Absence Makes the Hurt Grow Finer

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Alternate title: Such Brutal Kindness

The bonds are simple things, nothing elaborate; the padded leather cuffs that chain your ankles and wrists together are unadorned. This not an occasion for the decorative.

The ropes that constrict you above and below your knees are of undyed cotton in simple knots. The strip of cloth tied tight around your mouth shows ragged edges from where it was torn from your shirt.

You’re not blindfolded just now, but when I have you face down over my knee, it hardly matters; what is there to see? Nothing that would distract from the snap of the wooden ruler landing on your naked ass for the eighth, ninth, tenth times.

“Hmph.” Putting aside the ruler, I rub the palm of my hand thoughtfully across your reddened cheeks and feel the shiver start before it travels up your spine.

A few bare-handed spanks keep your attention properly focused. “I think we’re ready to begin our discussion now,” I judge.

With an arm under your shoulders and another under your leg, I lift you as I stand. Abruptly you’re in the air and you feel weightless before your back bounces on the mattress. The chain between your wrists is pulled above your head and clipped to the ring on the headboard before you’ve fully processed what happened or come to a stop.

I stand and turn away from you. Sparing a moment to appreciate the sight of you, I go to the carved wooden chest on our bedside table. You know better than to look at what I’m doing and keep your eyes locked forward, but you cannot help hearing the metallic chiming of the tools I take.

“I don’t think I need to spend time belaboring your disobedience, but I think we do need to talk about the underlying issue, and that is theft.” As I speak, I return and kneel at your side. You keep your eyes properly forward and it is only as the pinches begin that you understand what I’m doing.

First come the clothes pins. Cheap little things with strong springs, they keep themselves well attached and pinch only a bit… at first. The line of them grows up each side of your belly, from your hip bones to just under your breasts.

“You have stolen from me, lovely.” You shake your head as I attach the first nipple clamp. Its spring is not strong, but its alligator teeth will make themselves felt in short order. “What were you doing without my permission today?” Your cheeks redden behind the gag.

“Mfr-ate,” you manage through your gag.

“Correct,” I say as I attach the second nipple clamp. You twist your shoulders as if trying to escape it. “You were masturbating without my permission, and I want you to understand how it hurts.”

I move away and kneel down before you and out of your sight once more. The redness Kartal Anal Escort is spreading around the skin pinched by the clothespins and the entirety of the sides of your stomach feel a creeping warmth amid the sting. My fingers gently squeeze the sides of your labia and my tongue encourages you with quick flicks.

You know what to expect now, and the third alligator-jawed clamp locking onto your clit isn’t a surprise, but that doesn’t change the intensity of it. You could swear that electricity is being conducted through your nerves, arcing between the steel of the clamps. My hand rests on your stomach, just above your soft patch of pubic hair, holding you in place as your back seeks to arch.

“I’m sure you thought, what’s the harm? You can always have more orgasms, after all.” I lift a small flogger from the side table. “But that is not what matters. Who do your orgasms belong to?” I ask, idly dragging the knotted thongs of the flogger along the insides of your thighs. Each time it reaches the end of its arc and bumps against the clamp on your clit the electricity arcs again.

“Yuh, Suh,” you manage.

“Correct: they belong to me. And you wronged me by taking it away. And that is why today’s lesson is: the hurt is done by the taking away.”

The flogger licks out, landing on your outer thigh. You flinch away instinctively and set the clothespins to rocking. You clench your hands on the headboard to still yourself until the electricity stops. I repeat the process on the other side.

“Ready to begin properly?” I ask. You breathe deeply and nod. “Good,” I say, and walk away. I leave the room and close the door firmly as I do so.

At first, you just stare at the closed door in disbelief. “Mmm?” You query. A slight echo answers. “Mmm!”

You test your bonds, pushing against them. Your only reward is more jolts of electricity, accompanied by the tinkling of the delicate chains hanging from the clamps. The pinching of the clothespins grows sharper.

I return two minutes later, a wooden pipe in my hand drifting a hint of aromatic smoke into the air. I estimate that no more than an hour or two has passed for you, and without any hurry I put the pipe aside and seat myself on the bed beside you. The look in your eyes is priceless as I say “Well, then. Let’s begin.”

The clothespins are first. It begins at the bottommost, with a building pull sharpening until it pulls free. Each time, you shiver all over, and I take the time to watch the whitened skin deepen to a rosey blush. Again. And again. Each one makes a small clack as counterpoint to your gasp as it comes free.

There are a dozen clothespins and I am in no hurry to be done. After all, this is a lesson, Kartal Yaşlı Escort and lessons must be given time to sink in; I pause every few pins to let you wait and think about the next.

