Atonement

            She knows she’s brooding.  She just can’t seem to shake the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that something is off inside her, something is wrong, the feeling that she can’t find her center.  She knows the event that triggered this feeling in her, the vicious argument she’d had with her lover over two weeks ago, has been forgiven and is long since past.  Consciously, she knows it, but she can’t let it go.  All she feels is the pervasive sense of wrongness that hasn’t been fixed and is pulling her down.  She wanders through their home, the soft susurrus of her clothes in her ears as she walked, her black suede high heeled work shoes clicking softly on the wooden floor of the hallway.  I should change, she thinks as she wanders into the den.  Her eyes take in the mission-style furniture they had picked out when they had moved in, its deep forest green upholstery and dark cherry wood rich and inviting.

            She sits back on the sofa, sighing deeply as she toes off her shoes and tucks her feet beneath her, leaning into the corner of the sofa.  She wishes she could give in to the urge to pour herself a good, stiff drink, but she knows in her heart of hearts that she can’t.  She doesn’t, because she knows that one sip will send her already fragile self control flying crazily into the wind, leading her to a whirlwind of emotion and reaction that is bound to only create more pain.  And so, she does nothing, wrestling with the demons that sit on her shoulder, tempting her, mocking her, fighting them back into the box in the corner of her mind, locking them firmly away.  For now, at least, and that is good enough, she thinks.  It’s all I can do.

            She hears footsteps behind her, soft against the hardwood floors of the den.  It never ceases to amaze her how silently her lover can move when he chooses to.  It calls to her mind the image of a large jungle cat silently stalking its prey when he makes no noise at all, and she smiles tightly, absorbed in the self-pity and remorse she feels.  She feels a hand come down to rest lightly on her shoulder, and she leans into the touch, wanting and needing, but not knowing how or even what to ask.  The scent of his cologne is heady and rich, slightly spicy, as it rises in her nose, making her heart flutter.  She can feel the heat of his skin, the slightly calloused skin of his palm on her shoulder.  His thumb brushes idly across her cheek and she sighs as he runs a gentle hand over her thick, dark curls.  His touch calms her briefly, too briefly she thinks, before the tension returns, inexplicably, thrumming through her slender frame, the demons of anger and jealousy and fear fighting to break free of the box she’s contained them in temporarily.  Her hands fist in the material of her charcoal colored skirt, bunching it tightly in her frustration. 

            Control, she thinks.  I need control.  I need to give up control.  She knows her lover can feel the tension and confusion in her, the need to give in and let go warring with the need to make it right.  She knows it like she knows he’s right handed, and that his jet black hair has a tendency to curl if left too long; it is simply a matter of fact.  She closes her eyes, feeling a tightness over the crown of her head, and she knows he is watching her, silently gauging the inner turmoil she feels.  She feels his hand squeeze her shoulder gently, his large fingers steady and firm in their pressure before they are gone.  She hears a soft exhalation of breath above her and the footsteps retreat.  Her eyes stay closed.

            She longs to retreat, whether into sleep or stupor she neither knows nor cares; she only is aware that she longs for a haven where she can forget the pain she’s caused, where the niggling unease in her mind can be forgotten, however temporarily it might be.  But sleep, and rest, and its pleasant absence of feeling refuse to come, refuse to grant that solace.  She hangs her head, her dark hair tumbling haphazardly around her face, wanting to scream, wanting the release of tears that refuse to come.  Her hands lie limply in her lap, her shoulders too tense to sag in the utter defeat she feels.

            She hears footsteps again, heavier this time, and she smiles tightly, a soft sigh escaping her.  She knows that her lover wants her to hear his approach, to know that he’s there.  She raises her head, her eyes still closed, unwilling to see the concern in his eyes, and opens her mouth to speak.  She is silenced by a roughened fingertip against her lips.

            She feels a breath of air brush her cheek as her lover bends forward over her.  She feels his fingers touch her eyelids, silently indicating she should keep them closed, and she hears the rustle of his clothing as he moves.  She feels the cool, smooth, buttery kiss of something encircling her throat, and she inhales.  The rich, heady scent of leather swirls in her nose as her lover firmly buckles the collar in place. 

