Heather knelt for some time, her thoughts idling, random images and phrases seemed to drift through her mind.  It had been a long day. Her eyes closed a bit, her shoulders sagging a little.

(*….slut….*)

“What?”  She thought that she’d heard the hissing word spoken aloud, right behind her.  Quickly awake, she whipped her head around, looking.  No-one was there.

I’m not a…   I’m not!  She thought, but suddenly she felt weak.  Afraid.

“I’m not!” she spoke aloud, tentatively, her voice cracking just above a whisper. Silence answered her.  She remembered a day, long ago. Something stirred in her memory, distantly.  A smell… it was a smell of perfume. She’d forgotten.

Mom’s perfume…  She thought she could smell it then, just a whiff, and then it was gone.  

I’m not a slut!  She thought, forcefully.  It’s not true!  She cried out, but her thoughts lost their conviction.  

(If you’re not a slut, then, what are you?)

He brought me here.  He made me do things!

(*Poor you. And who put the collar on?*)

He did!  Oh… no. Wait.  I did.  

Some distant remembrance tickled at the edge of conscious thought.  The sound of a creaking hinge, a long way off.  The sound of fear.

Oh? The door…  Oh, how did I forget about that?

In her mind she drifted back to that day… she was eight years old.  It was time for school, but Mommy hadn’t come to wake her.  Sometimes she just didn’t.  But Heather had the alarm clock with Barbie on it. When it went off, that meant that Mommy wasn’t going to be able to get her ready for school.

Heather picked through the pile of clothes by her bed and found enough clean clothes to get dressed.  Panties, socks… jeans, t-shirt.  And her gray sweater with only one hole in it.  Sneakers missing in action.

She padded out towards the bathroom in only her panties and socks, trailing the rest of her clothes from her hand, when she smelled it.  Mother’s working perfume.  She stopped by her mother’s door, half afraid to peer in.  Loud snoring drifted around the open edge of the door.  She knew… her mother didn’t snore unless she was really, really drunk. But it didn’t sound like her.  

Curious, she peered around the door.  The confusing elements of the vision before her held her transfixed as she tried to make sense of it.  At first she couldn’t make out what she was seeing in the slits of sunlight that made their way past the bent blinds. There was a figure lying on the bed, rope extending from ankles and wrists out across the crumpled sheets, around and down and tied off to the metal frame that held the bare box spring. Those wrists and ankles could only be…

Mom?  

Only the arms and legs were visible. Lying sprawled and covering her mother was another body.  It was a man, somewhat gone to seed, all back hair and skinny legs, hair between his legs.  

Heather stood there frozen, this man lying half covering her mother, snoring away. She went to pull the door shut, but the damn hinges, the old, old hinges, screeched a cracking screaming alarm.  With a start, the man lifted his head from her mother’s breasts, his bloodshot eyes focusing… then focusing on her. She stood rooted to the spot, as an oil stain of a smile spread across his face.

“Another slut.  And aren’t you pretty?  Hmmm?  C’mere, I want to get a better look at you.  There’s room for you up here, little slut!”

“I’m… I’m not….” Eight year old Heather didn’t understand what he was saying. But the way he said it, that word, whatever it was…  she didn’t like being called that.  

“Sure you are.”  His eyes ate her up, up her bare legs, across her chest where only the slightest bump made passing mention of the developments that were on her horizon.

“Maybe up here’s not the best place.” His eyes radiated the fevered heat of the insane.  

“I’ve got an idea!  I’ll I tie you to your bed.  You’re already dressed for it.  You’ll be a slut for me.” He started to get up, his movements unsure, shaky. Her mother stirred, tugged feebly at her bonds and made a croaking sound, but then slumped back down again into unconscious slumber.  

There would be no one to protect her! Now he was half off the bed.  “I’ve got some more rope in the bag.  Bring it here and I’ll tie you up nice and tight.  We’ll get you all comfy, and maybe we can take off that little thing you’re wearing if you’re very good and you ask me.  And I can guarantee that you’ll ask me.”  He licked his dry, cracked lips.

