@ 2018 Asmodeus

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The Weekend - Day 1

You arrive exactly on time. As it should be. Promptness is a virtue I applaud and reward. It shows a respect from you that will be naturally reciprocated in the coming days.

You are so deliciously nervous. All that feminine power about to surrender itself to masculine control. What a delightful symbiosis. What would Germaine think? I smile at the conflict within you. I could watch you squirm all day long, but there are things to do. You are here for balanced intensity that will be measured and teased.

I kiss you lightly on your lips, carefully cradling your chin in my hand as I do.

“Strip,” I instruct you.

Obedience is instantaneous. Your “other world” clothing discarded in a moment. You stand proud before me, a magnificent creature in all its natural beauty. Nothing man-made adorns you. No jewellery, no makeup, nothing of the other world that we are excluding for our weekend. A light fuzz of pubic hair mars the otherwise Ruskin’s vision.

You are my blank canvass. Coming to me in a naturally submissive state, with nothing from the outside world intruding into our cosmos. What you are and what you will be are mine to shape and control. I shall draw on and from you all that I desire, in the knowledge that we are one and the same for the next few days.

I run my fingers gently over your body, curve by delicious curve. Down the side of your face, tracing your neckline, over your shoulders, down your arms, fingers, thighs, and back up to the more blatant erogenous zones. You give the slightest of gasps as I run my finger over your mons, and another as they brush your nipples on the way back up.

As you stand before me, I bring out a small wooden chest. In it is all that you will wear over the weekend.

 From it, I produce a slender leather collar and fasten it around your lovely neck.

“You are mine until I take this off,” I remind you.

“Yes sir,” you whisper so softly.

Looping my finger into the ‘D’ ring, I lead you though the house to the bathroom.

Guiding you into the bath, I proceed to bathe you. An intimate cleansing of your body – MY property – in preparation for today’s training. Again, nothing too overtly sexual, I prefer the sensual, massaging wash, with loads of herbal foam and sponges.  Careful to gently stroke you in all the right places. You grip my hand as I sponge between your thighs, beckoning me to go further, but I will not. There is time, and that time is as much under my control as your body is.

I dry you, again, gently teasing you with the touch of the soft towel. Every line, contour and nerve ending is caressed as gently as I can as I take you further under my control. We both know that from the moment the door closed, choice was eliminated from your world. I am doing this to you because it pleases me, and we both know you are excited by the freedom. I could have as easily dragged you to a cold shower and cleaned you like a warden would his prisoner, but I chose not to. Choice is a commodity I have, and not you…

Leading you back to the chest, I pick a pair of black seamed stockings, suspender belt and a pair of 4” heels from it and place them on the bed for you.  

I watch you dress. It is such a strange experience for most women. To be watched dressing. Oh, most have experienced the thrill of stripping, as you had earlier, but to be watched as you don your sexiest of items, my, that is a wonderfully different feeling, isn’t it?

You fumble with the suspenders, struggling with the seams to get them just right. The suspender belt is an eight strapper – anything less is utterly useless for seamed stockings, they twist too easily.

I admit to enjoying watching you twist and turn as you dress, like a waking panther, your lines are sleek and sensual. In other circumstances, I’d throw you on the bed and fuck you with all the passion of a celtic storm. But today....

Once ready, I praise your diligence. The seams straight as an arrow, the suspenders matching – I applaud the completion of what is, in reality, quite a feat or erotic engineering.

I guide you to the bed, laying you on your back.

A pair of leather cuffs go around your ankles, matched by a pair on your wrists, and a final pair around your thighs. The strapping is already in place, and it is a simple matter of attaching you to it to completely immobilise you. Spread-eagled, ankles and wrists outstretched to each corner, and your thighs held rigidly apart by the thigh cuffs. Such surrender.

I had instructed you to allow a modicum of pubic hair to grow over the last week or so, and it was for this purpose that you now lay, bound and helpless before me. The final, complete surrender of your body to me.

I foam your cunt with a healthy covering and set about my task. And what a delightful task it is. With each touch of the razor I feel you tense, then relax as it glides over your short, soft growth.

Obviously I touch you, exciting you with the gentle, yet firm touch as I shave you. Helpless, open, vulnerable, I guide the steel blade between your thighs, over your cunt and within a breath of your clit. My thumb finds your foamed clit as I delicately shave around it, varying the pressure I apply as I move around it. Teasing you deliciously, bring you nearer and nearer an edge. I can feel you ache for release, yearning the orgasm that is just below the surface, to explode as only women can, but..... You know I wouldn’t give you the permission to cum. And without permission, there is nothing.

I adore a shaven cunt. There is no other word to use, by the way. It is a CUNT. Not a pussy, not a quim, and certainly not a fanny, front bottom, or any of the other words associated with it. Cunt is a powerful word. It offends, excites and charms in the same usage, it denotes primal  energy – the energy that only a woman can ever have - and it generates responses. If it offends you, move on. Go find a corner somewhere and play with your pussy. Take catnip and a bowl of milk, and have fun.

