Dave2112
Level of Cherry Feather
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- Apr 17, 2001
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(The following story is a work of fiction. It is intended only for a mature readership willing to allow themselves to experience that which we often avoid. Yes, it’s another long one, and another that has kinda worked me over, digging deep into those places usually left alone, shunned and hidden. It was an all-nighter, a process that wouldn’t let me go, and I hope some of that drive translates well to the page. Please leave your inhibitions at the door…)
It’s Something We’re Working On
I think I’m in love. I mean, really in love this time. Sure, younger men may say it all the time, never truly understanding the full meaning of the word. “I love you” sounds so good coming off the tongue that it’s often used as filler conversation, or a way to insinuate oneself into the mind and heart of an impressionable young lady. Of course, it seems always to be the right thing to say after a good fuck. Whether you mean it or not…or even think you do, is of little consequence when two bodies curl up, existing in that perfect moment of spent emotion, physical exhaustion and rippling aftershocks. I mean, shit…who doesn’t love the person they just fucked, even if it’s only for a very short time?
But, no. I’m talking about real love. The kind that can only exist in the center of a feedback loop, not only given but received. Oh sure, I’ve known shadows of the whole ball of light before, reflections of the original, mirrored….similar yet opposed. That warm, spiky twinge in the pit of your stomach when you think about her. That wash of heat over your shoulders when you think of her with anyone else. But, without it coming back to you, being the recipient of those same emotions, it’s not love. It’s just obsession.
Driving home, I think of how lucky I am to have a girl who loves me. Loving is easy. Being loved is something that comes along about as often as an unexpected windfall or a kind word on the subway. And it takes work to keep it alive once you do manage to find it. A lot of work. I know this all too well. You could fill a library with the names of people who have stood by, watching a relationship fall apart, forgetting the little things, taking a lover for granted…only to wind up lost in a sea of their own despair, wondering why, how could this have happened to us?
I won’t let that happen. Not this time. We’ve been together for a month now…well, almost a month. 26 days to be exact. Right around the time when the novelty of a new relationship begins to wear off, or at least settle into something comfortable, familiar. But no…this one is different. Almost a month, and I still do those little things that one usually reserves for the first week, or especially after the first time you screw, when you go out of your way to show her how much you care, how much you want her to stay with you. That time before you know she will, and then you stop trying. But, a month into this (26 days, to be exact) and my trunk is full of items and niceties for a special evening with Melissa.
My Melissa. Missy, she likes it when I call her. I like the sound of it myself, and it invokes feelings of innocence, purity and that irresistible allure that all men have for younger women, but few would admit. Oh sure, sometimes it’s “Melissa”, when we’re serious, or having a mild disagreement…those times when a man simply likes to lower his voice and use the proper form of his lover’s name to capture her attention, but it’s usually just Missy. It doesn’t happen that often with women, but it just sounds like she looks.
Oh, and how she looks. I still remember seeing her for the first time, walking to her car, carrying a pile of newly-bought items in some sort of circus balancing act. She’s still careless that way…it’s something we’re working on. But that day, 26 days ago to be exact, her carelessness brought us together. I remember exactly how timely it was, thinking how fate may actually be an existing entity after all…walking across the parking lot that night and seeing her fall, hearing her pitiful cry as she hurt herself. Trying to pile that many things into that small a car inevitably causing her to smack her head into the doorframe, and I can still remember how slowly she fell backward. Her face nearly broke my heart, her eyes welling up, on the verge of dropping their tears…only accentuating the deep blue color and moist whiteness surrounding it. Her cheeks were flushed, but still full and high. Her auburn hair disheveled and yet still able to flow with a life of its own, framing that face, drawing my attention to her full lips, quivering from her unfortunate experience. That conflicting look of helpless little girl and beautiful woman drove a spike deep into my heart, triggering a response from that primal part of all men. A need to care for her, to make it better. To be her rescuer.
I felt like one, too. Oh, the way it must have looked to any bystander that might have been around if the lot hadn’t been empty. Kneeling down, laying my hand gently on the side of her pretty face, stroking the stray hairs away from eyes framed by those delicate eyebrows and curling lashes, so full of beauty and hurt at the same time. Kneeling down and scooping her up into my arms like some knight out of a story told over and over. Pulling her into me, assuring her that she was going to be alright, that I would help her. Placing her into the seat of my car to take her where she wanted to go. She couldn’t stop thanking me, her voice so unexpectedly sweet and honest, tipping over that first domino in the chain reaction of our connection that I missed the turn to the hospital. I offered to take her to her home, but she hesitated. Once again, fate proved itself to be something one shouldn’t so easily dismiss. I’ll be honest, when she told me she’d been fighting with her boyfriend, (and hinted that it was of the physical sort) my chest did tighten a bit. I mean, let’s face it…when a beautiful young woman offers up negative information about a male partner, other males do take notice. It’s the way we are. And when we’re faced with the thought of someone hurting that same beautiful young woman….Rrrrrrrrrrr. I was taken by a thought I couldn’t bear. That I could be saving her from one hurt and delivering her into another. I didn’t know her, I didn’t know him…but for a fleeting moment I wanted to kill him. Just a base, gut reflex. I really needed to protect this girl. I can tell about these sorts of things. I’m an extremely perceptive kinda guy, and she was trying to find a way to be anywhere else. I offered to take her to my place, to bandage her slightly bleeding head and then see where she wanted to go.
**********************************************************
That was 26 days ago. She hasn’t left. It was fate, I believe that now…there are just too many parallels, too many things connecting us. What I have to offer her she truly needs. And what she gives in return just….wow…I mean…it’s good to be needed, you know? And I’m not just talking physical intimacy here, oh hell no, it drives into the very heart of what connects two people. Over the time we’ve spent together, she’s learned from me. The gratefulness she shows me is the very reason that I still bring her things, and still go out of my way to make every evening a special one. You really have no idea how it feels to have someone appreciate what you can give them, to learn from your experience, to finally have even a chance to share those experiences with someone so receptive. There are times I feel she’s just a lost little girl, and in many ways she truly is. Beauty can often belie a hard life or bad choices and Missy has experienced both in spades. And it draws me even closer to her, her need to be guided, my need to provide guidance. The timing couldn’t have been better.
I pull up to the house, ease into the driveway and once again experience that same rush….that thrill that I felt when this was new. It hasn’t faded. Opening the trunk to remove the ingredients for our meal together and the presents I’ve bought for her, I almost drop quite a few of them as my mind focuses on our upcoming night.
I can almost hear her voice as I slip the key into the lock…then the other and finally the third. It’s not what you’d call a violent neighborhood, but let’s face it…crime’s up all over, isn’t it? The locks click with a familiar sound, and then I can hear her. She knows I’m home. I can’t make out the individual words, but of course I wouldn’t. I do this quickly, my need to see her again overcoming my usual caution…I just don’t like people knowing my business, so I always try to enter when no one’s looking. It’s just a thing I have, like washing your hands five times or something. The heavy wood of the door pushes back and I slip inside, turning to close it with a clang. I’m not that crazy about that particular sound, but the steel reinforcement on my side of the door is an unfortunate necessity. Crime is up, as I believe I’ve mentioned. Safety first, especially with a woman in the house. The somewhat obtrusive but still stylish iron bars on the window drive this point home to me as I gently push the thick outer curtains tighter together. Might as well at least look nice from the outside, right?
Placing the groceries and gifts onto the table, my hand finds my pocketed lighter and ignites the red and purple candles Missy likes so much….and that I enjoy as well. It’s more romantic, more comforting than glaring electric lights. As the soft glow spreads into a radiant shine flickering off the walls, I’m greeted by the sight of my beautiful new girlfriend welcoming me home.
“And how have we been today, honey?” I lightly intone, “No accidents while I was away?”
She shakes her head at me as I approach the chair she’s sitting in. It’s her favorite, the one she always seems to prefer when I’m not at home. I place my hands on hers, resting on the arms of the chair, held secure by the soft rope I picked out just for her. It’s one of the things we’ve been working on. Just like the night she damn near knocked herself out getting into her own car. My Missy, for all of her warmth and beauty, happens to be extremely clumsy. We’ve found that tying her to the chair when I’m away keeps her safe, secure…and also gives her time to reflect upon the other things I find myself needing to always teach her. Reaching up to stroke her face, I slip a finger underneath the strap across her cheek and follow it back, enjoying the touch of her tender skin until I can work loose the buckle holding the red rubber ball in her mouth. She tends to yell a lot when she has her accidents and hurts herself (or spends too much time thinking of what that ass-fuck of an ex-boyfriend put her through), and just as the iron bars protect us from the unforeseeable dangers outside, the ball reminds Missy that screaming can attract those same dangerous elements. And she’s learning that well…she really is such a good girl.
I place my finger against my lips, reminding her how much I really dislike loud noises or the sound of a woman whining. It’s so beneath a creature like my Missy. She can be so much more, and we’re finding that out every single day. 26 so far, to be exact. “I’m home, baby….it’s ok…” I comfort her as small tears spill from the corners of her beautiful eyes. She always misses me so much when I go away. I try to limit it as much as possible…she needs me so.
“Please,” she whispers after sucking in a deep breath, so relieved to see me, “please just let me go, pleeeeeaseeee”. Her eyes are so lovely when she gets confused. And she does get confused a lot. It’s one of the things we’re working on. I’m a little annoyed, but I shrug it off. I mean, I’d really been looking forward to tonight, thought we’d gotten this finally over with last night. I mean, she did assure me that she was ok, that she had remembered everything the right way and that she loved me and that everything was ok and that she was remembering and that she loved me and that everything was ok and that…..
“STOP!”, I bark, once again having to draw her attention. “We have been over this, haven’t we?” Grabbing her face with my hand and pointing it at mine, I calm myself and remember that she’s just a confused, troubled girl and she needs my guidance more than my yelling. However, I would be remiss in my duties as the man of the house if I didn’t set my foot down and center her when she required it.
“Haven’t…we…?” I say again, slower. Our eyes connect and I see that look of understanding that I’ve grown to love. She does come around when she’s properly guided, and then, in her right mind, it’s magic. She’s my Missy.
“Yesssssss,” she hisses, that lovely little sound she makes when she’s truly connecting with me, “yes….we have.”
