Posted by caprycorn on Thu 17 Jun 10, 8:43 PM to caprycorn's blog.
There's so much fun about offering choices. Do you choose more pain or less? Do you choose to please me or please yourself? Do you choose to accept what I give you and thank me or do you choose to say "enough!" and call a halt?
I know what the answers to each of those are. But you know, it's such a lovely area to play with.
She was naked and facedown a week or two ago. It had been a while and I wanted to hurt her but I also wanted to fuck with her mind at the same time. To confuse her, jolt her and make sure she didn't float off to lala land. I don't want her limp, after all. I want her screaming.
So. A warmup, so I told her, as much as a plexiglass paddle can be a warmup. Walloping her hard. Instant redness, instant heat. She's already beginning to yell and wriggle in a vain attempt to get away. Really, a hand twisted in that thick hair of hers, shoving her into the pillows, while I beat her backside until it's purple... what could be better? For me, anyway. What I love about that paddle is the way that the skin flattens on impact, muscle distorting as it slams down, before snapping back into shape as the paddle is raised again. And such a beautiful beautiful colour it leaves behind.
I stopped, eventually, and told her she had a choice. She could beg for me to carry on with the paddle, or she could beg for me to carry on with what was going to come next. Except.... I didn't actually tell her what I had in mind to use on her next. A choice of known and hated pain or something that could be - will be most likely - worse.
She begged for what was coming next.
A thin and whippy cane. Hard, from the top of her buttocks to the back of her knees. The skin started to abrade, fraying in places. White on top of red, double ridged welts. Purple patches, black bruising beginning already. She was screaming, pleading, begging for me to please please please stop... Pah! Stop? I think not.
So my love - do you want some more with the cane or do you want what comes next? And once more, with resignation, she chose what came next.
A delrin cane this time. Thick, rigid, heavy. Hard, on what is already beginning to be dappled with blood specks and bruises. A long genuine scream from her as I hit her so hard that the skin split. Oh that was good, so good that I felt it shiver right the way along my nerve endings to my clitoris. So good in fact that I want to hear it again .... and again..... and oh god YES again!
Happy sigh from me. Muffled sobs from her. I tenderly stroked the hair back from her sweat covered forehead, and whispered in her ear "more from the delrin, my darling girl, or do you choose what comes next?"
And through the tearfilled, muffled sobs, she chose what came next.
Oh such decisions! A crop I think. Slashing it across her back, her shoulders, her red and black and purple arse. Down her thighs. Making her spread her legs wide and bringing it whistling down onto her soft and tender inner thighs, catching her cunt from time to time. She was so wet that she had soaked the sheets under her, so wet that her cunt shone, so wet that the crop was glistening where the head had caught her. So very wet - such a whore for pain.
She was almost hysterical now, begging me to please please stop. And stop I did, to hold her for a few seconds until she began to think I really had finished until I asked her again - more with this, my beautiful girl, or with what comes next?
She was shaking and shuddering with pain. There was a luscious trickle of blood beginning to flow down her buttock. I bent over and licked it, the salt of her blood and the salt of her bruised and grazed skin. And I asked her again - more with this, or what comes next? Tell me NOW
What she didnt know was next this time would have been a thick glass dildo shoved hard into her sopping cunt, to fuck her until she was screaming again from pleasure and the need for release. Such a shame that after a long pause, she chose more with the crop....
Such a terrible terrible shame. Well, for her at least.
She was hoarse from screaming by the time I had finished, and the neat little bloodtrickle was no more, but instead was smeared all over her buttocks in crop-inflicted lines. Shiny scarlet over dull crimson and dappled black...oh so very sexy. I bit her, hard, on that bruised contused flesh. Bit her again and again, to feel her writhing and screams again on my tongue. And then I asked her ...So, my love, do you want more with the crop and my teeth or what comes next?
She chose what came next. Which, bluntly, was her.
Choices. How I adore them.
Edited Thu 17 Jun 10, 8:44 PM by caprycorn
