My fingers shook with anticipation.
"Now bend over the bed, and lift your skirt." I had dressed as he asked me to - tried to find something that would keep me warm, but did not look too much like TeacherWear. I settled on a green knit cowl-neck dress, knee length, belted with a wide chunk of soft black leather, and topped with a fuzzy, knee-length sweater. I also wore black peep-toed stilettos.
"You've misbehaved, and I am going to punish you," he told me, his hand burrowing in my hair. "If you can tell me why you're being punished, you will only get one lick per offense, but if you forget, or get one wrong, you will get more."
Ohshitohshitohshit... I wasn't sure if I was ready for this... I remembered chatting with O online without permission. I knew I was in trouble for picking on him with his wife. What else had I done to misbehave, to deserve punishment?
Sir reminded me, and then swatted me with his belt. Five firm blows, total. It wasn't as bad as I had feared. I hadn't been hit with a belt since I was a child. I kinda liked it. I really kinda liked it. In fact, I should have played stupid on all counts of misbehavior. When he had finished belting me, he ordered me down on my knees, told me to take his cock out and suck. Sir was already painfully hard, and he shoved his length down my throat, to the base, making me gag. But he didn't cum. Within minutes, he ordered me on my feet, told me to straighten my dress....
In the car, we talked and laughed and joked as normal, expect my skirt was around my waist, my legs spread, his hand exploring my pussy, smacking my thighs. In the darkness I could see the vivid imprints of his hand on my pale flesh. By the time we reached the adult toy store, a few towns over (I live in BFE, by choice), my pussy was dripping. We headed upstairs to the fetish shop, pausing in front of a vast assortment of flails and floggers, paddles and riding crops.
"Pick one out," he ordered.
"Sir?" I squeaked.
"Choose one that you would like to be paddled with tonight."
The crops and canes looked terrifying. Some, like the floggers with hearts at the end of each tendril, seemed silly. Others looked like a waste of money. A ruler? I have those at home. After much deliberation, I chose a sturdy black paddle, about 2 1/2 inches wide, plain leather on one side (like I want "LOVE" emblazoned on my ass - I don't even use that word), and fur on the other. Faux fur, of course. The fur, to my inexperienced mind, seemed cheesy. But, all in all, this paddle seemed the most practical, the least threatening. As we made our way to the toy section, paddle, candles, bondage tape, and speculum already in our stash, I cast secret glances at the corsets and collars. I've never worn either. Both intrigue me. In the toy section, we bee-lined for the butt-play section. I like anal. This is not something I've been too comfortable saying. Most of my previous lovers have either been shit-faced when they've tried it with me, or they've waited until they thought I was too drunk to notice. This, gentlemen, gives your lover the idea that anal sex is taboo, making her too ashamed to ask for it if she likes it. Anyways, Sir enjoys butt-play. No taboo here.
"Which one would you like me to use on you?"
"Well, Sir, I have this thing, here, " I said, pointing to a vibrating butt-plug, "but if it is in, and I try to penetrate myself with a vibrator, it pops out." My face, at this point, is a vibrant scarlet.
"What thing?" he asks.
"This thing," I say, pointing with a trembling finger.
"What is it? Say the word, Julie."
"This butt-plug." I wanted to hide. Oddly enough, I can go to these stores with friends, play around, be my usual, boisterous, crass self. When I am with a lover, I clam up.
We find a tiny plug, a perfect fit for my ass, with a large enough ridge to keep it lodged. On the end, there's a soft ring for retrieval, or any number of things, I later learned.
Once home, behind a closed bedroom door, my lesson began in earnest. Sir fitted my wrists and ankles with cuffs, linking my wrists together behind my back. I lay face down on the bed, my legs spread to keep my pussy open, the lips from touching. I could feel it dripping with need. He spanked me, first with the palm of his hand, then with a soft, doe-skin flail, then with my new paddle, pausing occasionally to swat at the sopping lips of my pussy with the furred side (aha! That's what that fur is for!). He rimmed my tiny asshole with his tongue, sucked deep on the flesh. No one had ever eaten my ass before. The shame was exhilarating. He slowly worked the plug into my ass, and then went back to spanking me. This was a fantasy come true, a fantasy I had never dared voice to anyone. He tapped a rhythm with the paddle on the ring of the plug - tatap tappity tap - and then WHACK! a good firm smack to keep me on my toes. He'd repeat this process, changing rhythm occasionally, for an element of surprise. I thought I would lose my mind. And then he switched to the flail, slowly dragging it across my back, the little strips catching on the butt-plug, beautiful torture.
He strung rope through the cuffs on my ankles and wrists, hog-tying me, lifting my ass end up so he could eat my pussy. He tied a rope from my cuffs to the ring in my butt-plug, and continued spanking me. Each wiggle I gave pulled on the plug, sending shocks through my core. He stretched my ass with his fingers, encased in rubber gloves, the exquisite burning pain making me gasp and moan. When he fucked me in the ass, I begged his permission to play with my clit, and, almost immediately, had to beg for permission to cum. I think I screamed.
Afterwards, he removed my blindfold (what? I forgot to mention that? Bad Julie...) and marched me into the bathroom to admire my backside. The backs of my thighs clear up my back were a beautiful shade of crimson. I could make out his hand prints, scratch marks. I cleaned myself, thoroughly, as Sir told me to, the rough terry of the washcloth against the raw nerves of my ass sending sparks into my pussy. When I returned to bed, he forced my legs up by my head, leaving my cunt exposed to his view. He studied me, my secrets. And then he consumed me, licking and sucking, biting at my clit. His fingers forced their way into my pussy and manipulated my g-spot. Such delicious torture. I came again, harder than before, mewling and yelping my pleasure. And then, he covered me with his body, held me with such a foreign tenderness as the tremors wracked my body....
I learned many things with my first lesson in BDSM. I learned that I don't give myself enough credit. I learned that I like to be spanked, and spanked hard. I like having my pussy spanked. I loved being tied up, and found myself thinking "man, if we had a hook in this ceiling...." I also learned that there is tenderness in BDSM. This surprised me, but my reaction to this tenderness surprised me even more.
I haven't been a post-coital cuddler for years. I act very much like the proverbial man. I orgasm, or more often that not, fake an orgasm, and the fall asleep, or get up to graze in the fridge, or even roll over to get dressed. Cuddling wasn't part of my repertoire. Why bother? But after my lesson, as T held me, the reassuring comfort was so intense. It was perhaps the most profound experience of the entire evening. After all, you have to be able to trust in order to cuddle like that, don't you? Oh yeah, and I came for a third time that night. Awesome.
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