“Good, now I want us to have a nice evening, and I’d like us to have one night with you here with me. I love you, Missy…but even I have my limits, right? I know you’re troubled, I know you’ve been through a lot and I think I’ve been very understanding of that. But baby…” and I lean in close to her, starting to untie the ropes that have kept her safe, “you have to be over that bump on the head by now, right? You remember, don’t you?”
“Right,” she replies, holding my gaze. Good, I know she’s paying attention. These younger girls, always having to be taught how to address someone. But she really is a good girl. Times like this remind me. “I…..bumped my head….on the car….” She continues as she calms herself and I nod along with her, coaxing her and helping her to recollect, “….and you brought me here to save me.”
“Very good, baby,” I commend her, “and also from your boyfriend, remember?” I stare her down. This is always a hard part. My poor baby gets so confused about that. The fuckhead must have really done a number on her, as every time we talk about him, she just starts to cry. In fact, tonight it seems worse. The tears immediately spring to her eyes as she lowers her head.
FUCK! I HATE having to remind her of that, but she’s got to get past this. It angers me, the fact that some cocky little shit screwed her up this bad…..and the fact that Missy just won’t let herself come to grips with it. I mean, shit, come on now. I am a patient man, and I’m willing to work at things, but she’s gotta give something back, right? Right? I try and I try but…it’s….she and it’s like banging my head up against a wall she just won’t listen even though I love her and know what’s best for her and just want to see her happy and love me like I know she truly can and why won’t she just listen to me I know what’s good for her…..….just needs to show some effort, you know?
A deep breath in, and I’m calm again. Damn it. It’s not about me, it’s about Missy, I must remember. This is the part of love that you really do have to work at. Those things about the one you love that annoy you. But, I think of the nice things I’ve brought home and of the time together I’m planning. Of course, now I have to keep her tied to the chair. It’s one of the things we’re working on. She just needs to be reminded every once in a while…..that….she needs…..that I’m the one in charge here, I’m sick of this little ****’s SHIT and if she’d just listen I wouldn’t have to punish her….….that I can’t allow her to hurt herself in this state.
***********************************************************
We eat, and it’s nice. Of course, I have to help her. The girl is just too overcome today. She has her moments, has her days where the trauma of her past threatens to consume the poor thing. It’s alright though, and she settles down and we even make some small talk. Yes, she has her issues, but she’s so unbelievably nice to me, so endearing when she wants to be. And it makes all the work worthwhile. I even slyly comment on how pretty she looks tonight, a little gleam in my eye as I bring out the bag from under the table and show her what I bought for her. Her eyes widen….and I know it’s a look of happiness, her understanding of how much I love her. She even has a little tear in the corner of her eye.
“Now, why don’t you let me clean up…and…ok….then…you can get your sorry ass in the fucking bathroom and put this on for me after I spent so much on it the least you can do is not be a BITCH for once and do what the fuck I SAY!!!….then….then you can go in the bathroom and put this on, ok?”
I know she’s excited, just the way she jumps in her seat tells me how happy she is with her present. She leans back as I untie the ropes and show her that little look I like to give that tells her…that…..that….if she fucks with me I’m going to make last night look like a fucking day at the godamnn park so help you GOD if you fuck this up you will regret it for the next…next...….that I’m so in love with her.
The wait is almost interminable, that feeling of excitement you usually only get on that first night together. You know, you’ve been there. Dinner’s over, you settle back, she decides to “slip into something more comfortable” and there you sit trying not to cum in your pants just thinking about it. I’ll be honest here, I almost do. It’s still fresh, still new…and she walks out of the bathroom and I almost burst through my own chest. She is so lovely, her body filling out the outfit I bought her to perfection. The confused little girl is gone, and the sultry woman steps into view in all of her feminine glory. The bra cups designed to cover only the center of her full breasts, shimmering in glittery pink lace, her nipples….her…her nipples….already fucking erect the little slut can’t wait to fuck me what a little whore god I love the slutty ones so much I can…can…poking through the material, sheer silky straps flowing over her shoulders and around her back. The panties are made for a goddess, and she is one in them, her body perfect for them, the same silky pink spaghetti straps curving over her feminine hips, ending in a small V of frilly pink lace with gossamer trim. I’m overcome by her beauty, her raw femininity, her…her…her fucking tight little body is mine god I can’t wait to torture this little bitch she looks so goddamn HOT just wait until she finds out what I’m going to do to her in that pretty little outfit oh God this is gonna be a good night I can’t wait to fuck with this bitch until she screams and begs for me to….to….her natural allure, all of her.
“Oh baby….you look so nice…so sexy,” I compliment her, and I know she loves compliments. All women do, you just have to know how to do it. “Come here and sit on my lap, let’s get comfortable.” I beckon her over with a hooked finger. It may be an issue with her in other areas, but when she’s amorous, she’s one of those women who likes being told what to do. And I can really get into that role. Like I said, love is a mutli-faceted concept, and physical love is just as complex. We all have our roles we like, and Missy and I connect so well in ours. She eyes me, pretending she’s scared, she knows I like that.
“Melissa,” I intone, dropping my voice and drawing out the name, “Come…here. Now.”
She freezes, toying with me. She needs a push, I can see. She wants to be taken. God, how I love my good girl! I get out of the chair and dash at her, surprising her. She likes a little fight and I’m more than willing to oblige. I grab at her, playfully trying to contain her. “Come on, baby, don’t tease me,” I say between kisses on her neck, grabbing at her wrists as we play, “don’t make me come and get you…don’t make….don’t make….don’t you FUCK with me you little bitch get your ass in that fucking bedroom before I…I…just want you so much, baby.” Our hands battling for dominance, our bodies intertwining, pressing her soft warm skin against my body, limbs flying….then stunned back to a more mundane moment as her hand flies out and catches me across the face, hard.
“Oh, baby,” she purrs, “I’m so sorry….I’ve been a bad girl, I guess you’ll….Oh God please I’m sorry I’m sorry please don’t tie me up again please I’m sorry I’ll be good I’ll be good….just have to punish me won’t you?”
I glare at her. I try to stay centered, but she’s ruined the mood. This is one of the things we’re working on. As much as I love her, Missy…no…Melissa at times like this…has this bad habit of not knowing when to behave, and when to give a man his due. I don’t ask for much, and I allow her enough little bits of playful interaction like any amorous couple, but she goes way too far sometimes. A lot, actually. I do my best to try and make it a game, but she does need discipline. It makes the bond stronger. She needs guidance, and I can give it to her, and that’s the center of our connection, the way we mesh.
“Now, Melissa,” I even out my voice, arching an eyebrow and advancing on her, “you know the rules. No hitting. I know you’re accident-prone and I really try to work with your confusion and I think I give you a lot of leeway but you have to…have to….get your ASS into that fucking bedroom for some fucking punishment because if I have to drag you in there by the hair I will and you really don’t want me any fucking angrier than I already am or so help me GOD….be good girl now. You like being a good girl for me, don’t you?”
I hate it when she makes me do this. I mean….FUCK. I had this whole nice evening planned, and she has to let her little issues come into play at all the wrong times. It’s one of the things we’re working on, but damn, I wish she’d show a little more enthusiasm. She gives a lot, I know….but it’s just not enough. Yeah, I love her, but shit man. A guy’s gotta put his foot down. This is why we work. She needs guidance, and I can give that.
I almost feel bad seeing her like this. If it wasn’t for her own good, I might have even simply scolded her. But, this is for her own good. She’s troubled, and I can help her.
As I stare at her form, I think that once she’s better, once we get even closer, we should try something like this just for the fun of it. Maybe not as intensely, but the basic idea is….well, just fucking hot and I don’t feel a need to explain that any further. She looks nice on her back, reclining on a low padded bench with her arms down the sides and fastened at the wrists by soft leather cuffs. Her legs in the air, I admire their length and supple contours. Bent at the knees, her feet facing me as I stand looking down the length of her body, her ankles held tight by cuffs attached to a three-foot steel bar. I’ve tied loops of string around each big toe and a small clip at the other end of those same little cords. The clips are hugging her nipples tightly, and as much as it pains me to do so, I had to tighten the strings, pulling her toes back and adding tension to the clips on her tender nipples. And you know? The lacey top still looks so very nice on her, the bra cups pushed aside to expose her bare nipples. You’d think that would defeat the purpose, but no. The cups rest aside her breasts, accentuating them, drawing my gaze, the silky straps focusing the eye on her curves, the shape of her body. Besides, I did spend good money and regardless of what I need to do, the basic male part of me simply likes to see the one I love in sexy clothing. What man doesn’t, right?
“Melissa,” I speak to her as I’m finishing up, “you’re going to need to keep your feet very still, ok baby? This is a lesson in control, and I’m sorry but you need it. These lessons are helping you. You only hurt yourself when you don’t do as I ask, when you ignore my guidance. So, do as I say, and you won’t hurt yourself.”
Her voice drifts into me, her promise to be good, to listen…to….to….Please let me go! Pleeeeaseee don’t do this, oh god please why can’t you just let me go I won’t tell anyone I just wanna go home untie me please don’t do this….don’t….don’t….. don’t make me live without your guidance, she asks.
Her feet begin to pull a little, and I hold down the excitement I feel as her nipples tug forward a bit under the tension of the strings. This isn’t about me, and even though it’s rather erotic, I’ll admit, she needs this. I remind her of her fall, how she…she….I hate you! You sick fuck you hit me over the head and dragged me to this shithole just let me go I fucking hate you…hate you…hate… hates the time it’s taking to recover, but I’ll help her.
I circle the bench and look down her body, past those gorgeous breasts, putting them out of my mind to stare at her face. “Just keep your feet very still.” Her eyes grow wide as I place a fingertip along each big toe and slowly drag it down the length of her sole. She fights the urge to curl her toes, the tension on her nipples gently reminding her to focus. I really wish I didn’t have to do this and we could have had our special night. She looks so good in that lacy thong….so good…in that…thong is so goddamn HOT on this little bitch I’m gonna make that ass shake make that body jump do what I want to you because I can and just torment the living fuck out of you you squirmy little tease too good for ME are you well now I got you and I’m gonna make you pay make ALL of you pay…pay…. “Pay attention, now, baby. You can do this…you can….can…can scream all you want, I’m gonna tickle you ‘til those little clips pop off! Just lay there and shut the fuck up and let me have some goddamn fun ok? You think I dragged your sweet ass across town to talk? This is what I DO, bitch! Welcome to hell…
Stroking my fingers down her feet, I feel our connection grow. She doesn’t necessarily like the lessons, but she’s always so grateful for them afterwards. She even starts to giggle a bit as I rake my nails down the soft soles, tickling her feet, teaching her to keep them still. Oh, I know the clips popping off will hurt (not enough to do any damage…I’m a teacher, not a monster), but she needs to know that fear, needs to know that I’m the one she has to listen to. These thoughts ease my mind as I tickle her, playing my fingertips over her twitching feet, her toes shaking, wanting to pull down with every instinct in her body. Her pretty face is even more adorable to me in her concentration, biting her lower lip, squeezing her almond shaped eyes shut, taking in quick little breaths through her dainty upturned nose. I know she’s trying very hard not to, but she starts to laugh, a hearty laugh that tells me she’s learning, she’s letting the lesson sink in. I can hear her little giggles and crackling laughter fill the room.
