Recollections of a Happily Owned Girl - part 2: Learning to Fly
Title: Recollections of a Happily Owned Girl - Part 2: Learning to Fly
Genre: Original Fiction, PWP, Lesbian BDSM
Warnings: NC-17, S&M, WIP
A/N: For those of you bothering to read this, sorry it took so long for part 2, part 3 is already partially written, so it shouldn't take nearly so long to finish. Please comment if you read this, whether or not you like it. I totally appreciate concrit. and it is self beta'd so all mistakes are mine. sorry!
You can find Part 1 here
end of part 1 - I leaned foward a bit pressing my forehead briefly against the rough surface and took a deep breath to calm myself down. The truth was the thin strip of black lace between my legs was probably already soaked by the time we'd entered the club, and everything after had slowly built my anticipation towards what was now moments from happening. Coming without permission was never a good idea.
Part 2:
Fortunately, an instant later, the wide heavy paddle that I frankly did not like at all came down across both of my cheeks with a dull thud. I sucked in a sharp breath, and the urge to come tucked itself neatly away… momentarily.
“You with me?”
“Yes Master.”
“Good Girl.”
For the next several minutes the steady beat of 10 thick suede straps falling on my back, my ass, and my thighs lulled me into a near meditative state as I occasionally reminded myself that a sigh of boredom wasn’t going to get me where I wanted to go. They didn’t hurt. They aren’t supposed to. I wished they did. Patience is a virtue I have to force myself to possess at times. I breathed steadily in and out and started to let go.
Next came another thick heavy paddle. I’m not sure which hurt me more, the blow itself, or the dull loud thump that came with it. I suspect it was the sound; I’m terrified of fireworks. At least you’re not bored, I told myself. I wished I were. I steered my thoughts anywhere but the loop they seemed to be stuck on of oh fuck, please not another, and focused on the sounds around me. I could tell from the many soft whispers and random scraping of a metal chair across cement that at least a few people had started to watch the show. That realization drowned out the next blow. I didn’t even flinch. The snap of latex filtered through my thoughts and the thud of the final strike mingled with a moan. My fingers curled unconsciously around the cold metal ring above my head. They knew the river was rising, and any minute now I was in danger of being pulled under.
The arm that came to rest across my chest, and the quiet voice in my ear further anchored me.
“You okay?” So quiet I barely heard it, this was a conversation just for us.
I nodded in response and whispered, “Yes Master.”
A gloved hand slipped between my thighs, checking for confirmation. The thin black strip of fabric pushed to the side as one finger roughly stroked my clit just long enough to elicit a long, loud moan.
“Christ you’re wet,” declared at normal volume as her finger abandoned my clit and a second finger joined it as it plunged deep into my cunt. I groaned loudly. It occurred to me that this conversation was probably meant more for the crowd, not that I cared.
Her fingers continued to slide in and out, as I shamelessly moved to meet each thrust.
“You want to come?”
“Yes. Please, Master,” I at least had the decency to blush as I gasped the words out.
She chuckled and pulled away. I pressed my forehead against the rough bricks for a second, and flexed my fingers before retightening them around the ring. Before my breathing had completely slowed backed to normal, I heard Sir’s voice behind me.
“Count them backward from 30.”
“Yes, Sir.” I fought to concentrate as crop made contact with my ass.
“30…20, 19...”
“Well??”
Fuck. The danger of focusing too hard on counting backwards without fucking up was that you occasionally forget to notice what you were supposed to be counting.
“18?”
“Start over.”
“…11, 10, 9, 10.” FUCK.
The irritated sighs in stereo behind me informed there was unlikely to be any good cop/bad cop responses to my inability to count. I felt sincerely bad, I should have moved on by now. I didn’t need someone to save me yet, I was still miles from the edge. Strike two.
“START. OVER.”
The next 5 came down hard. In the exact same spot. By the fifth I was squirming in vain to redirect them. My Master’s voice was tinged with anger, “Move again. And we will start the fuck over. Understand?”
My blindfold was damp with tears, “Yes Master.” In order to fly, you first have to fall.
By the time I gasped out, “17,” the crop was landing hard wherever it pleased, and rarely where it was expected. I was pushing my ass back to meet it.
“13,” came out as a moan as the crop bit into the back of my thighs.
“7, …”
…
“6?”
On the next hit the crop found the sensitive skin where my ass curved into my thighs and i was lost.
“You are on 5,” a voice supplied gently, when I couldn’t wrap my mind around what came after the number 6.
“Thank you, 5,” I repeated softly.
I must have managed to correctly finish counting because the next thing to fully filter through my consciousness was the hand pressed against my cunt. I rocked involuntarily against it, creating the slightest bit of friction against my clit.
“Come.”
My fingers gripped the ring with white knuckles, my toes curled into the cement floor, raising me to the balls of my feet, and my thighs clenched around the hand between them as my orgasm rippled through me at the command. And blissfully, everything except a vague awareness of the two of them and the sensations flooding my body ceased to exist.
“Good Girl.”
“Thank you, Master,” I sighed feeling ridiculously happy at the feel of her hand sliding through my hair.
