Authors: Tara Crescent
Whap. Heat from the stroke radiated through me, starting at my pussy, spiralling outward. The stroke left behind a tiny ache of pain, but a larger ache of pleasure, as my pussy clenched in need. I wanted to groan and ask for more, but I obeyed his wishes and kept silent.
Again, his wrist flicked the belt and again, heat engulfed me. I arched off the bed, my hips flailing as I groaned. Patrick just waited for me to settle down. “How’s that feel, baby?” he asked, his voice a thread of amusement.
“Again,” I said, shocked at the blatant need in my voice. His wrist flicked, and I groaned and writhed again, as much as I could move with my ankles restrained.
“More,” I begged. He laughed, and leaned forward. His lips found mine for a second, and he kissed me sweetly, as if I was the most precious thing in the world, and then heat shuddered through me again as he snapped his wrist, and the belt hit my pussy.
“Such a good girl,” he said, as I moaned as intense pleasure swept through me. His fingers moved to my pussy, parting my outer lips, and the tip of the belt found the inner lips with the sweetest of stings. “Fuck, Patrick,” I groaned, as I flailed.
“Back to position,” he said, his voice quiet. I obeyed instantly. “Do you like that, baby?”
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I groaned. “Please…”
The belt came down again, and I flailed again, but in seconds, I was still again, waiting for the next stroke. Again, and again, Patrick’s fingers holding my outer lips apart, flooding my pussy with heat from the belt, his eyes watching me writhe and flail with attentiveness and caring.
My right hand reached down towards my pussy automatically; I wanted to touch the tender flesh, rub my clitoris,
spread the moisture seeping from my pussy onto my clitoris, and curve into an orgasm as the belt flailed down on me. I started moving my hand before I suddenly stopped and looked at Patrick for permission.
“Please may I touch myself, Dr. Anderson?” I asked him.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Were you going to touch yourself without asking for permission, Lisa?” His voice was very quiet.
Shit. “I was. I’m sorry.”
“Such a good girl,” he said. “Telling the truth. It’s going to get you punished though.”
I gulped, but his eyes were teasing. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said, my tone serious. I was explicitly giving him permission to punish me. I was deliberately granting him the right to control whether I could touch myself or not. With conscious intention, I was submitting to him.
The belt hit me again, and his hand stroked my breasts gently. I hissed in pain; that stroke had been harder.
“Too hard?” he asked, instantly noticing the difference in my reaction.
But I’d made a decision to submit, and I looked at him quietly. “I have a safe word, Dr. Anderson,” I said.
“And will you always use it, baby?” I wondered if he suspected that I wouldn’t have used my
safeword the day he had spanked me with his belt. But trust cut both ways, and I nodded and I meant it. “Yes, I’ll use it if I need.”
He smiled at me, before a hardness came over it. “In that case, Lisa, here are the only things I want to hear from you. Please. Thank you. Or your
safeword. Understood?”
I nodded silently.
His fingers parted my pussy lips, and the belt snapped down again. I groaned a muted
thank you,
and I saw him smile at me. The belt cascaded down, again and again. I kept my eyes on Patrick’s face. I moaned, I groaned, I writhed and I flailed, and I chanted my thanks to him.
Finally, he stopped, rolled a condom on, and plunged into me, deep and hard. Again, I yelped. I was sore from the belt, but as he started moving within me, I realized it didn’t matter. I needed him to be hard. I needed to lose myself in him. My free hand, the one not in the wrist cast, touched his waist, pulled him closer to my body. I wanted to feel his entire weight on me, crushing me with sweetness.
He pounded into me, hard, fast and perfect, and his fingers found my clitoris and rubbed it in a rhythm that he knew better than anyone else, and far, far before I would have thought I was there, I went utterly still as I reached the edge of the cliff, and fell freely into orgasm.
Through the fireworks and the electricity and the pulsing waves of pleasure, I felt him groan as my orgasm triggered his own, and as he lowered himself on the bed next to me, I took his hand in mine, and I never wanted to let go.