            And suddenly, it feels as if the tumblers holding the locks to her soul tightly shut have slid into place, opening the door to that part of her that was locked away.  As she breathes, her mind is slipping down, sliding quickly into that dark territory where only he can take her, where for once it is acceptable for her to be out of control, to that place where she is welcome to completely surrender to sensation because he will keep her safe, will provide for her needs, will satisfy her desires.

            “You need this, don’t you?” she hears, his voice low and seductive, coiling around her senses like a serpent, weaving into her consciousness like smoke.  She nods, afraid to speak, afraid to acknowledge her desperation, afraid that her voice will betray her and reveal how badly she needs this release.

            “Look at me, Pet.”  His voice becomes firmer, more commanding, yet strangely, still enchanting to her senses.  She feels a frisson of electricity run through her, and she knows that her conscious mind is where it should be in this here-and-now.  She knows, too, that in this space, in this time, there is no disobedience, no use for words that are not part of the game, save for the use of the safe word.  And she realizes that, tonight, there will be no safe word, for she will not use it.

            “Yes, Master.” She acknowledges softly.  She opens her eyes, slowly lifting her gaze to her Master’s mouth, not daring to be so brazen as to meet Master’s eyes.  Master is sitting on the table in front of her, his dark, chocolate colored eyes studying her.  He exhales softly, leaning forward and running a large hand over her cheek.        

            “Tell me, Pet,” Master says, threading his fingers through her hair, pushing back an errant curl.  “Tell me why you need this.”

            She takes a deep breath, her mind swirling as she tries to sort through the myriad of emotions that are roaring inside her, clamoring for position to be the first to spill past her lips.  At the gentle insistence of his touch, she uncurls her legs and drops her feet to the floor, her back straightening.

            “Pet has…” she begins, then pauses as she feels the tingling surge through her, as it always does when she speaks of herself like this, her voice sounding thick with longing to her ears.  She takes a deep breath and begins again.  “Your pet has been disobedient, Master.  She has intentionally hurt people who are close to her.  She has broken the rules and not kept her promises to Master.  She had forgotten that Master owns her, heart and soul, forgotten that Master has her best interests at heart in all things.  She has been very bad.”

            There, she thinks.  It is enough.  Telling Master what he already knows, what he has already seen is enough.  She has confessed.  A part of her hopes that Master does not make her relive the heartache she has caused, but it is a small part, one that is untouched by this here-and-now, and she is able to push it aside as she focuses on Master and his reaction to her words.  She sees the corner of Master’s mouth twitch, and is unsure of how to proceed, unsure if Master is pleased by her answer or not.  Stop, she tells herself.  Yours is to accept, not to question.  Yours is to surrender.

            “Ah,” Master says, his voice knowing.  “So my pet has hurt others.  Tell me, Pet,” he says, slowly rising to stand before her.  “Tell me what my beautiful pet has done.”   She drops her head in shame, feeling unworthy of Master’s words of praise, unworthy of his love.  He reaches out to her, his fingers fisting in her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her gaze up to his face.  “I asked you a question, Pet,” he says, his voice holding a note that tells her he will not stand for disobedience. 

            “Master’s pet has lost her temper and said nasty things about people she cares for, Master,” she says quietly, tears pricking at the back of her eyelids.  “Master’s pet has lashed out in anger and hurt, wanting to make them hurt, to make herself feel better.  Master’s pet has ignored her training, has shut out Master.  Master’s pet has shamed him.”  Her voice, for all she is a woman grown, sounds small and vulnerable, girlish in its timidity.  Master stands back and looks at her impassively, his dark eyes unreadable, his face shuttered.

            “And tell me, Pet,” Master says slowly, his voice silky.  “Look at me and tell me.  Have these others forgiven my pet?”  He relaxes his grip in her hair as he traces a finger across her cheek, following the line of her cheek to her jaw, and runs his fingertip over her full lips.  He sees the tears welling in her blue eyes, can hear the remorse in her voice as they threaten to spill over.

            “Yes, Master,” she whispers and nods slowly, unable to turn her face away, unable to deny the command in Master’s voice that wraps around her brain and promises the release that comes with total surrender to his will.  Master’s voice holds her spellbound.

            “So, Pet, it would seem that I am the only one left to deal with, then, yes?”

            “Yes, Master.”

            “Do you remember your training now, Pet?”

            “Yes, Master.”

            “Who owns you, Pet?”

            “Master does.  Only Master,” she replies, her heart tripping in her chest.

