Sex stories

Sex stories




Are You Sure?

My throat ran dry at his question, and I found myself unable to answer. The small talk portion of our afternoon's entertainment had apparently concluded.

He leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Girl, I asked you if you remembered how we were going to begin today. Answer me."

I was sitting across his dining room table from him, the moment I'd been looking forward to for what seemed like forever finally here. But my anticipation had always been tinged with fear, and now that the moment had arrived, I was downright terrified.

And thoroughly wet, yes - but terrified nonetheless.

Finally, I found my voice. "I'm going to be caned, Sir."

"And do you think I will take it easy on you because it's your first time?"

"No, Sir."

He chuckled, "No indeed, girl. And how many strokes are you to receive?"

I had to gulp before I could answer. "22, Sir."

"Correct again, girl. And why are you receiving 22 strokes?"

"For being sassy."

"And?" The questioning eyebrow again.

"Cumming without permission."

The inquisition over, he sat back again and grinned. There was clearly no fear in his anticipation. "Good girl. How are you feeling?"

My voice caught in my throat, "Scared, Sir."

He grinned again, enjoying my fear. But then he added, "You don't have to do this, you know. You can choose to get up and walk back out that door. I wouldn't hold it against you. I know this is new to you, and maybe now that you're here, you're not so certain you want it after all. Are you sure you want to proceed, girl?"

Again, the damned eyebrow, questioning me - but also perhaps challenging me.

My voice didn't catch this time. It was quiet, but I looked him directly in the eye and answered emphatically.

"YES."

He looked directly back in my eyes, searching them, checking to see if there was any doubt. He found none. Fear? Yes. But doubt? No.

"Very well then," he said as he stood. "Up, girl."

As I stood to join him, my knees felt momentarily like they might buckle. I took a deep breath and tried to take a step. But I felt frozen to the spot as my heart began pounding so hard I felt certain he must hear it.

Clearly, he could see my fear, so he placed his hand on my lower back and applied gentle pressure. His touch gave me enough courage to finally move, even as I knew it would not be gentle for much longer.

Using his hand to guide me, he led me to his bedroom. We'd met in public a couple of times before, but this was my first time in his home, and it was our first time playing. In fact, it was my first time playing ever, and it still felt almost surreal that I was about to do this. A self-avowed pain wimp - and here I was about to let this man cane me. Scared as I was, though, I was also undeniably excited.

Once in his room, he indicated to me that I should stop, and then he placed a hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face him.

"I'd like you to wear a hood, girl. You've indicated to me before that you would be OK with this. Is that still true?"

I nodded affirmatively.

"Good. Now remove your clothes."

I didn't hesitate. I began to strip as he walked to his closet where his toys were stored. By the time he returned, hood in hand, I was naked.

"You should take your earrings off."

"Yes, Sir," I said as I removed them. Once they were out and set safely aside, I took a deep breath as he placed the hood on me. It was so tight at first, but he reassured me that it would feel more comfortable once all the way on. As usual, he was right. And that tiny reminder - that he knew me, that he knew this - helped to calm me.

"Now sit on the edge of the bed, and place your hands in front of you, palms up."

I did as instructed and listened to him walk away, back in the direction of the closet. I found my fear mounting again, bordering on panic. He seemed to be gone for an interminably long time. I heard no noise from the closet. He didn't seem to be rummaging for anything. There was only silence.

Finally, I heard his footfalls returning, but it did not quell my growing panic. I felt something cold and long and thin laid in my hands. "Do you know what that is, girl?" The answer should have been obvious, but the adrenaline coursing through my system seemed to have shut down my ability to use logic.

"No, Sir," I answered, my voice quaking a bit.

"That's the cane that you are about to beaten with." I shuddered almost imperceptibly, but he noticed. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"

Again, resolve trumped fear, and I said, "Yes, Sir." I paused briefly and added softly, "Please, Sir."

I'd spent weeks anticipating this. Fear be damned - I couldn't walk away now.

"Alright then," he said, taking the cane back from me. "Stand up and give me your hand."

I did, and he began to lead me across the room.