“Maybe we can count your toes with your socks off.  And then when we get to ten, we’ll see what kind of little slut you are.” The gleam in his eyes promised… so much more. Heather turned and ran.  She heard him fall to the floor just behind her, and she ran.

She grabbed her book bag and ran.  She grabbed her sneakers from where they had been abandoned in the living room and didn’t put them on, but ran, mindful of the precarious hold she had on the balance of her clothes and her bookbag.  She ran all the way down the stairs, careful not to slip in her socks, the cold air of the unheated hallway chilling her exposed skin.

She could still hear him, but more distantly now.  At the bottom of the stairs, she pushed open the door to the outside but realized she still hadn’t put her sneakers on… or her shirt!  So she turned around and dove under the bottom steps of the stairs, pulling everything else in after her.  She heard his steps coming down the stairs and round the corner just as the front door swung closed again.  He ran to the door, threw it open.  She watched as he looked up and down the street.  Just before he turned around from the door, she pulled herself back into the shadow under the stairs, not even daring to watch him.  

She sat stewing in fear, the waiting being the hardest part.

Will he find me, drag me screaming back to my bed?  Or….    Or am I hidden?  

I’m a mouse.  I’m a little gray mouse and you can’t see me.  If I don’t make a squeak…  I’m a mouse… Just a little mouse.

She repeated the litany, a prayer against detection, over and over.  For how long, she didn’t know. Eventually, she realized that she was alone.  He hadn’t found her after all!

From her protected place she could remember that he’d stormed back up the steps, right over her head and round the corner.  And still she waited.  She waited, ensuring that she couldn’t hear him anymore while she put on her shirt, sweater, and sneakers.  Then, she ran. She ran all the way to school.

Tears streamed down her face.

I’m not a slut!  I’m a mouse!

(*Your collar.  Nice and tight, just how I like it. Might even tickle your toes for you, won’t he?*)  

You’re gone! I got away from you!  Shut up!  SHUT UP!   

“Shut up!”  She called out to no-one, and the sound of her own voice, echoing off the near wall, surprising and startling her.  

I didn’t come home for two days.  I stayed at Stacy’s house until her mom had had enough and got her dad to come walk me home. But the man was gone. Mom was gone too, but came back later.  She’d even had enough money to buy groceries.

(So what are you?)

I’m… I’m just a girl, who…

(Who is sitting, waiting, wearing a collar. Waiting to be bound.  Waiting to be taken. And you’ll love it when he does.  You put the collar on. And that makes you…)

She put her face in her hands and cried.

-----------

When Oliver entered the room, he found Heather curled in a ball on the floor. Laying there on her side, tears flowing, and her sides wracked with sobs.

Now what in the world!?  Oliver was dismayed at what he saw.

“Heather?”  

There was no response.  He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she shied away.

“Heather, baby?  What’s wrong?” He crouched, and then took a knee beside her. She looked at him, but quickly looked away, looking ashamed for some reason.

“Don’t look at me.  Don’t.  I’m not worth looking at,” she whispered in a distraught voice. I’m still the mouse.

“Heather, come on up here and talk to me.” Heather shook her head in an effort to waive him off.

He was not to be dissuaded.  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay right here.  You can tell me now, or you can tell me later, but I’m not going to give up until I’ve heard it,” he assured her. “Now, give me your hand, and I’ll help you up.”

It took a minute.  Finally, she took his offered hand, and he drew her up from the floor.  He directed her to the couch and sat with her.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes, and he left her for a moment, returning with tissues and a damp cloth.  He sat with her in silence as he wiped her face with the washcloth, fussing over her.  

When she’d settled sufficiently, he leaned against the back of the couch, and she followed suit. She fidgeted with the wet washcloth.

“So tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she sniffled.  

“It must be, to have you so upset. But tell me anyway. Your thoughts belong to me, so let’s have them out.  I guarantee you’ll feel better when you do.”  He took her hand in his, gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m just like my mom.” She said, looking away.

“What makes you say that?” he said neutrally, watching her eyes, her reactions.

“Well, she used to do all sorts of things. Sometimes I’d see the men who she would do them with. I sort of knew what she was doing.  I knew it was wrong.”