“PLEASE STOP PLEASE!!! NONONOHAAAHAAAAAOHGODNOOOOOO!! PLEASE…*gasp*…PLEASE TAKE THEM OFFFFFFHAAAHAAAANONONOGODSTOP….*gasp*…ICANTSTANDITPLEASESTOPNONONOOOOOO!!!!”
Fuck, girl…come on, don’t make me keep doing this to you! She’s just not getting it. She’s supposed to be learning something, thanking me for keeping her focused…not just screaming her fool head off. Laughter I can take, but she’s really showing a complete lack of self-control. I know, I know…she’s a confused little girl, but come on now….maybe I should help her focus on…on….just gag her already she looks so nice in a gag all mewling and bug-eyed go ahead it’ll be hot and I like it and who gives a fuck what she likes just gag her and get on with it…put it on…put it on…on this important lesson.
The gag goes in with a little resistance, but Missy likes to fight a little, I think I told you that. I show her a hint of allowance, let her have her little struggle. The red ball nestles behind her teeth, and I fight against myself as I feel a bit of pity…not to mention arousal. Hey, I may be pretty well-adjusted and all, but we have our kinks, our little things we like, and Missy and I do like to play our bondage games. I keep reminding myself that tonight isn’t about a game, it’s about a lesson. It could have been about a game if she hadn’t…hadn’t fucked up so bad and had the nerve to slap me across the damn face like an ungrateful little…. needed the discipline so very badly. Ignoring how nice her pretty face looks gagged, I return to her feet and bend down, picking up a pair of long feathers and waving them in the air. Missy needs to focus now and then. Her eyes go wide, and I almost lose myself in them. I love her so much and want nothing but for her to learn from me, to become a better person. Slowly, I bring the tips to the quivering flesh of her bare feet, drawing the feathers down, then back up…then down…then back up. Letting more of the feathers’ soft surface come into contact with her soles. Over and over, increasing the speed as she fights to keep her toes bent back. Her toes, yes. Now that would really help her. Talk about learning some control, huh? She can do it…she’s such a good girl.
I flip the feathers around and use the pointed quill tips to trace circles over the tiny pad of each toe, letting the points delve into the soft skin between them, hearing a little moan every time she pulls her toes a bit….but no…she maintains her control. She’s such a good girl and I’m so proud of her, I really hope she can…that she….yanks those pretty little toes forward and snaps those clips off those precious little nipples that she lets all those fuck-off slacker shit heads suck on the ones who hit her and treat her like shit but she keeps going back to them because they’re young and hot and what’s wrong with me like I can’t make you happy go ahead and snap them off little girl go ahead and then you’ll know what pain feels like for once and I won’t be the only one to feel it over and over and over and over…..
The quill tips of the feathers dance over her feet, stimulating her little toes and drawing down the length of each sole in a sharp snap, each time faster, every time with more pressure. Her toes ache to pull down, I can see that. Her face is twisted, her teeth biting hard into the gag. She’s getting it, I know. I need to help her along, just a little more. Taking one of the helpful tools and flipping it around to once again make use of the soft body of the feather, I let it travel down the length of her calf, as she pitches her voice up sharply. Along her thigh as she increases her breathing rate. Tickling down into the soft, soft skin at the base of her leg, where it curves in and connects to her groin, that most sensitive of places on a female body. Fluttering the feather back and forth, tickling her inner thigh and crotch while raking the stiff quill down her ticklish sole, I coax her along, guiding her….
“Come on, Melissa…..just a few more minutes, you’ve almost…you can…it’s…you…what’s the matter honey does that TICKLE oh poor baby this must be fucking torture for you too bad I’m gonna keep this up all night you FUCK with me you PAY and now we’re gonna find out every way I can tickle you until you’re a quivering wreck…and I know you can do this, Melissa.”
Her face twists, her neck tightens as she bites down hard onto the ballgag. The tickling of her foot and her softest flesh builds as I hear her cry out, muffled but somehow clear. In one hard movement, her toes curl forward, unable to maintain any longer and I hear the sound I was hoping she was strong enough to avoid. Two little snaps as the clips slide off her nipples and shoot forward, a high-pitched yelp filtered and subdued. I reach down and stroke her hair as her breathing settles down.
“So close, Melissa…..so close, you almost had it, baby. I know you tried, I know you did, I really do….but…you went and hurt yourself again…you really need to get this…you can’t keep…you…have to….JESUS girl, all I ask you to do is keep one little set of toes still and you can’t even do that right! We’ll just have to put the fucking clips BACK on and do this AGAIN..and AGAIN…until you get it fucking RIGHT. Just listen and we can stop, don’t you GET that? What, do you LIKE this? Why do you make me DO THIS?!?”
I don’t enjoy feeling like this. I know it’s going to help Missy in the end, and I know I said love was all about the work…but this is getting to be a bit…taxing. I’m really trying to understand where she’s coming from, but dammit…she’s doing this to herself, right? I mean, this is exactly why things didn’t work out with my other girlfriends. I don’t think I ask for much, just the way things used to be, when men knew who they were and women did as well. When pleasing each other was the most important thing. Well, it’s something Missy and I are working on, and I’ll do my best to do what I need to. Teach her. Discipline her when she’s wrong, and protect her from those things she still clings to that make her so confused in the first place.
I’m ready to go see her, I guess. It’s been a half an hour. Hopefully, she’s learned something. Something about self control, something about paying for your mistakes. Something about loving those who are trying to help you…trying…to…and…making that little bitch pay for all of her kind all of them who just walk down those empty parking lots and the backdoors of bars or stores after flipping me off or looking down their pretty little noses I hate them so much and just wanna turn them into giggling little girls and take away all that FUCKING attitude and FUCKING cockiness and why won’t she just listen all she has to do is listen they never listen…they never listen…they…never…
Approaching the door to the room I’ve allowed her to reflect in, I take a deep breath, keeping myself centered on the task at hand, knowing that I can’t just let the sight of her beauty distract me. That wouldn’t do either of us any good. However, in spite of myself, I can’t help but admire how gorgeous her body looks like that. Lying supine on the low bench, her legs wide, bent at the knee, her ankles tied to the legs, the bench itself separating her long legs pinned to the surface. Her thin arms tight over her head accentuating those firm breasts, bent down at the elbow, forced downward and tied underneath the bench. I take in the look of her arched form, her tight skin, her slightly shaking breasts that are…so…just…never for me no but if I have a hundred piercings and do drugs and beat the crap out of you then I could touch you right? Yeah, ignore someone who could take care of you and love you and be nice to you no you’re too goddamn SPECIAL for that aren’t you you little……so shapely that it almost makes me feel sorry for her.
Placing my hand on the long metal rod, I feel her respond to the new sensation. Following the old microphone stand down, trailing my fingers along its cold length I wrap my hand around the large-headed vibrating massager tied in place with cords around her thighs, pulling it in close to her most sensitive place. Her hips rise and fall against it and she moans seductively, calling me in…but I resist. She’s here for a reason. She needs this. She needs control over herself. We’re working on it, and I think it’s really helping us as a couple. I look down at the tell-tale signs of her wetness all over the white head of the massager and my heart sinks a little. I had such high hopes for her tonight.
“Melissa,” I address her lightly, bending down next to her ear as she flinches at my presence, “I thought we decided that you were NOT allowed to cum? You really do need to learn some self-control, baby.”
She apologizes sweetly, if loudly, the layers of thick black tape that cover her mouth absorbing her words as the same tape over her eyes blocks her view of me. Even though the words themselves are absorbed, I still understand her. It’s our bond. The gag and blindfold aren’t for me, I can receive every message she sends me, I just don’t want her distracted during this lesson. She needs to focus inward, to feel what I’m trying to do, to…just….fucking shut the hell up so I can do what I want to you like I did to all the others before they bored the fuck out of me and don’t you start boring me because I can find another one just as pretty as you so don’t you think for one moment you’re gonna get everything you want just ‘cuz you’re young and pretty and….and…. accept things the way they should be.
As I start to wrap some of the tape around her elbows, cinching them tightly (she does have a bad habit of hurting herself, I think I mentioned that) and pulling the rope extending from her bound wrists a little tighter, her head lifts up, resting on her arms. Good. She needs to be secure. Her sounds are almost heartbreaking, and as they increase in pitch again and her breathing becomes more rapid, I realize that I forgot to turn the massager off. Silly me. I can get so wrapped up in these lessons. Hmm…maybe I need a little more direction. No, it’s just her, what she does to me…trying to deal with her day in and day out. 26 days, to be exact.
“Now, you’re almost there for tonight, but I’m afraid you did break a rule….so you will have to be punished again.” Her rapid moans let me know she’s listening and that she understands. She is always so eager to continue our lessons, even after failing, she’s always trying to do better. She is such a good girl, really. I pick up the soft leather whip, several tendrils of which trail along her chest and over her breasts. Lifting it up, I remind myself that every stroke is going to bring us closer together, closer to that day when everything will be perfect, when our bond will go beyond mere love and into something truly deep and permanent. Dropping the whip down across her breasts, I hear the subtle crack, not too hard of course, this is a lesson. Yes, it’s also punishment, but you can’t make the trainee unresponsive to the training, right? It’s enough to let her know I’m displeased, and I can hear her apologizing through the tape with every contact of leather and flesh. We have a bond, and there are times when it goes beyond mere words. The tendrils of the whip fall across her firm breasts, rippling in response…over her stomach, quivering…a few times even coming down over the soft folds of her gentle mound. Not too much, I remind myself, she does enjoy that and this is about being punished, not excited. Ah, what the hell? Let her have a couple. Sometimes I am a bit too soft-hearted, but it’s trait I’m willing to live with.
