the life and musings of a kinky slut

Earning My Wings

As I sat on the floor beside NHF, my head resting on his knee, his hand naturally went to my hair. At first he gently stroked my locks. Then he gripped my strands and began to pull. He alternated between a light and rough touch. I closed my eyes, soaking in the feeling.

Gripping my hair, he pulled my head, guiding me in between his legs, positioning me over his right boot. While wrenching my curls, he began tapping his boot, lifting the toe up to my clit. He teased me so, combining his rough hair pulls with his boot slapping my pussy.

As he warmed me up, I heard NHF speak. Without my realizing it, Scotty had come over and sat near us. As NHF continued to pull my hair and tease me, he spoke to Scotty, telling him about our planned scene. As much as I wanted to greet Scotty properly, I was…occupied.

Guiding me by my hair again, NHF positioned my body over his knee.

“Get comfortable.”

My chest rested on his thigh as I braced myself for what I knew was to come. His spanks started softly, sensuously. Then he increased his intensity. Finished, for now, with my ass, he told me to sit as I had before, but now in between his legs. My head on his knee, I went back to watching the motorcycle suspension. NHF’s hand found it’s way back to softly caressing my hair.

As I watched the wacky scene, I felt the gentle touch of NHF’s fingertips against my arm. My bra strap had slipped down. Lightly he tucked it back up under my vest.

When it seemed like the rig would soon free up, NHF told me to go get some paper towels. I scurried through the dungeon, retrieved them, and returned. I offered the towels to him, and asked if I could again sit by his knee. He granted my request, grabbing me by my hair and pulling me back down to the floor.

As the motorcycle suspension finished up, NHF prepared for our play. Standing, he went to his toy bag and laid out his floggers and his leather harness. Instead of having me rig his carabiner, he enlisted a friend to help. With a length of rope, his friend attached the carabiner to the top of the rig.

When NHF was finished, he approached me. I had remained seated on the floor by his chair. His tall broad frame towered over me. Reaching down, he offered his hand to help me stand. I accepted it, planting my feet, standing with his assistance. Still holding my hand, he led me to under his rig.

Standing in front of me, NHF slowly unbuttoned my vest. Hooking his finger into one side, he slid the fabric off one arm, slowly walked around me, and loosed the fabric from my other arm. Standing behind me, he unhooked my bra and dragged it across my body.

Once back in front of me, he spoke.

“Remove my leather. Don’t let it touch the ground.”

He wore a leather vest. I got behind him, hooked my fingers into each side, and slid the piece off in one long languid motion. Removed, I held his vest to my chest. He took off his shirt, and handed it to me as well. Telling me to put his things aside, he instructed me to get his harness.

Using his chair, I put down his leather vest and his shirt, picked up his harness, and rushed back to him.

“You’re going to help me put this on.”

Unsnapping one side, he pulled his leather on over his arms. Following the line of the leather harness, I found the snap behind his back and secured it.

“Go get your underwear.”

Once again rushing over to our things, I pulled out my pair of red panties, the same ones I’d flung earlier during the Cabaret. When I returned to under the rig, it was time for the rest of my clothes to come off.

But first, before my final disrobing, NHF lightly grazed, and then pinched my nipples. Ratcheting up the pain, he pinched and pinched until finally I broke out in a scream.

“That’s it. That’s what I want to hear.”

Again he abused my nipples until once more I cried out. He loved to hear my screams.

Trailing his hands down my body, NHF now wished to remove my red rope. I’d wound my hemp around my hips, split it at the middle, and wrapped around my legs, all the way down to my boots.

Finding the ends at my heels, he started with my right leg, untying the hemp. When he reached my skin, he slowly dragged the rope across it. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and drunk in the feel of the rope. He repeated the process on my left leg. As he neared the end, he took care to pull the hemp across my chest, scissoring over my nipples.

“Take off your boxers. Put on your underwear.”

He stood on my left as I bent down, presenting my ass, and slid my black boxers down. Slowly I lifted one boot, and then the other, out of my boxers. Carefully I stepped into the legs of my panties and slid them up over my ass, arching my back as I stood up.

“Don’t move.”

Taking my boxers, NHF put them aside, as well as my rope, and returned with his own coil of jute. After first showing me how he wanted my wrists, he tied a two column tie and pulled my arms over and behind my head. He wrapped the excess thrice around my chest under my breasts.

