The laces on my boots always reminded me of hojo rope. So I found it fitting when he tied my wrists to my ankles in such a style using those cords. My boot buckles pressed in on my skin. My ass was high up and ready. My breathing was labored from holding so much of my body weight on my shoulders.
I knew he was near, but I could not hear him. My neck strained, unable to turn. My cheek pressed into the carpet. I waited.
I wasn’t sure of the time; I guessed it had been ten minutes, but could not say for certain. His rope was laid out in a neat and orderly row just inches from my face, yet he chose to use my bootlaces. He liked keeping me on my toes.
A loud smack was the first sound I heard, besides my own breathing, in the passing minutes. He spanked my ass hard, I’m sure leaving a hand print. He enjoyed leaving marks on me: bruises, scracthes, cuts, teeth impressions. I loved rubbing them while at work, or waiting for the train, or in the shower while I masturbated.
He hit again, this time the other side. And again. And again. I guess he was in a corporal punishment mood tonight. His smacks became thuds as he began punching my ass. His strength pushed my hips side to side with each blow.
The thuds were replaced with the rustle of his pant legs as he began kneeing my rump. He held my hips, in the same manner as when we fucked, driving his knee in and up my flesh. Apparently he was in a black and blue mood, as well.
My pussy was soon wet. I could feel the moisture had stained his pant leg. I knew what would soon come.
“Dirty girl.” He hooked his arm under my leg and flipped me onto my back.
“So horny, you’ve ruined my dress pants.” He began kicking my pussy, the skin of his bare foot slapping against my lips with a delicious stinging sensation.
“And now you’ve got my foot wet. You are such a dirty girl.” His hand came across one cheek, then the other.
“You know what happens to dirty girls? They get punished.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two silver terrors, the nipple clamps I so loathed, dangling them in front of my face. Attaching them, I cringed at the sensation, the sharp pain piercing my chest. He held the chain lightly, not inflicting his torture just yet.
“Are you a dirty girl?”
“Yes, Sir.” I answered him through gritted teeth, trying to withstand the dull ache on my breasts.
“I can’t hear you.” He began pulling on the chain, the pain sharp again, agonizing. “Are you a dirty girl?”
“Yes, Sir! Yes! I am a dirty girl.”
“And who’s dirty girl are you?” He added a bounce to he yanks.
“Yours, Sir. I am your dirty girl!”
“You got that fucking right.” He pulled hard, wripping the clamps off. Intense streaks of fire shot through my nipples. I yelled out, the tears in my eyes now falling down the sides of my face; a sob escaped from my lips.
I felt his hand enter me, and gasped. “My dirty girl gets her pussy punched so maybe she’ll learn to be a good girl.” His fingers inside of me, I rode his fist hard.
“Do you like your lesson, my dirty girl?”
“Are you finding it educational?”
“Are you gonna be a good girl?”
“Now why the fuck is that?” He shoke his fist, speeding an orgasm through my body.
“Because… I want to be… your… good… girl…”
Categorised as: Erotica
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