"You're in the doorway between my room and my closet. Reach up over your head. At the corner, you will find a metal ring. Grab it with both your hands."

Silently, I complied.

"As I beat you, you will count. On each count, you will say, 'One, thank you, Sir.' Then, 'Two, thank you, Sir.' And so on. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Say it, girl. You need to say it."

So soft it was barely more than a whisper, "Yes, Sir, I understand."

He took two steps back, and time seemed to stand still. Until it didn't.

crack

Starbursts exploded before my eyes as the burning sensation spread across my ass. I whimpered and then said the words, "One, thank you, Sir."

"Good."

I found myself holding my breath, tensing as I awaited the next blow.

crack

Again, the burning fire, a little lower on my ass now. Whimpering again, I said, "Two, thank you, Sir."

This time, there was no pause. As soon as the words were uttered, I felt the next stroke bloom across my skin. "Three, thank you, Sir," I squeaked out through my cry.

Another stroke landed on my ass, and the pain became almost unbearable. How could I possibly withstand 18 more? I really had no idea, except that there was simply no way that I would NOT. I was determined to finish this.

"Four, thank you, Sir," I said, barely choking out the words.

He paused again while I recovered myself, but he did not say a word or even make a sound.

And then the next stroke descended, directly on top of where the last one had landed. I cried out in earnest this time, "Five, thank you, Sir."

There was no pause before the next blow, but it seemed almost merciful by comparison, as it hit the back of my thighs rather than my battered ass. "Six, thank you, Sir."

Again, no pause, and again, another stroke delivered to my thighs, "Seven, thank you, Sir."

And yet again, no pause. But there was no relief this time. It was the hardest stroke yet, and it landed on the spot on my ass that had already taken two blows. "Eight, thank you, Sir," I said, as I felt tears begin to form at the corners of my eyes.

After a brief pause, he landed a blow on my sensitive sit spot, and I could barely utter the words, "Nine, thank you, Sir."

The next stroke hit my thighs, and I took a deep breath as I said, "Ten, thank you, Sir."

Before I could breathe again, the next blow landed, more brutal than any that had preceded it, and for the first time, I screamed. "Eleven, thank you, Sir."

I leaned my forehead onto the door frame, trying to recover myself before the next blow landed. A profane mantra escaped quietly from my lips, "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck."

I hadn't heard him approach, but suddenly, he was immediately behind me, one hand lightly on my burning ass, and his mouth next to my ear. "You are at the halfway point now, and you've done very well so far, girl. But I'm asking you again: are you sure you want to continue?"

Despite the intensity of the pain, "no" never even crossed my mind. I had to do this. I had to complete this. For him. And for me.

"Yes, Sir."

He backed away again, and our painful dance continued. There was no pattern I could discern. Every stroke was hard, but some were harder than others. I never knew if he would pause, or where he would land the next blow.

Eventually, I quit trying to even guess. The next 9 blows were a blur as my grip on reality loosened at the same time my grip on the ring tightened.

"Twenty, thank you, Sir," I said, my lips barely able to move enough to form the words and hot tears caught underneath the hood.

He approached me again.

"The last two will be particularly hard, girl. So I will give you one last opportunity: are you still sure you want to continue?"

I gritted my teeth, and there was a fire in my voice to match the fire in my skin. "YES. SIR."

"Good girl."

He backed up, and my hold on the ring became nearly a death grip, despite how slick my palms were with sweat. I held my breath, waiting. Finally, he drew back and landed the stroke.

"Twenty one, thank you, Sir," I cried in anguish, my shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Just one more, girl," he said, and the phrase beat a tattoo in my head while I waited for the final blow to be delivered.

Then it came. It was beyond brutal. It was vicious. It was cruel.

And it was everything I craved.

A wail escaped from my throat as I said for the last time, "Twenty two, thank you, Sir."

And this time, my knees began to buckle for real.

But before I could fall, he was on me, catching me, turning me around, pressing me against the door frame, winding his hand in my hair, kissing me hungrily.

The pain seemed to evaporate with his kiss, and I knew in that moment a deep and fundamental truth. My answer to his question would always be:

Yes, I am sure I want to continue, Sir.My throat ran dry at his question, and I found myself unable to answer. The small talk portion of our afternoon's entertainment had apparently concluded.

He leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Girl, I asked you if you remembered how we were going to begin today. Answer me."

I was sitting across his dining room table from him, the moment I'd been looking forward to for what seemed like forever finally here. But my anticipation had always been tinged with fear, and now that the moment had arrived, I was downright terrified.

And thoroughly wet, yes - but terrified nonetheless.

Finally, I found my voice. "I'm going to be caned, Sir."

"And do you think I will take it easy on you because it's your first time?"

"No, Sir."

He chuckled, "No indeed, girl. And how many strokes are you to receive?"

I had to gulp before I could answer. "22, Sir."

"Correct again, girl. And why are you receiving 22 strokes?"

"For being sassy."

"And?" The questioning eyebrow again.

"Cumming without permission."

The inquisition over, he sat back again and grinned. There was clearly no fear in his anticipation. "Good girl. How are you feeling?"

My voice caught in my throat, "Scared, Sir."

He grinned again, enjoying my fear. But then he added, "You don't have to do this, you know. You can choose to get up and walk back out that door. I wouldn't hold it against you. I know this is new to you, and maybe now that you're here, you're not so certain you want it after all. Are you sure you want to proceed, girl?"

Again, the damned eyebrow, questioning me - but also perhaps challenging me.

My voice didn't catch this time. It was quiet, but I looked him directly in the eye and answered emphatically.

"YES."

He looked directly back in my eyes, searching them, checking to see if there was any doubt. He found none. Fear? Yes. But doubt? No.

"Very well then," he said as he stood. "Up, girl."

As I stood to join him, my knees felt momentarily like they might buckle. I took a deep breath and tried to take a step. But I felt frozen to the spot as my heart began pounding so hard I felt certain he must hear it.

Clearly, he could see my fear, so he placed his hand on my lower back and applied gentle pressure. His touch gave me enough courage to finally move, even as I knew it would not be gentle for much longer.

Using his hand to guide me, he led me to his bedroom. We'd met in public a couple of times before, but this was my first time in his home, and it was our first time playing. In fact, it was my first time playing ever, and it still felt almost surreal that I was about to do this. A self-avowed pain wimp - and here I was about to let this man cane me. Scared as I was, though, I was also undeniably excited.

Once in his room, he indicated to me that I should stop, and then he placed a hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face him.

"I'd like you to wear a hood, girl. You've indicated to me before that you would be OK with this. Is that still true?"

I nodded affirmatively.

"Good. Now remove your clothes."

I didn't hesitate. I began to strip as he walked to his closet where his toys were stored. By the time he returned, hood in hand, I was naked.

"You should take your earrings off."

"Yes, Sir," I said as I removed them. Once they were out and set safely aside, I took a deep breath as he placed the hood on me. It was so tight at first, but he reassured me that it would feel more comfortable once all the way on. As usual, he was right. And that tiny reminder - that he knew me, that he knew this - helped to calm me.

"Now sit on the edge of the bed, and place your hands in front of you, palms up."

I did as instructed and listened to him walk away, back in the direction of the closet. I found my fear mounting again, bordering on panic. He seemed to be gone for an interminably long time. I heard no noise from the closet. He didn't seem to be rummaging for anything. There was only silence.

Finally, I heard his footfalls returning, but it did not quell my growing panic. I felt something cold and long and thin laid in my hands. "Do you know what that is, girl?" The answer should have been obvious, but the adrenaline coursing through my system seemed to have shut down my ability to use logic.

"No, Sir," I answered, my voice quaking a bit.

"That's the cane that you are about to beaten with." I shuddered almost imperceptibly, but he noticed. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"

Again, resolve trumped fear, and I said, "Yes, Sir." I paused briefly and added softly, "Please, Sir."

I'd spent weeks anticipating this. Fear be damned - I couldn't walk away now.

"Alright then," he said, taking the cane back from me. "Stand up and give me your hand."

I did, and he began to lead me across the room.

"You're in the doorway between my room and my closet. Reach up over your head. At the corner, you will find a metal ring. Grab it with both your hands."

