Sense

 

by The Qmoq

dedicated to JadeTiger, with thanks to Suchaminx for proof-reading

 

 

Chapter 1 - Sense of Discovery

 

To cut a long story short, I married him a year and a bit ago, we fucked like rabbits for three months, every touch from him was electric, and then it cooled. I got used to it. When we were together in the bedroom, his touch still got the same physical response from me, everything clicked and twitched and goosebumped and shivered, but the emotional response wasn’t the same.

          It was an accident that ignited the fire.

          We were curled up like kittens, listening to the stereo, some sappy love ballad that I pretended to like so I could hug him close at that moment. Two days later he might see me hate the song for being schmaltzy, but I lived for the moment. I asked him to flick on the TV, and he said ok honey, of course I will, anything for you. I kissed him for that. He turned off the stereo with one remote, then picked up the TV remote, pointed it at the telly, and pressed it. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Nowt. He opened it up and checked the batteries – nothing. He pressed it again. Nothing. Then he spotted that the TV was unplugged from the wall, from when I was doing the vacuuming.

          “Aims,” he sighed - that was what he called me, like ‘Amy’ was too many syllables, “I feel a fool,” and to prove his point, he rubbed his hand across my chest.

          As he got up to plug the telly back in, I slapped his arse with the remote as he walked away from me. It was a little hard, perhaps, because it made him stand up straight, hop, rub himself, turn, and look down at me.

          And then he smiled. I’d never seen him smile like that before, even when I called him a god after giving me a multitude of orgasms when we discovered the effect of citric acid in the bedroom. His smile was confident, but his eyes betrayed him. He had the eyes of a malevolent angel.

          He leapt on me.

          He squashed me into the back of the sofa, where the seat meets the back, forcing my face into the leather. But this wasn’t his intention. He wanted revenge for my slap on his arse. He got it. He tickled my side, knowing how helpless I was when he got his fingers into my waist, and he flipped me over like a hamburger so I was on my front. I was still laughing when he dug his fingers by wrenching down my jeans and slapping each cheek once, once only. I yelped aloud.

          “Do that again and I’ll-“ I said, deliberately.

          “You’ll what?” he replied, more confident know. SLAP went his hand on my bottom again, this time much harder.

          “Yessss,” I purred.

          That was his cue. He slipped a hand under my chest and squeezed the nipple hard.

          “You’re missing your program,” I wailed. I grumbled initially, but it wasn’t until later, as I examined the red hand-prints on my skin in the privacy of the bathroom, that I realised that I got the most pleasure from the areas he’d slapped hardest. If those areas where were I was most sensitive normally, such as the inside of my thighs, or the side of my waist where he’d tickled me during those first few months of rabbit-sex, then they were doubly pleasurable to touch and stroke.

          I was greedy. I wanted more.

          He took a little convincing. He’d heard of spanking and slapping of course, who hadn’t? He just never thought he was into it.

          “That makes two of us,” I said, as I snuck into bed that night.

          “What if I hit you too hard? What if I hurt you?” he asked. Fair play to him, he was just looking out for me.

          “I’m talking about a gentle tap against my body with an open hand, you won’t be whacking me over the head with a baseball bat. It’s just a little spanking, possibly hitting me with a belt, that’s all.”

          “Ah right, well if you’re su- a belt?”

          I was actually joking, I just happened to be looking at his crotch at the time and it was the first thing I’d seen. I kissed him, and fell into a deep, warm sleep.

 

          I awoke the next morning, the bed was empty. I rolled over to his side - it was still warm, and I lay where he’d lay. I couldn’t consciously smell him there, but I imagined his scent and it was like a dose of smelling salts. I rolled up and out to the shower. I was in there for two, maybe three minutes, wet all over but yet to suds myself, when I heard him coming into the bathroom. I thought nothing of it, of course, must have been looking for toothpaste, I decided. I cooed a friendly ‘morning’ at him over the curtain. He hellooed back.

          I turned to face the spray. I felt a whoosh behind me, I twisted my head to see what he was doing, and he was there, wearing shorts, with a huge smile on his face. He drew back his hand and slapped me hard on the left cheek of my arse. I yelped and jumped and turned to face him. This was a mistake - he reached forwards and spanked my breast with two firm fingers. a salvo of three sharp whaps that made me cry out in pain.

          I didn’t know whether to struggle or not, the only thing I knew was that I wanted more, but not in a place where I’d get excited and fall. I grabbed a towel, and skipped out past him. He followed at a slow pace, which was sweet - he didn’t want me to slip and fall with my wet feet. Once we reached a carpeted area, namely the bedroom, his sympathy stopped. He stopped too, to take a deep and menacing breath, and I looked up at him through the straggly damp hair on my forehead, waiting for him to do his worst. Because, as I know now and suspected then, his worst is his best.

          He reached up to my face, brushed my hair out of my eyes, once, twice, three times, each time making me more relaxed, and then reached round and clamped his hand roughly on the back of my neck. “You’re gonna suck me off, Amy, you little cocksucker,” he snarled. For a brief moment, I almost giggled at him, but I forced my mind to play along, and it was all my body needed. My left knee already buckled a little, and I fell to my back on the bed, close to him.

 “I’m a li’l cocksucker,” I whimpered, as he forced my head into the hard fabric of his shorts. I could feel his hardness, and tried in vain to grab it in my mouth - not because I wanted him that much, but he’d told me to suck it, so I was. My fingers scrambled for his waistband, carefully but urgently pulling out his member. Seemed bigger than I’d remembered it, but I swamped it heartily with my mouth.

“Mmmmm!” we agreed.

I looked up at his smile, just in time to see his hand reach down to join its partner on my head. He pulled me on and off him, pulled his cock out a little, tilted my head back so I was looking at him again, then casually began to fuck my mouth. I’d never had that before - normally I’d be doing the movement, licking him, not letting him force himself into me.

I closed my eyes at the sensation, and, realising my hands were useless, let them drift slowly down to my crotch, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I slid one across my pussy lips, not yet inserting anything, just seeing how wet I was. I’d been wetter... but never this early in the morning. And at that moment, he noticed.

“God damn you, you little fuck toy! What the hell is up with you? Are you that cunt-obsessed?” he shouted, shoving me back away from him. I panted eagerly on my elbows, looking up at him like a hungry animal, parting my thighs for him. I could picture how my eyes looked, lusting after him, alternating glances between teary-eyed blinks at his cock, chest, face and eyes.

“I am a cunt-obsessed slut,” I admitted.

He bit his lip, and smiled at me, a smile of relief. I later realised why. He was relieved that he hadn’t misjudged me, I was giving him the biggest green light I could. He reached behind, and pulled up the mattress, pulling out....

Chapter 2 - Sense of Restraint

 

          Her eyes lit up when she saw the belt. I’d hidden it especially under the mattress, and when she was laying back , all her body exposed to me, I just had to test it out. Kindly, I told her to lean her head back, and she did. I also told her to adjust her posture, so her body line was straight - she was kneeling, but her knees made 25 degree bend and her body was diagonally upwards. It was like a yoga position, with only two dead giveaways.

1. she was naked
2. she had her legs apart and was soaking wet.

I thrashed the belt in the air a few times, testing her discipline - I did it out of sight of her and so I wanted to make sure that she would not flinch or wriggle too much when I actually did hit her. Because I would hit her.

I took aim.. I drew back my arm, and I hurled a heavy blow of the belt onto her chest, making her breasts jump and her stomach clench and her thighs clench and her mouth explode with a roar of pain. What made it sexiest for me was the fact that she’d implicitly begged me for this, through her actions, her play, her sassy comments and her lovely bosom. There was no choice - I simply had to belt her titties.

“Thank you,” she sighed, without any cajoling from me. I was stunned by this. This wasn’t a dull “thank you for whipping me”, this was a “thank you for trusting yourself with me enough to be able to hurt me because I know that’s what I want from you.”

Despite being flattered by her appreciation of my efforts, I had to rub it in. “You’re welcome, you little pain slut.” She wriggled at this comment, it was something she’d never debated before, she may not have known what it meant. Just to make sure, I had to do something to her. “By the way, Amy, I noticed that you were going to frigg your little cunt off before, was that right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir, “ I mocked. “But you didn’t, did you?”

“No sir.”

“No sir,” I parroted.

“Because you told me not to, sir.”

“That’s right. I control that cunt of yours now.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to inform it,” she grinned, and I giggled, giving away my ominous persona. The little bitch could always disarm me with a smile and a well-practiced pout. It took all the effort I had to turn my smile into a frown, and whallop her tits with the belt.

“Ahh! Oooow!” she moaned.

“Keep still.”

“Y-y-es sir, ow!” she cried. I was finding my rhythm. I was hitting her just hard enough to happily jiggle her breasts and watch them redden. Not hard enough to cause any lasting damage. Every fifteen seconds or so, I would stop and listen to her panting loudly. During these breaks, she would open her eyes and stare hungrily at me, tensing and untensing the muscles in her thighs to entice me. Then she would lick her lips a little, and that would be my cue to begin again.

I began to add some chat to my act. I didn’t know where the words were coming from.

“Teach you to be cheeky with me, won’t it, slut?”

“Y-yes sir. I’ll never be ch-OW!-cheeky again.”

“You like being whipped, don’t you?”

“T-technically it’s a -AA! belt.”

“That wasn’t the question,” I said, and whacked her again.