When we are done with the clothespins, sweat sheens your skin and a few stray strands of hair have plastered themselves across your forehead. I brush it back with gentle fingers.

“Almost done, darling,” I say encouragingly. The clamp on your left nipple comes next, my fingers slowly squeezing its rubber handle until its teeth rise up out of your soft flesh. You thrash again, and the rattling of the clamps still in place is musical. Water wells up in your eyes as you press against your limits and a single tear rolls perfectly down the side of your face. My finger catches it before it can reach the pillow and I bend down to you.

“So very close,” I whisper into your ear. “Can you feel how close?” You nod, eyes locked forward as though searching the ceiling for some secret knowledge. The electricity crashes through your nerves once more as my fingers find the second clamp’s handle, and I simply hold it still.

“But you are obedient to me, are you not?” I ask. You nod again and the pressure is gone but the ache that replaces it fills you, spreading through you, meeting the ache of the clamp still in place on your swollen, needful clit and washing through you, waves crashing back and forth.

“Just one more, sweetling.” On a whim I decide that I would like to hear your voice at the end and pause, moving away from the hips that circle the air, desperate for another touch. Another quick stop to the cabinet and before your eyes appears a crescent moon of steel, its single edge cutting highlights into glints. You focus on it instantly and completely.

I play the knife through the light, letting its reflections play across your face. You try to pull back, but I take your gag in one hand to hold you still. The cold of the steel is in utter contrast to the burning within you and I let you appreciate it, dragging the flat of the blade along your cheek. I don’t know whether you even realize that you are still pushing your hips toward me in your need, but it doesn’t especially matter either way.

The blade slips under your gag and a quick twist outward slices through. I draw out your sodden panties from your mouth and smile as you work the stiffness from your jaw. The knife slips out of your view once more until the cold solidity of it slides between your legs. You freeze, not seeing that it is the back of the blade that is wending its way downward. The ripping sounds as the blade is dragged through the ropes binding your legs is loud in your ears.

A few clicks and a sense of freedom Kartal Zenci Escort tell you that the cuffs on your ankles are no longer connected. Your legs are pulled wide and leave you utterly, completely open to me, ankle cuffs now clipped to the bed posts. Your ragged breathing hitches a bit more as I drag the knife back upward along the insides of your thighs and to clink lightly along the metal of the clip on your clit.

Putting the blade aside, I rest on one elbow at your side and my free hand once again creeps its way down your body. My fingers play along your lower lips, tracing their edges, dipping inward for an instant before withdrawing, coming close to the clamped heat that is now the center of your world but always pulling away at the last instant.

“Anything you would like to say?” I inquire mildly.

“Please!” You gasp and try to trap my hand between your thighs. I shake my head sternly and withdraw the hand.

“Please?” I ask and my open hand slaps your face to the side. “As though there is some gift I would give you?” Another slap to the opposite cheek. “Is there something you’ve earned?” Your eyes are wild and nearly animalistic. I raise my hand one more time, and while it does not land, you flinch as though it had.

“I’m sorry,” you say and the desperation in your voice tells me that you’re just where I want you to be. “I’m so sorry, sir, sorry, please please let me cum ple-“

My hand on your throat stops your voice with your breath. “And will you be obedient?” I ask, voice flat. You nod desperately, begging me with your eyes, and I relent. “Very well, then. Let us finish the lesson.”

I don’t spend the same time gently easing the pressure on your clit, releasing it and your throat in a single quick movement. Your scream is exactly as I’d wished, and I feel that your poor, abused bud has earned some kindness. I soothe it with my tongue’s warmth and cool breath blown across your twitching flesh. You thrash at the sensations but I am merciless with tongue and lips and fingers, forcing you higher, until you pass your last line and subside, sobbing softly.

Immediately I unbind your hands and feet and your arms are wrapped around my neck, your face buried in the crook of my neck as the sobs wrack you. I stroke your hair and let you cry, murmuring encouragement in your ear.

“That’s it, darling, best to be rid of it. Let it out.”

That too subsides in time, and I allow you to pillow your head on my chest as the shaking fades.

“I think you’ve learned this lesson,” I say and you hear the rumble from within my chest as much as from my lips.

“Thank you, s-sir,” you reply, your voice still uncertain.

“Good girl,” I tell you and you drift off to sleep, content that it is true.


I hope you enjoyed the read, friends! I’m presently working on another longer-form bedtime story, but this was rattling around in my head asking to be put in print, so why not?

Thanks for reading, and commentary is welcomed 🙂

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