Lisa:
“Where do you want to go next?” he asked me when we docked.
“Your place?” I asked him. I’d had sex with Patrick less than an hour ago, and I needed him again. “I do need a change of clothes though.”
He nodded. “I have some crackers and cheese and stuff in my refrigerator, or we can go out for food.”
“I’ll take the crackers and cheese, if it comes with more amazing sex,” I said, not even attempting to pretend I didn’t want him again.
His eyes darkened with lust. “Ah Lisa,” he said, his voice silky, “let’s see what I can do.”
***
We ate crackers and cheese, hummus, pita and fruit. When we were done, he looked at me. “Come here,” he ordered. I moved in front of him. He quickly removed my shirt and my pants, unhooked my bra and slid my panties down my legs. “Go to the examination room,” he ordered. “I’ll be along in a moment.”
I nodded and obeyed, walking naked through his house and up his stairs. Entering the examination room, I took a deep breath and waited for disquiet. None came. My mom was safe and well, and while I might never think about Toronto General with affection, my antipathy did not extend to Patrick’s examination room. Nope. In this room, I felt only lust.
***
“Spread your legs, Miss Preston,” he said evenly, helping me on the examination table.
I lay back on the table, and spread my legs as I had been ordered, my knees bent, my calves meeting my thighs. I gripped my right ankle to hold myself in position. My left leg wouldn’t be quite so well-behaved, since the cast on my wrist prevented me from grabbing my ankle.
“Still shaved,” he commented. A tiny smile played at his lips. I blushed and lowered my eyes, but kept looking at him through my lowered lashes. His smile widened into a full-blown smirk.
“Stop looking so smug,” I muttered. He just laughed. It was rather a transparent tell, but one that I had no idea I was displaying until that moment. Every day since Patrick had shaved me that first time, my hands had reached for my razor in the shower. Without even thinking about it, I kept myself cleanly shaved for him. Fuck.
“I’m not smug,” he said quietly, once his laughter had died down. “I’m flattered.” The back of his hand stroked my jaw, and I kissed it as it slid past my mouth. He gazed at me, his eyes intent. Then, a veil slid over them. The game was beginning.
The sound of a drawer sliding open and shut, but I kept my eyes straight ahead. He returned with a couple of straps, and strapped my calves to my thighs. “Just keep them spread,” he instructed me. I
nodded, compliant and pliable, my head already in the space where I would obey his instructions without question, because my obedience brought me freedom and pleasure and shocking lust.
A plastic syringe was in his hands now, and lube was squeezed into my pussy and anus. My pussy was already dripping wet, and the warm lube just added another layer of heat; I shivered in aroused anticipation. He inclined the syringe so that the plastic tip grazed my clitoris, and I groaned aloud, the scratch of that tip sending spiky jagged edges of lust shuddering through me. Then, the tip circled my tight anal ring, and I groaned at that sensation, the scraping of that tip causing faint discomfort and powerful lust.
He slid on a pair of rubber gloves, and his finger followed the tip of the syringe into my puckered asshole. The rubber was cold on my skin, a contrast to the heat the lube had left in its wake. His other hand pressed down on my pussy, holding me steady as his fingers explored my body. I kept my legs parted, and closed my eyes, letting the sensations cascade through me.
“How does that feel, Miss Preston?” His voice was near my ear.
“Good,” I replied quietly. The tersest of descriptions, but words wouldn’t be formed when my mind was hazy with pleasure.
He shook his head. “You can do better than that, Lisa,” he said, his voice warm. A caress in my ear.
“So good,” I muttered, to the sounds of his warm chuckle.
A second finger joined the first, then a third. I groaned, feeling stretched, a hint of pain seasoning the pleasure that I felt. He ignored my groan, and pushed in steadily, and I could feel my asshole yield to him.
“Now, Lisa,” he said. He sounded amused. “Absolutely no coming until I tell you, do you understand?”
I nodded, though I winced inwardly. Patrick was skilled at keeping me at the edge; my session with the fucking machine had made me wary of his iron control. But I wasn’t going to protest. I was going to take everything he threw my way.
