Let’s play “Mad Limericks”. Did you ever play that as a kid? Fill in the blank in this line:
My dog ate my ___________ while I was __________ with ____________.
Write your entries in the comments section. 🙂
My dog ate my glasses while I was being beaten with a rusty pitchfork.
No, I am not making that up. Only my life would hand me such stupid shit and then sit back and laugh at me.
Friday night my folks took the kids, so we had the house to ourselves Saturday morning. N worked on some outside shit while I zipped around inside, naked but for the collar, tidying up and preparing for a night over at chelle’s. I kept popping out to talk to N, and while He thought I was doing it to tease Him, I really just wanted to sit by Him and watch Him work, talk to Him, bask in His presence like a sunbather lounges in the sun.
Eventually He came in the house and started looking for the dog’s leash. I helped Him find it, confused why He’d want to leash the dog…then it was not so kindly revealed to me that I was the bitch getting leashed. He clipped the lead to me and grinned, a length of rope coiled casually around His arm. When He smiles like that, the smile doesn’t go to the eyes. His eyes remain clinical, calculating, they judge me and my reactions. When He wears that look, I know things usually aren’t going to go my way.
He led me back to the treeline, into a clearing that no-one can see from the front of the house, the back field or from above (they’ve been doing a lot of crop dusting lately and I swear they can see my individual freckles as low as they have been). No one would hear me scream, no one would inadvertently rescue me from something that was bound (pardon the pun!) to be unpleasant on my end.
He shoved me down to my knees and told me to start sucking, and oh did I . He stopped me long enough to take my glasses off and carefully place them on the ground near the placemat I was kneeling on. Again with the sucking, then some deep-throating, then He jerked my head off by my hair and ordered me to hold my arms out. He wrapped the wrists tight together, risking no chance of me squirming out of my bonds. As He wound the rope around my arms He assured me that I’d be sporting some serious rope marks at the end. Given who we were driving down to visit, I blushed and tried not to think about it too much.
He led me over to a tree with a convenient branch hanging over us, then tossed the rope over it and tied me off to the tree trunk, my arms high in the hair. I shifted from tip-toes to flat feet to relieve the pressure in my wrists and ankles respectively. I shivered as He looked at me, that cold demonic grin surfacing, that abstract appraising look glimmering in His eyes. I hadn’t asked for this, I hadn’t hinted at it…this was His sadism come to visit.
I had fear. Look, I know He won’t kill me. But I also know that He will hurt me. He will hurt me, and I don’t always think I can take it. He will hurt me the way He wants to, and if I can’t take it, what then? This isn’t for me to enjoy. This is for Him to enjoy, and those don’t always mesh. It really sucks for me when they don’t meet.
So I was strung up, and He came from behind, caressing me, whispering in my ear, rubbing Himself on me. He murmured that I wasn’t going anywhere, no one would hear me. His fingers roamed across my helpless body, pinching here, digging in there. Eventually He zoned in on my ass and started pinching and grabbing it. I dug in…it was going to be a long ride if He was aiming for my ass the whole time.
I have this thing about being pinched. I’m fat, and pinching fat hurts like a damned sonuvabitch. I HATE being pinched, especially across broad parts of me, like asscheeks and thighs. So, of course, that is how He starts warm-up. Pinching, light slaps, occasionally reaching up to try and disconnect my nipples from my tits. The slapping increased until He was at an enthusiastic cracking pace, and if I spun around to ease the abuse of my derriere He cheerfully slapped, mauled and demolished my bouncing bosom. I did the stoic thing for a while, but really, all that does is encourage Him to be meaner, because He wants sound. So first I started to whimper, and my whimpers seem to inflame the sadist within. More pain, more whimpers, more pain, some yelps. It’s a vicious negative cycle.
At one point I started shaking and lunging, needing a chance to absorb and process the sensations being hand-delivered *snork* to me. He stepped up behind me again, hands patiently soothing and lulling, His breath hot against my vulnerable neck. I shuddered and cringed; He leaned forward and bit the upper cartilage of my ear firmly, holding my head in place. As I shivered from His breath blowing warmly across the side of my face He growled in my ear,
“I love it when you whimper, but when you scream is the best.”
That’s when it was basically game over. Those words told me that He was going until I tapped out. He wanted screams, He wanted fear, He wanted complete subjugation and submission.
He wanted our O/p expressed in the violence that we both viscerally understand.
He found a rusty pitchfork head.
And He used it. Wherever there was a welt or red patch from the slapping He made sure to rake me with that thing. He checked to see how my nipples would react to being stabbed. He chuckled as I lunged away from the tines only to find myself stuck in His crushing grasp. He criss-crossed the canvas of my skin, etching the fear into my brain. I desperately prayed to not die of tetanus, to not lose an eye, to not lose my religion at the end of a four-tined chunk of steel.
So He started beating me with the broad side of it. It was hard, it was heavy, and occasionally the edge of it would dig in. I reached the edge of my threshold again and was whimpering in short screamy bursts. The end was nigh.
N decided to finish the way He started: with His hands. He was a complete ass and warned me that it was near…”I’m going to start hitting you hard and not stopping. No breaks.” and sealed my fate with a few well-timed evil chuckled. My knees grew weak and my mind started clamoring.
I don’t know how long it lasted. It felt like forever but was only prolly a few minutes. I was screaming, I was begging, and then suddenly I was sobbing. He kept on through the sobbing and that is when my knees let go, dropping me down to the mud, cruelly yanking my arms to the top of their range. I knelt awkwardly, grace departed, sobbing in the dirt, begging to be let alone. He untied me from my tether and bent over my prone form. Pulling me back by my hair, He looked me in the red teary eyes and assured me that He was done beating me, and that we were going to the shower, where He’d rape my ass and let me wash up afterwards. I nodded within the confines of His hand in my hair, more than willing to offer the ass up in exchange for the safety of no more pain.
He led me by the rope wrapped to my wrists and the leash attached to my collar. We passed the area where He left my glasses, so I halted, indicating I’d like to pick them up. He bent over to get them, only to start searching around. I watched for a moment, foggily perplexed at His actions. Eventually I realized He was looking for them, so I got down and crawled about, hands tied tight in front of me, trying not to panic at the thought of being blind for the weekend.
Near the end I frisked Him, positive that He was fucking with me for His amusement. He was not.
So He took me, still blind, and led me to the house. Untied my arms and herded me into the bathroom, where He kindly lubed His dick before pinning me against the shower wall and fucking my ass without any preliminaries. The pain from my cheeks and tits joined the pain of His rough and fast penetration and I held on to the ridges of the wall, panting through it, clawing for purchase, trying like hell to claw through the wall and get away. He reached His peak and buried Himself in deeply, making me whine in renewed pain. He withdrew and assured me magnanimously that He would go take a better look while I cleaned myself up.
We never found my glasses. I went around that weekend blind, relying on both N and chelle to be my guides.
It was worth it, to be able to find that time of perfect peace and acceptance buried deep within the pain and abject despair. To know that I was His, and to know that He can speak the language that my slavehood responds to best.
It was worth it.