Soon, you are shorn, completely bare. I whisper into your ear how beautiful your cunt looks. Bare, beautiful, glistening slightly at the excitement it can’t hide. What a wanton slut you look, tied down, opened, shaved, soaking wet. Reduced to your basic instinct to be fucked and used.

I wash you up, cleaning the residue of foam and hair from you and ease between your thighs. As I mentioned, I adore shaved cunts. And I adore kissing, licking and probing them with everything at my disposal. My tongue is no exception. I start at the top of your thigh, where it blends into your abdomen. Light, feather light touches of my tongue make you squirm. Slowly, and more firmly, I make my way down the valley, each flick firmer, each kiss stronger.

Then each lip is explored, gently with my tongue at first, increasing in intensity until I am gently mouthing each lip, teasing it, tugging on it gently. Then down onto your perineum, gently tasting the cuntjuice that had dribbled from your helpless, bound cunt.

I continue onto your other lip, again, teasing and nuzzling it as I had done to its twin.

You moan, the touch is driving you to depths and heights at the same time. My tongue caresses and teases, so ever close to your clit, it glistening like a pearl in the desert.

But I won’t be drawn to it just yet. There is a time and a place, and for now, I bury my face into your cunt, pushing past your lips and taking you like a small penis, darting in and out, flicking from side to side. Long licks, followed by slow, delicious probing mini-fucks that drive you wild. Despite the cuffs, you grind back at me, squeezing your thighs, trying to draw me into you, fucking me back.

I can tell how close you are to orgasm, you yearn it, you demand it, and yet you can’t have it. Your strength is not yet so far gone that you can quite surrender to ask for permission to allow your body to do what should be uncontrolled. We both know who owns it, and it, to be frank, is no longer you.

You wrestle with the sensation. A man in control of such an intimate function of your body. What delicious torture that must truly be. But what care I? You are mine, and I can do as I wish.

My tongue flicks up, catching your clit.

You tense, fighting for control. But it isn’t there. In another world, you could cum, you could tell me where to touch, where to lick, but not here, not in this universe.

My thumbs catch your labia and part them, exposing your clit. Half an inch more, and I have retracted the hood. Your clit stands proud, glistening in surrender. Yearning, and yet so sensitive. My tongue caresses the side, pressuring that secret place that men are not supposed to know about. So many see the clit as the target, so don’t see the nexus of nerves that surround the bud. But I know, and I use that knowledge. I feel you almost convulse as the sensations wash over you. Tensing against your cuffs, you struggle to contain yourself.

Like a musical instrument, I continue to play you. You think permission will be won so easily? I think not. I spend fifteen minutes on you. Teasing you to the very edge, and then withdrawing again to remind you who is in control of your body.

You whimper at first, then you beg, you plead again and even get angry, cursing my stubborn, arrogant control over your cunt and body. But permission will only be given when I say so, not you, not your cunt, not your feminine demands.

You are glistening with sweat by now. A red blush covering you from your face down to your breasts. Animalism and passion mixing with such chaotic turbulence that at times I think you might just fall over the edge and cum.

But you don’t. You take all you can, and more.

Finally, it is time.

My tongue breaks contact long enough to give you the instruction to come.

As my tongue finally assails your clit, you explode. Every sinew in your body contracts, then explodes against the straps that bind you. Your back arches and you force your head back. Like a giant, convulsing beast in the throes of a death roll.

Each touch of my tongue brings an aftershock, smaller than the last, but barbaric in its intensity nonetheless. As the last of the tremors subside, I move from your clit, and allow you to reach the plateau that will ensure that I can lift you up again when the time is right.

I gently get up, checking your straps – nothing too loose – or too tight – damage is not the aim. I gently feel your fingers and your toes, checking in with you that there is no numbness or pain that might need attending to.

But you are fine. Glowing in the aftermath of sensation that only comes with a truly brutal orgasm. I kiss you. Your lips are soaked with sweat and the taste of your cunt mingles with it, creating a salty nectar that I wish I could bottle for mass consumption.

You are still bound, helpless and open. There is no need to release you. I’ll choose when to do so. As long as you are not suffering from numbness or cramps, I’ll entertain myself with your body for as long and hard as I choose.

And that is what I decide to do. You have barely been given a chance to catch your breath before I produce one of my favourite toys, the mains powered Hitachi vibrator.

You’ve never experienced such a powerful beast. It is mains powered for a reason. As I run it up your thigh, you can already feel the power of this toy and I can see you ache for its attention.

As I said, it is a powerful beast, and I tease you with it before I let it rip on your cunt and clit. I ease the vibe head over ever inch of your body, firing nerves in your body that had been dormant for too long. Along your side, it is almost a tickle, across your breasts, it turns your nipples rock hard in seconds, and along your neck, it makes you squirm in a delicious combination of the erotic and a annoying.