“I-I-I’ve never been whipped before, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been belted - OWW - before.”

"Get off the couch. On the floor, all fours. No, actually, get into a press-up stance. Arms and legs straight. That's right."

Amy did so, quickly and obediently. She looked so cute, gasping and nervous. "Stick that ass up in the air a bit, will you?"

She shuffled her feet forward, keeping her legs straight but moving her bottom up higher. I noticed that, in that position, she was naturally looking down at the floor. I couldn't think of a reason to make her change this, so I took advantage of it. I stepped away, got a phone directory, opened a random page, and placed it between her hands on the floor. She looked up, confused.

"I'm going to belt you a number of times, hard," I explained, "and I want you to remember how many times I hit you. But, while I'm hitting you, I want you to read the numbers in the directory. Understand?"

Her mind was whirring, she realised that it might be a little difficult to concentrate on her counting whilst saying random numbers. It might be impossible.

"What happens if I lose count?"

I crouched by her ear, and breathed, "You had better not lose count, my dear. Start reading, and I'll start hitting you."

She took a deep breath.

"555-3983," she began. On the second "3", I lashed the belt down hard on her upturned ass, watching it jiggle a little. "55-ow-5-571-Jesus! 5"

I hid my admiration of her body. She didn’t have the perfect figure, but she made the most of it, through judicious blouses that showed off her bosom but hid her waist, and jeans that filled up her bottom, making it pumpkinesque, which she and I both like about her. She thinks I don’t notice her choice of clothes and how much it suits her, but I do. She’s never been one of those girls who stares at themselves in the mirror and spots that their nipples aren’t quite level, or their tummy is tubby. She concentrates on the good areas, probably smiles when she thinks that she’s 20lb overweight because most of the extra weight is in her boobs and bum.

The admiration was born again now, though. I could see muscles I never knew she had, tense and trembling legs, her toes had turned white, she was concentrating so hard on maintaining her posture.

I was being fair to the girl. I wouldn't trick her. If she got the right number - which I was careful to count myself - then there would be no penalty. But I wasn't going to make it easy on her.

"Are you still wet right now?" "58-yes sir- 45. I'm still wet."

"Still wet, I don't believe it. How'd you like [WHACK] being such a depraved [WHACK] whore?"

"55- sir it's what I am. I am a depraved whore. NNnnn-yoW! Your depraved whore. 5 1188."

"Don't just repeat what I've said. What else are you? Tell me something that you are after each phone number."

I loved every second of it. I got such a thrill from watching her wrestle her mind and body against the sensations she was feeling. Trying to concentrate on what I'd asked her, the numbers she was struggling to read because her eyes were tearing up, the impulse to put her hands on her cheeks to stop the blows.

"P-please stop," she said. "Please, sir."

"Please what?"

"I-I need to be fucked. I've never felt like t-this, if you don't fuck me, right now, I might die."

I grabbed her by the hair, pulling up her head so she was looking straight ahead. I could see where tears had streamed down her face, I brushed her cheek tenderly.

“Thank you,” she whimpered.

"I'll fuck you, if you tell me how many times I've hit you with the belt." “Th-thirty four?”

“Are you sure? You know that if you get it wrong, I start again.”

“Thirty four,” she sighed.

“Correct. Lie face up on the carpet," I said quietly. "Legs apart."

She giggled a little, not out of disrespect, but out of relief. I was indeed going to fuck her. Anyone, in my position, would have fucked her - it would have taken great self-control not to fuck her the way she'd turned me on, so I was truly glad that she'd got the answer right.

I stood above her, and stripped purposefully. She snaked a hand up my leg as I stood by her, I slapped it away.

Then I pounced, I dropped down on top of her and rammed a finger up her pussy. My mouth found her nipple, and I tugged it up from her body with my teeth and lips. I felt her buck, something I could never resist. I let go of the nipple, took out my finger, crawled on top of her, and rammed myself into her.

"Oooooaa!" she cried. "Yesssss."

"God, slut, you've never been more fuckable than right now," I purred, slapping myself into her, knowing full well that every single thrust would make the cheeks of her ass rub harshly on the carpet.

"I, I know," she sighed, crying openly as the emotions overwhelmed her. "C-can I cum? Please?"

"Not yet, hold on..." I could sense myself twitching inside her, I could feel her muscles clench on me, but I had to prolong the moment for as long as I co--"NOW!"

"Ahhhoo," she mewed, leaning back so fast that she banged her head on the floor. "Oooh godd!"

I forced myself deep into her as I came, holding her elbows firmly to the carpet - even so, she still produced savage jolts from her body as the wave of pleasure hit her.

I got up from her, and once again, stood above her. "Get up," I said, and she scrambled quickly to her feet, her legs shaking, her body shiny and bruised. "Give me a hug."

When she hugged me, her face melted into my neck, and once again, I heard the plaintive sobs from her throat. I'd been tempted to thrash her again for the hell of it, but I thought she'd had enough for one day. When I realised that I was actually holding her up because all the strength had gone from her legs, and if I let go then she would collapse on the floor, I knew I was right. I scooped her up into my arms, took her to our bed, and lay her down. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

          I didn’t even have a chance to tell her about my surprise.

Chapter 3 - Sense of Hearing

 

The surprise was a two-way radio. Whoop de do, I thought, as he placed it on me to test it out, yes that very night. It worked well, I could hear him with the headphones on, even when he was whispering filthy words to me in the kitchen.  He picked up a packet of M&Ms and we ate them off each other in a warm-down after the evening’s events. We slept well, him because he was satisfied that he knew what he was going to do to me the next day, me because I had no idea what was going to happen at all.

          The next morning, we awoke early, and over cornflakes, he promised me a day out on my own. A Stevie Wonder song came on the radio, a funky one from the 70’s, and he began to laugh out loud. That was the first point I began to worry. I took a deep breath, thought hard of the headphones, and wondered what he could have in store for me - the only thing I could think of was that he would talk dirty to me in the supermarket, him from the frozen chicken aisle, me in fresh fruit. I squeezed my thighs together in anticipation. He woke me from my reverie, clicking fingers, holding my outfit for the day. It wasn’t too bad, or it wasn’t too good, depending on your point of view. I’d have bare legs, bottomed off with nice black shoes, a three inch heel. I love those shoes, they’re comfortable enough to wear all day, but the heel is sharp at its base, so they can look dangerous too. The only other thing I wore was a light, fluffy sundress - it’s got a low cleavage but not indecent, and a high hemline but not too worrying. When he asked, I twirled as fast as I could for him, you could certainly see I was wearing no underwear. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to twirl.

          We were ready to leave. He tested the headphones again, and then led me to the car. We drove out of the city, fifteen miles or so to a quaint little village. He parked up by the main square, which had a large paved area, with a fountain in the middle. It wasn’t overflowing with people, but it wasn’t deserted either. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to twirl, if that was his intention. I remembered the safe word, though kept quiet.

“Get out of the car please, Amy,” he said.

I obeyed, delicately placing my knees together as I didn’t want to give any watching people a flash of my gash. Before he shut the door - because his plans clearly wanted him to stay in the car alone, he handed me my headphones, and a microphone. I put them on, and he tested them one final time. I wondered what the fuss was - surely if they packed up, I had my mobile phone in my handbag, he could talk dirty on that.

“Can you hear me?” he whispered, I could hear his dark voice as clear as day.

“Yes, testing testing,” I said.

“Good. I can hear you too. Cross the road, head to the pavement.”

Again, I complied. I felt a light breeze between my legs, but the weight of the dress kept it down. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t be on show. I reached the pavement, and stopped, waiting for some instruction of where to go.

“Look in your handbag,” he said through my headphones. I did so, and noticed something new, a pair of sunglasses.

“Put them on.”

And as I put them on, I felt my knees buckle. They were a pair of wraparound shades, very fashionable I’m sure. It was only when I put them on did I realise I was blind. They can’t make them like that - he must have blacked them out somehow. I thought fast, and took them off - he’d not ordered me to keep them on, after all. I knew it wouldn’t last, so I took the second or two I had to look around the square, calculating distances, looking for potholes.

“Put them on again, and keep them on,” he said, but I had already returned them to my face. “I was going to give you three chances to peek from out of them, but your behaviour means that you don’t deserve it. You will keep them on until you return to the car.”

“Don’t I get a white stick?”

“I’ll be your eyes. When I ask you to walk, I want you to walk slowly, but no baby steps, understand? Good. Now, did you see where the fountain was?”

“Yes.”

“Walk forwards, you have at least ten paces of room in front of you. Go.”

I took a deep breath, and made my first blind step forwards. My heels, which had been no problem until now, suddenly felt like I was in ballet boots. My balance had gone completely. I stepped forwards like I was walking out of an aeroplane, I didn’t know where my foot would land, whether it would twist below me. The step landed safely, and I eeped a sigh of relief. There was no response from the headphones. The second step landed, and I realised he wasn’t going to encourage me, no “you go girl, you’re doing great”. No. He’d given me an order, and that was that. I was concentrating too hard on my walking, but on the fifth step, I felt my heart jump with excitement - it was five steps, but anyone could be walking in front of me, following me, looking at me at this point. And I couldn’t do a thing.

On the eighth step, he told me that I had another ten steps in front of me, so I could keep going. This time I had to trust him, I really had no idea. I just clung onto my handbag and stepped forwards. Using a couple more five and ten-step bursts, as well as a precisely-ordered direction change, he told me I was a step or two from the wall of the fountain. I could barely hear it, I was listening so hard for his voice.