After several lashes, (was it several? I lost count. Ten, twenty, fifty? Well, the important thing is the principle, right?) I ease off, letting the lesson sink in. I feel bad, I really do. I want to make it up to her, well….not make it up per se as she did deserve this, but at least reward her a little for thanking me through the sticky tape. She thanks me profusely, (and I’m so happy that she does this with every single lash, she is learning!) her words of gratitude intelligible to me through our bond. And, over the years, I’ve become rather fluent in Gagged Chick anyway, so that helps. It’s a talent that adds to our inner connection. So, I’ll reward her a little with something that will make her happy, to show her I’m proud of her, that I accept her thanks….something…nice….and…sexy…and…tickle the crap out of her come on you’ve been waiting all night doesn’t she look hot isn’t she just begging to be tickled all over all tied up like that just look at that fucking body man lets do it let’s tickle her until she can’t fucking breathe….just…go…
However, even with a reward, there’s still something to be learned. Sighing lightly, realizing that being in control is about the work involved, I lean in close to Missy’s delicate ear, beautiful auburn hair spilling around it, and speak gently to her as I peel off the tape covering her mouth.
“Melissa…honey? I’d like to reward you for being such a good girl, but you need to truly understand what it is we’re doing here, ok? If you really want me to stop whipping you, as much as I appreciate your gratitude, you are going to have to ask for something else. I know you like to be tickled, so just ask me and no more whip, baby, I promise. I’ll let you feel nice…and….we can…you…BEG for it little girl! Beg me to tickle you! I wanna hear you fucking BEG! Or do you wanna be whipped all NIGHT? Choice is your, sweetheart…BEG me to tickle you right…fucking….NOW!!”
For the first time this evening, a night that looked like it was going to go horribly wrong, I’m truly happy as I hear her breathlessly convey her desire to me.
“(Oh God please, no I can’t…I can’t….) PLEASE! I’m BEGGING you PLEASE (Don’t) TICKLE ME!!! PLEASE! I (don’t) WANNA BE TICKLED!!! Oh my god,ohmygaaawwwwddd (don’t) tickle me (don’t) tickle me (you can’t) tickle me….(FUCK YOU ASSHOLE DON’T) TICKLE ME GODDAMMIT!!! MMMnnnpphhhh…MMNNGGHH!!!”
I place more of the tape over her mouth, layer after layer, allowing her to internalize her impending pleasure. To own it, focus on it and truly come to know the real enjoyment of a powerful sensation.
Her first shriek pierces the still air of the room and for a second I could almost swear the candle flames flickered from the sheer force of her sensual enjoyment. One thing about my Missy, she does love to be tickled. It’s her little thing. Well, ok…mine, too. It’s just another trait we connect on. A deep one. Those little fetishes we never share with anyone, but when we finally find someone we can share them with, it’s pure magic. My stiff index fingers point directly into her helplessly taut armpits and poke in, pressing against the nerve that I’ve found really excites her. Rolling the fingertips around, the massaging effect works wonders for her, causing her to lift her body, or at least try to, wiggling her hips in pleasure and moaning and giggling through the gag. Hooking my fingers, I tickle under her arms, enjoying the feel of the tight skin, noticing how such a small bit of contact, just a little bit of a touch can send ripples of pleasure through Missy’s sexy body.
I can now allow myself to enjoy tickling her as well, and I do so love these times when we’re both relishing the same thing for same reason. I add more fingers, fluttering them, never losing contact, over and over again under those helpless little arms, tickling up her arms and back down again, feeling a little better now that I know she’s learned her lesson….now that I can simply pleasure her and have our time together. Watching her biceps and shoulder muscles tighten and pull against the bonds as I tickle her armpits not only turns me on, but lets me know she’s truly internalizing her experience, connecting with me at the same time. I love these times when we click. I give her more, so happy with her, such a good girl. I let my nails scratch against her ticklish skin, over and over, changing up my touch, giving her new and exciting sensations, different tickles so she never grows bored with me.
I know she’s raw and sensitive from the orgasms I told her would come back to haunt her, but my Missy can be such a greedy girl. It’s something we’re working on. I know her shapely body is so much more ticklish after cumming, but why not? Why not let her have this? We can both be happy playing our little game. I shift myself to sit astride the bench and bring my opposite hand across her chest, tickling along the sides of her breasts, over the tops, giving her nipples a playful flutter and then joining my hands together to tickle along her tight sides. Missy has such a ticklish body, and the poor girl has so little she truly enjoys. I play my hands over the side of her body, drawing down her armpits and over her ribs, poking them, kneading them, letting my fingers vibrate in place over the bones pressed so tight against the flawless, albeit reddening skin. I add to our game by teasing her in that sexy voice she likes so much.
“Oh, baby, you love being tickled, don’t you? Awww…let me help you there….and there….yes, you just go ahead and laugh and laugh, it’s ok…it’s…just…fine…you…How does THAT feel, huh? Ticklish? Huh? Aww, poor thing, all tied up and tickled out of her pretty little fucking head! You just go ahead and squirm, that’s right SQUIRM for me, work that body for me and maybe I’ll go easy on you…FUCK that…Here! How’s THAT! You ticklish THERE? Your sides? You like that? Deal with it bitch cuz I’m gonna tickle you until my fingers fall off and you can just lay there and take it….
I start to lose myself a little. Funny, isn’t it? Me. Huh. Yeah, I know, I know…I’m supposed to be in control and all, but screw it, I should have some fun, right? This is our special time, and it can’t be special if only one of us lets go. So why not? I drive my hands into her sides, kneading the soft skin, tickling against the muscles that tighten in response, only making her more sensitive to the tickling, like a constant cycle of action and reaction, a Catch-22 that adds to both our pleasure. Her body writhes and shakes, squirming her hips, thrashing from side to side, and moaning…screaming her pleasure and laughter….forcing the sounds through the filter of the layers of tape gagging her. The sound of her girlish squeals of delight drive me on, taking in every inch of that gorgeous body, responding to being tickled, touched….her belly sucking in, accentuating the tightness of her ribcage even further. She knows what I like and she’s such a good girl. I pinch her sides, over her hipbones where her waist curves inward, squeezing that same spot she likes over and over, driving her pleasure into her, enjoying my own excitement, sharing with her, tickling her and guiding her hip movements by maintaining the contact on that one solitary spot.
I play a special game with her, remembering that she can’t see me, either. She doesn’t know where my hands are, where I’ll pleasure her next. I poke her in various places….on her ribs, along her sides, into her deep navel, into the soft flesh over her gentle folds, the lowest reaches of her flat stomach. Each poke, each quick tickle bringing forth a new sound, a new expression of pleasure and sensual enjoyment from my good little girl. And she is a good girl. And I do love her. It’s these times that make all of the trials worthwhile. I wander downward, reaching under the table to tickle her feet, feeling them playfully thrash against my invading, probing fingertips. Letting one hand tease and tickle her thighs and the soft skin under the very edges of the frilly thong. I know she loves the sensation of having her foot tickled while her body twitches from the touches I’m giving her curvaceous body. Both hands then focus on her feet, eliciting the sensual pulses of her tightening thigh muscles. Then back up her legs to tickle along her tight belly, admiring how sexy she is, how lucky I am to have come along at the right place at the right time…..just like the other times….the other girls….but this one is different….it really was fate this time….Missy listens, she learns…
Hours pass. Missy’s sweating, heaving body matches mine. I’m worked, I’m tired, my own sweat falling off of me. However, I’m just so happy with her. So happy that we’ve gotten somewhere today that I can’t bring myself to stop. She loves this so much, but I do realize that we need to end this on a good note, make sure she goes to sleep focused on what I’m trying to do for her. I play my fingertips so very lightly up and down the side of her body as my other hand pulls the tape from her mouth and eyes, addressing her with love….admiration at her progress. And of course, no small feeling of elation at honing my own skills. Just one more thing to put a nice finish to a lesson well learned and an evening spent together in such pleasure.
“Missy? Baby? Is there something you’d like to say to me, love? You’ve been such a good girl, and I know you can do this, I know you can do the right thing and show me what you’ve learned…what…you…thank me right fucking now! Don’t you even THINK of whining like a little bitch or so help me I’ll fucking gag you and ram that vibrator into you for the next three goddamn days….
The tape now off her eyes, she blinks at me rapidly, showing me her cute form of affection that I love so much. Her freed voice comes to me in waves of gratitude and such deep love that my heart swells. Of course, she is exhausted, who wouldn’t be after such a long session of physical intimacy, and her words spill out raggedly, overcome by her emotions.
“Th-…thank you…please….*gasp*…I mean it….thank you for tickling me…*gasp*…I’m a good girl….thank you so much…thank you….for making me…*gasp*…a good girl….thankyouforticklingme….thankyou…thankyou….”
Stroking her hair, her soft glowing face, I loosen her bonds, massaging her muscles (she must be so sore, and I feel a little bad, but she doesn’t mind when our evenings end so nicely) and scoop her up in my arms, her body limp. She’s exhausted and I don’t want her trying to walk by herself. I even keep her wrists and ankles tied so she doesn’t need to worry about hurting herself when I lay her down to sleep.
I look at the clock after covering her, fastening the straps over her blanket that make certain her natural clumsiness doesn’t manifest in her sleep ( I do worry about her so), and realize it’s almost 5 am. Another day, 27 now and counting, that Missy and I have maintained that deep bond. Those feelings that should have faded by now but somehow haven’t. I think I’m in love, I know I am…truly in love for the first time, because she’s such a good girl. Sinking into my chair, I smoke and think of her, of us…of how lucky I am, how I almost could have missed her if I hadn’t been in the right place at the right time…been there…hiding in the shadows for so goddamn long needing a smoke so bad waiting for that greedy bitch to buy all that crap these girls think they need to plaster FUCK ME all over their bodies…timing it just right…so many fucking DAYS of having to track her…follow her…picking the moment…feeling the rush…saving her from herself and from her painfully unfortunate life.
I have a good feeling about Missy and me, and tonight’s taught me to stay focused, that she needs me, that I cannot falter in my role as her teacher and guide…her lover and friend. And she’s getting so much better every single day. 27 now. Sure, there are still things to deal with. That’s what love is. Dealing with the conflicts and troubles you have before you. She’s still clumsy, I still need to keep her safe and secure when I go out, and she does need to learn that screaming when her troubled past confronts her alone in the house when I’m not here disturbs the neighbors and affects my usually cheery mood, but…
…it’s something we’re working on.
