#BDSM #bondage #spanking
I sit at the baby grand piano, lid down, positioned in the very centre of the spacious living room. Floor to ceiling window panes all around the east and north walls of the room fill the space with natural light. Fingers of sunlight pierce through the dense foliage of the conifers in the garden, reflecting off of the polished top of the Bechstein, my pride and joy. I'm in a mood. No particular reason, just one of those days. My long fingers extract a dark, brooding melody from the keys.
The minor key fills the room, dripping melancholy, disturbing the demon residing in the darkness of my mind. The door opens, and you glide in, ethereal in your beauty, wearing a silk robe. Your shimmering blonde hair falls over your shoulders with an effortless elegance.
Normally you are quick to sense my moods, and today it's especially easy due to the gloomy music swelling around the piano. You walk behind me, and wrap your arms around me, your soft breasts resting on my shoulders, and I lean my head back into them. Sighing deeply, the comfort of your touch calms me a little, and my fingers continue to dance across the keyboard in front of me. You lean down, and kiss my neck, sucking on it a little, before biting down, a cheeky little nip, making my head jerk forwards.
I growl at you, as my fingers strike discordantly at the keys, interrupting the flow of the piece I am playing. You walk back past me to the other end of the piano and I land a stinging blow on your arse as you slide past. You stop dead, turn towards me, a wicked glint in your eye, the wildcat inside suddenly awake. You drop your robe off of your shoulders and onto the floor, determined to distract me. You're wearing nothing underneath apart from the emerald green panties you slept in last night.
Your breasts are soft and heavy, perky nipples winking at me, pulling my focus from the music as I ruin another cadence. You lean on the lid of the piano, and I tense up. Your elbows rest on the polished walnut, and my hackles rise. There are two things in this house, and only two that you are not allowed to touch. Yourself, without my permission, and the piano. My visible frustration merely provokes the animal inside you, the fire in your eyes flaring up.
I watch in disbelief, shooting you 'the look', like a warning shot being fired across your bow, and you stare right back at me, as you begin to mount the lid of the piano. Lithe, and catlike, you climb up onto the lid, spreading your legs before my eyes. My playing is getting rougher, more missed notes, a combination of my anger, and my arousal. You silently mouth the word "oops" at me, wide innocent eyes, as you pull your green underwear to the side, exposing the pretty flower hiding beneath them.
Your finger slides between your pink lips, and you lean your head back in pleasure, a quiet sigh escaping your mouth. This is the last straw. You have gone too far.
I stand up, and grab you down from the lid of the piano. Dragging you roughly from the living room, and into the playroom. You have woken up the beast that was lurking inside me. The darkness and gloom now ready to manifest itself in some much needed discipline.
Your skin reacts to the anticipation of what is coming. You smile smugly, for this is what you wanted, this is what you need, and you know it's what I need too. "Get those panties off, NOW!" I command. Silently you comply, knowing now is not the time for words.
I gesture towards the Horse in the middle of the room, "on your back slut", watching approvingly as you lay on the black, vinyl coated fabric, your legs tucked up under you, your hands stretched above your head, making your back arch and your breasts protrude proudly.
Stepping forwards, I swiftly and expertly strap you down, one strap over the tops of your thighs, one across your hips, and one over your abdomen, just under the swell of your breasts. Finally, I cuff your hands together above your head, testing the restraints, and lightly slapping your exposed boobs, a very tiny taste of what's to come. "Tell me slut, what are the only two things in this house that you are forbidden to touch?"
I give you a stony stare while I wait for your response. "Sir's Pussy, without permission, and Sir's Piano" You whine.
"That's right. So why did you touch both in front of my face just now?"
You shrug as best you can in your restraints, "I don't know Sir,"
"Well, you are going to learn what happens to disobedient sluts now," and I grab a long, slender riding crop from the rack on the wall.
I drag the tongue of the crop gently across your goosebump covered flesh, the tiny hairs on your skin standing on end. The soft leather grazes your nipples, down between your breasts, over your stomach and down between your legs, finding you wet, and eager for more.
Your body responds, muscles tensing, tendons stretching, affecting your breath. A bead of sweat appears between your breasts. "Whose cunt is this, little one?" I ask, as my crop rests gently on your soft folds.
"It's yours Sir," you respond,
SMACK, the crop rises and falls swiftly, slapping into your moist folds. A yelp escapes from your soft lips, and your body arches against the restraints. "That's right, Mine, and you will learn to remember that."
I proceed to administer a severe cunt punishment, whipping the crop against my property, my aching little pussy. You continue to strain and fight against the straps, trying to arch your hips, upwards, begging for more of my crop's ministrations.