            Master is looking at her intently, his dark eyes piercing into hers, stripping away the defenses she has built up for her interactions with the outside world with his gaze, laying her bare and exposed, but not alone.  Never alone.  Master reminds her without words that he is her haven, her shelter, her everything, keeping her safe and secure both in this here-and-now place and in the outside world.  

            “Do I only own you part of the time, Pet?”

            “No, Master.”

            “Do I only own a little bit of you?”

            “No, Master.  Master owns all of me.”

            “That’s right.  I do.”

He drops his hand away from her face and takes a step back from her, a distant smile on his face.  She can see that Master is thinking hard about what the punishment will be for forgetting this simple absolute rule, knowing it will be severe, and she feels a thrill of anticipation run down her spine at being allowed the opportunity to atone for her errors with pain.  She knows that look on Master’s face, knows it well, and knows that she has, indeed, earned this punishment, just as she knows that once it is done, it will be over, and she will be forgiven.  The silence between them grows, stretches out, consumes her as he contemplates her task.

            “On your feet, Pet.” Master tells her.  She slips on her shoes and stands slowly, almost insolently, her hands automatically clasping behind her head, her legs automatically parting to the correct distance, as she has been trained to do.  Master scowls at her, his dark brows furrowing as he watches the slowness with which she moves to obey.  “Feeling bratty, are we, Pet?”

            “No, Master.” She says, contritely.  She knows that insolence will only prolong the time until Master forgives her.  “Master’s pet would never be insolent with Master.”

            Master nods slowly, and she can see that he isn’t happy with her.  The fact that Master is not happy makes her want more than ever to atone, makes her want desperately to please Master.

            “Pity,” Master says, his voice sounding almost casually disinterested.  “I was rather looking forward to adding to your punishment, my naughty Pet,” he sighs.  “I do like my pets to have a little fire to them.”  He says, circling around and gazing at her thoughtfully, his eyes roving over her petite frame, appreciating the beauty he sees there in her finely sculpted limbs, the dormant strength and endurance that is waiting to rise to the surface of her consciousness like the finest, richest cream.  He leans closer, careful not to touch her, cautious only because he can sense the rising need and the quiet desperation radiating from her.

            “Master,” she sighs, feeling desire coiling thickly through her, the familiar ache to please her Master rising swiftly in her chest.  Her hands are itching to touch, to move, to feel, and she has to breathe deeply to still the trembling, to draw her body fully into the here-and-now.

            “To your room, my naughty one,” Master tells her, his voice silk and steel, caressing her senses, and this time she cannot suppress the shiver of anticipation that runs through her.  “And when you get there, I want you to strip and wait for me.  No touching,” he reminds her sternly. 

            “Yes, Master,” she says, her voice soft.  She has to fight back the urge to smile at Master as she turns and climbs the stairs, has to force herself to not hurry, so great is her desire to please Master.  She walks to her room, the room at the end of the hall that they keep locked to the rest of the world, their sanctuary they have created to escape, to relinquish the hold that the outside world has over them. 

            She withdraws a key from the pocket of her skirt, unlocks the door and slowly steps inside, her heart pounding, her pulse thundering in her ears as she snaps on the light and takes in the familiar sights of the soundproofed playroom.  Scattered around the large room are various surfaces of various heights, ranging from stools to ottomans to tables.  Along one wall are mirrors, and opposite the mirrors hangs a sturdy pair of ropes mounted through O-rings set into the wall itself, one ring at ankle height and the other just a foot over her head, clips spliced into the ends.   Along the third wall of the room is the rack of toys they have collected over the years.  And finally, she allows her gaze to fall on the oversized bed that Master chose just for this room.  A shiver of delight runs down her spine as she turns her gaze back to the rack along the third wall.  Her eyes wander over the toys, lingering on the favored instruments of Master’s pleasure and she cannot help but wonder if Master will use them today. 

She smiles softly to herself as she begins to unbutton her cream colored silk shirt and toes off her shoes, setting them off in a corner by the clothes tree that waits there.  She drapes the shirt on the rack and removes her skirt and hangs it alongside the shirt; a flimsy lace camisole and half slip are carefully folded, followed by her pale pink bra and panties.  She quickly draws off the off-black, lace topped thigh-high stockings and neatly sets them on the stack of her clothes.  As she removes each article, she feels herself becoming lighter, and she breathes deeply to settle herself in her skin, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace.  She knows that her time is running short, and that if she keeps Master waiting, Master will be very displeased. 

