BDSM
3 Sep 2019


Previous story in series: Her Master's Voice - Parts 3 and 4

"Her Master's Voice". One for the ladies who like a bit of d/s fantasy. Written 100% by me, not published. I know there are probably some grammatical and spelling errors - sorry :)

Part 1 - Preparation and anticipation

You have doubts of course, it's natural, you've only met a handful of times, though the afternoon of soft d/s play and teasing the last time you met was delicious, and you believe he's absolutely genuine but... a genuine 'what' exactly. You push the thoughts to one side while looking at yourself in your tall mirror and then down at the 'expendable' (as he put it) clothes laid out on your bed. That thought of expendable clothes excites your mind and your pulse so you begin to dress in the cheap clothes you bought just for this occasion: A simple small black thong, plain sheer tights, a 'leatherette' skirt which you wear high up on your waist to make it shorter on your thighs, then a close fitting black cotton sports bra and a very thin (and somewhat see through) white blouse with long sleeves for which you fasten all of the buttons including the cuffs while you think 'make him work for it!' With ruby red lipstick and black ankle boots the result is definitely not your usual attire and certainly on the cliched 'tarty' side, but that was the instruction. Now just to wait, and not long.

You take a few deep breaths before answering your door with your heart pounding hard in your chest. He's standing in a dark casual modern suit and simple red silk tie. You smile at each other but he doesn't speak nor wait for an invite, justs brushes past you and firmly pushes you up against the wall then quickly closes and locks the door. You take a deep breath, mind racing, quickly adjusting to this pace, and smell the slight scent of a clean aftershave as he turns from the door to face you. He's not smiling now, at least not with his mouth, but his eyes are burning bright and you sense the restrained energy behind them, eager to be set free upon you.

Within seconds he's against your body, pressing you into the wall, lips at your slender neck, gentle but very firm, his tongue tip tickling as his mouth traces a line from behind your ear across your throat as is a surgeon marking a dotted line before surgery. His hands leave your waist and explore up and down your body, quite roughly, palms pressing your flesh firmly. You feel a warm flush spreading across your face and neck, then he rasps a single word into you ear: "Mine." A shiver of excitement shoots down your body and you close your eyes as his hands slide between your arse and the wall, his fingers groping and griping, his excitement now obvious from the growing bulge pressing into your hip. You suddenly remember to breath.

Part 2 - The tools of the trade

Without warning, just as you are getting used to the pleasure this kind of teasing brings, he steps back abruptly and removes his jacket and the gold cufflinks in the shape of the small Greek letter Pi. He rolls up his sleeves revealing his masculine forearms, the gesture synonymous with 'getting down to work', and you secretly shudder inside, your nostrils flaring and eyes wide as your imagination runs wild with the possibilities of what is next to come. His tie. Instead of putting it with the jacket he steps towards you again and raises it in both hands. You resist the natural urge to raise your ams in defence and stand still as he gags you quite tightly, the smooth tie smearing your fresh red lipstick. He tests the gag for movement and his eyes enquire into yours. You simple give a slight nod - nothing needed to be said.

You watch him unbuckle his belt next and slide it out from his waistband, your eyes fixated on this deliberate action as you wonder if he's going to use it on you, wonder how much it will hurt through this cheap skirt, and hope he remembers how easily you bruise, like a peach. He's been watching your eyes while removing the belt and as if reading your mind he shakes his head as you once, slowly, when your eyes go back to his. You feel both relief and disappointment, and it's delicious. The leather feels warm as it wraps around your wrists and you watch as he slides the narrow band through the buckle all the way until your wrists are held firmly together. Without a word he walks towards the nearest door and you can do nothing else but follow like a pet on a leash. With the door slightly ajar he lifts the belt up, your wrists and arms follow until they are straight above you. As the other end of the belt is fastened on the other side of the door you find you are slightly in tension, feet still pressing on the floor but a definite stretch upwards. It excites you even more and the warm flush of your face and neck spreads down over your chest. You seem to notice for the first time your hard nipples, now plain to see against the cheap thin fabrics of your bra and blouse, which is pulled tigher over your tits.

He moves back into your view from behind the door then leans down and takes something out of a jacket pocket: a pair of old worn 'racing' gloves, the kind made of strong but supple leather. They fit his hands very snugly and he stretches his fingers in them then looks back towards you and finally speaks aloud: "And now... begins the unbridled ravage... of your body." You tingle inside as he steps forward and the leather clad fingers of one hand caress your face, turning your head slowly one way then the next as if he is judging the value of something. You suddenly feel his other hand on your thigh, stroking and exploring your long flat muscles and sliding back and forth from outside to in. Your inner tingling grows as the gloved hand on your face slides down to your throat and spreads. You swallow then feel the fingers around your throat, not squeezing, just present, slightly massaging the sides of your neck between fingers and thumb, it's not what you expected but combined with the other hand exploring your thighs it's an entoxicating combination. Your warm flush spreads lower across your abdomen and down into the valley between your thighs. You stifle a small moan as a single leather clad finger pushes up between your thighs to rub over your little thong, pushing the material back and forth over your labia. His fingers around your neck squeeze a little tighter and you are torn between the desire for a stiff dick inside you right now, and for this torture to continue forever.

Then as before, a sudden change, both his hands on your waist, sliding firmly upwards to your armpits then across your tits, not gentle now, and then the fingers dig into the front of your blouse and rip it open, buttons flying sideways, the sharp yank making your momentarily wobble on your ankle boots, the thin material of the blouse actually tearing where it was tucked tightly into your skirt. You just manage to hold back a squeal of mixed fear and delight, nostrils flaring wide and your abdomen rising with your sharp intake of breath, forgetting how he was going to have to work hard for this. With both hands he takes hold of a wrist cuff on your blouse and rips it apart, the buttons again pinging away. The other cuff similarly puts up little fight then he roughly pulls the rest of the blouse out from your high waisted skirt so it hangs loosely from your shoulders. You can almost hear your heart thumping hard and fast now as the gloved hands access your exposed midriff and sides, sliding firmly up and down and around to the small of your back. He grunts in appreciation at your flat stomach and pert tits. You manage a smile to yourself behind the silk gag - the sports bra won't rip as easily. He turns his attention to it, the next obstacle to be removed.

He lifts one hand to cover your eyes, pressing your head back against the wooden door, and you hear a slight metallic click. Then you feel the cold hard steel of a small penknife against your midriff, not the blade, just the small metal handle, and you involuntarily jerk from the touch. The dark voice is in your ear again: "Shhhh my lovely, this is for your tricky bra. I didn't expect you to be wearing one but I'm well prepared." And with that you stand stock still as you feel the blunt spine of the small penknife slide up from your belly button to the hem of your cotton sports bra. It's very cold and it presses against you as the tip of the knife slides under the hem and then up, piercing the cotton, pointing away from your skin. He draws it up in a slow movement, the tight fitting bra providing sufficient tension in the material to cause it to split as the blade slides up between your tits then through the upper hem. The air feels cool on your flushed naked chest and you hear the metallic noise again as the penknife is closed and ticked away from whence it came. Your vision is restored and you peer down at your tits laid bare for the leather fingers to grope and squeeze, your hard nipples being rubbed this way and that as the gloved hands pass over them in their exploration of your tits. The feeling is the familiar mix of pleasure and pain but with something else, an undertone of darkness mixed with a feeling of growing trust, the starkly contrasting physical and emotional sensations working in harmony to bring you closer to ecstacy.

Next story in series: Her Master's Voice - Parts 3 and 4

Tags: bdsm, bondage, fetish, restraint, rough


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