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004-The Submission of Hannah - part 2

Bdsm fantasy by Jolie Cain | Erotic Bdsm art by Samarel

Their first night together, he took her home and fucked her bent over the table where they’d just eaten a delicious dinner of pan roasted filet mignon with braised spinach. The dishes were pushed carelessly aside, her skirt thrown over her head, and her panties torn from her body. He pounded himself into her, hard, pummeling thrusts, binding her hands with the tie belt of her dress and spanking her with stinging little slaps, and she came so hard she almost blacked out. That was the beginning of it.

He was wealthy. Very wealthy. He owned some hotels and had some banking interests. Old family money, he had explained. And his home was enormous. Servants discreetly moved about their business, seemingly ignoring the perverse behavior of their master and his guest. He persuaded her to stay the night. Then several nights. She could not tell him no. He asked her to take off from work...a vacation, he said. For how long, she asked him? Just a week, he’d answered. So she had. A week turned to two. Then three. The last time she called to ask for more time off, she was told not to bother returning. Her replacement had already been hired. He’d told her never mind. He’d take care of her.

Most of the time, they were as any other couple. Sitting cuddled together on a huge sofa, they watched old movies and laughed and cried together. Sometimes they went for long walks along the beach, holding hands and watching the tide rolling in. Other afternoons were spent quietly reading together in his huge library. One rainy afternoon, they just sat and talked. He knew so much, had been so many places. And yet he seemed genuinely to want to know her thoughts and opinions. He told her about his past, his present, his dreams. She did the same. Never had she felt this connection with another human being. He made her feel special. Important.

And slowly, he helped her explore a side of herself she had longed to discover. The submissive she was by nature. She gave herself into his care because he did care, and he took care. Those times when she felt afraid or hesitant or unsure, he talked to her honestly, and if in the end, she still did not want to do something he had suggested, he backed down. He gave her choices. He taught her that her submissive nature was not something of which to be ashamed, nor was it a tool by which others could use her carelessly. Rather it was natural, and a part of her. “You are a beautiful, wonderful submissive. And I want to Master you. Will you let me?”

She had agreed. How could she not?

He took her to Paris. And in the City of Lights, she was his toy. He dressed her up in beautiful clothes, showed her off at restaurants and shows, adorned her with expensive jewelry. Then he took her home, stripped her, tied her to his bed, and beat her with a leather flogger. Afterwards he always tended to her gently and sweetly, making sure she was all right. Whispering how much he cared for her.

Why did she revel so in the things he did to her? What in her made her need—crave—them? She hadn’t been abused, neglected. There was no psychological damage that had been done to her. Her childhood and adolescence were typical of most young girls these days. Over the course of the following days and weeks, she often pondered the reason why she was as she was.

One afternoon, after they’d returned from Paris, she asked him what he thought.

“I don’t think it matters, does it, sweetheart? We are as we are. Knowing why isn’t going to change anything. Would you rather be different?”

She’d shaken her head no. He’d smiled in approval. That had been the last. After that, she no longer worried about it anymore. Weeks had turned to months had passed, and each day she thanked whatever fortune had brought her to him.

Now, she stood at the end of her bed in the room she had been given, facing the mirrored headboard, his adored slave, his cherished submissive. It was a beautiful bed, a lovely cherry, with a sumptuous cream-colored bedspread made of softest satin. He had bought it especially for her. A special gift for a special soul, he’d told her when it was delivered. Beautifully carved posts rose at each corner, and it was to these that she was bound. Each hand tied tightly to the posts, each foot tied as well, so that she could not close her legs to the touch of the man who stood behind her. He had taken her hair and tied it up, and was now gently tracing his hands down the elegant line of her spine and around to cup his hand over her pubic area, pressing her back against him so that she could feel his erection through the soft wool of his pants.

Her skin pebbled from the chill in the air. He liked to keep the room temperature low during their ‘play’ time so that her nipples remained erect. The warmth from his touch emphasized the coolness of her skin, and she arched back, craving more of the heat. He chuckled. “How beautiful you are, my dear.” He dropped a kiss against her neck, his mouth opening to lick and suck the skin there, and she knew there would be a mark in the morning. Her skin bruised easily, she had discovered.

As his hands continued to roam over her body, she watched their movements in the mirror, unaccountably aroused at the way they looked against her skin. They eased upwards to cup the weight of her breasts, squeezing the nipples, just as she had once dreamed, and pulling them until they stood out in tight points from the areolas. She moaned and pushed harder into his touch. “Please, Sir,” she pleaded. Chuckling again, he released her nipples and reached out to get the clamps from the various items he had placed on the bed earlier. His mouth returned to nuzzle her neck as he applied the first clamp to her nipple. Her breath caught in her throat at the hard pinch and more liquid flowed from her pussy. Then the second one followed the first. And this time she couldn’t stop the cry that escaped her throat and the way her body twisted in its blissful agony. Their eyes met, and she saw the pleasure in his as he watched her struggle to overcome the pain. His hand ranged lower, exploring her spread cunt lips, smearing the fluid he found there and pushing his fingers up into her aching channel, first one, then two.