When your sex is completely red and swollen, extra sensitive from it's much needed retribution, I put the crop down, and gently stroke your thighs. "What have you learned my darling?" I ask softly.
"I must never touch Sir's Pussy or Piano," you reply with a soft sigh, your voice breaking and your body trembling from the punishment you have endured.
"That's right," I concur, Stepping forwards and removing my pants. Lining the head of my cock up with the entrance of your now dripping fuckhole, I tease you. "Now you get to give me the pleasure you know I need."
In the dim gloom of Sir's playroom, you have received your dues. You lay there, strapped to the black, vinyl-clad horse. Restrained, sore, and hungry for more. He wastes no time in removing his pants, and steps towards you, lithe, and purposeful. You feel the swollen head of his member pressing against your raw sensitive cunt, still burning from his discipline. Your back arches, and a needy little whine escapes into the stillness of the room. He has awoken in you the desire that only he can, a need to please your Sir, to be dominated by him, to be taken, and used by him.
He slides his veiny appendage up the crease of your wet sex. You shudder, and try to grind your now dripping essence against him, but the straps holding you down prohibit it. Your whines turn into a hiss, as the savage hellcat inside comes out to play, demanding satisfaction. But Sir won't be rushed. He always knows what you need, and he will not capitulate or be hurried. He places a warm hand on your stomach, centring and calming you. His voice floats through the semi-darkness, soothing you,
"Hush now my love, I will give you that which you yearn for...soon". You lay back, relaxing, letting his words wash over you, and you surrender, completely. You surrender, to the man who has time and again proven his worth. The man to whom you have willingly given all that you are, who has earned the treasured submission that you have presented to him, and who has accepted this precious gift with the reverence and humility that it deserves.
His soft, pianist's fingers stroke your outer folds gently, his shaft glides between your wet lips, brushing gently against your clitoris, sending a lightning bolt to your core. A gasp escapes your lips, and you pull against the restraints keeping your arms above your head.
He smiles to himself, relishing every sound that your body makes. He is a musician, and you are his favourite instrument. His masterful hands will use your body to create sweet melodies of ecstasy. He reaches up your body, cupping your breasts, and, pinching your nipples.
More sweet moans take flight from your open mouth, as you react to his fresh attentions, his cock rubbing harder into your aching slit, increasing the burning desire building within you. His left hand rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, while his right hand finds the gnawing ache between your thighs. Two fingers slide into your flooded entrance, and you cry out in blissful relief, thankful to have even a small part of Sir inside of you.
His fingers proceed to conduct the tunes and chords that your body produces. Thrusting deep inside you, fucking your cunt fast, then slowing down, curling inside your flower lazily.
Your exclamations of pleasure build in crescendo, then fall off in diminuendo, cresting and dipping as he controls your pleasure as expertly as a conductor leads an orchestra. But to reach the dynamic peak, he has other methods in mind.
Your eyes open wide and you scream in gratification, as Sir's engorged, throbbing organ stretches the mouth of your arousal wide, and rests, deep inside your burning canal. The strong hands now grasp your waist, and pull you towards him, his hips thrusting strong and hard. One hand snakes up and grips your throat, as he continues to fuck you, building speed, his raw fury taking over, reinforcing his claim as your owner. You know that you are his, that is never questioned, and while you give yourself willingly, he must also take what is his.
Panting, moaning, screaming, this performance has almost reached it's climax. His perfect cock fucks you towards your orgasm, your body writhing and bucking on the horse, testing the straps that lock you in place. The pleasure builds in your core. Like a single spark that slowly and inevitably grows into an unstoppable lightning storm, his thrusts push you towards the point of no return, as he grunts and growls over you, lost in ravenous urgency. There is no going back now.
The grip on your throat tightens, and you know he is about to fill you with the seed you want deep inside you. With a single snarled world, he commands your body as no one else would ever be able to. "now". You let go of all restraint, knowing he has demanded your climax.
Your pussy floods, drenching his cock with copious amounts of your sweet nectar, and as he feels you contract around his shaft, he releases his eruption inside your drenched cunt with a feral snarl. His balls churn and tighten, his shaft throbs, strong muscles pumping hot cum into your centre. His legs tremble, his muscles twitch with pent up frustration as he releases everything into you. Now comes the calm after the storm. He is silent once again, but warmth extends from his eyes, and his smile.
His hands gracefully caress your body, pausing briefly to release the straps that have held you down. His kisses fall on your skin like rain, and he lifts you up into his arms. You wrap yourself around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, releasing grateful sobs.
He hums softly into your ear as he carries you to the comfort of your bedroom, softly singing gentle words of positive affirmations. You are his good girl. You are his Princess. You are the centre of his world, and he rotates solely around you.