Sunday, September 21, 2008

The Air That You Breathe

You're on your back, hands raised and together, your right thumb held in your left palm. I've tied you down across your forearms and biceps and am kneeling next to the bed on which you lie along the edge. My left hand slides into your hair, across your scalp, grasping you at the crown of your head. I ask quietly for you to open your eyes and look into mine... and keep looking into mine, a slightly upward angle as I have positioned myself just above your eye level.

My young, capable assistant stands behind me, her tan arms shown off to good advantage by her orange tank top and long, lacy white skirt. Not a big woman, nor frail, nor athletic, but... focused... deliberate. Her left calf is against my back, I know just where she is without looking or even thinking. She's holding a heavy strap, thick, lands well - eminently bearable, even somehow pleasurable under normal use. The small handle suits her hand well.

Your legs are bound together above the knees and as we begin I take my hand out of your hair and pass my arm behind your head, cradling your neck in the crook of my elbow. Folding your thighs to your chest I grasp the lead from the rope in my left hand, holding it there, your exposed bottom showing some marks from past play and pink from more recent spanking, at least slightly warmed up.

I reach over and put my right hand over your mouth, lightly closing your nostrils with my thumb and the side of my first finger. It’s not a grip on your face, just almost floating – and moving easily with you if you move your head. My fingers are open and you can breathe through them easily, though shutting off your nostrils gets a bit of a reaction just from the strangeness of it, making you switch to breathing through your mouth. If I have to I can bend my elbow and hold your head a little steadier, but I don’t really need to – if you shake your head my hand goes with it, staying there cupped over your mouth, not uncomfortably except for your trepidation.

As I close your nostrils, your breathing changes, I take you through the first deep breath, ten seconds in, ten seconds out, through my open fingers. Inhale again for five seconds and I close my fingers. You hold for a moment, then try to exhale - or inhale further. Yes, with a great effort you can get a tiny whisper of air, it's not a vacuum, there's no suction, but at the same time it provides nothing of significance. Maybe you could shake your head, maybe I wouldn't stop you, though I can, easily; you don't try. You try to relax and wait. After twenty seconds I open my fingers and you exhale quickly. Deep breath and out, in and hold again. Thirty seconds this time. Easy if you relax, and it relaxes you to breathe this way... the more you breathe slowly like this, the more you relax...

I shut off your breath, still looking in your eyes, counting the seconds... one two three four five six seven eight (nod) nine ten... at my nod my YCA raises the strap, bringing it down around ten, a firm stroke, six on a scale of ten. Your eyes open wide as she raises it and wider still as she connects. Your hips rock as you try to absorb it, your lungs fight, overmatched, against the seal of my hand. Your eyelids flutter, turning downward on the outsides, imploring... then scowling - your nostrils would flare if they could open at all. Twenty seconds after the stroke, I open my fingers, allowing you to exhale. And inhale. Briefly. Eight seconds later, I nod again.

You have no responsibility right now, I remind you calmly, not even for your own breathing. You cannot move, you cannot affect it. You can only look into my eyes and breathe when I allow you to... you can only obey and wait, I tell you quietly.

Soon a third stroke falls and you start to panic, the restricted breathing failing to calm you. The pain is frightening, your body's reaction mitigating it very little - and you know that the strokes are about to get harder. You try to wriggle and find how securely you're held. You breathe greedily before the fourth stroke.

I allow you an extra breath, a second long slow exhale before you inhale again, before beginning my count. My YCA increases her delivery, now about an eight, careful, considered, impassive. Her left hand rests on the upturned back of your thigh, fingertips between them barely above the bonds. I continue to watch your eyes and count, opening and closing my fingers on schedule. After the second harder stroke I whisper to you that it's okay to cry, we all recognize that it hurts, my statement serving to strengthen your resolve and consume it more quickly. On the third you want to scream, or maybe you do - it's so hard to tell.

For the eighth stroke I wait, counting higher before giving the signal, confusing you, causing your panic to return. As I delay your next breath you want to protest, to make me stop, but you don't dare waste your chance to take in the air that you need.

Once again I give you an extra breath, knowing that you won't make me deny you by complaining, but twenty seconds later you are holding your breath again - or I am. I feel my YCA dip her knees as she strives to deliver a perfect stroke with plenty of follow-through - even through my hand I can recognize your howl, my mind's eye picturing her self-satisfied smile. The cycle reaches the top once again, close, count to eight, nod... this time, ten seconds later, instead of being halfway to breathing again, you watch with dismay as I nod a second time...