It’s Something We’re Working On
I think I’m in love. I mean, really in love this time. Sure, younger men may say it all the time, never truly understanding the full meaning of the word. “I love you” sounds so good coming off the tongue that it’s often used as filler conversation, or a way to insinuate oneself into the mind and heart of an impressionable young lady. Of course, it seems always to be the right thing to say after a good fuck. Whether you mean it or not…or even think you do, is of little consequence when two bodies curl up, existing in that perfect moment of spent emotion, physical exhaustion and rippling aftershocks. I mean, shit…who doesn’t love the person they just fucked, even if it’s only for a very short time?
But, no. I’m talking about real love. The kind that can only exist in the center of a feedback loop, not only given but received. Oh sure, I’ve known shadows of the whole ball of light before, reflections of the original, mirrored….similar yet opposed. That warm, spiky twinge in the pit of your stomach when you think about her. That wash of heat over your shoulders when you think of her with anyone else. But, without it coming back to you, being the recipient of those same emotions, it’s not love. It’s just obsession.
Driving home, I think of how lucky I am to have a girl who loves me. Loving is easy. Being loved is something that comes along about as often as an unexpected windfall or a kind word on the subway. And it takes work to keep it alive once you do manage to find it. A lot of work. I know this all too well. You could fill a library with the names of people who have stood by, watching a relationship fall apart, forgetting the little things, taking a lover for granted…only to wind up lost in a sea of their own despair, wondering why, how could this have happened to us?
I won’t let that happen. Not this time. We’ve been together for a month now…well, almost a month. 26 days to be exact. Right around the time when the novelty of a new relationship begins to wear off, or at least settle into something comfortable, familiar. But no…this one is different. Almost a month, and I still do those little things that one usually reserves for the first week, or especially after the first time you screw, when you go out of your way to show her how much you care, how much you want her to stay with you. That time before you know she will, and then you stop trying. But, a month into this (26 days, to be exact) and my trunk is full of items and niceties for a special evening with Melissa.
My Melissa. Missy, she likes it when I call her. I like the sound of it myself, and it invokes feelings of innocence, purity and that irresistible allure that all men have for younger women, but few would admit. Oh sure, sometimes it’s “Melissa”, when we’re serious, or having a mild disagreement…those times when a man simply likes to lower his voice and use the proper form of his lover’s name to capture her attention, but it’s usually just Missy. It doesn’t happen that often with women, but it just sounds like she looks.
Oh, and how she looks. I still remember seeing her for the first time, walking to her car, carrying a pile of newly-bought items in some sort of circus balancing act. She’s still careless that way…it’s something we’re working on. But that day, 26 days ago to be exact, her carelessness brought us together. I remember exactly how timely it was, thinking how fate may actually be an existing entity after all…walking across the parking lot that night and seeing her fall, hearing her pitiful cry as she hurt herself. Trying to pile that many things into that small a car inevitably causing her to smack her head into the doorframe, and I can still remember how slowly she fell backward. Her face nearly broke my heart, her eyes welling up, on the verge of dropping their tears…only accentuating the deep blue color and moist whiteness surrounding it. Her cheeks were flushed, but still full and high. Her auburn hair disheveled and yet still able to flow with a life of its own, framing that face, drawing my attention to her full lips, quivering from her unfortunate experience. That conflicting look of helpless little girl and beautiful woman drove a spike deep into my heart, triggering a response from that primal part of all men. A need to care for her, to make it better. To be her rescuer.
I felt like one, too. Oh, the way it must have looked to any bystander that might have been around if the lot hadn’t been empty. Kneeling down, laying my hand gently on the side of her pretty face, stroking the stray hairs away from eyes framed by those delicate eyebrows and curling lashes, so full of beauty and hurt at the same time. Kneeling down and scooping her up into my arms like some knight out of a story told over and over. Pulling her into me, assuring her that she was going to be alright, that I would help her. Placing her into the seat of my car to take her where she wanted to go. She couldn’t stop thanking me, her voice so unexpectedly sweet and honest, tipping over that first domino in the chain reaction of our connection that I missed the turn to the hospital. I offered to take her to her home, but she hesitated. Once again, fate proved itself to be something one shouldn’t so easily dismiss. I’ll be honest, when she told me she’d been fighting with her boyfriend, (and hinted that it was of the physical sort) my chest did tighten a bit. I mean, let’s face it…when a beautiful young woman offers up negative information about a male partner, other males do take notice. It’s the way we are. And when we’re faced with the thought of someone hurting that same beautiful young woman….Rrrrrrrrrrr. I was taken by a thought I couldn’t bear. That I could be saving her from one hurt and delivering her into another. I didn’t know her, I didn’t know him…but for a fleeting moment I wanted to kill him. Just a base, gut reflex. I really needed to protect this girl. I can tell about these sorts of things. I’m an extremely perceptive kinda guy, and she was trying to find a way to be anywhere else. I offered to take her to my place, to bandage her slightly bleeding head and then see where she wanted to go.
**********************************************************
That was 26 days ago. She hasn’t left. It was fate, I believe that now…there are just too many parallels, too many things connecting us. What I have to offer her she truly needs. And what she gives in return just….wow…I mean…it’s good to be needed, you know? And I’m not just talking physical intimacy here, oh hell no, it drives into the very heart of what connects two people. Over the time we’ve spent together, she’s learned from me. The gratefulness she shows me is the very reason that I still bring her things, and still go out of my way to make every evening a special one. You really have no idea how it feels to have someone appreciate what you can give them, to learn from your experience, to finally have even a chance to share those experiences with someone so receptive. There are times I feel she’s just a lost little girl, and in many ways she truly is. Beauty can often belie a hard life or bad choices and Missy has experienced both in spades. And it draws me even closer to her, her need to be guided, my need to provide guidance. The timing couldn’t have been better.
I pull up to the house, ease into the driveway and once again experience that same rush….that thrill that I felt when this was new. It hasn’t faded. Opening the trunk to remove the ingredients for our meal together and the presents I’ve bought for her, I almost drop quite a few of them as my mind focuses on our upcoming night.
I can almost hear her voice as I slip the key into the lock…then the other and finally the third. It’s not what you’d call a violent neighborhood, but let’s face it…crime’s up all over, isn’t it? The locks click with a familiar sound, and then I can hear her. She knows I’m home. I can’t make out the individual words, but of course I wouldn’t. I do this quickly, my need to see her again overcoming my usual caution…I just don’t like people knowing my business, so I always try to enter when no one’s looking. It’s just a thing I have, like washing your hands five times or something. The heavy wood of the door pushes back and I slip inside, turning to close it with a clang. I’m not that crazy about that particular sound, but the steel reinforcement on my side of the door is an unfortunate necessity. Crime is up, as I believe I’ve mentioned. Safety first, especially with a woman in the house. The somewhat obtrusive but still stylish iron bars on the window drive this point home to me as I gently push the thick outer curtains tighter together. Might as well at least look nice from the outside, right?
Placing the groceries and gifts onto the table, my hand finds my pocketed lighter and ignites the red and purple candles Missy likes so much….and that I enjoy as well. It’s more romantic, more comforting than glaring electric lights. As the soft glow spreads into a radiant shine flickering off the walls, I’m greeted by the sight of my beautiful new girlfriend welcoming me home.
“And how have we been today, honey?” I lightly intone, “No accidents while I was away?”
She shakes her head at me as I approach the chair she’s sitting in. It’s her favorite, the one she always seems to prefer when I’m not at home. I place my hands on hers, resting on the arms of the chair, held secure by the soft rope I picked out just for her. It’s one of the things we’ve been working on. Just like the night she damn near knocked herself out getting into her own car. My Missy, for all of her warmth and beauty, happens to be extremely clumsy. We’ve found that tying her to the chair when I’m away keeps her safe, secure…and also gives her time to reflect upon the other things I find myself needing to always teach her. Reaching up to stroke her face, I slip a finger underneath the strap across her cheek and follow it back, enjoying the touch of her tender skin until I can work loose the buckle holding the red rubber ball in her mouth. She tends to yell a lot when she has her accidents and hurts herself (or spends too much time thinking of what that ass-fuck of an ex-boyfriend put her through), and just as the iron bars protect us from the unforeseeable dangers outside, the ball reminds Missy that screaming can attract those same dangerous elements. And she’s learning that well…she really is such a good girl.
I place my finger against my lips, reminding her how much I really dislike loud noises or the sound of a woman whining. It’s so beneath a creature like my Missy. She can be so much more, and we’re finding that out every single day. 26 so far, to be exact. “I’m home, baby….it’s ok…” I comfort her as small tears spill from the corners of her beautiful eyes. She always misses me so much when I go away. I try to limit it as much as possible…she needs me so.
“Please,” she whispers after sucking in a deep breath, so relieved to see me, “please just let me go, pleeeeeaseeee”. Her eyes are so lovely when she gets confused. And she does get confused a lot. It’s one of the things we’re working on. I’m a little annoyed, but I shrug it off. I mean, I’d really been looking forward to tonight, thought we’d gotten this finally over with last night. I mean, she did assure me that she was ok, that she had remembered everything the right way and that she loved me and that everything was ok and that she was remembering and that she loved me and that everything was ok and that…..
“STOP!”, I bark, once again having to draw her attention. “We have been over this, haven’t we?” Grabbing her face with my hand and pointing it at mine, I calm myself and remember that she’s just a confused, troubled girl and she needs my guidance more than my yelling. However, I would be remiss in my duties as the man of the house if I didn’t set my foot down and center her when she required it.
“Haven’t…we…?” I say again, slower. Our eyes connect and I see that look of understanding that I’ve grown to love. She does come around when she’s properly guided, and then, in her right mind, it’s magic. She’s my Missy.
“Yesssssss,” she hisses, that lovely little sound she makes when she’s truly connecting with me, “yes….we have.”
“Good, now I want us to have a nice evening, and I’d like us to have one night with you here with me. I love you, Missy…but even I have my limits, right? I know you’re troubled, I know you’ve been through a lot and I think I’ve been very understanding of that. But baby…” and I lean in close to her, starting to untie the ropes that have kept her safe, “you have to be over that bump on the head by now, right? You remember, don’t you?”