“And you’re afraid the things we do, or will do…”

“Yeah, that makes me just like her.  It makes me a sl… slut,” she said, hiccupping, the tears flowing again.

Never in their play, or in her lead up to training, had he ever used that word.  It was a word which he found singularly offensive, though for reasons he’d never really thought about before. Even hearing her say it now, with the obvious pain he read from her face told him volumes.

Who was it?  Who called you that?   He could feel his anger rising, but he was very careful to keep it off his face for concern that she would misread it.

“Heather, I have a few questions about this topic.  I want you to answer them honestly. I also want you to answer without any delay.  Just give me the answer that pops right into your head. Look at me, and tell me you can do that.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, something that she always loved him to do.  She relaxed a bit, and met his gaze, but briefly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do I pay you?”

“No, sir.”

“Do I make you do things that degrade or demean you?”

“No, sir.”

“Do I make you do things to deliberately hurt you?”

“No!” she said, meeting his gaze again, her eyes full of pain and… apology?

“Do you do things with me because deep down, you want to?”

“Yes.  Yes, sir.”

“Now, close your eyes for the next few questions. Ok?

“Ok.”  And she closed her eyes.

“Do you know how much I love you?” He squeezed her hand.

“Yes!”  She squeezed his hand back, just the ghost of a smile returning.

“Do you love me?” he asked.  He’d never asked her this question before, but more than anything else he wanted her to hear herself say it.

“Oh, yes!  Yes, Daddy! I do love you.” She grinned at him, eyes blissfully closed, looking somewhat embarrassed yet unashamed.

“Who told you that you were a slut?”

Her face abruptly wiped clean.  “The man,” she whispered, suddenly sounding far away.

“What man.”

“I don’t want to say.” She whispered again, and somehow, she sounded like a little girl.

“Heather, I’m your Master now.  You have to tell me.  Who is the man?”

She seemed to struggle with it for a minute, as if some internal battle raged.  Finally, her head bowed, shoulders dropping. “The rope man.” She whispered, even softer that before but plain enough.

“Who is the rope man?” He asked, and he could feel her drifting further into herself.

When Heather spoke next, she sounded very small. “He comes to see mommy. He brings his ropes and they play a tie up game.”

“And he called you that word.”

Heather nodded, now gripping his hand fiercely.  “Yes. He called me that, like my mom.  And he told me he’d tie me up too and make me… his…”

Oliver waited, not wanting to say anything.  He knew this would be crucial. Heather’s breathing deepened.

“And what happened with the rope man?”

“I ran. I ran and I hid. I was the little grey mouse. And he didn’t find me.”

“So he never made you do anything like your mom did with him.”

“No. But…”

“What… Heather baby, what is it you’re afraid of?”

“If I like it, that makes me a… a slut too.” Heather got a confused look on her face.

“Am I your master?”

“Yes,” as that lopsided grin made its return.

“And, what we do, we do out of love, right?”

“Yes.”

“And the collar you’re wearing,” he saw her flinch, and knew… this was the crux of it.  “That’s my collar. A collar that I gave to you. My gift, and symbol of our commitment, the symbol of my protection for you and your obedience to me.” He squeezed her hand again.

She squeezed back, holding him tight.

“Little grey mouse. I think that whatever you choose to be, from here on out, your color is white now. I gave you that color.  You have my permission, and it’s my desire for you, my sweet girl, to shine white now.   Can you do that for me?”

In a dazed and dreamy voice, she answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Imagine all the grey draining out of you.  Feel yourself washing it off, pure white entering you through you feet… your hands.  Let it shine in you.”

After a minute, her eyes squinting in concentration… “Yes.. I can feel it’s less gray now.  It feels good.”  

“Heather, open your eyes now and look at me.”  She did, slowly, like a sleeper emerging from the depth of slumber.  Then her eyes swam back into focus, looking at him, with the vestiges of relief coming to her face.

“Heather, you’re not my slut.  If I wanted a slut, I could have several.  They’re not hard to find.  You’re my princess. I thought I’d never find you, but here you are.  I could never find another to replace you.”

The blush rose on Heather’s cheeks. “Okay” was all she could manage, and then she was kissing him, and he kissed her back gently.