Silently, I complied.

"As I beat you, you will count. On each count, you will say, 'One, thank you, Sir.' Then, 'Two, thank you, Sir.' And so on. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Say it, girl. You need to say it."

So soft it was barely more than a whisper, "Yes, Sir, I understand."

He took two steps back, and time seemed to stand still. Until it didn't.

crack

Starbursts exploded before my eyes as the burning sensation spread across my ass. I whimpered and then said the words, "One, thank you, Sir."

"Good."

I found myself holding my breath, tensing as I awaited the next blow.

crack

Again, the burning fire, a little lower on my ass now. Whimpering again, I said, "Two, thank you, Sir."

This time, there was no pause. As soon as the words were uttered, I felt the next stroke bloom across my skin. "Three, thank you, Sir," I squeaked out through my cry.

Another stroke landed on my ass, and the pain became almost unbearable. How could I possibly withstand 18 more? I really had no idea, except that there was simply no way that I would NOT. I was determined to finish this.

"Four, thank you, Sir," I said, barely choking out the words.

He paused again while I recovered myself, but he did not say a word or even make a sound.

And then the next stroke descended, directly on top of where the last one had landed. I cried out in earnest this time, "Five, thank you, Sir."

There was no pause before the next blow, but it seemed almost merciful by comparison, as it hit the back of my thighs rather than my battered ass. "Six, thank you, Sir."

Again, no pause, and again, another stroke delivered to my thighs, "Seven, thank you, Sir."

And yet again, no pause. But there was no relief this time. It was the hardest stroke yet, and it landed on the spot on my ass that had already taken two blows. "Eight, thank you, Sir," I said, as I felt tears begin to form at the corners of my eyes.

After a brief pause, he landed a blow on my sensitive sit spot, and I could barely utter the words, "Nine, thank you, Sir."

The next stroke hit my thighs, and I took a deep breath as I said, "Ten, thank you, Sir."

Before I could breathe again, the next blow landed, more brutal than any that had preceded it, and for the first time, I screamed. "Eleven, thank you, Sir."

I leaned my forehead onto the door frame, trying to recover myself before the next blow landed. A profane mantra escaped quietly from my lips, "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck."

I hadn't heard him approach, but suddenly, he was immediately behind me, one hand lightly on my burning ass, and his mouth next to my ear. "You are at the halfway point now, and you've done very well so far, girl. But I'm asking you again: are you sure you want to continue?"

Despite the intensity of the pain, "no" never even crossed my mind. I had to do this. I had to complete this. For him. And for me.

"Yes, Sir."

He backed away again, and our painful dance continued. There was no pattern I could discern. Every stroke was hard, but some were harder than others. I never knew if he would pause, or where he would land the next blow.

Eventually, I quit trying to even guess. The next 9 blows were a blur as my grip on reality loosened at the same time my grip on the ring tightened.

"Twenty, thank you, Sir," I said, my lips barely able to move enough to form the words and hot tears caught underneath the hood.

He approached me again.

"The last two will be particularly hard, girl. So I will give you one last opportunity: are you still sure you want to continue?"

I gritted my teeth, and there was a fire in my voice to match the fire in my skin. "YES. SIR."

"Good girl."

He backed up, and my hold on the ring became nearly a death grip, despite how slick my palms were with sweat. I held my breath, waiting. Finally, he drew back and landed the stroke.

"Twenty one, thank you, Sir," I cried in anguish, my shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Just one more, girl," he said, and the phrase beat a tattoo in my head while I waited for the final blow to be delivered.

Then it came. It was beyond brutal. It was vicious. It was cruel.

And it was everything I craved.

A wail escaped from my throat as I said for the last time, "Twenty two, thank you, Sir."

And this time, my knees began to buckle for real.

But before I could fall, he was on me, catching me, turning me around, pressing me against the door frame, winding his hand in my hair, kissing me hungrily.

The pain seemed to evaporate with his kiss, and I knew in that moment a deep and fundamental truth. My answer to his question would always be:

Yes, I am sure I want to continue, Sir.

are   sure?   you  

Nov 11, 2017 in bdsm

Search

Tags