But soon, I tire of teasing. I want you to cum, I want you to cum hard....

I lift your head from the pillow, and grasp your hair in a vicelike grip, fixing you with my eyes.

“Ready to cum again?” I ask. It is rhetorical, and we both know that.

You nod, your eyes afire with passion and innocence.

“Keep your eyes open, and look at me,”

You are startled. In all of creation, there is nothing more private that a woman’s orgasm. It is guarded by aeons of history and privacy, and is seldom shared – let alone surrendered – to a male. Your eyelids cover a thousand dreams and passions that are so secret and intimate to you that to keep your eyes open is a submission so deep as to scare you.  But you were prepared to surrender that most secret of parts.

The vibe touches your mons. It fires you like an electric shock. You momentarily close your eyes and then remember. You look back up into my eyes.

The Hitachi is not a delicate instrument. It is brutal. I move it level with your cunt and clit and the reaction is instantaneous. The vibrations scorch every nerve ending it touches. You screech, arching your back, both trying to escape its intensity and grind down onto it.

“Cum,” I instruct.

The effect is immediate. A racking, cataclysmic cum that almost wrenches the bonds from their anchors and threatens to shatter your body. But your eyes stay fixed on mine. A desperate pool of submission and passion that yearns for the sensations you had only dreamed of.

“Again,” I instruct you.

Once more your mind and body comply. Such sweet submission.

Ten is a nice round number, and a very good starting point for your training. I use the Hitachi on you for the best part of an hour, sometimes directly on your clit, sometimes on other erogenous zones. Lifting you and dropping you, teasing and controlling, brutalising and sensitising. It is such a monstrous toy in the ‘wrong’ hands, and we both know my hands are very much the epitome of ‘wrongness.’

Counting the oral orgasm I gave you, and the nine I rob from you with the Hitachi, you cum ten times. It’s been a little under two hours, and every orgasm has been controlled by me and so deliciously violent in intensity for you. And each one of the last nine had been with firm eye contact with me. You are soaked from head to foot in sweat, your stockings are ripped around where the thigh and ankle cuffs have restrained you. I know you’re approaching your limit physically. Oh, I know your mind is still there, capable of – and maybe even yearning – more orgasms, but your body is a finite object. Stretch it too far, too quickly, and it’ll break. And I have no intention of damaging you.

I take a few photographs and show you them on the display of the camera. What an absolute fuck slut you look, I remind you. The prim, delicate, intelligent, strong willed career girl that everyone else knows is a long distant memory. The expensive hairdo, the business suit, the perfume and make-up replaced by sweat, fuck lust, ripped stockings, aching muscles, a throbbing cunt and an aching clit – and that collar round your neck. What a transition a few hours can make.

I know I can make you cum again, just looking at the pictures of your doppelganger, the merest brush of your clit and the command is all it would take...

But for now, I release you from the cuffs and instruct you to strip naked again.

Once you are bare, I command you back onto the bed and massage some of your aches away.

“Well done,” I praise you. And I mean it. You have been excellent. You withstood the intensity with such pure submissive beauty that the pride I feel is echoed in your aching body. Each sinew and muscle stretched is tribute to you, each orgasm a gift presented to me.

You have made me proud. Which is all you can – should - ever aspire to.

The massage is followed by another bath, to soak away the excess of the evening. Before you are dried, I take a bath, with you attending to me. Your hand lingers around my cock, washing it, and gently massaging it to erection. I stop you. There is a time and a place for everything, and soon you will have the pleasure, but not before I say so. A momentary flash of disappointment  crosses your face. I kiss it away.

“In time, you’ll have it, but not before your training is complete,” I remind you.

In truth, I want you NOW. I want to force you up against the wall and ram into you with a brutality that only wolves could equal.

But I won’t.

Not yet.

Once I dry you, I attend to your toiletry needs. (Ladies, for those that have never experienced going to the toilet while a man (Or anyone) holds you by your collar and watches you, it is a highly recommended idea.)

I then feed you a light supper in my own particular way.

You sit, hands on your head while I carefully and delicately feed you. No echoes of AB or anything like that, a mere exchange of power and protocol that is the fundamental block upon which Ds is built on. The image is intense. Complete nudity (except for the collar around your neck,) complete surrender and submission as I feed you.

The desire to take you again flashes through my mind. But control is a two way street. Controlling you while abandoning my own self control is a self destructive path.

After your ‘meal’ I wrap you in a sleepsack and place you at the bottom of my bed. I attend to my own needs, eating out of your sight, etc., and join you in the room. I retire to the bed, while my delightful, submissive property snoozes lightly at the foot of the bed…

The first evening draws to a close, and we are only on the first step of our journey.

I reach down the bed and kiss you on the forehead, “Night,” I say, “you’ve made me proud, and tomorrow, I’ll make sure you continue to do so.”

“Night, Sir,” you reply, as I switch off the light.