“So I supposed we should have this talk now as opposed to later.” He took her face in his hands, caressing her face before drifting his hands under her chin, lifting her gaze back to him again.  

“Tell me, Heather.  What does the collar really mean to you?”

She hesitated, thinking. Then her expression brightened a little.  “It means I choose to be with you. I give you everything that I am, and everything that I can be.  And with you, I can be so much better than I was.”

“That… that was… well said.  Beautiful, in fact.”  He paused, gauging her expression, her eyes.  She looked at him with expectation.  “Come with me, and leave that nightmare behind. It has no place, no happy home in you anymore.  Stand with me, proudly, and come with me.”

He led her by the hand, and not the leash, as they entered the play room.  

“Tonight is a special night for us.”  He gestured with his arm across the room. “Choose.  Tonight is your choice.  Any one you want to try, and anything you care to ask of me and I’ll answer.”

She looked at him, and he kissed her hand, then released her.  She took a hesitant step, then began examining each piece.  

The pine table, she’d been well acquainted with.  No, not that one.  Been there.  

(Hoist?)

No.

She approached the Y-shaped table.

“What’s this one for?”  She asked, feeling the smooth polished wood.

“Here with these straps, the person is secured to the center beam, and the legs… they are strapped to the two legs of the Y and adjusted to keep the legs apart.  Very handy,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, and she blushed.

She looked it over appreciatively, then moved on.

“And these? These look like something out of a history book.”

He grinned. “You won’t believe the things people did to each other throughout history.  This is a Stocks. The head goes here, and the hands go here, and once you close it… well… You’ll be hanging around a while.”

Her eyes took it in, then moved on.  

“What’s this one?” she said as she approached the triangular legs and the beam of the next piece.

“This is a sawhorse.  Usually a carpenters tool used in pairs to hold long boards for sawing.  This one is padded in leather.  Legs strapped here, and arms, strapped there.  There’s a strap also for the head, and that wide belt…”

“The waist?” she asked, stepping up to it and running her hand over the belt, the padded leather surface.

“Yes, exactly.”

“This one. I choose this one.”

“Ask me properly,” he said with a patient grin.

With a shy smile, “Please, sir, I want you to tie me to your sawhorse, sir.”

“And am I doing it because you’re my slut?”

“No, sir.  You’ll do it because you gave me my choice, sir, and you’re my… master.”  She shivered with anticipation.

Oliver noted her black skirt, white silk top, high heeled shoes, black panties and black stockings.  “Take off your panties, the rest, leave on.”

“Yes, sir,” she grinned, and her eyes got a smoky look as she slowly reached under her skirt and worked the panties down. He was treated to the ‘oh so lovely’ view of her in pinup girl position.

“Are you wet?”

“Yes, I’m getting wet now, sir,” she replied from under a cascade of hair as she bent over.

“Good girl.”  He stroked her back, her pretty backside, as she finished shucking the panties. She waited until he was done feeling down and around her legs before arising again.

“So, so I just… lay down on it?”

“Yes.  Here, let me help you”.  He shuffled her forwards, directing her legs right up against the rear legs of the sawhorse.  Then he leaned her forward.  

She could feel her short dress riding up her behind as she bent over the beam. The leather felt cool against her skin, smooth and soft. She shimmied forwards until she was grabbing the front legs for support with her arms.  He repositioned her legs so they were on the outsides of the rear legs, the angle of them holding her legs wide apart, the floor below reachable just by tippy-toe.  The thick beam supported her well.

She got a curious look on her face. “You said that you would answer… any questions I might have, sir?”

“Yes Heather.  Ask away, but… Before we get you strapped in, let's slip your arms out of your top.”  She complied, almost losing her balance.  Soon her shoulders and upper arms were naked.  As she grabbed on to the front legs with her hands again, she felt him threading the wide belt around her waist before he buckled it in tightly.

“Am I the first?”

“Hmmm… isn’t that always a big question.  The first.  The first one here?  Yes. I built this place especially for you. My first submissive?  No. There have been others, play-mates.  There is another first place for you though… can you guess it?” he asked playfully as he worked her into position.