“This time you can use baby steps. Don’t want you grazing your knees on the wall, do I?”

“No... thank you,” I sighed. I stepped towards the wall, hand outstretched. In my cheeky reconnaissance glance around, I’d noticed the wall was a steady three feet high all the way around the fountain, and I soon found it.

“Bare your cheeks on the wall when you sit,” he said.

It was the first remotely sexual thing he’d asked me to do, but it meant I was on safer ground. I discretely did so, sitting on the cold, damp brick.

“Reach into your bag and pull out your mobile, so it looks like you’re on the phone. How do you feel?” he asked.

I had no idea. All my energy had been focused on walking, that I had no time to wonder about whether I was enjoying myself or not. “Erm,” I stalled. Then it washed over me with a delayed aftershock, all the restrained emotion catching up with me. I took a deep breath, and it came to me.

“I loved it,” I said, and it was an understatement. It was the loss of control. I wasn’t crossing the main road, sure, but I was putting all of my trust, my entire body and mind, into the hands of another. Not only that, but he had guided me safely to my destination, he hadn’t abused his power, he’d treated me right. I adjusted my posture on the wall, tingling all over now. I could feel the head of the phone rattling on my earrings, I was shaking so much.

“Part your legs so your knees are a foot apart, my dear.”

“Okay,” I said, trusting him. I felt my dress ride up higher on my thigh, some of it dropping to the side of my leg.

“You’re showing your pussy, aren’t you?”

“Yes...”

“Laugh for me, laugh loudly, as though someone’s told you the funniest joke in the world.”

The bastard. He’d managed to convince me that I wouldn’t be showing myself off to the square, and now he wanted me to draw attention to myself. I paused, then laughed the loudest I could.

“Ow ow ow!” I heard him cry, obviously it had been loud enough. I tried desperately not to smile now, which must have looked extremely strange to any psychologists. I tried my best not to appear schizophrenic, so forced myself to giggle.

“Sorry sorry,” I said, and I couldn’t resist adding “Was that loud enough?”

I heard him chuckle through the headphones, and he said, “God, I love you”, and then he chuckled more, and I nearly fainted. I was dizzy with the whole scenario. My husband loved me! I was now squelchingly damp between my legs, and the spray from the fountain was having a whale of a time with my dress too.

“I love you, because you now have no idea how many people are watching you, do you? There could be a crowd of Japanese tourists taking photographs of the fountain, you wouldn’t know. It could be a family of five, two boys and a girl, you’d have no idea. An old man walking his dog, maybe. Keep your legs open. Or maybe... maybe no-one is watching you but me. What would you prefer?”

“I-I’d just like you to be watching me.”

“Yes, me, and anyone else?”

I couldn’t deny it. I always wanted to be honest with him, whether it was complaining because he didn’t spank me enough, or because he spanked me too much, or whether his shirt didn’t match his slacks. I had to be honest here. “T-the crowd of tourists.”

“Why?”

“Because I think that’s what you’d want,” I said, finding logic from somewhere. “You wouldn’t want me to make a slut of myself with no-one watching but you, we could have done that at home.” I felt proud of myself, being able to speak so coherently whilst exposed, aroused, damp inside and out.

“You realise that you’re facing straight ahead, so they’d think you knew you were exposing yourself particularly to them.”

“Oh my fuck...” I said, realising his point. To everyone watching, I was looking at the world through feisty sunglasses, with no idea who was in my eye line.

“Stand up.”

I did so with a jump, and almost fell on my face.

“The tourists are eight paces in front of you. Walk to them.”

It had to be a bluff, it had to be a bluff, it had to be a bluff, I kept repeating, as I stepped forward. One thing was for sure, I was going to stop after eight steps. Five, six, seven... and then I hit something.

The something moved, it was human. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I-I” I said.

“Konichi-wa, baby,” cooed the something.

“I-I-I... you rat bastard!” I cried. “You absolute arse, I-you-they-oh my god.”

I couldn’t see him, but I could smell him, and I could touch him, and I could hug him. So I hugged him. And I didn’t want him to let me go.

He held me and kissed my forehead until I stopped shaking. I realised that if he touched my skin, if he reached down and touched my bare leg, I would collapse, I would faint like a Victorian housewife. So I let him hold me. We must have looked like one of those annoyingly clingy couples who dry-hump each other in the pub when you’re there for the quiz. I could not have cared less, because I was the other half of this beautiful man that I still could not see.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and took off my glasses. “Open them carefully.”

I blinked sarcastically. “I-I-I can see! Praise the lord, I can see. But will I still be able to play the piano?”

He smiled at me, kissed me on the lips, and took me to a small, Bohemian-looking restaurant. You know the sort of place, candles in old brandy bottles, stripey tablecloths that drop to the floor, blackboards that are half-rubbed out. You get the picture. Cups as well. Completely out of place in a northern English town, but quaint enough, I suppose. Besides, I wasn’t there for the atmosphere, I was there for the company.

Chapter 4 - Sense of Taste

 

I was looking at Amy, who was holding a cup and examining it closely. The blush was still in her cheeks, and the gleam was in her eye. When she’d opened her eyes, I’d been stunned at how happy I was to see them gleaming at me. I loved the life in her eyes.

“You hungry?” I asked her.

“Yes, yes I am,” she said. She’d learned to eat when she could, poor thing. I made a mental note to tell her I wasn’t going to deprive her of food again. Shame about my scatterbrained memory, I sighed to myself. I ordered for both of us, including a portion of chips each as she always used to steal mine. Bah.

“How are you feeling?” I asked when the waiter scuttled off.

“Fine,” she frowned. She suspected something was coming. I didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Ready to make good on your promise?”

“Promise?” she asked, her whole body sinking.

“You said you’d do anything for me,” I explained. She blinked a silent protest, so I continued. “I’d like you to fellate me.”

“Sure,” she sighed, relieved, “when we get home, I’ll lay you down and give you the most thorough tongue-lashing you’ve-”

“Now.”

“-ever had and what? In the car? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Now. In here.”

“But people...”

“People aren’t looking at us,” I reassured her. I genuinely wouldn’t have risked a public indecency arrest, but I’d spotted this place when I was doing my fountain research during the week, and my mind had raced with the idea ever since. “We’re in a secluded booth, there’s a tablecloth the size of a king-size duvet to cover us up. But of course, if you don’t want to do it...”

“I’ll do it!” she chirped defiantly, eyes glinting with excitement in the darkness.

“I suspected you would,” I grinned, daring her to answer me back.

“Now?”

A waiter walked past our table, laden with dirty plates from another table. I waited until he walked past, until no-one was around, then nodded. She bit her lip, nodded back at me, and slid like a liquid under the table. I spread my knees wide for her to slide in between me.

As she unzipped me quietly, a waitress came to take our order. I chose a soup that I knew would take a whole to prepare.

“Would you like anything to drink?” she asked.

“I’ll just have a cup of coffee.”

“And your... guest?” sniffed the prim waitress.

“She won’t be thirsty...”

I felt a hard pinch on my cock as she took it out, it must have been deliberate but I couldn’t prove it. It didn’t make me yelp, I’d prepared myself to keep my mouth shut. I would have a tough job. She’d given me oral sex before, but never seemed keen on it. This time, maybe because I’d asked, maybe because she was still excited by the sunglasses, maybe she thought I’d keep her head down there until I was satisfied, she gave me the best blow job of my life.

She planted soft little kisses all over my cock, then rubbed her face over it, I could feel the vibration in her face as she purred, nuzzling me, rubbing her soft cheeks against it.

Then she kissed down to the base of it, still purring, loud enough for me to hear now, then licked all the way back up to the very tip, kissing the head of my cock over and over, lapping at it. Her tongue flicked across the tip over and over, back and forth, and then she wrapped a soft hand around my cock as she licked the tip. And then, then she took just the head of my cock in her mouth.

I couldn’t stop myself. I had to take a sip of coffee, my hand shaking, and sighed loudly. “Aaaaahhmmmm,” I mewed, but the coffee was merely average.

Her hand started to stroke softly as she sucked on the head of my cock, sucking hard, I could feel her tongue swirling around the very tip. I’d not moved my hands at all, but now I knew I had to. I moved one down and rested it on the back of her head. She knew what this meant, she nodded. Her hand reached up and cupped my balls gently, massaging them, squeezing them ever so slightly.

I nudged a teaspoon to tinkle off the table, leant down to pick it up, and said quickly. “Don’t swallow. Keep it in your mouth. When I let go of you, it’s clear for you to come back up.”

My hand clenched on her hair as my cock twitched, and I spurted deep into her mouth, as her hand squeezed and milked me dry. I smiled at the waitress, watched her as she strode off, then let go of Amy’s head.

And then the fun began. Amy sat back up quickly, her mouth closed, cheeks filled with my cum. I had her attention.

“I tried what you’re doing earlier today. I took a sip of orange juice and kept it in my mouth. After a moment, I became conscious of the saliva building up, the tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling, you even begin to gag, even though all you’ve got in there is half a mouthful.”

She breathed heavily, lustily letting her breasts heave as she concentrated on my words, teasing her, almost daring her to swallow.

