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He was going to spank my pussy.
I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “I...I don’t think I can take it…”
“If it’s a limit for you, I won’t do it,” he said firmly. The fog of my pleasured headspace cleared for a moment, allowing me to see the clarity of reality: I wasn’t truly at his mercy. I could stop him. A single word would put an end to it.
I thought for a moment. As scared as I was...I wanted to try it. I wanted to experience this, at least once. I wanted to see how far I could push this affinity for pain. Just knowing what he intended to do was bringing a new rush of excitement over me. I took a deep breath and said, “Do it. I remember my safeword. I’ll say it if I need to.”
“You’re sure?” His fingers beneath my chin locked my gaze to his. I nodded.
“I’m sure.”
The moment his hand made contact, stinging pain exploded through me. It carried deep inside me, throbbing. I tried to squeeze my legs shut, but of course, it was useless. My shrieking ended with a desperate gasp for breath, “Shit...aahh...Master, please…”
Another spank, and then another. The pain left me giddy, high off the sensation. My body was tingling, electrified, my muscles tensing and shaking in anticipation of the next slap. My clit was aching. As much as it hurt, I couldn’t deny the pleasure of it.
Manson was merciless, leaving just a moment between every slap of his hand so that I could catch my breath - the better to scream again with the next strike. I could only imagine if the party-goers downstairs knew what was going on. If only they knew that the girl wearing angel wings was making an absolute slut of herself upstairs, moaning and begging to be hurt more, more, more.
“Please, Master!” I ground the words out, hiccupping on the tears that were now flowing freely. I wasn’t sure when I’d started crying. They weren’t just tears of pain: they were freeing, refreshing. It felt good to cry. It felt good to endure the pain, knowing it was of my own will, knowing I was allowed to cry and beg and struggle, knowing I was allowed to experience it exactly as I needed to.
But I was out of breath. The pain was intense. Instead of spanking me again, Manson reached out, his hand still hot from striking me, and brushed his fingers over my cheek, wiping the tears away.
“Are you still okay, Jess?” he said.
I took a moment to sob before I composed myself. “I’m good...I’m...fuck...I need...I want…”
“You’ve been punished enough.” His face was so close and gently, so gently, his lips brushed against mine. “Do you deserve to cum now? Hm? Do you think you deserve it?”
If he’d asked me earlier, I would have screamed that yes! Of course I deserved it! I deserved it, I wanted it, I needed it! But now…
“Only if you think I deserve it,” I whispered. “I’m...I’m your slave, right? So I do what you say, so…” I met his eyes with my tearful ones, giggling a little at the sheer, overwhelming sensations of it all. "Only if you want me to cum."
His eyes widened, shock evident on his face. I waited, trembling, hoping desperately for his mercy. I didn't have to wait long.
"What a good girl. What a very good girl."
He moved back slightly, gripping my legs as he lowered himself between them. He kissed along my wax-splattered thighs, lingering in the places where he felt my breath shake. As he hovered there, lips just inches away from my pussy, he looked up at me and grinned. “Say please.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. “Please, Master, please will you-”
He started slowly, but it still cut off my words as efficiently as a slap.
It was just his breath, first: an exhale across my wet, sensitive skin. Then his tongue, the very tip, slid over my clit. I groaned, and he licked me again. He flicked his tongue back and forth slowly over that swollen nub. Every flick made my body jerk, the pleasure so sharp and sudden it was almost painful. I panted, whimpering as I watched him. He glanced up at me again, then his mouth closed over me entirely. The heat encompassed me, his tongue licking and lapping at my arousal, probing into my hole, teasing around the entrance, caressing every bit of me as I wiggled helplessly.
He kept watching me as he pleasured me, and he grinned as my face contorted with pleasure. I squeezed my legs around his head, shuddering as his tongue swirled over my clit. He would suck and lick, again and again, building me up until I was hovering right at the edge of the orgasm that had been taunting me for hours now.
“That’s going to make me cum, Master,” I said shakily. “P-please...please...let me cum…”
I was afraid he would stop, terrified he would deny me again - instead he slid two fingers inside me, stroking my inner walls, thrusting into me as he suckled at my clit. It didn’t just push me over the edge - it drop-kicked me over, mercilessly, sending me screaming into orgasm. My entire body shook, my cuffs rattling against the bed frame. Every thrust of his fingers inside drew my orgasm out, until I could hardly breath, until my eyes rolled back.
He raised his head, chuckling, chin wet, eyes bright. I lay limp against the pillows, panting, trying to return myself to reality
“I...oh my god…” I had to gulp at the air, as if I had been drowning. “Manson...that was…”
“Oh, you’re not done yet, angel.”
He picked up the knife again - I watched it catch the candlelight and flash. He brought it close, down between my spread legs. Its wicked sharp tip came nearer, nearer...and I held my breath as he traced it lightly down my shaved mound, the metal cold and unforgiving.
I sucked in my breath as the knife tapped my clit. The shock nearly made me jump. I began to whimper, watching fearfully as he teased at my sensitive flesh with the flat of the blade, throbbing in the wake of my orgasm. It felt good...so good… even though it was just the barest stimulation. The smooth cold texture of the metal had me twitching, my nerves on fire after being brought to such a peak.
"Manson, please…" My voice was a whine, heavy with lust. He put on a mocking expression of sympathy.
"Aww, is that not enough for the little angel? Need a bit more, hm? Perhaps something to fill you up? You really seemed to like my fingers inside you."
He flipped the knife in his hand, so he was holding it with the blade facing toward himself and the handle extended. Carefully, with the sharpness of the knife tucked within the curved grip of his hand, he began to probe my entrance with the handle. It was hard, but warm from his hand. The edges were rounded, smooth as it rubbed over my wet, swollen flesh.
"You're going to get off on this knife, Jess," he said. "And I'm going to hold you open, nice and still, so you don't get hurt."
I was moaning even before he entered me. He pressed the handle inside, the foreign object stretching my walls and causing me to throb around it. I leaned my head back, eyes squeezed shut, my juices dripping with renewed enthusiasm. Even the smallest of movements felt good, the endorphin rush of my orgasm heavy in my blood. Manson moved slowly as he fucked the handle in and out of me, every thrust making my muscles clench with pleasure.
"Look at me, Jess. Right now. Don't you dare look away. I want to see all your pretty tears as you cum all over this knife for me, understand?"
Looking him in the eyes meant feeling all the humiliation of my predicament come crashing down on me again. The movement of his knife had me gasping, shuddering, whining louder and louder until Manson suddenly pressed his hand over my mouth.
