When I walk in the door on Friday afternoon, you’re there to greet me. You have the grin on your face. The one that says you’re plotting and scheming and are in a place where you’re interested in one thing only – getting your way.
As I walk in you put your finger on my lips softly to shush me. You take my things, put them on the floor and proceed to undress me.
“Tonight, you’re my plaything. You’ll do precisely as I ask. You may not speak. You may not make a noise. This includes noises at any kind of pain you may experience, and includes any kind of noises at any pleasure you may experience. Understood?” You pause for a minute with a “don’t forget, no noise” look on your face waiting for my answer.
I can take a hint. I nod.
“Good. Get that cage off.” While I remove it, from the table behind you, you pull out the black tape you love so much. You walk slowly around me, almost humming to yourself. You pull my arms behind me, wrapping my wrists firmly. Then you bind my arms to my body, pulling my arms back, pinning them in place with more of the binding tape.
Then you pull out a belt, wrapping it around my shoulders, pulling my shoulders back and solidifying the hold on my upper body.
You turn me toward you, hold my face and look me dead in the eyes. “Remember. I’m your Domme right now, not your wife. And you have your safeword.” I nod.
Pulling my head down to you, you kiss me softly at first, then biting at my lip. I involuntarily whimper at the initial pain and you stop instantly and slap me. “I said, no noises. Next time that slap won’t be so kind.” You grab me by the back of the head and pull me to you, kissing, me, on the edge of violence and high-strung passion – drawing blood with the bites to my lip. As you draw back a bit, I see the blood on your lips… and your smile. You kiss my chest, wiping the blood there as your first mark.
I feel just a trickle of blood going down my chin, you brush it off with your finger, walk around behind me and first wrap a few rounds of tape around my eyes, then a blindfold over that. I can’t see a thing, not even a sliver or hint of light.
Grabbing me firmly, the final touch – a cock-ring of sorts, also with the tape. It’s tight and already showing it’s impact on me, along with the rest of your attention. In my head, I’m trying to get my mental footing for all that’s happening.
Just when I start to get my head straight I hear a whoosh–smack! The whoosh registers in my head in that slow-motion kind of way. I realize what’s happening, but certainly not able to to process it. The impact is sharp and sudden. Before I can keep my senses about me, a second, third and fourth on alternating cheeks. You’re giggling – almost playful. I somehow pulled off not even a squeak on the hits, but the burn is setting in.
My head is a mash of noise and overload. I can’t tell if you left or are simply standing there watching me process. I wouldn’t have ‘heard’ you leave because of the symphony of things going on in my head, but I’m straining to get any sense of you and where you are.
I can’t hide my interest and excitement for what you have planned though, it’s there for all to see, standing at attention, surging almost. I’m hard as a rock.
You grab me by my new-found handle and walk me to the kitchen. Putting me somewhere off to the side, you tell me simply “Stay.” The same is true for dinner. All during dinner I’m to stay standing next to you – available.
From time to time you put a straw in my mouth – water – while you eat and laugh at the TV. You frequently reach up and stroke me – just keeping me on the edge and under control. A couple of times you get up and surprise me, applying random smacks.
From time to time you start stroking in earnest, bringing me racing to the edge. I’m fighting the need to ask to be allowed to come, while at the same time knowing that I must be silent, which means too that I won’t be getting that release. You’re toying with me, trying to force me just to the edge and a bit more, to show the control. I’m slowly losing out on the game. Each time, you get me just there, then slap me away. “Don’t you dare…” is all I hear.
You grab me again by my ‘handle’ and walk to your bath – I’m standing next to the tub, where you’ve placed me. All during your bath you’re absent-mindedly stroking. At first it’s a simple thing to take. But the ongoing, never stopping rhythm is increasingly difficult to take. I imagine you’re sitting there, holding your ebook with one hand, stroking with the other.
It’s building to the point of no return. I’m not sure you realize it. I was told to stand absolutely still and of course silent. I have no way of warning you to stop. I can feel my insides screaming and caving in to the lizard side of my brain. I want to increase your pace, stop you, do SOMETHING.
Then you slow down by about half. You’re going from the tip all the way to the base, firmly against my body, then back out again. You never stop. Not at one extreme or the other, just never stopping. Yes, it feels incredible, but I’m also aware of punishments for coming without permission – they are not trivial.
I’m shaking now. I can hardly stand and literally shaking as my muscles and brain and my overall craving to come fight it out in my body. It starts to wash over me, starting from the tip of my head. I can feel my eyes rolling back a bit, the hair on my head responding and can almost feel it wash over me in this massive wave.
I feel it too from the other end. I feel it start in my toes and race up my shins – a massive, overwhelming wave of pleasure.
Then you stop.
“Well, I think that’s about enough of the bath, don’t you? Help me out.”
My brain screams. My body is involuntarily shaking now trying to come back to orbit. The frustration is flowing through me, mocking me.
As you sit on the edge of the bed, you lean forward to me, kissing my chest, telling me what a good boy I was for you. As I start to regain my composure a bit, you kiss me again, then bite down hard on my chest. You end the night with a round-robin of bite marks and hickeys, all as reward for doing as I was told.
My head is back to a mish-mash of desire, wanting to scream, wanting desperately to come and wanting more, always more as you pull off my blindfold to my squinting eyes, remove the straps and tape.
You lay back, naked. I smile, thinking about all the wonderful things I had in mind. You snicker and I stop. Handing me my cage, you tell me it’s time to re-cage, time for bed.
Charmer (Twitter: @Steelchrmr) has assigned that I (Twitter: @SteeledSnake) post a story for everyone. Please let us know in the comments or via Twitter if you like it and she’ll determine if we will be doing regular story posts to the site.
7 Replies to “Objectification”
Well I definitely like this task as well as the photograph task that Snake was assigned. What an awesome story, very detailed and vivid, almost as if we had a bird’s eye view! Fantastic writing Snake!!!
How could we not like that?
Snake: This is well written. Using “you” is a powerful writing tool; it draws the reader in while simultaneously keeping us out, which keeps it realistic and engaging without making it about anything but she and you (there’s the ‘you’ again). And I appreciate the realism. Regardless of whether it is fact or fantasy, it’s *realistic* – which is a very nice change from what is often portrayed in FLR and FemDom erotic writing.
Charmer: I really like this task. 🙂
You are a very talented writer! I’d like to read more.
Thank you for this story. As another commentator said it is infused with realism, such that I wasn’t sure if it was fantasy or something that had happened. Wicked and devious twist too, your cage as your freedom 😉