Only two more, I promise... you try to give up, an alien feeling... I have to nudge you, verbally, gently, to open your eyes once more... the stroke is hard, your tears run over once more, feeling cold on your ears, your mind blanking, your eyes closing or, open, unseeing... just one more, by now it doesn't matter, you think... wrongly...

I count out the last twenty seconds and open my fingers for the last time, allowing you to breathe freely... then letting you breathe, once again finally, through your nose... though my hand doesn't leave your face, stroking your face, your hair and head, producing a tissue to dry your tears and wipe you nose, putting my lips by your ear, asking if you'll be good, asking if you can obey...

While Driving

For now at least I'm going to just call this "something hot that really happened one time." We were driving back from hiking - specifically, she was driving, I was riding, which is unusual for me. What really started the whole thing was that she had a sore on the underside of her chin and she wanted to keep touching and rubbing it, like you do, and complained that she was doing so. To help her out I told her to keep her hand on the wheel and I would slap it if she took it off.

There was no reason whatsoever for her to be misbehaving - I had spanked her in the morning then paddled her full sore with the leather-covered paddle... set up a play scene where she was spanked again most painfully - a bit too much, perhaps - and tested some paddles before we left for the hike, her condition leading her to ask that I only bring the lightest one. I had spanked her quite recently with that paddle at the waterfall. Though she had been far behind this morning, she should have been, for the moment, largely caught up except for some specific situations that we would address before she left late that evening.

This is not to say that that is all that we had been doing; in addition to the hike I'd taken some pictures of her - dressed - in the light of the window, pictures which had come out quite nicely. And we had had a very nice lunch.

Even so, something about the way I smacked her hand was not well-received and she immediately responded by smacking me back. This kind of game has no end, and she never gives up. I tried holding her hand to smack it, wanting to make it seem more structured; I tried keeping my hand away from hers so that she couldn't directly retaliate. Bear in mind that this started while we were traveling at 60 or so down a two-lane highway, continued onto the freeway and then as we were moving through the commercial district of a number of small outlying towns. Yes, somewhere in here I should have had her pull over and found a way to spank her properly until she agreed to behave, at the least, but I didn't. All I did was promise her appropriate retribution when we got back.

Since it was easy for me to keep my hand from her, she resorted to slapping my thigh, which was always available. I wasn't crazy about directly retaliating and slapping the thigh of her leg, the foot of which was on the accelerator or brake. Not crazy about it but not hesitating too much, either. I also tried punching her with my knuckle, aiming to get between her arm and shoulderblade, and gripping, possibly bending, her wrist and knuckles painfully. While she assured me that these things hurt, they did not dissuade her.

Close to home I shifted my weight and was reminded of the light paddle in my back pocket, which I produced and smacked her thigh with. This worked fairly well, though too late, and I suspect that the complexity of traffic at that point had more to do with her sudden focus on the task at hand. I did file the idea away for other trips, though.

Once back, inside, with the door closed behind us, I did what I so often do - perched on the arm of the couch and threw her over one thigh, spanking her slightly over her jeans and then with those down on her exposed cheeks and higher up on her sexy black panties and finally, with some enthusiasm, on her bare bottom, her head down toward the couch, her legs pinned straight by my other leg, held together by her lowered clothing. It was quite satisfying to get my hand on her again; as was her extreme sensitivity from her earlier spankings and paddlings - I knew her final spankings, when they came, would be quite keenly felt. I did avoid the one spot I had focused on while we were playing because I could see that it was already too tender.

Once her basic need for a spanking - since it had been two hours since her outdoor paddling - was satisfied, I went about the issue of dealing with her unfathomable behavior while driving. Though her irrepressible nature and boundless energy are two of her most endearing and attractive qualities, I found this demonstration of bad behavior, particularly when between two significant spankings, impossible to understand.

Standing her up I moved to the center of the couch, guiding her stumblingly behind me to where I sat, laying her face-up across my thighs, her bottom centered between my legs. Since she had smacked my thighs so often I felt it fitting that she be disciplined the same way. Once again her short top revealed her navel while her jeans confined her legs.

I took off her belt - "her" belt in the sense that, while I wear it, I bought it because it is so suitable for disciplining her when she needs something with some bite to it. Folding it three ways left a short tail. While explaining that her behavior would not be condoned I smacked the narrow, crowned strip of black leather across her exposed thighs six times. Clearly she was sensitive here and the jeans we'd been wearing in the car must have dulled the smacks I'd given her while driving quite a bit because while she had ignored those, she bore these with considerable difficulty.

"How many more strokes should you get?" I asked her, "They're going to be hard." I think she could tell that those I'd given her so far, though shockingly painful, had not been "hard."