 “Then it gets worse. I’d swallowed by now, but you can’t. I can only imagine what it’s like. Your taste buds feel like they’re going to explode as the liquid splashes around your mouth, settling on your tongue, working its way between your teeth and onto your gums, the salty taste in there.”

The corners of her mouth drooped downwards as the discomfort continued.

“Amy, come on, I’m only talking about orange juice.”

I casually took a napkin, wiped myself clean, then gave it to her.

“Smell that. It’ll add to the taste.”

She moaned now, her eyes were pleading.

“I’m going to call the waitress over. When she’s at the table, you can swallow and ask for whatever you want. Don’t swallow until she’s here. Understand?

“Mmmm,” she nodded.

I turned, raised a hand, and called over the prim waitress gal. She stopped by the table, looked a little confused at the sight of Amy, who had apparently appeared from nowhere, but probably put it down to the darkness of the table.

“I’d like another coffee, please, and Amy?” I asked.

Amy gulped loudly, then licked her lips. “I’d love an orange juice,” she smiled, not taking her eyes away from mine for a second.

Chapter 5 - Sense of Sight

 

I gave him a challenge for once.

"You're going on this course." I said, because he was going on a course. A two day and one night course. Bastard course.

"Yes," he said, hugging me gently because I needed it.

"Ok then." And I whispered to him. "Bring it on."

"What?" he said.

"I want you to give me the most degrading, arousing, tough, lengthy tasks that you can imagine."

"I was planning to."

"O-oh," I stuttered, losing my confidence.

"Why do you think I've been on the internet so much recently?"

"Shopping?"

"Ohhh yes," he smiled. I always got a buzz when he smiled.

The last thing he'd bought, batteries aside, was the walkie-talkie. He took me through "some" of the toys he'd bought.

"A camera," I hummed.

"Not just any camera. This one has software in it, whereby I can ask the camera to take a picture, just by sending an e-mail or a text message. So, what I will do is send you a text message, saying how I want you positioned for the camera, but I won't give you long to get there.”

"Can you give me an example of the poses you'd like me in?" I asked this by turning towards him, accentuating my breasts a little with my arms, and flashing him a dazzling smile.

"No," he said.

"Why?"

"I want your mind to race with ideas. Then I want to top them."

He was right, the son of a bitch. The first thing I could think of was that he'd ask me to pose whilst holding my cunt apart with two fingers, with clothes pegs on my nipples. He could easily top that, just by telling me that I needed to... oh fuck, I thought. My mind was already racing.

"And here. Take these."

He handed me thirty envelopes. I knew there were thirty, because each had a bold number written on it, and each was sealed. I looked at them blankly. "And I didn't get you anything," I said.

"I love it when I surprise you," he said. "So each of these envelopes contains a nice task I'd like you to do... but I know you might look at them and plan for how you're going to do them, so I'm giving you sealed envelopes. If any of the envelopes are opened by accident or mistake or numerical dyslexia, you will be severely punished when I get back.

"I understand," I nodded. "Because you’re not going to use all the numbers.”

“Yes.”

“You can then use those tasks next time you go away."

"Exactly," he grinned, patting me on the head like I was an errant child.

 

I kissed him goodbye, half-expecting a first text from him within two minutes of him leaving the house.

But there was nothing. Not a sound. I’d like to say that the tension rose, increasing more and more, but after an hour or so, the excitement dropped. I’d held the envelopes up to the light, but I never contemplated actually opening any of them. I settled down to watch a film with some popcorn and furry slippers.

The sod must have been psychic. The film was just about to reach its climax, when I got a text from him.

“Sit on the chair, with Veiny in your cunt, smiling. Three minutes.”

That was all it said.

‘Veiny’ was a thick pink dildo I’d had for a while; I think it was a present at my hen night. It was big, with pencil-thick veins down the side of the shaft. And I wasn’t ready for it.

I rushed upstairs, dug him out of the back of my wardrobe, and rushed to the chair. Two minutes thirty. I rubbed my clit as fast as I could, realised it wouldn’t work fast enough, so decided a different idea might work. I took a deep breath, trying to relax my muscles, whilst coating the dildo with spit and lubricant. I slipped a finger inside myself, then another, which was a squeeze.

A minute to go.

I had to try. No, I had to do it, that’s what I had to do. I wedged the dildo half an inch, then an inch into my cunt, then took my final deep breath. I lifted myself to place the base of the dildo on the armrest of the chair, then let my weight gradually settle upon it. Slowly, painfully, the dildo crept into me, stretching my tight cunt wider and wider. “Ah-ahhh-ahhhhhhhhh!” I yelped, feeling the thick veins scratch against the inside of my pussy. It was about three-quarters of the way in, when my time was up. I flung myself into the chair, made sure my pussy was showing, and smiled a grin that was as forced as the cock inside me.

The flash of the camera went off, and I continued to smile. I thought about what he would think when he saw the picture. I hoped it would be in enough, deep enough inside me. I hoped it pleased him. My mind wandered to think of what he would do to me if it DID please him, how he would let me lick his wonderful cock, rub his chest, kiss him all over. I moved a hand to take Veiny in my hand, and idly began to rub it in and out of myself. Within two minutes of concentrated fantasy, Veiny was in all the way, twisting and pumping inside me as my mind flashed with images of what he and I had done and what we’d do...

Then the phone beeped again.

“Dress as a schoolgirl. Four minutes.”

I didn’t even pause, I raced upstairs, knowing already that I had a white blouse, and realising that I didn’t have a single tie in my side of the wardrobe. I had to take one of his. I opened his side, and saw a piece of paper pinned to a garish orange and green stripy tie. ‘Wear me’ read the paper. Two words, but they proved that he knew exactly what I would do. My knee trembled a little, and I bit my lip as I tied it on.

I stood in the mark, beamed a huge smile at him, the camera flashed, and I picked up Veiny again, heading upstairs.

 

I must have fallen asleep at about midnight, my phone by my bed, with happy dreams of how me might be smiling when he saw my pictures. I was just coming to a point in the dream when he was in a hotel room, unzipping his trousers, when –

 

BEEP!

 

My phone started buzzing. I shot upright, startled, and looked at it. "Naked, and covered in flour. Two minutes," it read.

I blinked and frowned, and then I panicked. I raced out of bed, hurtling downstairs at high speed, taking off my nightdress and almost head-butting a wall on the way. I scrambled into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, noticed a sign on the bag of flour that read 'Use me', blinked at it, smiled, took it, and scampered to the mark in the living room. I emptied a quarter of the bag over myself, rubbed it over myself, watching as flakes of dough formed against my sweating skin. I looked at the camera and smiled warmly as the flash went off.

Then, finally, I was able to breathe. I sneezed a fair chunk of flour out of my nose, and turned to face a mirror. I looked ridiculous. My hair was straggly and covered in flour, my face looked like a geisha's, my body appeared as though it had a horrible skin complaint.  

I cursed him as I made my way to the shower, but I was more relieved that I had succeeded in my task. I took my time, making sure that I was clean as a whistle, made sure that the shower head rubbed across my nipples and clit, in particular.  

And as I reached for the towel, the phone went again.

"Naked, still covered in flour. Ninety seconds."

I swore loudly this time, then punched a towel out of frustration - I'd just got myself clean! The bastard! As annoyed as I was, there was not a part of me that thought of throwing in the towel.

I threw the towel into the shower, then I hustled myself carefully downstairs, picked up the bag, and poured some more flour over myself. It stuck more to me this time, coating my hair and chest with a mushy paste, the scent of wet dough and soaped-skin mixing in the air. There was a flash from the camera accompanied by a weak smile from me, and then another text.

"You can put the flour away now, and shower. I want you in a sexy teddy, clean, in thirty minutes."

I smiled at his text, and then I noticed something. He had sent me three text messages, the first at exactly 2am, the second at exactly 2.30am, and the third at exactly 2.33am. And by "exactly", I mean that there were zero seconds on the time of the text. I realised that the texts must have been automatic, he must be asleep at the moment, and he will wake up tomorrow to check the pictures that 'he' had taken.  

As I soaped myself down in my second shower that night, I wondered whether this was good or bad, and I concluded that it was good. It was such a severe trial for me that he was unable to stay awake throughout, though he knew he had a way of checking up on me. It meant I was going beyond what he was prepared to do himself. I was proving myself. My chest heaved happily as pride came to my heart. And then I bit my lip, because I would have to stay half-awake at the least, for the whole night. I flushed warmly at the thought of having to stay up all night, keeping myself aroused for him, making sure both my cunt and ass were well-lubricated at all times. And who knows what he had planned for me the next day? I had no time to think of such things, I had more important things to decide - which sexy teddy to wear. 

 

I had stayed awake until four in the morning, idly stroking myself, trying to see if there was a pattern in the time of his texts, wondering whether I’d dozed off and missed one or not. Eventually, sleep hit me.

I awoke at eight, I scratched myself, and the first thing I checked was the phone. It was flashing. I had missed one of his texts. I bit my lip.

          “Read task 14 before 8.30am,” it read.

          I frowned, then realised. I shot down the stairs naked, and flicked nervously through the envelopes. There was no trick here – number fourteen was there. I checked the text again, making sure I could open it.

          “Amy. Put on your shortest decent skirt and your tightest t-shirt. No bra. No underwear. Non-slutty heels that match your skirt. Be standing in front of the camera at 8.35am.”

