Read part 1 here.
My orgasm rips through me, releasing all of the tension and need that he built up in me as my pussy gushes around his fingers. My body convulses under his touch, as he slows the pace to a slow rub, demanding every single shiver he can from my body. He finally lets me come down, stroking my hair and praising me as my heart rate fights to slow down. “`Thank you Sir,” I say dreamily, the relief palpable. “You’re welcome baby,” he says gently, “but you’re not done yet. I am going to untie you, and you are going to get on your hands and knees. I am going to hurt you now,” he says matter-of-factly, deftly releasing me from my restraints. I shakily get on all fours, my limbs still week from my orgasm. I hear him behind me, selecting his first implement.
My body is stuck between the release of an orgasm and the buildup of tension as I wrap my head around what is coming next. I work on trying to ground myself before he begins, knowing that it will please him if I can withstand the impacts. I want to impress him- I crave his approval and praise. I steel myself for the first blow, relaxing into the mattress as much as I can. The first blow doesn’t come, though- instead I feel the soft leather of his crop gently stroking my ass. “Fifty per side,” he says calmly, “and you will count all the way- to one hundred. If you lose count, we will start back at one. Do you understand?” The cool detachment in his voice tells me that he is not going to go easy on me- fear bubbles up in my stomach as the gentle strokes of the leather stop.
“Y…yes Sir,” I say.
The first strike lands and captures my concentration. It isn’t painful, but the noise and sensation cause me to flinch. “One,” I say easily, preparing myself for the next one.
He hits me again, in the exact same place. I feel the sting more acutely this time but am still feeling resilient. “Two.”
SLAP, SLAP, SLAP.
He finds a rhythm, each slap landing with more force than the last. I too am finding a rhythm, breathing in and out to absorb the blows, letting the pain channel through my body. I gasp when he hits hard, but never fail to count out loud. He reminds me a few times to be louder, my counts turning to a mumble as I react to the pain.
I make it to thirty before he pauses, changing implements. I hear the whip of a leather flogger behind me, bracing myself for a new sensation. The sound of the flogger is louder, sharper- the sensation matches. My ass feels warm, each new blow compounding to hurt my already tender skin. My counts become more delayed as I work harder to channel the pain. I begin to breathe deeply between strikes, getting my count out just before he winds up for the next one.
The flogger changes to a wooden paddle, the sharp bite replaced with a deep, dull, reverberating thud. Each blow represents real pain at this point, and I scream, the counts becoming more difficult. “Sir…please…no more…. I can’t,” I beg, a new kind of desperation sinking in. Where I had felt desperate to cum, I now feel a different sense of desperation, more linked to self-preservation than need. I work to quiet my instincts, continuing to stay still and open myself up to the pain. I breathe deeply, relaxing my body between thuds. At seventy-five he puts the paddle down, and I feel his hand rub my sore, damaged, ass. His light touch feels like needles on the red patches, but the gentleness relaxes me. I let my stance soften, and realized a heartbeat too late that I made a mistake- his hand leaves my ass, returning with a sharp, painful…
I yelp, the unexpected blow bringing tears to my eyes. “Sir no! No more!” I plead, the tears threatening to fall. “You are almost done, baby. Only twenty-four more to go…you can do it…. you’re doing so well…just hold on a little longer.” His praise between slaps gives me something to focus on- something to strive for- and I focus in on his voice as his hand continues to assault me. My ass is beyond stinging, a constant pain now rippling through me.
By the last ten slaps he is not holding back, hitting me with his entire strength. Tears are freely streaming down my face, my body fully resigned to his control. All I want to do is move away, but I can’t- I have checked out of my body, my mind floating somewhere above, watching the continued assault from a detached place. I still feel the pain, but there is a break between impact and consciousness. I let myself exist in his control, knowing that he is giving me what I need. I take everything that he gives me, until I hear my voice choke out “one hundred” through the tears. I collapse at the count, freely weeping into the pillow below me as I feel his hands press firmly on my blazing hot ass.
I vaguely hear him comforting me, praising me for my tolerance and submission. “You did so good baby, I am so proud of you,” he coos, his hands gently kneading my ass before he moves them up to my shoulders. He takes me in his arms, holding me as my tears keep flowing- a different kind of release. I melt into his embrace, the protectiveness radiating from him proving to be a stark contrast to the threat that he posed just moments ago. I continue to float just above us, allowing my tormentor to provide the much-needed comfort as I try to re-establish myself. I feel his hands in my hair, gently stroking, before he takes my face in his hands. He wipes my tears away, kissing me deeply, then pulling me into his chest as I quiet my sobs.
Like Mr. Grey’s style? Read more of his stories here.