Looking over her shoulder, she could see him applying straps at her ankles, and then at her knees, welding her legs to the legs of the sawhorse.  

“No, sir.  I can’t imagine what else I might be first at.  I’ve never been ‘first place’ at anything.”

“You are the first submissive that I have loved.  You are first in my heart.”

She felt all clenched tight and wetter than ever as she contemplated that.  As he walked past her body on his way to do her arms, he trailed his fingers sensuously up the small of her back, making her shiver in anticipation.  

The next question occurred to her, more out of curiosity than anything.  “Have you ever… taken someone before?”

“No. Never. There again you are my first. My last in that regard, I expect.”

“Oh.”  

I wonder why his last… unless…

Deftly, he secured her wrists to the forward legs, drawing her tightly into place.  She could just turn her head to one side enough to rest it on the beam.

She was surprised when he gently drew back her top, exposing her pert breasts.  They fell to either side of the beam.  

“How are you doing so far, baby doll?” he asked.

She flexed her lower back, and tugged against her wrists. “Ok, sir.” She said, giving him a shy smile.

“Anything too uncomfortable?”  he asked as, reaching over her, he stroked both her nipples.

“Ohhh… No, sir.  MMMmmmmmm… I do like that… ”

He twisted one nipple, flicking it and teasing it.  Then he applied a clamp to it, running the string from the clamp to a tie off point on the forward leg.  Heather shivered and tensed, feeling the pain and pleasure in exquisite measure as he adjusted the tension on the string.  He began stroking her other nipple.

“Mmmm… How’s that baby?” he asked, watching her face as he stroked around her presently unencumbered nipple.  She expected it would not stay that way long.

“Oh… It’s… It’s good,” she replied, feeling the heat emanating from her trapped nipple, the tension from the clamp making a beeline for her aching crotch.

“Good, very good baby.  You're doing perfectly!”

“Thank you sir!” she replied, then winced and moaned as he applied a clamp to the other nipple.  Again he painstakingly adjusted the tension to the other clamp.  Finally he had them evenly tensioned, both of her nipples being pulled evenly forward to the front legs.

The next question was out before she could even think. “Have you ever loved before?”

She couldn’t see his eyes, his face, as he drew somewhat into himself.

I don’t want to talk about this.  This is our time.  But… I promised.

“No. There was another who I loved very much. She was killed.  It… ruined me for a long time.  I’ll tell you all about her if you like.  After.”

She could feel how her legs were so tightly bound to the sawhorse, holding her legs spread wide open.  Her arms pinned to the forward legs, breasts pulled taut and stretching.  Due to her position she could no longer see behind her anymore, so that she couldn't see what he was doing as he drew her dress up over her backside, leaving it lay on her lower back.

“Ok, sir.  I’m sorry I asked, sir.  I can hear you sound… pained.”  She winced, cursing herself for asking.

“It’s alright, girl. This is our time, now.  The past will still be there, and I’ll tell you about her.  But I have you now. All of you.  I’ve got you tied down and very ready, don’t I?”

Her desire returned in a rush.  “Yes, sir. You have me, and I have you, too.”  She wiggled her butt at him enticingly.

With a tug of the sheer material down towards her waist, he pulled aside the silky fabric of her top that had been covering her back, leaving her bare now to the cooler air of the playroom.  As he worked, he took the opportunity to run his hands up the backs of her bare legs slowly up to her inner thighs before continuing on with his tasks again.  Every touch now, every stroke or caress would make her gasp and sigh. She could feel the moisture steadily making its way down the insides of her thighs.  

She heard the sound of metallic hardware clinking, feeling the vibrations travel through the beam as something was being bolted in place.  Things were being positioned and bolted somewhere under and behind her.  With a final adjustment, something cool and smooth was pressed directly into her slit, nestling high up between her lips, and right over her clitoris.  She grunted reflexively as it was moved jerkily one more time, pressing very firmly up against her.

“Oh baby, you're already getting so wet, and we've hardly even started!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, Sir, I love what you're doing to me sir.” She tried to wiggled her butt, but this time he held her firmly down.