Slipping his fingers under the wraps, he pulled me in close. Gripping my hair, he first punched my back and then kneed my ass.

Releasing my strands, he unwrapped the rope, dragging the jute across my chest. Brushing the rope across my face, he raised his jute to his carabiner, tying my hands above my head. It was time for his toys.

Starting with the medium flogger, he danced the leather over my face. I took in the scent, the touch of the straps. Stepping back, he began his strokes softly. Slowly gearing up, the hits at first felt like a warm massage. But then he hit harder. And harder. Once good whack made me tear up. He checked in with me, making sure I was okay. I was, but I knew what was to come.

His strokes became wallops as the flogger pounded my upper back and shoulder blades. A few tears fell and I gave a small wail.

“That’s it. That’s what I want.”

Grabbing my shoulder, he turned me to the right. After a quick warm up, again he applied his punishing blows. Gripping my hair, his lips to my ear, he gave his praise, turned me, and beat me again. Through my cries, through my tears, I still heard his voice.

Finished with his first flogger, he grabbed my hair and once again kneed my ass.

“You take a beating so well. You like this, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I could fuck you right now if I wanted to.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I could bend you over and pound you right here.”
“Yes, Sir.”

Next came the thick aromatic flogger. Like the first, his initial blows were comforting. But, soon enough, his intensity increased. With his hardest strokes, I began to wail. This pleased him still more. Again he turned my body, hit me hard, praised my pain, turned me, and beat me again.

The stronger my wails grew, the more he praised me. A constant chorus of “good girl” spilled from his lips.

So happy was he with my pain that, when he finished with his second flogger, he grabbed my hair and pulled, not releasing me til I screamed.

“You know what’s coming next.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said through my now stuffed up nose and free flowing tears.
“You take this and then I’ll let you down.”
“Yes, Sir.”

It was time for his third and final flogger. Stiff straps of leather brushed against my back. My skin was raw enough now that just the feel of them hurt me so. Even as he began softly, I cried. I knew I would take more, but just the feel of them, the lightest of brushes gracing my skin, was painful.

With his first good hit, I let out a wail. Gripping my shoulder, he turned me and let loose with a punishing set of blows culminating with two incredibly hard hits. I burst out sobbing, tears flowing, wailing out my pain. Grabbing my hair, his voice was once more in my ear.

“I want you to take another set. I want you to either take the hits or I want to hear you scream.”

He turned me. I knew they were coming. I had not stopped crying. He again gave me a few hits to prepare myself. And then three intense walloping hits were the end. I sobbed uncontrollably. I wailed. I cried. I hyperventilated. I didn’t know if I would ever catch my breath.

“Good girl. Good girl.”

He stood in front of me, his flogger somewhere else. Quickly he untied my wrist rope from his carabiner and allowed me to slowly lower my hands. Removing his jute, he said, “Don’t move.” I stood in the middle of the rig, still crying, feeling alone though I could hear the sea of people in the dungeon.

“I’ve got you.” He returned with paper towels in tow. Wiping away my snot and my tears, I kept saying, “Thank Sir,” for his kindness.

“Sit down on your butt.”

Getting down on the floor, I sat on the carpet. Sitting behind me, he encircled me with his legs and laced his arm around my neck.

“Raise your arm.”

He squeezed my neck. I remembered from the last time we played to turn my head slightly and make myself, with all my might, keep my arm up. Like the time before, I felt the tingling in my forearm, but I refused to let it fall.

And then the world went black.

In a flash of images, I saw something…but I can’t remember what. I was somewhere else, in a different reality that felt as true as any.

And then I opened my eyes and saw a ceiling. What? What? Where am I? Was that a dream? That dream wasn’t real?

“Do you know where you are? Do you know where you are!?!”

And then it all came back to me. I felt his arms around me, his body next to mine, heard his voice, and I remembered.

“Shi…Shibaricon! Shibaricon!”
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Come here.”

He laid down on the floor. I splayed across his chest, holding him tight, finding my breath and myself again.

“Do you feel safe?”

And then it was his turn to cry. I held him tighter as we cuddled on the floor.

Later, when I glimpsed my bruises from our scene, they made me think of wings. They were a pair of wings I had more than earned.

Categorised as: D/s | Impact | NHF | Scotty | Shibaricon

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