I sat in the chair in my dungeon I call my throne. High back, black crushed velvet on the seat and back, intimidating. I sit and look at my victim. At least, I’m thinking of him in that way right now.
Tied, tightly, bent over a bondage table.
Naked, feet tied apart, arms bound in front of him, blindfolded, and gagged. I like what I am seeing. He’s breathing heavily.
I’ve played hard with him. I haven’t used everything in my dungeon. Well, maybe one of almost everything.
I’ve been in a mood. It’s my sadistic mood. It’s not satisfied yet.
Last thing I did was spanking. The position demanded it. First the leather paddle I like the best, about 12 inches long, 4 inches wide. It’s been so well used that the metal in the center bends slightly, and I have to keep turning it over to balance out the lean. I use it over and over. His cheeks turn slighly red.
Then the wooden paddle that’s also a favorite. Almost the same size, but walnut. Hand made, by someone who wanted it used on them. I was happy to oblige. It reminds me of a school paddle.
The leather was a warm up. The wood is demanding, hard to take. I demand a lot.
Red cheeks. Beet red. He shudders when I take one finger and run the fingernail across the tortured flesh. Then my palm against his flesh. I can feel the warmth. I smile.
I want more. I start again. I take my time. One cheek, then the other, then back again. I give him time to handle each blow. I watch his reactions to see when he’s ready for another. I wait a little too long, or hit a little too quickly. I don’t want him to anticipate the blow.
I am building to a peak. I stop, and put down the paddle. I move behind him, putting my body up against his red ass. I grab his hips with my hands. He whimpers. He’s at my mercy. There is no way he can escape my bondage. Not that he wants to.
I picture him bound to the bench, scooting it down the street, trying to escape. Of course, he’d not make it out the door. I laugh.
I lean down so that he can feel my body against his back, my torso against his butt. I grab his hair and pull back. I want him to feel my power. I want him to feel vulnerable. He does. I take my time releasing his hair.
Then I step back. His whimper says he wants me back. But I’m not ready to give him what he wants. Not yet.
I take my hand and rub his cheeks. I use my nails, softly, rubbing up and down and across. Then my palm, slowly, lingering. He moans in his gag.
The first slap startles him and he jumps. I begin my assault on his already sore, already tortured ass. I’ve just been getting him ready for this. It doesn’t hurt my palm at first to hit him. I keep at it until my palm begins to sting.
I want to quit. It hurts me. But I don’t want to quit. It’s hurting him. I push through the pain. It hurts. It feels good. I keep at it. I listen to each blow fall. The sound is either good, or not. I like it when it sounds good. I’m hitting him hard.
He’s moaning now, and I know that I am pushing him. He’s close to the edge. I don’t stop. I slow down and keep him there. He’s at the wall. I stop, finally. The tension in his body eases.
Then I begin to touch him again. His ass cheeks, then slip my hand between his legs. His cock is hard. I squeeze his balls. I move my hand up and down on his cock. He likes this. I stop.
This was when I sat down in my chair, thinking about what comes next. I am in a high state of energy. He’s waiting. He’s deep in sub space. I own him. I can do anything to him, anything. He can’t stop me.
I reach down and pick up the leather harness and strap it on, seeing that it’s positioned the way I want. I open the condom package, and slide it on, I take the KY, and grease up my cock, then wipe off my hands.
I stand up and get behind him. He can feel the coldness as I position the dildo in just the right place. He’s already moaning softly. He loves it. He hates it. I ease it in, slowly, allowing his muscles to relax, taking my time. I’m in no hurry.
I find the right depth. Then begin to move my hips. I can feel it. I can feel my cock, sensations beginning in my sex. It’s not just a thing I’ve strapped on. It’s a part of me. I have a cock. It works. It makes me hot.
I move in and out, finding a rhythym. The feelings increase. I’m moaning. He’s moaning. I’m panting. My movements increase. My orgasm is getting close. My movements get faster. I can feel it building.
The spasms begin. I’m over the edge. I’m taking him with me, taking him to his own orgasm.
Finally, I stop. I pull out of him, take off the leather harness, and sit down in my chair. I need a few minutes, to sit and feel. My body feels good.
I leave him bound, blindfolded, and gagged. He’s waiting.
He doesn’t hear me step behind him. My hand closes on his hard cock, my hard cock. I own it. I own him. He moans again, as I rub my hand up and down, moving just past the blood engorged head of his cock – my cock. I’m not through yet.
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