“No wiggling now!  I've got you all set up perfectly.”

“For what, sir?”

“You will see.  Patience.”

She could hear him fussing about somewhere behind her.  Things rattled and were moved or dragged, and the anticipation mounted.  Finally, she thought she could feel just a little bit of movement somewhere behind her.  The device that was pressed into her pussy slowly began to come alive.

It vibrated so gently that she didn't quite notice at first, but it got steadily more powerful. She groaned loudly, and with an effort of will, she resisted the urge to grind herself into the intruder.

Finally, her master came into view again as he placed a foot pedal control down on the ground, trailing wire behind it leaning toward her rear.

“Everything still okay?” he inquired.

She could feel the rosy blush of her cheeks radiating from her face. “Oh, yes… yes… it can turn up a little bit?  Please sir?”

A big grin spread on his face.  “How ‘bout…  this?”  He stepped down with his foot, depressing the pedal about half way, and the speed and the power of the vibrations behind her skyrocketed.  

“OOOooo!  Oooohhh!  Ohhhh!”   She couldn't control herself; she was trying simultaneously to retreat from the sudden assault, while every nerve in her body screamed for more. Her toes were pointed and scrunching alternately, and as she tensed she could feel the nipple clamps tugging.  It was overwhelming.  He let his foot off the pedal, and her body suddenly sagged in release.

“We're going to play a little now,” he said. “And we're going to introduce a new sensation for you.”  He held out for her to see what he had in his hand.  It was a whip, with wide, flat looking tassels of black leather.

“This whip is made of the softest leather.  Its purpose is to excite the nerves, to bring the senses alive.  We will start out very gently, and build it up a little bit at a time.  Do you trust me?”

“Yes, sir.  I trust you, Daddy.” She said, and was surprised that even as she looked at the whip, she felt only a little bit of fear.

“Okay, then.  We'll begin.  I want you to pay attention to how your body is reacting.  If at any time it’s more than you can take, I want you to let me know.  But try to take as much as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”  She tensed her body in anticipation of the first blow.

But it wasn’t a blow.  He took the whip and trailed it sensuously down her back, over her ass, and lazily down her legs.

“Ohhhh… Tickly!” She giggled, twitching reflexively.

“Yes, pet, it will tickle a bit at first.”

He trailed it now from her behind up over her back and over one shoulder.  She could feel the individual strands as they tripped across the light downy hairs of her skin.

He did this several times, and each time he did, she relaxed a little more.

“Good girl.  Just relax with it.  I’m going to bring it up a notch.”

He swung the whip in a wide gentle arc, and when it met her back, it slapped slightly then slithered over her as before.  He worked across her back, then up against her buttocks and thighs.  After the last gentle strike, he depressed the foot lever.

“OOhhhhhh!  Oh, yes!”  she cried out, feeling the vibrations beating against her trapped clit and hitting her like an electric charge.

He eased off the pedal, and returned to working her over, putting just a bit more flex into the whip.  Again, it slapped and slithered…  shoulders, mid back, lower back… her exposed and secured ass, thighs.

Buzzzzzzzzz!   “Oh!” she clenched and cried out as he hit her with the vibrator.

He built up a rhythm, adding just a bit more ‘slap’ each time, top to bottom, thighs, and her reward… A dose of the strong vibrator.

Deep inside Heathers mind, the growing intensity of the sequence built up.  Knowing that “More” was coming, she felt her body tense before the whip, tighten across her back, heat across her ass and legs, tightly wound up as he activated her pussy with heavenly vibes. She began to tense and move with his rhythm, and her nipples felt the tugging of her transitions from the tight clamps.

Oh, how he does this to me. With every return of the whip I can feel my skin singing.  It doesn’t even hurt… everything glows. Is this what it feels like to be whipped?  It must be, because he’s whipping me! Tighter and tighter I’m getting.

Now he worked her back in a crisscross, pivoting the handle in a figure eight as he worked the whip from her tops to her bottoms.  What little material of her dress that lay there was billowing in the breeze of the whip’s passage.

Her skin felt like it was on fire… a glowing coal bed of sensation.  