“Right,” she replies, holding my gaze. Good, I know she’s paying attention. These younger girls, always having to be taught how to address someone. But she really is a good girl. Times like this remind me. “I…..bumped my head….on the car….” She continues as she calms herself and I nod along with her, coaxing her and helping her to recollect, “….and you brought me here to save me.”
“Very good, baby,” I commend her, “and also from your boyfriend, remember?” I stare her down. This is always a hard part. My poor baby gets so confused about that. The fuckhead must have really done a number on her, as every time we talk about him, she just starts to cry. In fact, tonight it seems worse. The tears immediately spring to her eyes as she lowers her head.
FUCK! I HATE having to remind her of that, but she’s got to get past this. It angers me, the fact that some cocky little shit screwed her up this bad…..and the fact that Missy just won’t let herself come to grips with it. I mean, shit, come on now. I am a patient man, and I’m willing to work at things, but she’s gotta give something back, right? Right? I try and I try but…it’s….she and it’s like banging my head up against a wall she just won’t listen even though I love her and know what’s best for her and just want to see her happy and love me like I know she truly can and why won’t she just listen to me I know what’s good for her…..….just needs to show some effort, you know?
A deep breath in, and I’m calm again. Damn it. It’s not about me, it’s about Missy, I must remember. This is the part of love that you really do have to work at. Those things about the one you love that annoy you. But, I think of the nice things I’ve brought home and of the time together I’m planning. Of course, now I have to keep her tied to the chair. It’s one of the things we’re working on. She just needs to be reminded every once in a while…..that….she needs…..that I’m the one in charge here, I’m sick of this little ****’s SHIT and if she’d just listen I wouldn’t have to punish her….….that I can’t allow her to hurt herself in this state.
***********************************************************
We eat, and it’s nice. Of course, I have to help her. The girl is just too overcome today. She has her moments, has her days where the trauma of her past threatens to consume the poor thing. It’s alright though, and she settles down and we even make some small talk. Yes, she has her issues, but she’s so unbelievably nice to me, so endearing when she wants to be. And it makes all the work worthwhile. I even slyly comment on how pretty she looks tonight, a little gleam in my eye as I bring out the bag from under the table and show her what I bought for her. Her eyes widen….and I know it’s a look of happiness, her understanding of how much I love her. She even has a little tear in the corner of her eye.
“Now, why don’t you let me clean up…and…ok….then…you can get your sorry ass in the fucking bathroom and put this on for me after I spent so much on it the least you can do is not be a BITCH for once and do what the fuck I SAY!!!….then….then you can go in the bathroom and put this on, ok?”
I know she’s excited, just the way she jumps in her seat tells me how happy she is with her present. She leans back as I untie the ropes and show her that little look I like to give that tells her…that…..that….if she fucks with me I’m going to make last night look like a fucking day at the godamnn park so help you GOD if you fuck this up you will regret it for the next…next...….that I’m so in love with her.
The wait is almost interminable, that feeling of excitement you usually only get on that first night together. You know, you’ve been there. Dinner’s over, you settle back, she decides to “slip into something more comfortable” and there you sit trying not to cum in your pants just thinking about it. I’ll be honest here, I almost do. It’s still fresh, still new…and she walks out of the bathroom and I almost burst through my own chest. She is so lovely, her body filling out the outfit I bought her to perfection. The confused little girl is gone, and the sultry woman steps into view in all of her feminine glory. The bra cups designed to cover only the center of her full breasts, shimmering in glittery pink lace, her nipples….her…her nipples….already fucking erect the little slut can’t wait to fuck me what a little whore god I love the slutty ones so much I can…can…poking through the material, sheer silky straps flowing over her shoulders and around her back. The panties are made for a goddess, and she is one in them, her body perfect for them, the same silky pink spaghetti straps curving over her feminine hips, ending in a small V of frilly pink lace with gossamer trim. I’m overcome by her beauty, her raw femininity, her…her…her fucking tight little body is mine god I can’t wait to torture this little bitch she looks so goddamn HOT just wait until she finds out what I’m going to do to her in that pretty little outfit oh God this is gonna be a good night I can’t wait to fuck with this bitch until she screams and begs for me to….to….her natural allure, all of her.
“Oh baby….you look so nice…so sexy,” I compliment her, and I know she loves compliments. All women do, you just have to know how to do it. “Come here and sit on my lap, let’s get comfortable.” I beckon her over with a hooked finger. It may be an issue with her in other areas, but when she’s amorous, she’s one of those women who likes being told what to do. And I can really get into that role. Like I said, love is a mutli-faceted concept, and physical love is just as complex. We all have our roles we like, and Missy and I connect so well in ours. She eyes me, pretending she’s scared, she knows I like that.
“Melissa,” I intone, dropping my voice and drawing out the name, “Come…here. Now.”
She freezes, toying with me. She needs a push, I can see. She wants to be taken. God, how I love my good girl! I get out of the chair and dash at her, surprising her. She likes a little fight and I’m more than willing to oblige. I grab at her, playfully trying to contain her. “Come on, baby, don’t tease me,” I say between kisses on her neck, grabbing at her wrists as we play, “don’t make me come and get you…don’t make….don’t make….don’t you FUCK with me you little bitch get your ass in that fucking bedroom before I…I…just want you so much, baby.” Our hands battling for dominance, our bodies intertwining, pressing her soft warm skin against my body, limbs flying….then stunned back to a more mundane moment as her hand flies out and catches me across the face, hard.
“Oh, baby,” she purrs, “I’m so sorry….I’ve been a bad girl, I guess you’ll….Oh God please I’m sorry I’m sorry please don’t tie me up again please I’m sorry I’ll be good I’ll be good….just have to punish me won’t you?”
I glare at her. I try to stay centered, but she’s ruined the mood. This is one of the things we’re working on. As much as I love her, Missy…no…Melissa at times like this…has this bad habit of not knowing when to behave, and when to give a man his due. I don’t ask for much, and I allow her enough little bits of playful interaction like any amorous couple, but she goes way too far sometimes. A lot, actually. I do my best to try and make it a game, but she does need discipline. It makes the bond stronger. She needs guidance, and I can give it to her, and that’s the center of our connection, the way we mesh.
“Now, Melissa,” I even out my voice, arching an eyebrow and advancing on her, “you know the rules. No hitting. I know you’re accident-prone and I really try to work with your confusion and I think I give you a lot of leeway but you have to…have to….get your ASS into that fucking bedroom for some fucking punishment because if I have to drag you in there by the hair I will and you really don’t want me any fucking angrier than I already am or so help me GOD….be good girl now. You like being a good girl for me, don’t you?”
I hate it when she makes me do this. I mean….FUCK. I had this whole nice evening planned, and she has to let her little issues come into play at all the wrong times. It’s one of the things we’re working on, but damn, I wish she’d show a little more enthusiasm. She gives a lot, I know….but it’s just not enough. Yeah, I love her, but shit man. A guy’s gotta put his foot down. This is why we work. She needs guidance, and I can give that.
I almost feel bad seeing her like this. If it wasn’t for her own good, I might have even simply scolded her. But, this is for her own good. She’s troubled, and I can help her.
As I stare at her form, I think that once she’s better, once we get even closer, we should try something like this just for the fun of it. Maybe not as intensely, but the basic idea is….well, just fucking hot and I don’t feel a need to explain that any further. She looks nice on her back, reclining on a low padded bench with her arms down the sides and fastened at the wrists by soft leather cuffs. Her legs in the air, I admire their length and supple contours. Bent at the knees, her feet facing me as I stand looking down the length of her body, her ankles held tight by cuffs attached to a three-foot steel bar. I’ve tied loops of string around each big toe and a small clip at the other end of those same little cords. The clips are hugging her nipples tightly, and as much as it pains me to do so, I had to tighten the strings, pulling her toes back and adding tension to the clips on her tender nipples. And you know? The lacey top still looks so very nice on her, the bra cups pushed aside to expose her bare nipples. You’d think that would defeat the purpose, but no. The cups rest aside her breasts, accentuating them, drawing my gaze, the silky straps focusing the eye on her curves, the shape of her body. Besides, I did spend good money and regardless of what I need to do, the basic male part of me simply likes to see the one I love in sexy clothing. What man doesn’t, right?
“Melissa,” I speak to her as I’m finishing up, “you’re going to need to keep your feet very still, ok baby? This is a lesson in control, and I’m sorry but you need it. These lessons are helping you. You only hurt yourself when you don’t do as I ask, when you ignore my guidance. So, do as I say, and you won’t hurt yourself.”
Her voice drifts into me, her promise to be good, to listen…to….to….Please let me go! Pleeeeaseee don’t do this, oh god please why can’t you just let me go I won’t tell anyone I just wanna go home untie me please don’t do this….don’t….don’t….. don’t make me live without your guidance, she asks.
Her feet begin to pull a little, and I hold down the excitement I feel as her nipples tug forward a bit under the tension of the strings. This isn’t about me, and even though it’s rather erotic, I’ll admit, she needs this. I remind her of her fall, how she…she….I hate you! You sick fuck you hit me over the head and dragged me to this shithole just let me go I fucking hate you…hate you…hate… hates the time it’s taking to recover, but I’ll help her.
I circle the bench and look down her body, past those gorgeous breasts, putting them out of my mind to stare at her face. “Just keep your feet very still.” Her eyes grow wide as I place a fingertip along each big toe and slowly drag it down the length of her sole. She fights the urge to curl her toes, the tension on her nipples gently reminding her to focus. I really wish I didn’t have to do this and we could have had our special night. She looks so good in that lacy thong….so good…in that…thong is so goddamn HOT on this little bitch I’m gonna make that ass shake make that body jump do what I want to you because I can and just torment the living fuck out of you you squirmy little tease too good for ME are you well now I got you and I’m gonna make you pay make ALL of you pay…pay…. “Pay attention, now, baby. You can do this…you can….can…can scream all you want, I’m gonna tickle you ‘til those little clips pop off! Just lay there and shut the fuck up and let me have some goddamn fun ok? You think I dragged your sweet ass across town to talk? This is what I DO, bitch! Welcome to hell…
Stroking my fingers down her feet, I feel our connection grow. She doesn’t necessarily like the lessons, but she’s always so grateful for them afterwards. She even starts to giggle a bit as I rake my nails down the soft soles, tickling her feet, teaching her to keep them still. Oh, I know the clips popping off will hurt (not enough to do any damage…I’m a teacher, not a monster), but she needs to know that fear, needs to know that I’m the one she has to listen to. These thoughts ease my mind as I tickle her, playing my fingertips over her twitching feet, her toes shaking, wanting to pull down with every instinct in her body. Her pretty face is even more adorable to me in her concentration, biting her lower lip, squeezing her almond shaped eyes shut, taking in quick little breaths through her dainty upturned nose. I know she’s trying very hard not to, but she starts to laugh, a hearty laugh that tells me she’s learning, she’s letting the lesson sink in. I can hear her little giggles and crackling laughter fill the room.