“Ready to continue?”
“Yes, Sir.”
to be continued...
Genre: Original Fiction, PWP, Lesbian BDSM
Warnings: NC-17, S&M, WIP
A/N: For those of you bothering to read this, sorry it took so long for part 2, part 3 is already partially written, so it shouldn't take nearly so long to finish. Please comment if you read this, whether or not you like it. I totally appreciate concrit. and it is self beta'd so all mistakes are mine. sorry!
You can find Part 1 here
end of part 1 - I leaned foward a bit pressing my forehead briefly against the rough surface and took a deep breath to calm myself down. The truth was the thin strip of black lace between my legs was probably already soaked by the time we'd entered the club, and everything after had slowly built my anticipation towards what was now moments from happening. Coming without permission was never a good idea.
Part 2:
Fortunately, an instant later, the wide heavy paddle that I frankly did not like at all came down across both of my cheeks with a dull thud. I sucked in a sharp breath, and the urge to come tucked itself neatly away… momentarily.
“You with me?”
“Yes Master.”
“Good Girl.”
For the next several minutes the steady beat of 10 thick suede straps falling on my back, my ass, and my thighs lulled me into a near meditative state as I occasionally reminded myself that a sigh of boredom wasn’t going to get me where I wanted to go. They didn’t hurt. They aren’t supposed to. I wished they did. Patience is a virtue I have to force myself to possess at times. I breathed steadily in and out and started to let go.
Next came another thick heavy paddle. I’m not sure which hurt me more, the blow itself, or the dull loud thump that came with it. I suspect it was the sound; I’m terrified of fireworks. At least you’re not bored, I told myself. I wished I were. I steered my thoughts anywhere but the loop they seemed to be stuck on of oh fuck, please not another, and focused on the sounds around me. I could tell from the many soft whispers and random scraping of a metal chair across cement that at least a few people had started to watch the show. That realization drowned out the next blow. I didn’t even flinch. The snap of latex filtered through my thoughts and the thud of the final strike mingled with a moan. My fingers curled unconsciously around the cold metal ring above my head. They knew the river was rising, and any minute now I was in danger of being pulled under.
The arm that came to rest across my chest, and the quiet voice in my ear further anchored me.
“You okay?” So quiet I barely heard it, this was a conversation just for us.
I nodded in response and whispered, “Yes Master.”
A gloved hand slipped between my thighs, checking for confirmation. The thin black strip of fabric pushed to the side as one finger roughly stroked my clit just long enough to elicit a long, loud moan.
“Christ you’re wet,” declared at normal volume as her finger abandoned my clit and a second finger joined it as it plunged deep into my cunt. I groaned loudly. It occurred to me that this conversation was probably meant more for the crowd, not that I cared.
Her fingers continued to slide in and out, as I shamelessly moved to meet each thrust.
“You want to come?”
“Yes. Please, Master,” I at least had the decency to blush as I gasped the words out.
She chuckled and pulled away. I pressed my forehead against the rough bricks for a second, and flexed my fingers before retightening them around the ring. Before my breathing had completely slowed backed to normal, I heard Sir’s voice behind me.
“Count them backward from 30.”
“Yes, Sir.” I fought to concentrate as crop made contact with my ass.
“30…20, 19...”
“Well??”
Fuck. The danger of focusing too hard on counting backwards without fucking up was that you occasionally forget to notice what you were supposed to be counting.
“18?”
“Start over.”
“…11, 10, 9, 10.” FUCK.
The irritated sighs in stereo behind me informed there was unlikely to be any good cop/bad cop responses to my inability to count. I felt sincerely bad, I should have moved on by now. I didn’t need someone to save me yet, I was still miles from the edge. Strike two.
“START. OVER.”
The next 5 came down hard. In the exact same spot. By the fifth I was squirming in vain to redirect them. My Master’s voice was tinged with anger, “Move again. And we will start the fuck over. Understand?”
My blindfold was damp with tears, “Yes Master.” In order to fly, you first have to fall.
By the time I gasped out, “17,” the crop was landing hard wherever it pleased, and rarely where it was expected. I was pushing my ass back to meet it.
“13,” came out as a moan as the crop bit into the back of my thighs.
“7, …”
…
“6?”
On the next hit the crop found the sensitive skin where my ass curved into my thighs and i was lost.
“You are on 5,” a voice supplied gently, when I couldn’t wrap my mind around what came after the number 6.
“Thank you, 5,” I repeated softly.
I must have managed to correctly finish counting because the next thing to fully filter through my consciousness was the hand pressed against my cunt. I rocked involuntarily against it, creating the slightest bit of friction against my clit.
“Come.”
My fingers gripped the ring with white knuckles, my toes curled into the cement floor, raising me to the balls of my feet, and my thighs clenched around the hand between them as my orgasm rippled through me at the command. And blissfully, everything except a vague awareness of the two of them and the sensations flooding my body ceased to exist.
“Good Girl.”
“Thank you, Master,” I sighed feeling ridiculously happy at the feel of her hand sliding through my hair.
“Ready to continue?”
“Yes, Sir.”
to be continued...