He fingerfucked her for several minutes, bringing her to the peak of orgasm with his thumb, massaging the hood of her clit and. “Oh, Sir, please,” she begged again. Her body arched into his touch until he told her, “Be still,” in that voice that she felt all the way to the pit of her belly. God, he knew just how to touch her, just what to say to make her crazy with this need. Then he stopped, withdrawing his fingers and raising them to press against her lips, which she parted to lick her own juice from his skin. “Lovely, my little one. Just lovely.” The deep tone of his voice sending vibrations trickling down into her ear and pushing her completely into the sensual realm she had entered. He had taught her to name it--subspace...that blissful place where she felt outside of herself, where she was nothing more than an extension of his need.

Then he picked up the ball gag and held it against her mouth. Obediently, she parted her lips, and he pushed it inside, carefully fastening it behind her head. “Shall we use the blindfold tonight, love?” he asked, meeting her gaze in the mirror. She just blinked, and he smiled. “No, I agree. I enjoy seeing the expression in those pretty eyes much too much.” He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder.

Stepping back, he allowed his hand to trace over the rounded curves of her ass, delicately probing the dark rosette, which puckered tighter against his touch. He probed gently at the opening, and she groaned. At last he stopped his teasing. He reached back, and in the mirror she watched as his hand descended to smack against her left cheek. She jerked at the sting. Another. And then two more on her right. She squirmed as her flesh began to heat. He repeated the blows until she moaned around the gag.

 

Then he reached to grasp the handle of the leather riding crop that lay on the bed. Her eyes tracked his movements as he stepped back, reaching back for his first swing. The leather struck her skin lightly, then his hand soothed the raised flesh. Another lash. Another caress. The cycle was repeated; some strokes were light and she could hardly feel them. Others were harder, bringing choked cries from her mouth behind the gag. He continued until her ass was a glowing red of criss-crossing welts, and she was dancing and wiggling, trying to avoid the blows as she simultaneously hoped he wouldn’t ever stop. Her hands were balled into fists where they were tied, and her moans were a low accompaniment to the sound of crop striking flesh.

Her thighs were wet with her own arousal, and her head hung limply when he finally stopped. Her clit ached with the need for climax, and when he reached to touch her ass, to drag his hands across the heated skin, she almost came. He must have sensed her need for her warned her, “No cumming until I say, sweet.” She shook her head in denial, and his voice took on a warning tone. “No cumming, or I will have to punish you.”

Finally she agreed, nodding. Only then did she hear the sound of his zipper descending. He quickly stripped until he was completely nude. Then his body pressed hotly into hers and the smooth head of his cock was prodding against her opening. With a smooth thrust he entered her, not stopping until he was completely encased in her warmth and his balls lay snugly against her ass. His width filled her, stretched her, and she moaned, loving the sensation of fullness. His hands grasped her hips in a hard grip, and he leaned to whisper, “Slow and steady, love.” He eased from her body carefully, until just the head of his cock was still wedged into her body. Then he pushed back in, another long slow stroke. And again. His breath quickened as his thrusts began to speed up. With each entry, he slid against that spot inside her that made the tension coil tighter and tighter into a spring that had to release...soon. She began to moan, steadily as he began hammering into her, trying to hold back the inevitable. Her thighs were coated with her juices and sweat trickled down her face despite the cool temperature in the room.

His rhythm speeded up faster, the wet suction of her body creating an arousing friction. Finally, just when she thought she could not last another second, he grunted, “Now, love. Cum with me.” As he spoke, his hands reached up to remove the clamps on her nipples, and she came. Hard spasms hit her as she peaked, her body jerking and tightening around him as he, too, found his release in a heated gush of cum. His hands reached up to massage her aching breasts and, amazingly, she came again at the sweet pain, a short, hard orgasm. The throbbing echoes of the climax began to fade and she hung limply in her bonds. She felt dazed and half-delirious with the strength of her climaxes. He held her tightly, his breathing harsh next to her ear, indicating his own pleasure in their joining. Finally, he pulled himself from her and carefully released her from her bonds, removing the gag as well. Then he picked her up and carried her to lie on the bed. He retrieved a clean, damp towel, with hands which trembled but never faltered, he cleaned her and himself. After he had finished, he joined her on the bed, cuddling his body against hers with lazy tenderness.

“You did very well, sweet one,” his murmur ruffled the hair which clung to her temples in damp strands.

She smiled with pleasure at the compliment.

“I love you.”

Momentarily she froze, and then her eyes closed with the joy she felt at his words, understood until now, but only now, at this moment, given voice.

“I love you, too.” His arms tightened around her at her words, and he dropped a gentle kiss on the crown of her head.

“I know, love. I know.”

As their bodies began to relax, she snuggled into his embrace, the slight breeze cooling her heated buttocks. Her eyes drifted closed. She had never felt such peace and contentment before as she did now, in the arms of the man who was her Master, and her love.

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