She crosses to the middle of the room and lowers herself to kneel, her back toward the door, her hands clasped behind her head so Master can see that she is following his instructions to their very letter, that she is obeying, that she is being good.  Her body is trembling with want, with need; her pussy is swollen, aching with desire for her Master’s touch.  She closes her eyes, lowering her head, inhaling the scents of leather and sweat and sex that pervade the room, feeling it draw her in further, deeper. 

She hears Master’s footsteps in the hall behind her, hears the door close behind Master, and she feels the shift within herself as the final lock within her is drawn open, feeling the tension coiled as tightly as a spring in her belly disappear as she hears Master’s footfalls, soft as a cat’s paws on the floor as he draws close.  She presents her back to Master for Master’s appraisal, and she hears the soft intake of breath as Master sees the expanse of ivory skin laid out before him for his pleasure. 

“Good pet,” Master murmurs, stopping behind her and running a hand softly over her head, caressing her hair.  It is all that she can do to keep herself from leaning against Master in unconscious adoration; she has not been given permission to move.  At Master’s words, her heart leaps with joy.

“What shall we do with you, my beautiful pet?”  Master asks her, turning away from her and toward the rack of toys.  “What is your desire?  You may answer my question,” Master tells her, perusing the rack, seeming indifferent to what his pet is doing.

“Please, Master, your pet only wants to please you.”  She replies.  Her voice sounds unsteady, but it is not from nerves.  “Master’s pet will be happy with Master’s decision.”

“I see,” he replies, selecting items from the rack and coming back to where she kneels.  He pulls up a low stool and settles on it, slowly running his fingers over a pair of silk-lined leather cuffs as he appraises his pet.  “Punishing you for shaming me will be pleasure in and of itself, my beautiful, naughty pet,” he purrs.  “So tell me, pet, shall I bind you?  Shall I beat you? Shall I make you beg for forgiveness before allowing you to cum, my naughty pet?”

Each word that comes from Master’s mouth sends an arrow of heat and electricity through her, sharp as a blade, making her skin feel alive, making her pussy throb.  A soft moan escapes her and she feels the blood leave her head in a dizzying rush; she can feel the wetness of her sex between her legs.  Her mouth is dry; she is not sure she is able to answer Master, but she knows she must.

“Answer me, pet!” There is steel underlying Master’s voice as it cracks through her consciousness like a whip; he has not raised his voice at all.  He does not need to.

She swallows, fighting down the urge to throw herself at Master’s feet and beg for forgiveness then and there.  “Yes, Master,” she says.  “Anything for Master.”  Anything to make Master love his pet, to forgive me, to let me pay for my wrongs, she thinks.  Master’s face remains impassive, although his eyes are smoldering, as he shifts and pulls a small chain from his pocket.  He holds it out, then lets go, and it falls to the floor before her with a soft pinging sound.  Her breath catches in her throat as she recognizes it.    

“Put them on,” Master says, nodding at her.  She bends and picks it up, the cool metal slowly warming at her touch.  She slips a clamp over the tip of her left nipple and tightens it, sighing at the pressure she feels.  She slides the second clamp at the other end of the chain around her right nipple, biting back a groan at the pain that shoots through her.  She resumes her posture, the hands behind her head causing her breasts to jut high and proud, the silver chain swaying slowly between them as she breathes.  

“So beautiful,” Master breathes as his pet settles back on her heels, waiting.  “Hands.” He says.  His pet offers them up quickly, a soft sigh escaping her as she feels the whisper of silk that lines the heavy leather cuffs across the thin skin of her wrists.  Master buckles the cuffs firmly in place and sits back to admire her, drawing out the desire until he can see his pet is fairly trembling for him.  He smiles, waiting for the trembling to still, waiting for his pet to be ready to continue the game.

“Now, pet,” he says, reaching forward and cupping his hand under his pet’s chin, softly running his thumb across the delicate jaw.  “On your feet.  To the wall with you.”  He releases his pet’s chin and stands, walking slowly to the rack, turning away from her.