          Well, it was better than flour, I guess. I ran my hand over my naked body and realised that I was already half-dressed. Then I saw that it was 8.25, so jetted upstairs. I had an absurd Day-Glo green skirt that was a good six inches above the knee, but no matching heels, so I had to plump for a tight black cotton skirt, with a slit up the centre. I’d bought it to surprise him, knowing he had a secretary fetish, but felt it was a little too extreme for the office. I put it on, already knowing the shoes I was going to choose. The blouse was a little thing that I’d bought from a foreign catalogue, not knowing that they have different sizes over there. It was wearable, and it covered everything, but I had to breathe in to make it look passable.

          I stood as primly as I could in front of the camera, fully dressed. The flash of the camera went off, and a moment later, the phone rang.

          “That’s a nice outfit, Amy. Lock up the house, take your handbag, and get in the car.”

          Now I began to worry. I had never planned to wear either my skirt or blouse outside of the house. Still, I trusted him, I always felt safe with him, and he wasn’t the sort of man who would send me out into somewhere dangerous.

          I got in the car, and rang him back.

          “I’m in the car,” I said, because I was.

          “Imagine that you’re driving along, and you feel my hand on your thigh…”

          Oh god, that voice, his descriptions, his mind, he knew me so well, I began to purr and pant, just at the sound of his voice. The slutty attire only helped this, of course. When he told me how his hand would slide up the slit in my skirt, my whole body spasmed.

          “Oh my god, you can always make me cum, you bastard!”

          “You’re going to cum?” he asked innocently.

          “Can I? Please?” I fluttered my eyelashes, useless over the phone but I wasn’t thinking straight.

          “Not yet. I think you need something to help you cum.”

          My mind raced. I had heard this tone of voice before from him. It was when he had a plan in mind for me.

          “Drive to Ashmore Lane,” he said.

          Ashmore Lane, if you’ve never heard of it, is in a rather pokey shopping area of town. Not dangerous, but not exactly homely. I think the last time I had been there was with a cousin who wanted to buy some nunchuks. Exactly. That sort of street.

          I took a deep breath, centred myself, and drove.

          “I’m here,” I said, after parking. I was already tugging my skirt’s hem down as far as it would go.

          “Can you see the sex shop?”

          “Yes,” I said, biting my lip.

          “Good,” he said. “Now listen carefully. I want you to go in there, pick out a vibrator called the ‘Curious Deluxe’, and take it to the counter. When you get there, I want you to smile at the man behind the counter, and say brightly ‘I’m buying this because I want to cum for my husband’, then pay him and leave. You get bonus marks if you say something more depraved.”

          I couldn’t help smiling. “I bet you’re the man behind the counter, aren’t you? You devious swine.”

          “No,” he said. “Leave the phone open in your handbag so I can hear you say your thing brightly.”

          I frowned as I got out of the car. It was a perfectly safe lane, there was no-one in sight, and looking past the shops, I could see tree-lined avenues filled with middle-class cars. This was not a danger at all. It was just unbelievably embarrassing.

          I took a deep breath after locking the car, and tried to hold it as I walked to the shop. Pushing open the jet-black door, I was overwhelmed by the sight of a whole wall of vibrators.

          “Oh my god!” I cried aloud. I wondered why there was such a range, “Surely you only need one.”

          I looked out for the Curious Deluxe, up and down and side to side across the racks in an efficient way, like I was looking for cereal. I finally spotted it at the topmost shelf, and I had to stretch up to get it. I turned, and felt very self conscious. The shop was empty, except for the salesman, who was smiling warmly. He was not my husband. He was, however, a normal-looking man, not a seedy guy in a raincoat. That would make it easier.

          I placed the vibrator on the counter, smiled broadly at the man, and said in a loud, clear voice: “Good morning, sir! I am buying this Curious Deluxe vibrator because I want to cum for my gorgeous husband. He has such a firm hold on my mind, just thinking of him sets the cunt juice trickling down my leg, oh yes. Unfortunately he can’t be with me today, which is why I’ve not got my lips clamped on the tip of his cock. Twenty pounds here you go. Oh my, I can’t wait to get back home so I can slip this into my cunt, then I might use it to ass-fuck myself. Can you put it in a bag, please?”

          I only started blushing when I realised what I’d said, which was when I was opening the door to get back onto the street. The salesman tried to appear as calm and cool as he could, but I could tell he was flustered, particularly when I’d started nonchalantly rubbing my bare breastbone with my fingertips.

          I opened the car door, slipped onto the seat, and pulled the phone from my bag.

          “Did you hear that?” I asked.

          “You exceeded my expectations, young Amy. Well done.”

          I couldn’t fail to smile.

          “I think you should be allowed to cum,” he continued. “Put the Curious Deluxe vibrator in your pussy. You can take it out of the packaging first, of course.”

          I gulped.

          “Open the glove compartment,” he said. I did, and a small pack of powerful batteries fell out. ‘Use these’, said a yellow stick note on them. “Quickly,” said the voice on the phone. I fumbled nervously with the packaging, sliding the batteries into the vibrator. I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder, hearing him say how much he wanted to have the vibrator filling my cunt, how he was stroking his own cock at the thought of what he was going to make me do to myself. It helped, it did.

          “Put it in your pussy.”

          I checked the rear-view mirror to make sure that I was the only one within sight, and when all as clear, I found that the vibrator slid three-quarters of the way into me. It wasn’t the shop assistant that did that to me, it was all down to the filthy voice on the end of the phone.

          “Is the vibrator on? Good. Tell me what you’ve just done for me,” he said.

          It was only then that it hit me.

          “I… I dressed like a cock-teaser for you, and I went into a s-sex shop, somewhere I’d never been before, and I bought this… this… oh my god,” I had to pause as the sensation hit me. The vibrator had finally inserted all the way inside me, and as it did, I felt a little flap of plastic at the bottom start to rub hard against my clit. Juice was leaking out of me onto the leather seat, and this wasn’t all because of his voice. The Curious Deluxe was playing its part here.

          “My course is about to start, Amy. Keep the vibrator in your cunt all the way home, though you can turn it off if you think it would affect your driving. I want you safe. When you get home and into the garage, turn it back on and lick your seat clean.”

          “Y-yes, I understand.”

          “Bye sweetie,” he said, and signed off.

Chapter 6 - Sense of Balance

 

          Often I surprised myself with her. One evening, after a long day at work, she was purring seductively at me. I was a little tired, and didn’t want to do much. Rather, I wanted to do plenty, but I had no energy. I took off my belt and chucked it casually on the table, and it landed in a loop. That gave me an idea, an idea I hadn’t thought of until that moment. I adjusted the belt into a more circular loop in the dead centre of the table.

          “Amy, strip to your underwear, then hop on the table. I want you to put your knees and hands inside the loop, but no other part of you can touch the table.”

          She frowned a little as she took off her blouse and skirt, crawling delicately onto the table via a chair. She realised that she had to clamp her knees together, and use her hands to lean upon and balance. There wasn’t much room to spare, and she bit her lip uncertainly.

          “Let me guess,” she said. “If I touch the belt, you’ll whip me with it.”

I was about to say “yes”, but I realised that this was clearly what she wanted, so I had to make the challenge a little different.

“No. If you touch the belt or fall over, I won’t whack you with it. You’ll get no spanking or whipping tonight.”

“That’s it?” she frowned.

“That’s it. No other punishment.”

Her knees shuffled a little under her. “I’m not gonna touch this belt,” she purred.

“Good girl.”

Her hips shuffled and she let out a soft moan: she loved it when I called her a good girl. I told her to arch her back, and I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. Upon returning, I saw her looking down nervously at the belt - she hadn’t touched it, but was wondering how long she could stand it. I placed my tea on the table, and sat down to watch her. I asked her how her day had been, she did the same to me, and then I mentioned that I was going to tell her a story.

“Oh god,” she sighed, even before I’d begun.

I’d realised that my voice had a remarkable effect on her. When this was combined with her vivid imagination, we discovered that she would ooze and wriggle and generally get in heat when I told her a tale. She wasn’t quite at the point where she would cum with no physical stimulation, but she wasn’t far off.

 “The way you’re posing there,” I said, staring into her eyes between sips of tea, “that’s the way you’d be put on the shelf, if you were on sale in Roman times.”

“R-roman times?”

“Yes, Amy. You’d be in the shop window of the slave traders, and you’d have to stay still all day, no matter how many toga-wearing men and women stroke your skin. They’d be looking for obedience, and the more you stay still, the higher the price you’d go for. You’d want that, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes. Oh god, you’ve got cunt juice dripping down my thigh here, you know that?”

“They’d be looking for that, the Romans. They wouldn’t want a piece of meat for their parties, they’d want someone who could respond to them when they bring you into their parties, when they finger you, when they get their wives to lick and pinch you, when they fuck you.”

My voice was a throaty rasp at this point. I took a sip of tea to wet my lips. Amy was clenching her eyes shut, then letting them burst open, alive and aroused.

“If you weren’t sold to a nice family, you’d just be a fucktoy for some ruffian, he’d make you sleep outside with the pigs and the goats, he’d whip you for the slightest indiscretion. But, if you went for a high price, you’d be taken care of. Long, luxurious baths with fellow slaves, male and female, teasing each others’ flesh, practicing...”

“Yesssss...”

“But when the rich family need you, it’d always be for something depraved. They’d lead you round on a leash at parties, showing off their prized possession, preparing you for the hunt.”

“The hunt?”