He pulled his fingers out; replaced them with a butt plug. He wasn’t gentle as he pushed it in, but he’d prepared me with his fingers, and I only felt a fleeting twinge of pain. Then he did something, and the plug started vibrating in my ass; the buzzing sending pleasure tendrils spiralling through me.
“Patrick,” I groaned. This was torture; the vibrations kept me aroused, but without any pressure on my clitoris, I wasn’t going to be able to climax.
“I don’t want to hear you whine,” he snapped at me. I looked at him, startled, to see him smile and wink. Part of the game. I played along.
He turned away, and when he returned, a blindfold dangled from his hands. I gulped; I hated not being able to see what was going on; without sight, I felt like I was balancing on a tightrope, and one incorrect step could send me falling down the chasms on either side. He eyed me, a challenge in his eyes. “Is there a problem?” he asked. His voice was even.
I took a deep breath, searched for calm in me. I trusted Patrick.
“No, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered. His hands reached around, placing the blindfold over my eyes, tightening the strap at the back of my head.
“Can you see anything?” he asked. I shook my head silently.
“Lisa,” his voice was very soft at my ear. I jumped; I hadn’t heard him move. “Use your
safeword if it is too much,” he growled. I nodded.
His fingers were at my nipples, pinching and pulling them, and then, a searing pain swept through me. My nipples pulsed, and I couldn’t think for a minute. I bit my lip to contain my moan; he’d stop if he knew I was in pain. I just concentrated on breathing; deep even breaths that pushed the pain back and replaced it with a dull ache.
“Clothespins,” his voice said. “And we aren’t done yet,” he added.
I took a sharp, inward breath. I knew what he was going to do. We’d talked about this one day, talked about fantasies, both his and mine. My fantasies he already knew. Right from the start, I’d felt comfortable disclosing them to him. He was a little more reticent about his fantasies, but I had insisted, and he’d told me about one. It was called a zipper; a row of clothespins, with a string of twine running through them. At some point, the twine would be tugged, and the clothespins ripped from the body. My pussy had clenched as he’d described it. “You should try it on me,” I had said. He’d raised an eyebrow at me. “It sounds yummy,” I’d added with a wink.
At this moment, I was regretting my daring.
His voice was at my ear again. “Just six on each side, baby,” he said, his voice projecting calm reassurance. I nodded. I was nervous, but I was curious about this as well. I’d searched for the images on the Internet after he’d mentioned it, and it looked both scary and arousing. And if I trusted anyone to balance me perfectly at the line between pleasure and pain, it was Patrick.
“Such a good girl,” he said, and I could hear the pleasure in his voice. The plug in my ass continued its vibration, and I fought to keep still. The blindfold over my eyes, the throbbing of my nipples, the vibrations, all had me creaming with arousal, arching towards him for more.
His fingers pinched a tiny bit of skin at the side of my breast and I tensed involuntarily. “Relax,” his voice soothed. “Be good.” I took a deep breath, and exhaled, and the clothespin bit down on my skin at that exact moment. My hands balled into fists as I struggled not to cry out.
I could feel the twine brush my skin, trail a path to my pussy. He’d said six pins, but how far apart was he planning on putting them?
Another little bit of skin was rolled between his fingers; still on my breast, slightly lower than the previous one. Another clothespin pinched down. I yelped in pain, and took several calming breaths.
A dull ache throbbed through me where the clothespins had made contact with my skin. Another fiercer ache throbbed in my pussy.
“What do you think of the clothespins?” His voice was conversational; his fingers grabbed a tiny pucker of skin at my upper stomach, directly below my breast, and the clothespin clamped down. I hissed in response. “I can’t wait for more,” I said, sarcasm tinging my voice.
“Be sweet, Lisa,” his voice chided. A thread of amusement ran through it. “You are hardly in the position to be sarcastic.” Two more pinched bits of skin; two more clothespins; winding a lazy path down my lower stomach.