She slowly gets to her feet and goes to face the wall, the floor cool against her bare feet.  She is careful not to touch herself, not to violate Master’s command as she moves.  Her stomach is fluttering with anticipation.  She hears the sounds of Master selecting toys and knows better than to look.  Master does not tolerate that, does not approve of independent movement, and in this here-and-now, she does nothing that is not explicitly commanded.  The only independence that Master does allow her is the right to close her eyes, because Master knows how it stimulates her, knows how it heightens the pleasure his pet feels.  She can feel her mind pulling her deeper into the surrender.

She hears Master’s footsteps behind her, feels his hands on her skin, running his fingers down her back, exploring the waiting canvas upon which Master will create his masterpiece of pain and desire.  Her breath catches in her throat as Master takes the ring on each of the cuffs and raises her hands above her head, securing the cuffs together before clipping the link to the rope and pulling so that she is on her toes before securing her in place.  Master’s fingers trace across the soft skin of her arm, raising gooseflesh as he steps close and places his lips to his pet’s ear.

“So beautiful, my naughty pet.  So fucking gorgeous.  You may speak, if you wish, but I don’t believe I will give you the chance,” he whispers.  “You will thank me for every stroke I give you, pet.  Is that understood?” he asks before planting a soft kiss on his pet’s shoulder, delivering a sharp bite to the skin under his mouth before stepping away. 

“Yes, Master,” she manages to stutter, inhaling swiftly, the place where Master’s lips have been burn like fire, her nerves sizzling, the aching need in her consuming her and she moans as she squeezes her eyes shut, the snapping sound of leather against Master’s hand rising in her ear. 

“Count,” she hears.  He barely has time to register the words that Master has uttered.  She hears the faint whistle of leather through the air, feels the disturbance against her skin.  Pain explodes in her brain as the crack of the belt against flesh is heard throughout the room.  She yelps at the impact of leather against her skin, rocking forward as heat blossoms where the leather has bit her.  She feels the cool firmness of the wall pressing against her nipples and breasts and moans at the sensation.

“One,” she breathes.  “Thank you, Master.”

“Good, beautiful pet,” Master says.  His voice is smoky, addictive as he draws back his arm.  The belt comes down again, harder, then harder still as Master puts the weight of his body behind each swing, each stripe laid down with exquisite care, the pauses that come between blows stretching time itself to an agonizing slowness.  Master steps close after the fifth stripe, inspecting her skin, running a gentle hand over her back, smoothing it, feeling the heat radiating under her skin. She has counted each stroke, taking care to thank her Master for his attention, for his forgiveness, moaning softly as the tingling coils tightly at the base of her spine.   

By the time she reaches ten, she can feel the skin of her back tightening, and she knows that welts are slowly forming under Master’s ministrations.  She knows that there will be marks left behind that will last for days, maybe weeks, marks that will remind her of this punishment, remind her of Master’s forgiveness, remind her of her Master’s consideration and care for her, and she glories in that knowledge.  Again, Master pauses, examining her closely for injury, checking her circulation as he runs his hands over her flesh, murmuring soothing sounds in her ear as he slides a finger between her legs to tease her pussy.  Her eyes slam shut and her head falls back at the welcome invasion as Master’s fingers slick over her hard clit, stroking her, teasing her close to the edge of orgasm before backing away.  She is trembling with restrained desire as Master reminds her of what it means to be owned by him, what it means to submit to his control.  She hears him step away.

She feels the leather bite into her flesh again, feels a whimper being torn from her throat as the pain transforms somehow, mutating, twisting itself into a living being that coils through her, firing her blood and setting her nerve endings thrumming with desire. 

She can hear Master pacing slowly behind her, considering the next placement for the coming stroke, his breathing heavy with his own desire.  She knows by that sound that Master is pleased with her, and that knowledge serves only to ratchet up the heat she feels rocketing through her.  Her head drops down between her shoulders, closing her eyes as she feels the leather kiss her skin, connecting with her ass, curling around her hip with a resounding ‘crack’, and she arches her back into the pain with a hiss as a stripe is painted across unexplored territory. 

“Thank you, Master,” she stutters out.  “Fifteen.” She groans, feeling the tingling euphoria beginning to stir in her.  More, she thinks, I can take more, Master.  She hears Master set down the belt on the floor and step closer to her.  She is breathing heavily, and she has to force herself to be still as she feels Master’s hands on her back and thighs, his fingertips tracing the latticework of welts that decorate his pet’s skin.  She knows by the delicate touch that Master is admiring his work as well as assessing for damage to be treated at the end of the session.