“PLEASE STOP PLEASE!!! NONONOHAAAHAAAAAOHGODNOOOOOO!! PLEASE…*gasp*…PLEASE TAKE THEM OFFFFFFHAAAHAAAANONONOGODSTOP….*gasp*…ICANTSTANDITPLEASESTOPNONONOOOOOO!!!!”
Fuck, girl…come on, don’t make me keep doing this to you! She’s just not getting it. She’s supposed to be learning something, thanking me for keeping her focused…not just screaming her fool head off. Laughter I can take, but she’s really showing a complete lack of self-control. I know, I know…she’s a confused little girl, but come on now….maybe I should help her focus on…on….just gag her already she looks so nice in a gag all mewling and bug-eyed go ahead it’ll be hot and I like it and who gives a fuck what she likes just gag her and get on with it…put it on…put it on…on this important lesson.
The gag goes in with a little resistance, but Missy likes to fight a little, I think I told you that. I show her a hint of allowance, let her have her little struggle. The red ball nestles behind her teeth, and I fight against myself as I feel a bit of pity…not to mention arousal. Hey, I may be pretty well-adjusted and all, but we have our kinks, our little things we like, and Missy and I do like to play our bondage games. I keep reminding myself that tonight isn’t about a game, it’s about a lesson. It could have been about a game if she hadn’t…hadn’t fucked up so bad and had the nerve to slap me across the damn face like an ungrateful little…. needed the discipline so very badly. Ignoring how nice her pretty face looks gagged, I return to her feet and bend down, picking up a pair of long feathers and waving them in the air. Missy needs to focus now and then. Her eyes go wide, and I almost lose myself in them. I love her so much and want nothing but for her to learn from me, to become a better person. Slowly, I bring the tips to the quivering flesh of her bare feet, drawing the feathers down, then back up…then down…then back up. Letting more of the feathers’ soft surface come into contact with her soles. Over and over, increasing the speed as she fights to keep her toes bent back. Her toes, yes. Now that would really help her. Talk about learning some control, huh? She can do it…she’s such a good girl.
I flip the feathers around and use the pointed quill tips to trace circles over the tiny pad of each toe, letting the points delve into the soft skin between them, hearing a little moan every time she pulls her toes a bit….but no…she maintains her control. She’s such a good girl and I’m so proud of her, I really hope she can…that she….yanks those pretty little toes forward and snaps those clips off those precious little nipples that she lets all those fuck-off slacker shit heads suck on the ones who hit her and treat her like shit but she keeps going back to them because they’re young and hot and what’s wrong with me like I can’t make you happy go ahead and snap them off little girl go ahead and then you’ll know what pain feels like for once and I won’t be the only one to feel it over and over and over and over…..
The quill tips of the feathers dance over her feet, stimulating her little toes and drawing down the length of each sole in a sharp snap, each time faster, every time with more pressure. Her toes ache to pull down, I can see that. Her face is twisted, her teeth biting hard into the gag. She’s getting it, I know. I need to help her along, just a little more. Taking one of the helpful tools and flipping it around to once again make use of the soft body of the feather, I let it travel down the length of her calf, as she pitches her voice up sharply. Along her thigh as she increases her breathing rate. Tickling down into the soft, soft skin at the base of her leg, where it curves in and connects to her groin, that most sensitive of places on a female body. Fluttering the feather back and forth, tickling her inner thigh and crotch while raking the stiff quill down her ticklish sole, I coax her along, guiding her….
“Come on, Melissa…..just a few more minutes, you’ve almost…you can…it’s…you…what’s the matter honey does that TICKLE oh poor baby this must be fucking torture for you too bad I’m gonna keep this up all night you FUCK with me you PAY and now we’re gonna find out every way I can tickle you until you’re a quivering wreck…and I know you can do this, Melissa.”
Her face twists, her neck tightens as she bites down hard onto the ballgag. The tickling of her foot and her softest flesh builds as I hear her cry out, muffled but somehow clear. In one hard movement, her toes curl forward, unable to maintain any longer and I hear the sound I was hoping she was strong enough to avoid. Two little snaps as the clips slide off her nipples and shoot forward, a high-pitched yelp filtered and subdued. I reach down and stroke her hair as her breathing settles down.
“So close, Melissa…..so close, you almost had it, baby. I know you tried, I know you did, I really do….but…you went and hurt yourself again…you really need to get this…you can’t keep…you…have to….JESUS girl, all I ask you to do is keep one little set of toes still and you can’t even do that right! We’ll just have to put the fucking clips BACK on and do this AGAIN..and AGAIN…until you get it fucking RIGHT. Just listen and we can stop, don’t you GET that? What, do you LIKE this? Why do you make me DO THIS?!?”
I don’t enjoy feeling like this. I know it’s going to help Missy in the end, and I know I said love was all about the work…but this is getting to be a bit…taxing. I’m really trying to understand where she’s coming from, but dammit…she’s doing this to herself, right? I mean, this is exactly why things didn’t work out with my other girlfriends. I don’t think I ask for much, just the way things used to be, when men knew who they were and women did as well. When pleasing each other was the most important thing. Well, it’s something Missy and I are working on, and I’ll do my best to do what I need to. Teach her. Discipline her when she’s wrong, and protect her from those things she still clings to that make her so confused in the first place.
I’m ready to go see her, I guess. It’s been a half an hour. Hopefully, she’s learned something. Something about self control, something about paying for your mistakes. Something about loving those who are trying to help you…trying…to…and…making that little bitch pay for all of her kind all of them who just walk down those empty parking lots and the backdoors of bars or stores after flipping me off or looking down their pretty little noses I hate them so much and just wanna turn them into giggling little girls and take away all that FUCKING attitude and FUCKING cockiness and why won’t she just listen all she has to do is listen they never listen…they never listen…they…never…
Approaching the door to the room I’ve allowed her to reflect in, I take a deep breath, keeping myself centered on the task at hand, knowing that I can’t just let the sight of her beauty distract me. That wouldn’t do either of us any good. However, in spite of myself, I can’t help but admire how gorgeous her body looks like that. Lying supine on the low bench, her legs wide, bent at the knee, her ankles tied to the legs, the bench itself separating her long legs pinned to the surface. Her thin arms tight over her head accentuating those firm breasts, bent down at the elbow, forced downward and tied underneath the bench. I take in the look of her arched form, her tight skin, her slightly shaking breasts that are…so…just…never for me no but if I have a hundred piercings and do drugs and beat the crap out of you then I could touch you right? Yeah, ignore someone who could take care of you and love you and be nice to you no you’re too goddamn SPECIAL for that aren’t you you little……so shapely that it almost makes me feel sorry for her.
Placing my hand on the long metal rod, I feel her respond to the new sensation. Following the old microphone stand down, trailing my fingers along its cold length I wrap my hand around the large-headed vibrating massager tied in place with cords around her thighs, pulling it in close to her most sensitive place. Her hips rise and fall against it and she moans seductively, calling me in…but I resist. She’s here for a reason. She needs this. She needs control over herself. We’re working on it, and I think it’s really helping us as a couple. I look down at the tell-tale signs of her wetness all over the white head of the massager and my heart sinks a little. I had such high hopes for her tonight.
“Melissa,” I address her lightly, bending down next to her ear as she flinches at my presence, “I thought we decided that you were NOT allowed to cum? You really do need to learn some self-control, baby.”
She apologizes sweetly, if loudly, the layers of thick black tape that cover her mouth absorbing her words as the same tape over her eyes blocks her view of me. Even though the words themselves are absorbed, I still understand her. It’s our bond. The gag and blindfold aren’t for me, I can receive every message she sends me, I just don’t want her distracted during this lesson. She needs to focus inward, to feel what I’m trying to do, to…just….fucking shut the hell up so I can do what I want to you like I did to all the others before they bored the fuck out of me and don’t you start boring me because I can find another one just as pretty as you so don’t you think for one moment you’re gonna get everything you want just ‘cuz you’re young and pretty and….and…. accept things the way they should be.
As I start to wrap some of the tape around her elbows, cinching them tightly (she does have a bad habit of hurting herself, I think I mentioned that) and pulling the rope extending from her bound wrists a little tighter, her head lifts up, resting on her arms. Good. She needs to be secure. Her sounds are almost heartbreaking, and as they increase in pitch again and her breathing becomes more rapid, I realize that I forgot to turn the massager off. Silly me. I can get so wrapped up in these lessons. Hmm…maybe I need a little more direction. No, it’s just her, what she does to me…trying to deal with her day in and day out. 26 days, to be exact.
“Now, you’re almost there for tonight, but I’m afraid you did break a rule….so you will have to be punished again.” Her rapid moans let me know she’s listening and that she understands. She is always so eager to continue our lessons, even after failing, she’s always trying to do better. She is such a good girl, really. I pick up the soft leather whip, several tendrils of which trail along her chest and over her breasts. Lifting it up, I remind myself that every stroke is going to bring us closer together, closer to that day when everything will be perfect, when our bond will go beyond mere love and into something truly deep and permanent. Dropping the whip down across her breasts, I hear the subtle crack, not too hard of course, this is a lesson. Yes, it’s also punishment, but you can’t make the trainee unresponsive to the training, right? It’s enough to let her know I’m displeased, and I can hear her apologizing through the tape with every contact of leather and flesh. We have a bond, and there are times when it goes beyond mere words. The tendrils of the whip fall across her firm breasts, rippling in response…over her stomach, quivering…a few times even coming down over the soft folds of her gentle mound. Not too much, I remind myself, she does enjoy that and this is about being punished, not excited. Ah, what the hell? Let her have a couple. Sometimes I am a bit too soft-hearted, but it’s trait I’m willing to live with.