He’d said six. Six on each side. I’d taken five so far. Five painful, pulsing bits of skin, pinched by cruel springs; held in place by his calm intent.
His fingers traced a lazy circle on my mound. I winced openly. The last clothespin landed right on my mound, and I groaned again. He landed a soft kiss, just next to that clothespin. “You are being very good,” he told me, and his praise flooded me with pleasure, sending the pain to the back of my mind.
A finger dipped in my pussy, and found it dripping. I could have told him that; the pinch of each clothespin had sent a jolt of lust straight to my pussy, and I could feel myself dripping onto the examination table. He chuckled; added another finger, pushing his fingers against the thin wall between my pussy and my anal passage, enhancing the vibrations that strummed through my body. I fought not to writhe; willed myself to stay still.
The second set of clothespins were quickly attached to my body on the other side; I was now a symmetrical, throbbing ache of pleasure and pain. “Patrick,” I groaned. His hands brushed my face, and his fingers were untying the blindfold, taking it off so I could see my body, ornamented by the clothespins, with the string of twine running through them.
“Do you like that?” His voice was husky with desire; his cock, clearly erect underneath his jeans.
“Take off your jeans, push your cock in me,” I begged. “Please, Patrick, I am so wet, I need you so badly.”
Fire blazed in his eyes at my words. “Almost there,” he said. He walked away for a second, and came back, and this time, he held the Hitachi in his hands. “Here,” he handed it to me, and shrugged out of his jeans and his briefs. I stared openly as his cock sprang erect, and I licked my lips; wanting to lick that delicious drop of pre-cum that was forming at the tip.
He shook his head. “Here’s how this is going to work,” he said, his voice even. Oh, my pussy gushed at that tone in his voice, as he laid out a scene. My pleasure was a product of his deliberate intent; something he only would offer me if he chose to do so, and when he spoke to me in that tone, I was helpless to resist him.
“I’m going to thrust in you,” he said, his fingers rolling a condom on his dick as he spoke. His eyes were hot with passion. “You are going to use that vibrator on your clitoris, but you can’t come till I give you permission. Do you understand?”
My voice was soft as I answered. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said quietly.
“And right at the moment you climax, I’m going to pull the clothespins off.” A promise in his voice. Pain and pleasure, at the same time. In perfect balance with each other.
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I repeated again. This time, my voice was an affirmation.
He smiled at the tone in my voice, his smile reaching his eyes. “Ah, Lisa,” he said, appreciation in his tone. “You are so unexpected.”
His dick was at my opening, and he slammed into me, and I arched out and cried out at the contact. “Fuck, yes,” I moaned. “Patrick, please…”
“Please what, sweetness?” His voice was hoarse as he held the cheeks of my ass in his hands, and slammed repeatedly into my body. I felt filled. My body was throbbing with the vibrations of the butt plug and with the feel of him pushing deep into me, with the dull ache of the clothespins, and the vibrations of the Hitachi on my clitoris. A million different sensations ran through my body, causing me to spiral, dramatically fast towards orgasm.
“Hold it back,” he ordered. “Not yet.”
I moaned in frustration, and moved the wand away from my clitoris for a second. Patrick didn’t ease up on the thrusting though; his strokes were steady and sure and deep, and each stroke of his cock sent my pussy clenching in impossible need.
“Hold it back, Lisa,” he snapped. That was a definite order.
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered, as I tried to balance at that edge and not tip over into that chasm of pleasure.
“Put the wand back on your clitoris,” he ordered.
I whimpered, but he was unrelenting. “That’s an order, sweetie,” he said calmly. I obeyed.
I could hear the sound of his cock slap into my pussy and the dull background hum of the buttplug in my ass. My body felt like a vessel for his will; the skin around my breasts throbbing from the clothespins. I danced on the brink of pain and pleasure; my clitoris swollen and slick as I pressed the vibrator into it. Sweat beaded on Patrick’s forehead as he pounded his entire length into my wet, willing pussy. I could smell my arousal in the air. It was all too much.