“Yes. The hunt. The hunt is where they throw you into a pit, and have four male slaves chase after you.”

“Oh god,” she whimpered.

“The first one to cum inside you wins his freedom. And all of this is going through your mind as you kneel there in the shop.”

“A-all day?” she stuttered.

“Of course, all day. It’s the day before your auction, after all. They’d want you on display as much as possible. But, after the shop closes, you need to be prepared for the next day. They’d chain you a bed, spread-eagled. Then they’d put a young slave boy on top of you, with his crotch above your face. He’d be chained up too.”

Amy was breathing heavily. She whispered, almost silently, “C-can I cum?”

I smiled. I took a sip of my tea again. I then said “no”.

“Amy, you need to let me finish the story. The slave boy’s job is to keep you aroused all night, just in case someone wants to see you in the middle of the night. He’s been able to sleep all day, lucky lad, and he’s well rested. He’d lean into your pussy, and tug on your cuntlips with his teeth.”

“Pleease, I need to cum!”

This time I ignored her. “His cock would get hard, and this is his second purpose - even though he’s a slave, you’re beneath him. You have to suck him, whenever he gets an erection, you have to learn how to milk him with your mouth, particularly as you’re distracted from his tongue deep inside you. You may cum.”

“Oh, ooooohhhh th-thank aaaaaaah!”

Her body was rocking from side to side, lovely titties swinging beneath her in the bra, she was quite a sight. But not once did her knees or hands move from the table, and the belt remained untouched. I drained the last of my tea, placed the cup on the table, picked up the belt, and gave her a hard WHACK with it, right across the cheeks of her ass.

“Mmmmmmm!” she purred.

I whacked her again, just below the first stripe. “Ooooh.”

And then I lost myself - I grabbed her hair, dragged her off the table, forced her to the floor and pounced on her, scrabbling at my zip to free my cock and fuck her. I couldn’t wait a second longer, I adored this woman, I wanted her, so I had her. I crawled on top of her, penetrated her damp sensitive pussy, pounding her with my hand still clenched on her hair. I didn’t hear her cries of joy. It didn’t register. I just wanted to cum inside her. She wriggled as I scratched fingernails down her side, so I did it again. And again. She purred and writhed. I couldn’t stop, I thrust deeper and deeper. I wanted to give her every sensation in the world. I tugged back her hair until her breasts lifted off the ground. I bit on her ear, then I came into her. I knew she loved this sensation, it proved she turned me on, after acting aloof for the past hour.

“Yesssss,” she sighed.

But I was still full of energy. I rolled off her, and rolled her onto her back. I found the belt, I picked it up, I told her to stretch her hands above her head, then I whacked her belly. Her tits. Her thighs, anything that was showing. She wriggled and gasped and yelped, and it all gave me more energy, so I kept whipping and slapping her skin until it was a mixture of bright and dark reds. And then, finally, I crawled onto her again, in a warm hug. She cooed gently at me, as I lay on her sore flesh.

“Thank you,” she purred.

She had thanked me for it. I felt like the luckiest man in the world.

Chapter 7 - Sense of Shame

 

It was my fault. That's what the problem was, it was my fault. I was the one who told him that I needed to do more exercise, I was the one who bought the tummy trimmer that you see on the shopping channels - a deluxe model with an electronic counter built in, so you always knew how trim you were making your tummy. I bought it. I was the one who did 1200 reps on the first day, then didn't use it.

"Amy," he said a few days after I'd bought it, after he'd given me a very pleasurable spanking. "You have a day off tomorrow. Are you doing anything?"

"No," I mewed, curling up on his chest like a cat.

"You still dream of a trim tummy?"

"Yes."

"Okay then. I want you to do 1000 reps on that tummy thing by the time I get home from work. I'll reset the counter before I go out."

"I-I-yes," I stuttered.

"Yes what?" he grinned.

"Yes, baby."

The next day, I got up early, showered, stretched, did about 300 of the reps in a lazy hour, and felt proud of myself. And then, then the post arrived, and I had to get a newspaper, and I got a phone call from a friend. Then I took a bath, followed by a nap, followed by a break to watch some TV. The tummy trimmer was sitting in the middle of the room, but it may as well have been back in the garage, gathering dust. He opened the door, I looked at the clock, realised my mistake, and I panicked. Wearing a blouse and skirt, that's how he found me, frantically doing as many reps as I could.

"Stop," was his first word. "Up," was his second.

I stood up, shaking. He looked at the rep counter.

"Did you reset this accidentally?"

"No, babe."

"322? That's all?"

"Y-yes."

"Any excuses? Any muscle spasms or medical emergencies?"

I was heartened a little by his trust in me, but this was swamped by the realisation of how bad I was about to make him feel when I admitted the truth. "No excuses," I said sadly.

He chewed on his lip for a second. "Follow me," he said.

He led me to the shower. "In," he said. I stepped in, fully clothed. He turned it on. Cold. No hot water at all. "AAAAAAAaaaa!" I squealed, as my face and chest were soaked with the ice-cold water. "Nooo...!" He said nothing, just watching as the jet continued to soak me. My body rebelled, and I tried to step out of the shower. He grabbed the hair on the top of my head and forced me to stand and take it. I was beyond screaming, I was so cold, and I knew that he wouldn't let me dry off quickly. After about ten minutes of this, he finally turned it off. I was about to thank him, when I realised he hadn't finished. "Follow me," he said, and walked out of the room. I followed, dripping cold water over the bedroom carpet, more as I trotted down the stairs, snivelling and dribbling. He was waiting in the living room, with a towel, which he passed to me.

"Dry your hands only. Then get on the machine, and go to 400, then stop."

"Y-yes."

I squelched down onto the floor, on my back, looking up at him as he stood over me. I stared at the rep counter - 322, and cursed myself for being so lazy. I began to tug myself up and down. The clothes really weren't suitable - every time I came down, my breasts would jiggle uncomfortably, and with the cold, my nipples would rub harshly against the wet cotton. I was sore, and after 78 reps, I was a little tired.

"400," I said, finally.

He checked the counter, and my heart sank at this. He had to check the counter - he no longer trusted me.

"Up," he said. "Follow me."

I had a knot in my stomach as he led me to the shower again. "In."

I hated it. Every second of the cold water, I hated. And I realised that was the point. I might pretend that I was getting spanked for being a naughty girl, but in fact that was him treating me well, with respect, with intimacy. This cold shower, on the other hand, this was a true punishment. I couldn't hug him afterwards, there were no smiles or closeness or coyness from him or me. He had given me an order and I had failed miserably to do it. I deserved anything he was going to do to me. Perhaps I should have been proud that he'd never had to punish me before. All I was thinking was that he would never have to punish me again. This was going through my mind when I was being made to stand in the shower, pinching my own nipples. I glanced back at him a few times. He was not aroused at all, not smiling, no flush to his cheeks or distortion in his slacks.

"Follow me."

Again, my head dropped as I stepped down the stairs carefully. He rightly felt justified in putting me back a level by giving me orders for everything I was supposed to do.

"Down on the machine. Get to 500. Then stop."

For the first time, I began to cry. Warm, blubbery tears welled up inside me and I wept openly before him. I wasn't seeking sympathy, I was just feeling so wretched. I swore at myself again and again, as I bobbed back and forth on the machine, rep after rep. I did feel a little twinge of fatigue as I went past 470, past 480, not stopping, but it was nothing to the pain in my heart.

"500," I said, laying back, panting.

"Up." He checked the counter again. Then, "Follow me."

I dragged myself up to the shower again, stepping in and waiting for the electric-cold spray to torture me again. We repeated the exercise again and again, him giving me a two minute cold shower after each one hundred reps, still wearing the damn blouse and skirt, both of which were thoroughly wrecked. After I paused for breath between 700 and 800, he suggested that I might be tired - so at the 800 mark I got a ten minute shower. It was unquestionably the worst hour of my life. At the end of it, when I reached the 1000 I was supposed to do, he finally told me to strip. He gave me the towel, and I dried myself. I could feel tension in my stomach - the trimmer had done its job well.

"I need to change," he said, and I realised he was still in his work clothes. "Stand over there, put your nose in the corner." I obeyed, padding to the wall, getting myself in a comfortable standing position, then placing my nose where he wanted. He turned off the light and left the room, ignoring me in the darkness for ninety minutes, making himself a delicious-smelling meal that was so tempting I began to salivate and cry again, tears of disappointment in myself and frustration in my actions, but my nose did not break contact with the corner once.

Finally, he came in, turned on the light, tapped me on the shoulder, turned me around, and hugged me. Aside from pulling my hair, it was the first contact he'd given me all day. I melted into him, whispering apologies and promises into his chest. He said softly "Your punishment is over, but I want you to do at least 800 reps tomorrow."

I nodded, saying "Thank you," and the next day, I did 1655 reps, more than double what he wanted, hoping it would please him. It did, we were back to "normal". Ironically, that night was one of the best ever - he put me in the shower, fully clothed again, assuring me it would be warm water this time, and told me to masturbate in front of him as he reached in to pinch, prod and grope me. I could feel the devilish grin spread on my face as I did it, I adored this man and would do anything for him. He pulled me out, threw me on the bed, warm but soaking wet, face down, spread my legs, then leapt of top of me, sliding two fingers in my pussy, squeezing two in my ass, pumping both, and then letting me choose which hole he fucked. I surprised him, and got a brutal, soapy ass-fucking which drove me absolutely wild. Because I was in heaven. Because he liked me.