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and when she gazed at him it felt like she was seeing him from across a long distance.  Towering above her, sweating and directing the whip, he looked like a conductor of a mad symphony.

He’s conducting… ME!   Everything feels so strange now… floaty, distant… soft, even as he’s whipping me, it feels like he’s sending me further into this feeling.

He stopped momentarily, and taking a pair of sheers, he cut away the remnants of her dress and top.  They fell away to both sides, leaving her completely bare.

He set to work evening out the color of the previously protected skin, placing white streaks that quickly rushed in to fill with bright pinks and deeper reds.

Every fourth strike, he depressed the petal she moaned deeply, loudly…

“Daddy?” she called out to him, desperately, and he paused.

“Yes, Princess?”

“I want you!  I want to feel you in me!  Please, Daddy?” she begged from a long way away.

In reply, he set his whip aside, admiring his handiwork.  The pink shades even across her skin showed no signs of lasting injury.  He ran his hands down her back, and applying skin cream he worked over every inch exposed to the whip, massaging the cream in down her back, over the glorious globes of her buttocks, down her legs and inside her thighs.  All her most sensitive spots.

She felt his roving, cooling hands, as before with her spanking, but this time over such a wide area, it made her skin feel alive and sensitive.  As she followed the progress of his hands, the entire time the vibrator continued to send a background of vibes deep into her clit.  Soon she was moaning and humping it, trying to get more out of it.

“Please, Daddy… I need you!”

“Patience, Baby-doll.” He said, grinning as he lowered his pants and unsheathed his rampant erection. He revved her vibrator up again and she twisted and tugged at her restraints.

“OOhhhh!  Daddyyyyyyy! Hurry!”  She got a panicked feeling.  She wanted to cum with him deep inside her, and if he kept pushing her like this she might leave without him. She ached and felt a hollow place in her groin and in her belly where she wanted him desperately to be, filling her up, making her complete.

“Easy, girl.  Soon!” He teased as he got in position right behind her, lining up his stiff member with her exposed and dripping eager folds.

“When, Dadd…. OOOOOHHHHHH!”   She groaned as he slowly entered her, forcing aside her lips and entering her wet and waiting passage.  He kept pressing and slipping in, the prow of his hardness plying her tunnel until he had settled deeply within her.

He caressed his hands up and down her body and he slowly backed out and pressed into her, sliding into her slowly, again and again as the vibrator keep up its low level hum.

She’s so tight… gripping me… how I love to feel her around me.  He set up a steady rhythm, and as his hands slid around her bare ass and down between her legs he could feel her muscles beginning to tremor already. Her breath came in quick gasps between held breaths.

She could feel him grip her hips strongly for leverage as he commenced with pounding into her, her vaginal muscles grasping at him as she flexed her legs against the sawhorse, her little toes gripping the ground as if they could propel her faster.  As he grunted behind her she tried to match his rhythm with what little motions she could accomplish.  The harder he rammed into her the more violently her breasts rebounded against tightly gripping clamps that stopped them swinging back.   Her entire body sang out in point and counterpoint.  Thrust, clench, toes, nipple tugs.

“Oh, God!  Oh, God… OOOHHhhh, God!” she cried out.

Just when she felt that she was riding the razor thin line between insanity and orgasm, he suddenly stepped fully on the foot pedal, bringing her carefully constructed tower of bliss crashing down.  She was aware of him coming just a stroke behind her, every one of her muscles redlined as he filled her, pumped her full with his love, her aching womb filled and satisfied with his warm rush.  

He stroked into her several more times, giving her everything that he had, and collapsed exhausted onto her back.

Thankfully, he remembered to take his foot off the pedal, and she groaned and went limp as a rag doll once released from its insistent thrumming.  The only sound now in the expanse of the playroom was their labored and gradually slowing breaths, and the slightest hum of the vibrator which imparted to her a slow lazy warm feeling in time with her pulse.  From across the room one could just make out how he reached down and stroked her hand, and she, turning her hand about from within it’s strap, grasped his hand in hers and held him tightly.

(Waiting, wearing a collar. Waiting to be bound.  Waiting to be taken.)

And I love it. I love him!

(And that makes you…)

His!