"Ten, maybe," she admitted.

"Ten total, or ten a side?"

"Each side, I guess." She has always been exceptionally good about taking her medicine, accepting punishments that go far beyond her enjoyment, getting into and holding position all without complaint.

Holding her hands together on her stomach with my left hand, after lengthening the tail a bit, I began to dole out her strokes - not viciously, but firmly, harder than they had been, heavier and stingier. One two three four five six. Six red, box-shaped marks confirmed my efforts. Understandably she struggled across my lap, lifting her legs as one. I had to stop.

"You're moving too much," I told her, an observation, not criticism. "I need to change this." I shifted her bottom up onto my left thigh and extricated my right leg, with her assistance, then laid it over her legs. The position thrust her clamped, straightened thighs ceiling-ward, their pink stripes waiting for me to continue.

I didn't add strokes for the interruption, though it was her fault; I felt that as hard as the strokes were and as painful as I imagined them to be, she was being too hard on herself, as always. Still, I laid seven more strokes firmly onto each thigh, alternating, the tip biting painfully, the edges stamping clearly. Her inner thighs were safe, since the belt was too stiff to wrap or even dip into the small shallow cleft, and I consciously avoided the far side of her left thigh, but these strokes were punishment enough. Were I standing over her, or doing this with her vertically, I might have ranged closer to her waist and knees, but as we were I focused on a band maybe four inches wide.

I didn't lecture; she wouldn't have heard. With her legs held down her body came up and unable to hold that strained position she collapsed backward, banging her head on the couch arm without noticing before straining upward again. It didn't take long.

Afterward she complained how much her thighs hurt and I told her that she should have asked for fewer, but she explained that she "thought I was really mad at her." Looking at them I had actually been rather concerned, not wanting to leave any permanent marks, though I was thinking more of how frequently this could be done safely and thinking of using my rubber smacker next time, more painful but safer. I know if I do use it, to whatever extent, even without cause, she will complain mildly before and after as she always does but accept it with the same quiet gratitude she does everything else.

A Deerskin Flogging

"Undress - absolutely and immediately... please..." In the center of the rug is the coffee table, its feet and legs reasonably under its four corners for support... and a faux fur throw over it, luxuriously soft. "So we will put you on that, on your back... in your lovely nude state..." I tell you as I lay you down, and back, your knees bent at right angles, feet on floor... in the position I often tie you, tightly and securely. But not this time.

"Shift around, get comfortable..." I hold our long purple deerskin flogger, a straight-backed chair standing near your head. "I want you to reach back and grab the chair back... good girl..." Stroking you with my hand, inside your thigh... up the far side of your body... the flat of my hand stroking the front of your torso... side of one finger stroking your face...

"There we go..." I remark as you begin to relax. I shake out the flogger - long, narrow tails, many of them...

"Oh you shiver now..." I say, smiling, as you do, slightly. Holding the flogger above you, I let the tips brush your body... so so soft like barely a touch... neck to knees... repeat... and swinging it gently side to side, stroking you from one side to the other... across your hips... across your navel...

You stretch and hold on to chair - pushing your breasts a bit upward for me to see... to catch my attention - as if they need to...

"Mmm you are so good..." I murmur, leaning forward to kiss your right breast, sucking a little on your nipple... and a peck on the left... then, taking the flogger, starting at your left knee, sliding down both sides of your leg... letting the long tails trail over you...

"Tickle?" I tease lightly as you squirm a bit.

Drawing the tails over you, up to your shoulder... stroking you...

Now - standing back, just below your hip, looking down... swinging the flogger... left shoulder, across your breasts, down to your right side... slowwww swing... and right to left... touching, trailing... back and forth... barely enough for a touch and sooo soft... back and forth... down a little, starting at your breast and reaching your hip... and right to left... you tense a bit...

"Oh, sweetie, relax, no pain tonight... been waiting to do this... we'll have a nice difficult whipping for you soon enough," I promise softly.

With a nice steady rhythm... your lower ribs to thigh, across your body... figure 8's, tummy to knee... brushing over your core, but high... turning the flogger to fan the tails... slow, careful, dragging strokes... then working back upward a little faster, starting each pass a little higher... back up... It tickles your breast under the nipple... some tails always running astray... tickles your navel, your pubis, under your arm...

I pause for a moment...

Now I stroke the outsides of your arm with the hanging tails... then, holding the flogger above your solar plexus, the tips brushing - brushing breasts, hip bones, straight up, bottom to top... right up the middle...

