as he obviously got off on hurting me and humiliating me.

It may be that he had almost perfect control over his ****. Maybe he was highly aroused earlier tonight, but was holding back his ****** because he wanted to punish me, to degrade me, to humiliate me. He may have used his offer of lenience in spanking me if I could make him *** as a way to further control and punish me, knowing that I would try desperately to get him off, but that I would still fail. Now, we were done with that and he had no need to hold back and so allowed his ****** to come of its own accord under my attentive oral servitude.

I don't know why, but this made me feel better, for some reason. It wasn't that I couldn't get him off earlier; it was that I couldn't get him off if he didn't WANT to get off. He was just in much greater control of his **** than any other man I'd known.

Despite myself, I eagerly anticipated tasting his *****, proving to myself that I was a good enough ********** to make him come for a third time in one night. I waited anxiously, sucking him, caressing his balls with my hand until his **** expanded again within my mouth and I felt his hot **** spray into me. There wasn't much there, obviously, because of the circumstances. But I eagerly milked his **** to get every last drop as a warm feeling flushed through me.

"You can go now," he said. "I'll see you back here next week to see if we can solve this punishment issue."

I considered telling him that I wouldn't be coming back, to confront the issue here and now. But I was too drained physically and emotionally to engage with him right now. Time enough for that tomorrow or Friday or sometime next week. I dressed myself and left promising myself that this was the last time I'd subject myself to this crap.

I could hardly believe I was walking back up to Mr. B.'s door. I was terrified, unsure and excited at the same time. My mind flashed back over the events of the last week.

I had woken on Thursday morning with my whole body, but particularly my breasts and especially my nipples excruciatingly sore from the combined torture of the C-clamps and the riding crop that my boss had used against me the previous night. The glory of my multiple and seemingly continuous ******* had faded and I was left with just a dull overall ache in all of my sexually-oriented body parts, including my inner thighs, my ***** and my ***.

I had stumbled through that Thursday at work. But Friday morning, I had screwed up my courage and confronted my tyrant of a boss in his office. The conversation did not go as expected.

"I'm not coming to your house again," I'd stated.

"Why not?" he'd asked. "You don't need this job anymore?"

I explained to him that there was no end in sight and that I couldn't take the punishment anymore. Further, I was afraid he would permanently damage me and no job was worth that. I also explained that he was dead wrong about my enjoying being spanked, strapped, clamped and cropped and sucking his **** and all the rest of it. I hated being in that position.

"Then why did you keep having *******?" he'd shot back at me.

I couldn't explain that, but he didn't understand that while my body could be helpless in its reactions to his sadistic torture, that didn't mean I enjoyed it – just the opposite. And that, more than anything else, was why I wasn't coming back to his house.

"I understand your point of view and am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt in explaining yourself," he responded. "In fact, I've given some thought to this myself and have determined that one further night of punishment will suffice, from my point of view, in putting paid to your attempted thievery from my company and, more importantly, from me. Be at my house next Wednesday for a final punishment session and we'll put this behind us."

"No," I replied. "I won't do it again."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied. "You can continue in your employ through next Wednesday. I'll have your final check prepared for you Thursday morning if I don't see you Wednesday night."

And with that, the meeting had ended. I had been in turmoil the rest of that day leading into my weekend. I thought that I could bluff my way through, but he had called me on it. At least he'd definitely indicated that only one further session was left, but I couldn't bear, in my current condition, to even think about going through it.

Desperate for something to take my mind off my predicament, I had called my ex to meet me that night for dinner. I needed some kind of normal companionship. As the night wore on, I decided to go back to his place. I knew that I needed to reconnect and have something normal to keep my feet on the ground, to reassure myself about my decision to quit rather than endure another night of torture.

Remembering back to that night, as I stood in front of Mr. B.'s door, I remembered making love to my ex. Although sex with him was just like it had always been and I had even orgasmed under the tender ministrations of my ex, I noticed that something was not there. The intensity of the feeling was not there. I came, but my entire body was not on fire as it had been under Mr. B.'s cruel touch. The ****** was weak and tepid compared to what I had experienced the last two weeks. This had sent a minor panic attack through me.

I had seen my ex again the following evening, desperate to see if this continued, and it had. He was a good lover, the sex was not what had broken them up – but there was a hole now in that sex. Had this torture that I'd gone through ruined me for normal sex? Would I have to put myself into the hands of a sadist in order to recapture the feelings that had coursed through my body as Mr. B. ****** my while I was tied, my nipples clamped and my body strapped or cropped?

To answer that question, more than anything else, I found myself making my way unwillingly, but inexorably back to Mr. B.'s house. I had not had any contact with him during the three days leading up to Wednesday night after the weekend. I guess he assumed that I would stick to my original position and not show up. In my confused state, I didn't know really what I was going to do until I left the house that evening to meet him.

I knocked on his door.

"You've decided you want to keep your job after all," he said upon answering.

Yes, I thought. I liked my work and it paid well. I also had to know...

This time, we didn't make it to the couch. With firm pressure on my shoulders, Mr. B. made me get right on my knees in the hallway and start servicing his ****. As he unzipped his fly and pulled his manhood out, I felt myself, almost unconsciously, lick my lips in anticipation. The very act of kneeling in front of him, so abruptly, in his hallway, without any drama or discussion or anything else, sent a shiver through my body.

I felt inordinately pleased as he pulled out his *****, already stiff and fully engorged, using his right hand to feed it into my now-wide-open mouth while his left hand, on the back of my head, guided me with gentle, but insistent pressure, right down onto him, deeply. Already, just a few seconds into this third 'punishment' I already felt myself responding quickly to my boss's gestures, molding my body's reactions, anticipating his desires, feeling a strong urge to submit to his will.

Kneeling in front of him, I also knew that I was pleased because he was so stiff for me already! That just the act of showing up and kneeling in front of him, without question or protest, made him excited enough to stuff my mouth with a **** that was hard and stiff, rather than soft and weak. The thrill of having my mouth immediately impaled on what felt like a lead pipe was intoxicating - the familiar warmth spiraled outward from my belly as I serviced him.

With his pants still on, I clutched at Mr. B.'s hips for support as I sucked his ***** through his open fly. Eventually, he fisted my hair in a tight grip, using it to control my head movements as the 'servicing' continued. Often, he would f***e my head back a little, making me look up at his 6'4" frame, even as my mouth was full of ****. I felt small, overpowered, humiliated, degraded and delicious all at the same time. I imagined what it must be like for him to look down at me – seeing a young woman, in my prime, on my knees, submissive, in the hallway just two feet inside his front door, staring up at him with huge eyes as my mouth, stuffed, sawed back and forth on his manhood in a steady rhythm that he controlled and directed to HIS satisfaction. No wonder he was so stiff! It must be an incredible sight – thinking about it just made me wetter and wetter.

"Take off your shirt and bra," he commanded me. I remembered this from my first punishment. I made a show of unbuttoning my blouse, slipping it off my shoulders and unhooking and removing my bra – all while gazing up at his face, with my mouth slowly sliding up and down his thick shaft. It was strange. During that first session, his peremptory commands had upset me, offended me. Now they aroused me. It was a short journey from independent, liberated woman to ****, I mused to myself, as I completed baring my breasts and torso.

At one point, he told me to lick his balls. As I ran my tongue back and forth across them, coating them with my saliva and slowly ******* his **** with my hand, his balls felt huge and ponderous and full of ***. If past experience was any guide, I knew their contents would soon be deposited somewhere inside me (probably my gullet). That th