"Do You Want More Pain?"

"Do you want more pain?"   This was the question the Sadist (Master) asked the masochist (me).  Such a loaded question, asked at such an inopportune moment, seeing as I was on teetering on the edge of an orgasm.  What's a greedy pain-slut to do?  Delay the orgasm while He rains down another round of stinging blows on my already swollen and aching pussy, or fore-go the pain and slip into orgasmic bliss?

Perhaps I should begin at the beginning...see, it started like this:

He took me in the bedroom and told me to lay face-up on the bed, legs spread wide.  Once I was in position, He fastened my wrists and ankles to the bed, leaving me open and exposed.  Satisfied that I wasn't going anywhere, He left me lying there, and went to gather some "toys."  He took His time, and I lay on the bed, bound and helpless, my pussy already throbbing from the anticipation of what was to come.

Finally, He came back to the bed, arranged the items He'd gathered, and moved next to me on the bed.  He was so gentle at the start.  His hand moved softly and slowly along the inside of my right thigh, a really light touch.   His fingertips moved from my thigh to my pussy lips, lightly brushing against the soft, smooth skin.   With a slow, deliberate motion, He teased me as His fingers circled the outside of my pussy, over and over and over.

It was a delicious torture, and it seemed to go on forever.  He swirled His fingers around and around, ignoring my moans and the fact that my hips were raised in a vain attempt to get Him to press just a little harder.  He teased me right to the brink of orgasm without ever parting my pussy lips or touching my clit.  That soft, gentle, teasing touch was all it took, and as I was oh-so-close to cumming, He stopped.

The gentle, swirling touches were replaced by a hard smack as the palm of His hand landed squarely on my pussy.  Once, twice, three times, over and over, all hard, all sharp, all showing no mercy.  The orgasm that had been looming instead receded.  Now my pussy throbbed from the pain of His stinging blows, and He spanked me there until I started to twist against the ropes holding me in place and yelp in pain.

Then He stopped.  Apparently we had reached the end of round one.

While I lay there, trying to catch my breath, He moved His hand back between my legs.  He rubbed my pussy, softly, as if to make it feel better.  This time, however, He parted my pussy lips, His fingers exploring the wetness.

His touch remained gentle, and now He traced soft, slow circles around my clit, and it didn't take long for the pre-orgasmic levels of excitement to return.  Once again, He brought me right back to the brink of orgasm.

And stopped.

He shifted His position on the bed, moved so that he was kneeling next me.  He picked something up off the bed, from where He'd set the "toys" He'd gathered up before we started.  I felt something cool rubbing against my pussy, and I knew what it was:  the long-handled plastic shoe horn.  He loves that thing, because, as He says, it gives great aim.

This was going to hurt.

And it did.  It hurt a lot.  He smacked my bare pussy with the shoe horn for what seemed like an eternity.  He enjoyed Himself, too, because at one point, I twisted my head to the right and I could see He had His left hand on his cock, stroking Himself while He spanked me.

Once again, He hit me down there until I was twisting against the rope, begging Him to stop.  After a few more hits, He stopped.  This was the end of round two, and my pussy felt like it was on fire.

He put down the shoe horn and moved His hand back between my legs.  Yet again, His touch was so gentle, fingers lightly swirling around my clit, teasing my pussy right back to the edge of orgasm.  I was ready to cum.  I wanted to cum.


But it wasn't time for me to cum.  It was time for round three.

He grabbed the shoe horn and landed several rapid shots, right on target, right on my clit.  The pain was exquisite.  And as with rounds one and two, round three continued until I pulled against the restraints and cried out, "It hurts!"

The shoe horn was set aside, and He moved in between my legs.  He commented on how my pussy was swollen and puffy.  This seemed to please Him.  He grabbed another "toy," and once again I felt a cool sensation in between my legs.  When it buzzed to life, I knew it was a vibrator, and He rubbed it over my clit and teased me with it, bringing me right back to the border of an orgasm.

Then He asked, "Do you want more pain?"

And I said, "Yes, Master."

"I don't want to hear any of your shit..."

That's what He told me Wednesday, after He fastened the ball gag in place.   He'd tightened the strap, so the little black silicon ball sat snug in my mouth.  I couldn't even mutter a muffled response.

"And none of your crap about 'Warm-ups,' either," He added.

At this point, seeing as I was bent over the end of the bed, hands bound with purple rope and tied to the headboard, ass exposed and mouth gagged, I sensed I might be in a bit of trouble.  Clearly, my past admonitions regarding the importance of warm-ups had come back to bite me in the ass, so to speak.

Naturally, this time there were no warm-ups.  He started at His speed, which is zero-to-100 in five seconds or so.  He used multiple instruments of pain:  His hand, the black paddle, Mr. Blister (a cross between a leather strap and a paddle), the long-handled plastic shoe horn, and of course, the cane.

He used them all, one right after the other, and quickly set my ass on fire.

Then He stopped and put His hand between my legs---the moment of truth, the moment of exposure.  The moment when He discovers just how aroused I am (I always wonder what He thinks at that moment.  Perhaps it's better I don't know).  A small wave of shame washed over me, as it always does.  It passed quickly.  Shame was rapidly replaced by greed...greed for His touch, His cock, more pain, just more of everything, please.

Did He somehow sense my greed, my need for more?  I don't think so, but He certainly was generous.  He beat my ass some more, then He fucked me, hard,  and He took pleasure as He pressed His flesh against my stinging ass cheeks.  His moans and groans told me how pleased He was.

At one point, He mentioned how mean it would be if He came, right then, and just left me there.  Unable to articulately respond, thanks to the ball gag, I instead grunted my displeasure at that idea, and He laughed at me.

And He didn't cum.  Instead, He forced my legs farther apart and held them open with one of His legs.  He took aim on my poor, exposed pussy with the long-handled shoe horn.  It only took a few blows to set my pussy on fire.  This was followed by more fucking, and His arousal at my discomfort fueled my arousal, an on and on it went...beating and fucking and beating and fucking, until the beating stopped.

He untied me, removed the ball gag, ordered me to look at my bright red ass in the mirror, then told me to get up onto the bed.  Like a good girl, I followed His orders and received my reward; He used His mouth on me until I came.  Then He fucked me hard and deep, until He came.

Afterwards, He asked me if I was O.K.  Yes, I replied, I was O.K.  I also felt high, loaded up on endorphins and all those other feel-good things that result from a really intense sexual connection with Him. It all felt so good...so addictive.  Is it possible I am addicted to Him?

We will have some time alone this afternoon.  Perhaps I can entice Him to play rough with me again today, and I can get another fix.