Chapter 8 - Sense of Smell

 

I gave her a choice, and the choice was for a good reason... no, several good reasons. After punishing her with the cold shower, I'd given her a relatively easy time of it for a few days. I think she appreciated this, but by the end of the week she seemed itchy for a new task, something big and challenging. That's the first reason. Secondly, I wondered whether she thought I thought she was fat, for giving her the reps task - it wasn't the case! I love her curves and would hate to think of her slimming for me, but I gave her the reps task to learn self-discipline. If she'd never bought the damned machine, I'd never have noticed how self-conscious she was about her weight. It might have been a delicate area, and there was only one way to find out: I gave her a choice, during breakfast on the Saturday morning.

"Amy? Come here."

She put down her toast, stood up in her long, warm nightie, and padded over to me, smiling.

"I'm going to give you a choice. I don't have a preference as to which one you pick. Understand?"

"Yes. Nooooo preference," she emphasised. For that cheekiness, I bent her over my knee, and slid a hand up the nightie, between her thighs, teasing her delicate, clean morning skin.

"Either you can have over a dozen orgasms today with me and not eat any food, or you can have over a dozen near-orgasms with me and eat food. I'll keep slapping your arse until you decide. Take your time."

I started to run my fingertips along the entrance to her pussy, and it was made to undulate by it’s owner, who sighed happily as I varied the touch and the pressure.

"Will all the orgasms be with you?"

"At least a dozen will be with me, yes."

"Then I want the orgasms."

"Good choice. Stand up, and pass me your toast."

She did both.

“Now turn to the side, bend over and get some fingers up that cunt of yours.”

She nodded, and keeping her legs perfectly vertical, she leaned forwards as I munched on her toast. Her breasts hung down nicely, the main reason I didn’t ask her to turn her back on me, and I told her this.

“I do love your tits there, slut. They look most melony. How’s your cunt? Dripping wet yet? Course it is. Look at me, Amy, you know your way around your pussy, you’ve had enough practice slipping fingers into it. No, keep using that same hand, but slide a finger from the other hand into it too, will you? Good girl. Faster, come on, I want you to cum before I finish this toast. Smells delicious, by the way.”

Her mouth was hanging open now, some drool dripped out of her mouth – she couldn’t catch it as various fingers from each hand were in her pussy, pumping in and out at a superfast rate.

“Can I cum, please?”

“Yes. But you don’t have to ask me today – you only have to tell me when you’ve actually had your little orgasm.”

She nodded again, her head continuing to bob as she grunted, keeping her eyes fixed on mine as I sipped my cup of tea. “Uhh-uh!” she said, then added quietly “I’ve came.”

“You’ve stopped moving your fingers. Did I tell you to stop?”

“N-no, b-but it’s very sore…”

I put the dishes in the sink, not looking at her, but relishing the flup-flup sound her fingers made as she approached her second orgasm.

“OooooooAAAAAAA! Two, two.”

“Good,” I said, picking up a towel to dry my hands. “Fingers in your ass. I’m going to fuck you there when I’ve put these away.”

“Oh, okay,” she sighed. When I finally turned back to face her, she hadn’t moved her feet at all, she’d only adjusted her hands. This girl was obedient, and ready, and I couldn’t keep my hands off her for a moment longer.

“Touch your toes.”

I stepped behind her, spread her cheeks wide, and gently pressed the head of my cock at her asshole. She was still panting, and twitched as I began to force it into her.

“You’ve never cum before when I fucked you up the arse, have you?”

“N-no.”

“I think you will today though, won’t you?”

“M-might.”

“I think you will, you know? You’re an intelligent little slut, you’re fully self-aware.”

She didn’t reply to that, she was probably wondering where I was leading her. Maybe she was concentrating on keeping her legs straight as I worked myself deeper into her.

“You seem quiet, Amy. Have you realised what you’re doing right now? You’re letting yourself be fucked hard in the ass,” I said, and she definitely twitched when I said that. I was on the right lines. “You’re in the kitchen, and you’re acting like you’re in a bedroom being paid for it. But you’re such a little slut that you will do this for me. Obedient [thrust] little [thrust] fucktoy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” she purred, a little more confident, and a sultry sexiness in her voice.

“I’ve told you before that your cunt is mine. Don’t know if I said it, but your ass is mine too.”

“Everything is yours.”

“Thank you.” I leaned forward over her, and grabbed her left breast, tugging it so hard that her ass clenched on my cock a little, and squeaked. Her feet shuffled in place, and I couldn’t help asking her. “Is your cunt still wet?”

“Wetter than ever.”

“Whore!” I shouted. I could play her well, I never gave her too much of the degradation, but I sensed when it was time to lay it on thick. “I bet you think I should be flattered that you can get so wet? I’m disgusted with you though, you little trollop, this task today is going to be the easiest for me to manage, because you’re never more than two minutes from being a damp little slut. Don’t believe me, cunt? Need proof?”

I was close to cumming in her, I had to finish with a flourish. I let go of her breasts and grabbed a handful of her hair. I tugged hard on it, her head snapped backwards and she let out a savage yell of pain.

“You love this, don’t you? If I could be bothered to touch your clit, you’d explode, wouldn’t you?”

“Ahh-pl-please?”

“Touch your clit? Ah. Ahhh. Why should I?” I tugged her upright as I came into her ass, hearing her sigh “three” to me as I rubbed my hands over almost all of her body.

I pushed her off me, but held onto her hair, which I used to drag her to her knees.

“Lick me clean, and touch yourself,” I said quietly. “How sensitive is your cunt now?”

“Do you mean me, or my cunt?” she asked.

I couldn’t help giggling as she ran her tongue up and down my cock. As she did so, I gave her polite instructions to take as many toys as possible with her. She’d need her big handbag, I suggested. I had changed, I was polite again, and her eyes gleamed happily at me, as I treated her with a little more respect.

“Mmng M Mmmwer?” she asked.

“No, you can’t shower again,” I replied. You’re going to smell of cuntjuice all day. Layer after layer of deliciousness.”

“Mmm,” she drooled.

“You’ll lick that up for a start.”

 

I had to be careful. It would have been dangerous to slam huge toys up her all day, I had to pick and choose my moments. A little remote controlled one went up first, and was just getting warmed up when I said. “Let’s go shopping.”

          “What? I thought I was going to get lots of orgasms?”

          “You’ve had three already, Amy, you’re well on the way to your fourth, you’re going to get plenty while we’re out. Besides, I thought you liked shopping.”

          There was no answer to that. I told her to bring underwear in her bag, but I wasn’t going to let her wear any in the car.

          “Get me the duct tape,” I said, after she’d dressed in one of her lovely short dresses. “Bring it back in your teeth.”

          She mmm’ed casually as she returned, suspecting what was going to happen. She spread her legs as soon as I ordered her to, and I taped the egg-shaped vibrator inside her. She was not, however, ready for my next instruction.

          “Thumbs together.”

          Looking puzzled, she put her hands behind her back, and I realised that I‘d not been specific enough. I asked her to put them in front of her body, and then fastened on a pair of bronze thumbcuffs onto her. When she put her hands down, it simply looked like she was holding her hands together on her lap, exactly the look I was going for.

          I unlocked the car, and she sat coyly in the passenger seat. I left her to stew for a few minutes, then got in next to her.

          “How are you doing there?” I asked.

          “Ready to go.”

          “Good.” I placed a hand on her bare thigh, and just let her dress ride dangerously up her leg. “Don’t worry, no-one will see too much, not with the tape.”

          She smiled confidently and trustingly at me, and I leaned over and kissed her. For all her submissiveness, she was still Amy, delectable and adorable and irresistible to me.

          I placed the remote control to her vibe on the dashboard, turning it up to a tidy level. She wriggled her hips, but did not complain, in fact she said nothing. Maybe she guessed that anything she said would provoke me, and she was probably right.

          The first thing I did to her was unintentional. I had forgotten to buy a newspaper that day. As we passed a newsagents’, I pulled the car into the kerb.

          “Thumbs.”

          I unlocked her thumbs, and she massaged some life into them. And then I refastened them around the steering wheel of the car. She gasped, then purred loudly when I turned the vibe up a notch. I left it teasingly on the dashboard, then snuck out to the shop.

          I took my time. I could see the car from the shop, and I recognised the familiar jolts and jerks, and I knew full well what her first words would be.

          “Four,” she hummed, her eyes tight shut, her legs shaking. I undid and redid her cuffs, turned off the vibrator, and drove off.

          “Take off the tape,” I said, as we approached a set of traffic lights. “You’ve had that up there too long.”

          She had long since passed the point where she would complain or protest. I’d told her what to do, she had to find a way to do it. She leaned herself forwards, and tucked her hands up between her legs as matter-of-factly as she could, and I could hear her delicate grunts and watch the strain appear on her face as she peeled the sticky tape from her skin.

          “Do you want me to take out the egg too?” she asked. I nodded. Once again, as we overtook a bus, she slipped her hands in between her legs. I couldn’t resist.

          “Look to your left,” I said, and she turned to see half the passengers of the bus looking at her, the men in particular craning their necks to try to figure out what the pretty girl in the short dress was up to. I was never the ‘show my wife off’ kind of guy. No matter how depraved she got, I’d never want her to screw some strange man or woman on my request, I was far too selfish, but these were a bunch of people she would never see again. She blushed hard, turned her face to see mine smiling at her, and her puppy-dog eyes were enough for me. I changed lanes and accelerated away from the bus. A few seconds later, she had the vibrator held safely in her hand.