"Put your feet together, please," I ask, "knees spread..." And I begin stroking up inside each thigh... swinging in a big circle, as I face away from you - down right, across the opening of your knees, up left, trailing over your pussy... round, round... one more, and back... then 'round the other way... I stop, set the flogger down... kneel next to you, kiss your breasts quickly, kiss you on the mouth...

"Mmmm... you always taste so good - your mouth always feels so good..." because it does...

My hand starts at your left elbow, strokes downward... down your side... as I move my mouth down to your breasts, to stay, this time... hand stroking, down to your hip... down between your legs... covering you - holding you... a finger presses... barely moving yet stroking... just pulsing on you right there... Another flogger - still deerskin but small. It's tempting to use something with some sting, but not tonight. You haven't seen this one before, a pale gray...

Rising, turning, changing, my left hand now between your legs, the flogger in my right I begin by smacking inside your right thigh... over and over, a rowing motion, sort of - the tips on the inside of your left thigh, sometimes - on my hand at times, covering you, pulsing, a little stroking... revealing you from the right, tails along the exposure - like a touch, a promise, then gone...

"Ache, my sweet?" I ask, "Do you ache?"

Mmmmmm lovely lady... a few more kisses for your breasts... a lingering one for your mouth, my hand in your hair against your scalp, holding you as we kiss. Mmmmm... I slip my arm under your neck, get it in the crook of my elbow - kissing you deeply. Capturing your kisses, letting go of you slowly... Standing up, offering you my hand. Mmmm such a lovely sight - aching pussy and all...

I strip off my clothes, sit down in the chair - "I want you to lubricate my penis well... no, I know you don't need it... but be a good girl, get me all nice and slick... grab me hard, squeeze me hard - so hard just for you... mmmmm... straddle me, good girl... get me up and in and slide all the way down me..." You clasp your hands behind my neck... "Ooohhhhhhhhh, oh you feel sooo amazing..." I moan... as you grab my neck and moan in return into my ear, taking me fully into yourself. Speechless, "mmmm yes..." is all I can offer... while you press down and rotate a little... moaning...

"Mmmmm... yes," I repeat. Your breast touches my chest ever so lightly... you lift again, hands on my shoulders... Reaching around, I slap your bottom just on the start of the downstroke. "Now, get to work, girl - none of this teasing..." I admonish and you stroke down. "Good, right... a little faster, I want to see you sweat..." This time you lift a little... but down again quickly, riding me faster...

"Ah, good girl..."

You grasp my shoulders as I slide my hand up your side, you're leaning close to my ear and moaning into it, riding and riding... and I, catching your left nipple between my thumb and forefinger, make little circles, always lagging your movement - up half as far as you go up, still going up as you start down... and you ride... tightening your pussy around my cock... riding... my fingertips lightly against the top of your breast, "Oh oh my God," I sigh, "I do love how you do that..." and you do, you do that so well...

Riding faster yet you can feel the cool air on your bun-hole as straddling my legs spreads your cheeks when you come down and I reach around and gives you a few more smacks... switching again, I bring my left hand to right nipple... as you are riding my big hard cock... feels so good in you, so fast...

But now... "Can you grind down and bring yourself off?" I ask. "Just... exactly... what... you... need?" And you slow, bringing a moan from me, you press down on me feeling my cock reaching deep inside. "Mmm, yes, deep..." I whisper as you circle and grind on me, closing your eyes, pressing yourself to me as I am pressing my hips up to you... and you continue to grind... to find the right spot inside for my cock to touch...

"Oh yes? yes..." I say with a bit of wonderment... still you grind and tighten... really slowly... right... there... circling slowly... tightening and...... ohhhh my.... you begin to shake as your orgasm rolls over your body - I hold tighter as you grab my neck really hard... and keep grinding as waves roll and roll over your body... my arms go around your waist, my forearms crossing across your back, clasping, crushing...

"Mmmmmmm" you moan, this time... my fingertips toward your shoulders, you arch your back but I am keeping you pressed down... pressing you hard to my chest... relaxing when you inhale, crushing you as you exhale... slowly... your breath slows...
"Mmmm now... grip me with your thighs," I command. As you do I lever myself up and lay you down on the fur throw, slipping my hands from under you... elbow at your shoulder, arm behind your head, keeping you pressed down on me... pumping hard, straining farther and farther inward - breathing so hard... Keeping your legs wrapped around me you moan again, a long, low sound... suddenly I am stopping, pressing in, HARD - shooting up into you... pressing... jerking - a bit...

"Mmmmmmmm," one of us says... my breathing still as ragged...

Moving my arms back down beneath your arms... working my right under you still... keeping you close... as you press your whole body closer to mine... "Mmmm oh so good..."