Monday, January 11, 2016

The Bitch Stick

I came into the office to grab my phone, and Sir tells me to come to him. I'd been wearing my leash attached to my chain all day, per his instructions. He grabs my leash tight and pulls me to him, kissing me hard without much warning. Pulling, keeping me in place. Kissing forcefully. His lips are like a seal around my small mouth, sucking. Sucking all my resistance and thoughts... away.

Apparently I just dropped that phone and gave in. How could I not, though? He keeps a tight hold on my chain, moving his lips to my shoulder, sucking, biting as I squirm. Pulling, the chain biting into my neck as he hikes my skirt up, his hand roughly grabbing between my legs. He steps up from his chair, pulling me upright, and close to him, removing my shirt and hiking the rest of that skirt up, manhandling me through my tights as much as he desires. I find humor in looking up at him; giggling, watching his nostrils flare in excitement. I briefly pull my legs away, wondering if he will pull me back, wanting to feel more of his control. He calls me on my move, not quite believing the reason (probably believing his because his hand is not letting up on me).

Of course he pulls me back, snapping my tights as he lets go and I revel in it. Thinking about it now, that is not a very submissive move. If he puts me somewhere, I should stay put.

"Fucking seriously, Bitch? If I pull you to me, you fucking stay. And I don't quite believe that that's the reason. It's got nothing to do with my hand all up on your fucking pussy right now? If I want to grab this pussy I will grab it, and you will like it!"

I giggle.

"Whats so fucking funny?" Sir rolls his eyes. "You're not still laughing about my nostrils again, are you, Bitch?"

I'm not. I'm laughing because of his language. Unlike me, Sir rarely curses. If he says 'fuck', it's out of extreme frustration; for emphasis. I guess he is one of the few people I know that uses curse words for their proper purpose. Hearing him swear and use the word pussy... it's just so out of character. And while I'm laughing, I like it; his language, his demeanor, his body language. It's screaming dominance, and I'm loving it.

"I can't say pussy, Bitch? Would cunt be better?"

I don't really have a response for him. He can say whatever he likes, do as he likes. I just can't help laughing.

He goes back to attacking my shoulder with his lips, keeping me clamped in place with one hand pulling on my leash, the other still firmly working between my legs. He grabs my hair tightly in his fist, still holding my leash, pulling my head back for kisses that make me forget everything else. I feel like I am pouring myself into him.

He pulls me into the bedroom, keeping a tight hold the entire time.

"Do you know what's going to happen now?"

I don't even have time to answer before he pushes me forcefully down on the bed, face down.

Earlier that night, we threw out a cat tent that our kitty ignores and took up way too much space in our bedroom. But before we did, we dismantled it and had several short sections of plastic pipe. We looked at each other over the garbage can (outside) and brought them back into the house.


He started beating my ass with what he now calls "The Bitch Stick". Over my tights at first. Then he pulled them, and my skirt from me, flipping me over briefly, and then back again face down.

He beats me some more. Scrapes my back with the edge of the stick, pulling my head back, fist in my hair. It makes a slight whistling noise as it cuts the air.

"I'm going to do one cheek horizontal and one cheek vertical." He makes good on it. One definitely hurts more than the other. He beats the other to match intensity of pain.

"Do you like this? You've got a pretty pink ass, you know."

"It hurts..." I say.

"That's not what I asked. Do you like this?"

"...A little, Sir." I'm always saying that. Of course I like it. I'm embarrassed and uncomfortable and he's making me do things, being forceful and making me admit things to him. Yes, I like it.

"Let's see." He shoves his fingers up my cunt. It's easy for him.

"You like it a little, huh? That's not what she seems to think."

He is rough with me. I squirm and try to get away, I guess. But he's got my leash and my hair, and I'm not going anywhere.

He holds me in place, fingering me roughly. It hurts, but it has a taste of that good kind of hurt with it. I wonder if he's making me get used to his hands in there, since I've said I hate it, and I've clamped my legs down or held his hands as best I could from getting in there in the past. He usually wins. Or gets me in my sleep.

"Someone is certainly wet and squishy..."

I find a small amount of embarrassment in him verbalizing that, and being all up in there. But part of me likes it too; the embarrassment, him forcing me to take it.

He removes his fingers. "Grab the rope on the nightstand and flip over."

He places the bitch stick under my right knee, using it to stabilize the rope so that I cannot unbend my leg.

"Now, get up and get the other sticks in the living room."

Just getting off the bed is a chore. I probably should have put more thought into how to get into the other room. I try using the bound leg, and I just go down, catching myself just in time. It's a weird angle to be bent at. I bend the unaffected leg to match, and take a few more steps, looking super glamorous, I am sure. I try hopping with one leg, but I am unstable and need to support myself with my arms. I make it back to the bed finally through hopping/hobbling, sticks in hand, both of us laughing.

He readjusts my bondage. I honestly don't remember if he actually used the other sticks that I had to fetch just then. I remember later, both him and me beating my breasts with them, watching them jiggle. I seemed able to handle more pain than normal. I didn't feel as exposed as I normally do when dealing with breast impact.

I remember him fucking me, good and hard, after I said I didn't think he'd get in there. I remember him taking my leash and pulling on it. I remember his fist in my hair. I remember thinking it'd be lovely to have both legs bound with the bitch sticks, face down, him pulling on the leash and chain as he takes me. I remember him coming. Now that I've started the pill and he won't be needing those condoms much longer, it figures that it's now that he seems to have finally been able to finish with them.

I remember him going to take a quick shower while I was still hazy. He lovingly unclasped the leash from my chain. "Don't want you to choke; you look like you're going to pass out."

He let me sleep until 11:30 am the next day.

I guess he wore me out.

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