          “My pussy is just so wet right now, it’s not even funny. It’s like a medical condition. I’m a slut. Where are we going?”

          She asked that because we were turning away from the main route to the shops, into a slightly seedier area of town. We parked in Gregory Street, the road next to Ashmore Lane.

          “You know that opera we noticed, the one where the cast were all in shackles? The one that was banned for being too suggestive?” I asked. We’d not actually gone to the opera, but we saw the headlines. It featured a bunch of young bodies all chained to each other in heavy manacles and cuffs, how could we not notice it?

          “Yes…” she replied.

“This is where they made them.”

“Call it an early birthday present,” I said. “Thumbs.”

“Oh my lord.”

The shop tried to justify itself by claiming it was supplying dungeon paraphernalia to theatrical groups and historical recreation societies, and so there was a pleasant lack of seediness about the shop.

After taking off her cuffs, we entered, and I spoke to the shop assistant, a round-faced woman in her thirties and dyed-black hair. “My wife needs some shackles for a production of Macbeth that she’s in.”

“Of course, sir,” said the assistant with a wink, and I realised how odd it was for someone to call me that. I’d urged Amy never to call me sir under any circumstances, simply because I have a problem with terms for people in authority. “These are our most popular shackles. They have a little cushioning around the cuffs, which means they can be worn all night, if needed.”

“For those extra-long versions of Macbeth?” suggested Amy.

“Exactly, miss,” said the assistant, raising an eyebrow.

 

The rest of the shopping trip was relatively uneventful. Sure, I drove her to a multi-storey car park with her in the boot of the car, trussed up with a buttplug, a ballgag, and a sterner vibrator, and I gave her an orgasm by the freezer counter by telling her how sexy she looked, and how I was going to shove a candle up her pussy, then bend her in such a way that she would drip-drip hot wax onto her sore tits.

Aside from that, there wasn’t much to tell.

 

When we got home, I told her to unpack her new shackles, and strip in the living room. I padlocked her into the shackles, adjusting the chain (that linked her ankles to her wrists) so she couldn't stand, only squat, then dragged her scrambling body to the corner of the room. I slotted on a blindfold, then told her I was placing a large bowl of water at the end of the hall, by the door, and instructed her to have a drink.

I put the bowl in place, turned back to watch her struggle blindly forwards across the carpet on her hands and knees, an inch or six at a time, moaning softly. I loved the little strumpet, everything about her, the way she moved, the way she got a kick out of this, the way she said "nooo preference" to me. Everything. It was all I could do to break away and head upstairs to do my own little job. I dug out my Black and Decker workmate, found the circular saw, jigsaw and lathe, and cobbled together a makeshift bit of apparatus in relatively quick time.

When I came downstairs, Amy had reached the bowl and was halfway into her drink, lapping at the water like a cat. I gave her a slap on the arsecheek for encouragement, then set up the apparatus in the middle of the living room.

My timing had been perfect, I heard a loud "Finished!!" cry from the hallway, so walked quickly to Amy, sitting as upright as she could. I tiptoed to her, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her mewling, writhing body back to the living room. I unpadlocked her from the shackles, stood her up on tip-toe, then whispered in her ear a question.

"How many orgasms so far?" I asked.

"F-fourteen," she smiled with a shiver. "I had another one when I was in the shackles, b-b-because I imagined you standing over me with a cane. Thank you for each of them."

"Have you had enough orgasms for today? Would you like more?"

"More!" she cried.

"Glad you said that," I said, and I removed the blindfold. What I had constructed would not win any design awards. It was a block of wood that I'd nailed neatly to an old, sturdy wooden chair. In the block of wood were two circular holes, right next to each other, each about an inch and a half in diameter. In the hole nearest the back of the chair was a smooth wooden dildo, about a foot long. In the other hole was a ‘rabbit’ vibrator, about seven inches long. It was switched on, and buzzing merrily to itself.

I told her to stand astride the chair. I'd lopped six inches or so from the bottom of each of the legs, but even so, she had to be on tip-toe to keep herself above it. Since she seemed to enjoy the thought of being blindfolded, I pulled the shades on her head again. In a way, it was a shame, as I couldn't see the life and arousal in her eyes.

I had planned to leave her to bring herself off for a few minutes, but I couldn't keep my hands off her. She was so beautiful. I placed four soft fingertips on her stomach, and she instantly moaned "MMMmmmm!", arched her back a little and juddered down a little further on the dildo.

"Did you just...?" I asked. I think I knew the answer, but I loved having her admit it.

"Yes," she cooed. "Fifteen."

I placed my hands on her shoulders, and pushed her down a little, so her clit was rubbing harder against the rabbit. I then pulled out a pair of well-used alligator clamps, and pinched them onto her nipples. They were linked by a thin chain, but were mainly for show, for the moment.

"Someday," I whispered in her ear. "Someday I'll change that dildo into a fucking machine. And I'll leave you on it all night..."

As she pictured herself in that position, her body began to wriggle, her nose began to wrinkle. I looked down and saw her legs twisting and tensing, knees bending to drip-feed her clit more vibrations from the rabbit. "Mmmm," she purred. "Yessss."

"You’d like that? Being on the machine all night as it vibrates your clit and pounds your cunt? While I drift my hands all over the rest of your body, nibbling and biting anything I please?”

“OooOooo!”

“Shhh,” I whispered into her ear. “Because we'd need to be careful you didn't make too much noise..."

"Nnnnoise, no," she hissed.

"... because you might disturb someone..."

"Don't ffffffuckin’ care," she oozed. I’d never told her not to swear, but she did it so infrequently, that I knew she was totally out of control.

"... you might disturb someone, if we were out in the garden," I added.

"MmmmaaaaaaHHHH!"

She groaned from the depths of her belly, a loud guttural roar that, she later told me, was the most powerful of all the ones that day. I heard a sound like a wet balloon hitting the chair - and thought for a moment that she'd accidentally peed herself... but she'd simply squirted out a gloop of juice as her cunt muscles contracted hard on the dildo. She began to scream, each time she moved her skin met my hand or a wooden dildo or the plastic vibrator. Naturally, I pulled the clamps on her nipples to make her twist and dip and lean back and rotate herself. She roared nonsense at herself and approval at me.

“G-g-godddd!!!”

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Nnnnnnot at the momentttt, no..." she was gasping for breath now, so I had to put in the ballgag again, and clip on a swimming nose-clip, so she had to breathe through the sides of the gag.

"You really are quite the most incredible woman I've ever seen," I said, running fingernails down the centre of her back. Tears of forced joy poured down her cheeks. I kissed them, her whole body shuddering.

"You want more?" I asked, taking out the gag and rubbing the saliva over her face.

"Nnn. M-more! P-p-p-please, more," she hissed.

"What if I told you that you couldn't have any more?" I said. I was teasing, I was enjoying the show far too much to stop.

"I'd tell you to ffffuu - unggg - I'd try my best..."

"I'm not going to tell you to stop."

Her face exploded with the most amazing smile I'd ever seen. "Th-thank youuu!"

"But I am going to do this... I am going to get you to make me the most gorgeous meal, the aromas of the spices and sauces are going to make you regret you ever chose the sixteen orgasms you’ve had today. When I eat it, you’ll be kneeling in your shackles on the table, and you’ll be smiling at me. It will be the best meal you never tasted, and it’ll be a nice Swiss chicken dish for me."

“Sure. I mean, you need your strength,” she nodded. “You’ve had a tough day.”

I blinked at her, laughed loud, and gave her a hug that I didn’t ever want to stop.

Chapter 9 - Sense of Beginning

 

          She spread her legs, bent backwards, and held open her pussy with one hand, while rubbing her red-raw clit with two fingers. I could see the marks on her wrists where her bonds hand chafed her, and I felt a wave of relief that we had been so careful with her restraints. I would never tell her that I’d woken up three times that night to go down and check up on her. I felt so guilty. We were having a normal conventional relationship until that remote control argument thing, and now she’s spreading her gash for me.

          I dipped in a slice of toast, tasted it, and oohed as her juice mixed with the butter. She was a lovely young thing, pure and innocent, and now look at her. I sighed, guilt washing over me. And then I looked up. She was clearly exhausted, yet the smile of satisfaction and relaxed joy on her face was astonishing. Not only was she doing it to please me, she was doing it because she loved it. I took a bite on the toast and felt less guilty, but there was the nagging thought that I was too lucky with this gorgeous woman willing to do whatever I said. I don’t deserve her.

 

          He took a bite of the toast, and seemed to be reflective. I felt bad, I’d been pushing him too fast. Yes, he liked to fuck me and spank me, but I think I’d been passive-aggressive and forced him to tie me up all night, forced him to put me show, wasted his time preparing tasks and (god forbid) for me. I didn’t deserve him, I was being selfish.

          I felt another slice of warm toast rub roughly against my clit, and closed my eyes. I could feel my stomach churn with excitement, and I assessed my situation. Having been awake for 24 hours, horrendously bound for eight of them, sore and tired, I should really want to fall asleep by his side. But I was having too much fun obeying him, I wanted to do whatever he said. I opened my eyes, looked down at his smile, and sighed. I don’t deserve him.

 

The End.