After several lashes, (was it several? I lost count. Ten, twenty, fifty? Well, the important thing is the principle, right?) I ease off, letting the lesson sink in. I feel bad, I really do. I want to make it up to her, well….not make it up per se as she did deserve this, but at least reward her a little for thanking me through the sticky tape. She thanks me profusely, (and I’m so happy that she does this with every single lash, she is learning!) her words of gratitude intelligible to me through our bond. And, over the years, I’ve become rather fluent in Gagged Chick anyway, so that helps. It’s a talent that adds to our inner connection. So, I’ll reward her a little with something that will make her happy, to show her I’m proud of her, that I accept her thanks….something…nice….and…sexy…and…tickle the crap out of her come on you’ve been waiting all night doesn’t she look hot isn’t she just begging to be tickled all over all tied up like that just look at that fucking body man lets do it let’s tickle her until she can’t fucking breathe….just…go…
However, even with a reward, there’s still something to be learned. Sighing lightly, realizing that being in control is about the work involved, I lean in close to Missy’s delicate ear, beautiful auburn hair spilling around it, and speak gently to her as I peel off the tape covering her mouth.
“Melissa…honey? I’d like to reward you for being such a good girl, but you need to truly understand what it is we’re doing here, ok? If you really want me to stop whipping you, as much as I appreciate your gratitude, you are going to have to ask for something else. I know you like to be tickled, so just ask me and no more whip, baby, I promise. I’ll let you feel nice…and….we can…you…BEG for it little girl! Beg me to tickle you! I wanna hear you fucking BEG! Or do you wanna be whipped all NIGHT? Choice is your, sweetheart…BEG me to tickle you right…fucking….NOW!!”
For the first time this evening, a night that looked like it was going to go horribly wrong, I’m truly happy as I hear her breathlessly convey her desire to me.
“(Oh God please, no I can’t…I can’t….) PLEASE! I’m BEGGING you PLEASE (Don’t) TICKLE ME!!! PLEASE! I (don’t) WANNA BE TICKLED!!! Oh my god,ohmygaaawwwwddd (don’t) tickle me (don’t) tickle me (you can’t) tickle me….(FUCK YOU ASSHOLE DON’T) TICKLE ME GODDAMMIT!!! MMMnnnpphhhh…MMNNGGHH!!!”
I place more of the tape over her mouth, layer after layer, allowing her to internalize her impending pleasure. To own it, focus on it and truly come to know the real enjoyment of a powerful sensation.
Her first shriek pierces the still air of the room and for a second I could almost swear the candle flames flickered from the sheer force of her sensual enjoyment. One thing about my Missy, she does love to be tickled. It’s her little thing. Well, ok…mine, too. It’s just another trait we connect on. A deep one. Those little fetishes we never share with anyone, but when we finally find someone we can share them with, it’s pure magic. My stiff index fingers point directly into her helplessly taut armpits and poke in, pressing against the nerve that I’ve found really excites her. Rolling the fingertips around, the massaging effect works wonders for her, causing her to lift her body, or at least try to, wiggling her hips in pleasure and moaning and giggling through the gag. Hooking my fingers, I tickle under her arms, enjoying the feel of the tight skin, noticing how such a small bit of contact, just a little bit of a touch can send ripples of pleasure through Missy’s sexy body.
I can now allow myself to enjoy tickling her as well, and I do so love these times when we’re both relishing the same thing for same reason. I add more fingers, fluttering them, never losing contact, over and over again under those helpless little arms, tickling up her arms and back down again, feeling a little better now that I know she’s learned her lesson….now that I can simply pleasure her and have our time together. Watching her biceps and shoulder muscles tighten and pull against the bonds as I tickle her armpits not only turns me on, but lets me know she’s truly internalizing her experience, connecting with me at the same time. I love these times when we click. I give her more, so happy with her, such a good girl. I let my nails scratch against her ticklish skin, over and over, changing up my touch, giving her new and exciting sensations, different tickles so she never grows bored with me.
I know she’s raw and sensitive from the orgasms I told her would come back to haunt her, but my Missy can be such a greedy girl. It’s something we’re working on. I know her shapely body is so much more ticklish after cumming, but why not? Why not let her have this? We can both be happy playing our little game. I shift myself to sit astride the bench and bring my opposite hand across her chest, tickling along the sides of her breasts, over the tops, giving her nipples a playful flutter and then joining my hands together to tickle along her tight sides. Missy has such a ticklish body, and the poor girl has so little she truly enjoys. I play my hands over the side of her body, drawing down her armpits and over her ribs, poking them, kneading them, letting my fingers vibrate in place over the bones pressed so tight against the flawless, albeit reddening skin. I add to our game by teasing her in that sexy voice she likes so much.
“Oh, baby, you love being tickled, don’t you? Awww…let me help you there….and there….yes, you just go ahead and laugh and laugh, it’s ok…it’s…just…fine…you…How does THAT feel, huh? Ticklish? Huh? Aww, poor thing, all tied up and tickled out of her pretty little fucking head! You just go ahead and squirm, that’s right SQUIRM for me, work that body for me and maybe I’ll go easy on you…FUCK that…Here! How’s THAT! You ticklish THERE? Your sides? You like that? Deal with it bitch cuz I’m gonna tickle you until my fingers fall off and you can just lay there and take it….
I start to lose myself a little. Funny, isn’t it? Me. Huh. Yeah, I know, I know…I’m supposed to be in control and all, but screw it, I should have some fun, right? This is our special time, and it can’t be special if only one of us lets go. So why not? I drive my hands into her sides, kneading the soft skin, tickling against the muscles that tighten in response, only making her more sensitive to the tickling, like a constant cycle of action and reaction, a Catch-22 that adds to both our pleasure. Her body writhes and shakes, squirming her hips, thrashing from side to side, and moaning…screaming her pleasure and laughter….forcing the sounds through the filter of the layers of tape gagging her. The sound of her girlish squeals of delight drive me on, taking in every inch of that gorgeous body, responding to being tickled, touched….her belly sucking in, accentuating the tightness of her ribcage even further. She knows what I like and she’s such a good girl. I pinch her sides, over her hipbones where her waist curves inward, squeezing that same spot she likes over and over, driving her pleasure into her, enjoying my own excitement, sharing with her, tickling her and guiding her hip movements by maintaining the contact on that one solitary spot.
I play a special game with her, remembering that she can’t see me, either. She doesn’t know where my hands are, where I’ll pleasure her next. I poke her in various places….on her ribs, along her sides, into her deep navel, into the soft flesh over her gentle folds, the lowest reaches of her flat stomach. Each poke, each quick tickle bringing forth a new sound, a new expression of pleasure and sensual enjoyment from my good little girl. And she is a good girl. And I do love her. It’s these times that make all of the trials worthwhile. I wander downward, reaching under the table to tickle her feet, feeling them playfully thrash against my invading, probing fingertips. Letting one hand tease and tickle her thighs and the soft skin under the very edges of the frilly thong. I know she loves the sensation of having her foot tickled while her body twitches from the touches I’m giving her curvaceous body. Both hands then focus on her feet, eliciting the sensual pulses of her tightening thigh muscles. Then back up her legs to tickle along her tight belly, admiring how sexy she is, how lucky I am to have come along at the right place at the right time…..just like the other times….the other girls….but this one is different….it really was fate this time….Missy listens, she learns…
Hours pass. Missy’s sweating, heaving body matches mine. I’m worked, I’m tired, my own sweat falling off of me. However, I’m just so happy with her. So happy that we’ve gotten somewhere today that I can’t bring myself to stop. She loves this so much, but I do realize that we need to end this on a good note, make sure she goes to sleep focused on what I’m trying to do for her. I play my fingertips so very lightly up and down the side of her body as my other hand pulls the tape from her mouth and eyes, addressing her with love….admiration at her progress. And of course, no small feeling of elation at honing my own skills. Just one more thing to put a nice finish to a lesson well learned and an evening spent together in such pleasure.
“Missy? Baby? Is there something you’d like to say to me, love? You’ve been such a good girl, and I know you can do this, I know you can do the right thing and show me what you’ve learned…what…you…thank me right fucking now! Don’t you even THINK of whining like a little bitch or so help me I’ll fucking gag you and ram that vibrator into you for the next three goddamn days….
The tape now off her eyes, she blinks at me rapidly, showing me her cute form of affection that I love so much. Her freed voice comes to me in waves of gratitude and such deep love that my heart swells. Of course, she is exhausted, who wouldn’t be after such a long session of physical intimacy, and her words spill out raggedly, overcome by her emotions.
“Th-…thank you…please….*gasp*…I mean it….thank you for tickling me…*gasp*…I’m a good girl….thank you so much…thank you….for making me…*gasp*…a good girl….thankyouforticklingme….thankyou…thankyou….”
Stroking her hair, her soft glowing face, I loosen her bonds, massaging her muscles (she must be so sore, and I feel a little bad, but she doesn’t mind when our evenings end so nicely) and scoop her up in my arms, her body limp. She’s exhausted and I don’t want her trying to walk by herself. I even keep her wrists and ankles tied so she doesn’t need to worry about hurting herself when I lay her down to sleep.
I look at the clock after covering her, fastening the straps over her blanket that make certain her natural clumsiness doesn’t manifest in her sleep ( I do worry about her so), and realize it’s almost 5 am. Another day, 27 now and counting, that Missy and I have maintained that deep bond. Those feelings that should have faded by now but somehow haven’t. I think I’m in love, I know I am…truly in love for the first time, because she’s such a good girl. Sinking into my chair, I smoke and think of her, of us…of how lucky I am, how I almost could have missed her if I hadn’t been in the right place at the right time…been there…hiding in the shadows for so goddamn long needing a smoke so bad waiting for that greedy bitch to buy all that crap these girls think they need to plaster FUCK ME all over their bodies…timing it just right…so many fucking DAYS of having to track her…follow her…picking the moment…feeling the rush…saving her from herself and from her painfully unfortunate life.
I have a good feeling about Missy and me, and tonight’s taught me to stay focused, that she needs me, that I cannot falter in my role as her teacher and guide…her lover and friend. And she’s getting so much better every single day. 27 now. Sure, there are still things to deal with. That’s what love is. Dealing with the conflicts and troubles you have before you. She’s still clumsy, I still need to keep her safe and secure when I go out, and she does need to learn that screaming when her troubled past confronts her alone in the house when I’m not here disturbs the neighbors and affects my usually cheery mood, but…
…it’s something we’re working on.
Oh. my. goodness. ... :scared