“Fifteen stripes, pet.  Impressive.”  Master’s voice is husky, thick with desire as he traces a fingertip down a spectacular welt that is already purpling at the edges.  “Is that enough, my beauty?  Or do you deserve more?”

She has to swallow several times before she is able to answer.  She knows she can take more, can take everything that Master has to give.  She shakes her head slowly.  She wants to fly.  She wants Master to set her free.

“More, please, Master,” she says, her voice, to her ears, sounds as needy as she feels.  “Please?” she asks.  She is begging now, begging for more, begging for release.  Her pussy is throbbing almost painfully now, adding to the rising euphoria she feels.

Master laughs softly, throatily, the sound rumbling through his senses.  “My pet is greedy tonight, isn’t she?” he asks as he unclips the ropes and gently lowers her arms, massaging them briefly to restore bloodflow to her hands and fingers before he steps away. 

She stands there, her chest heaving for air, and feels the waves of want and need rolling over her, through her as Master walks to the rack. 

“Do you see that ottoman over there, the one with the blue cushion on it, pet?”  she hears Master ask.  “Hands and knees before it.  Now.”  Master’s voice is hard.  The tone sends a frisson of desire through her.  She hurries to comply, wanting nothing more than to feel Master’s hands on her again.  She settles herself on her hands and knees as instructed, unconsciously wiggling her reddened ass cheeks as she finds a comfortable position.  She is unaware that Master has turned and is watching her, his eyes hungry, devouring the sight before him.  It is the first outward sign that Master has shown of how much this excites him, how much he needs to care for his pet.  Master turns back to the rack and selects a plug from the selection of toys, taking it, the lubrication and a silk scarf over to where his pet is waiting.

“My beautiful, naughty pet,” he says.  “You are teasing me, aren’t you?” he asks as he drapes the scarf over the scarlet skin of her back, and is rewarded with a soft moan as the fabric covers the heated flesh.  He flips open the cap of the lube and slicks it over the surface of the plug.  “You know, don’t you, that it isn’t nice to tease me,” he says, as he sits on the ottoman in front of his pet.  “Look at me, pet.”

She looks up, her eyes heavy with desire, and has to bite back a groan when she sees the slicked plug in Master’s hands. 

“You don’t really want this, do you?”  Master asks, rotating it in his hand so his pet can see it completely.  “You may answer,” he says.

“Master…” she moans.  “Please…Master…”  She feels the heat pooling, growing, spreading as Master reaches out and runs a hand firmly across the rounded curve of her ass.  She feels Master’s hand reaching between her legs to brush against her clit and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out.  Her eyes slam closed as she arches into Master’s touch.  Master’s hand immediately withdraws.

“Now, now,” Master says, his voice low.  “Patience, pretty pet.”  Master spreads lubricant on his fingertip and looks at his pet.  “Turn around.” He says.

She obeys quickly, eager to please Master, joy and want and need mingling in her chest.  She trembles as she feels Master lightly run his slicked finger over her puckered opening, has to fight the urge to press back into the touch as Master slides his fingertip in.  A moan escapes her as waves of pleasure surge through her body.  Her pussy is throbbing in time with her heartbeat, as Master reaches around and tugs gently on the chain that sways against her chest, the pressure nearly driving her mad.  Master slides in a second finger, then a third, working her, spreading her.  Then the fingers are gone and she feels the much larger plug being pushed inside.  Her eyes squeeze tightly shut and she bites her lip to keep from groaning as Master seats the plug fully inside her, running his hand over the curve of her ass.

Master picks up the scarf and ties it securely around her eyes, the cool fabric soft against her cheeks. 

“Are you ready for more, pet?” Master asks. 

She nods quickly, gratefully as she feels Master’s hands on her upper arms. 

“Come here, pet.”  

She feels Master raising her up to her knees, and then his hands fall away as she hears Master stand and the rasp of a zipper being drawn down.  Her hands go behind her neck, her fingers interlacing.  Arrows of heat and desire sear through her as she hears the rustle of clothing, hears his black trousers slithering down his legs.  She feels Master’s hands on her head, and she licks her lips to moisten them. 

“Open your mouth, pet.” 

