Thursday, February 28, 2013

Scene: Be a good boy

The room is dark except for the ring of light I am sitting within. I hear a door open as a whimpering figure is kicked in from a deeper darkness. A hard voice says, “You'd better serve her. You'd better please her or you'll get a hell of a lot worse.” The whimpering draws closer with a faint rustling noise.

I knew he was crawling across the floor. I could nearly smell the sweaty musk of terror edged lust as he came forward. I tapped the riding crop against the leg of the chair with an idle impatience. I could almost feel him shrink away. I could nearly drink his fear from the very air itself.

As he drew close enough for his dark hair to be visible on the top of his head, a wave of irritation rose up in me. Wasn't he here to serve me? Should he be eager for the task as an obedient slave should always be?

Acting on the emotion, I leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him forward. “Don't dawdle, slave,” I snapped, feeling warmed by the rush of power as he yelped and scrambled to crouch at my feet. “I should beat you black for such laziness,” I observed, noting the stiffening of his erection. “I see you are at least obedient in that respect,” I drawled, amused by the embaressed flush over his cheeks.

I let go of his hair and leaned forward, peering closely into his eyes. I knew it was the striping earlier with the lash and cane that did it earlier. He was now most likely very close to full erection and pain from denied release. I knew my conspirator had ordered him to crawl to me, for it was part of his humiliation and the plan.

Now, he stared at me, imploring me for a beating with his eyes, begging for the orgasm as the lash bites into his back. “That's not just for me, is it, boy?” I asked with a cruel smile. He blinked in confusion and a touch of anxiety lurked in his gaze. I sighed, my voice sliding into my lower register as I tapped the end of the crop against the purpled head of his erection. I purred with amusement, “This is because of a man, isn't it?”

His eyes widened as the flush of embaressment and shame washed over his skin, a crystalline note of horror brightening his eyes. His expression shocked, he ever so minutely shook his head. “Don't lie to me, slave,” I continued in my husky purr as I twitched the end of the crop against his erection. I entwined my fingers in his hair as I smiled. Lightly I pulled on his hair, amused as he struggled with the urge to close his eyes in ecstasy.

He was more beautiful in anguish then I had even realized. I let go of his hair and leaned back, looking him over and contemplating this realization. The excitement thrummed through his body like a well plucked harp string. Oh, how he was going to hate me.

I leaned back further in the chair, moving the crop away from my lap as I spread my legs. I lightly tugged his head forward. Excitement lit in his gaze as he brought his face forward to rest against the inside of my thigh. The disappointment and frustration was yet to come, but it will be delicious. Letting him think that oral service would lead to something more, I smiled down at him.

“Ease my need, boy,” I said, “Pleasure me with your mouth.” His shoulders slumped slightly when he realized that this was not going to turn into a game of hide the penis. I snapped the crop against the side of the chair, making him jump. “I said eat me, slave,” I ordered, allowing a note of menace to creep into my voice, “Or do you want to upset me?”

His powerfully built body shuddered delicately as fear wedded itself to frustration and arousal. An uncertain motion of his hands, a lifting briefly in the air to settle again on his thighs, betrayed his confusion on how to proceed. I let the riding crop fall from my hand as I sat forward, reaching for him. I took hold of his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to arch his back. I found myself briefly speechless at the beauty of how the muscles of his chest and arms struggled with the effort not to flail.

“Do it,” I demanded, “Or I'll send you back.” That was when it shone in his eyes, the fear of one's dominator. “Oh yes, I won't beat you, but he will,” I hissed and he squirmed. His eye brightened with tears in a silent plea for mercy. I resettled myself in the chair, letting go of him with a shake, and adding, “Don't you dare touch yourself.”

He cautiously nestled his face between my thighs. Hesitantly, he gave a gentle lick at my labia. He pauses for a moment and then does so again, emboldened by my silent approval. As he begins to be more vigorous in his exploration of my sex with his tongue, I sigh with pleasure. Between my thighs, I hear him struggle with the urge to sigh with his own delight. I consider if our next session would require silence or not.
Briefly distracted by the thought, I failed to immediately notice when he slowed in his efforts. With a sigh, I say, “I should have you beaten black. I should have him do it.” Unable to restrain the casual cruelty in my voice, I add, “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” He gasped quietly. In that same menacing tone, I add, “I didn't tell you to stop. Lick faster.”

He applies himself to the task with greater fervor. “Ah, good,” I sigh as I feel the beginning of my orgasm building. I feel his cheek warm against my thigh and I realize that he is blushing from my praise. “Mmm,” I sigh, smiling at the thought that occurred to me, “Cum when I tell you. Do not touch your self, just cum when you are told.” He whimpers in frustration and urges on my hunger to torment him.

As my climax very nearly reaches its peak, I tell him harshly, “Cum, slave. Cum for me now.” Hot tears of frustration roll down his cheeks as he whimpers. In his anguish, he pushes me over the edge of my own climax and I shudder with pleasure, pleasure that is made even sweeter in the fact that he will be beaten for his own failure to climax and that said beating will force him into one at the hand of a man, thus humiliating him further.

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