She feels Master’s cock against her lips, prodding, and she obeys, her tongue tasting the engorged flesh, lapping at it, taking it slowly down her throat.  She hears Master groan as she swallows around his cock, her head bobbing down the length, her tongue bathing the heated flesh.  She feels Master’s fingers fist in her hair, tugging at it roughly, and she opens her throat more as she feels Master rock forward into her mouth.  She groans, savoring the salt-musk taste of Master on her tongue, the feel of Master sliding in and out of her mouth as Master speeds up the pumping of his hips until he is fucking his pet’s mouth with abandon.  She feels Master’s cock grow heavy and hard on her tongue, feels it surge, and she lets her jaw go slack as Master stiffens and orgasms, shooting ropes of cum down his pet’s throat.  She swallows it down eagerly, milking every last drop from Master as he shudders and withdraws.  She hears the rustle of fabric again, and the zip being done, then she hears Master settle onto the ottoman with a soft sigh.

  “Across my lap, now, pet.” Master says, his voice silky and almost tender as he guides his pet to his side and positions her face down across his legs.  She feels the solid muscle of Master’s thighs under her, feels Master trace his fingertips down the heated flesh of her back, run his palm over the flaring curve of her hip.  She is tingling, every fiber of her being intent on pleasing her Master. 

Pain blossoms in her brain as Master’s open palm connects with the skin of her ass and she gasps in pleasure as it coils through her.  Another blow comes fast on the heels of the first, and then another and another, each harder and more solid, each strike causing the plug inside her to shift and move deliciously, pushing her to the edge of consciousness, so great is her need.  The sensations are exquisite, and she groans loudly at the pressure she feels in her aching clit.  She feels Master reach between her legs and stroke her gently, slipping his fingers into her pussy, rubbing insistently at her clit.  She feels Master flick open the clamps on her nipples and as blood surges to her nipples, twin arrows of heat and pain lancing from her breasts to her groin.  She gasps.

“Yes…” she hears Master breathe.  “You have been a very good pet.  You have pleased me, and you are forgiven.  Now please yourself and cum for me, pet.  Cum.  NOW.”  Master’s voice is hard, whipcord and steel, and it is what she needs.  She drops her head, surrendering to the sensations that are blooming across her skin, coiling through her body and mind, letting the electricity surge through her as she stiffens and spasms, shuddering violently with the strength of her orgasm that rips a scream of purest pleasure from her throat. 

Behind the blindfold, her vision goes white, then black and spangled with stars as she is flung into the void where she is everything and nothing, disconnected from her body, from the pain Master has gifted her.  Everything stills, drops away and her world of here-and-now disappears and she is nothing and everything at the same time, flying in sea of euphoria and tranquility.  She is gone; Master has set her free. 

“Enough, my love,” she hears long moments later, the words coming from seemingly far away, and she feels her lover’s fingers tugging at the knot in the scarf that blinds her.  “Come back to me…”   

She is limp, reluctant to leave that place, but at the insistent sound of her lover’s voice, calling to her to return, she does as the scarf falls from her eyes.  She feels his fingers undoing the restraints that enclose her wrists, and feels herself taking a reluctant step closer to reality, out of the here-and-now place that she’s been in as he gently removes the plug, making her shudder as her body is suddenly empty.  She feels a gentle hand at the back of her neck, unbuckling the collar that encircles her throat, and knows that her lover is slowly bringing her out of the game, incrementally back to the real world. 

She feels his hands on her, gently helping her up.  She slowly stands on shaking legs, her body trembling, as his lover picks her up and carries her to the bed and gently lays her down.  She gasps for air in heaving gulps, her body tingling, her senses reeling.  She closes his eyes as she hears him removing his clothes and feels the bed dip down as he settles beside her, pulling her close into his embrace.  She feels his lover pressing a soft, gentle kiss to her forehead, then to her lips.  She smiles and sighs, cuddling closer into the large, warm body resting next to her.

Her hand drifts across her lover’s chest, resting atop the heart that beats there, feeling the life pulse beneath her fingertips in time with the pounding of her own heart.  She feels him sigh softly.

“Better, love?”  She hears his voice as she feels its rumbling vibration under her cheek.  She nods, a dreamy half-smile on her lips.

“Thank you for forgiving me, my love…my forever Master.” She says softly as her eyes drift closed, the lingering peace of her atonement cradling her as she slips into the comfort of sleep.