Put a spreader bar between my thighs and tie my hands to it so my face is pressed into the mattress and my ass is up and presented for you.
You spank me with a heavy wooden paddle. I am enjoying myself, letting out muffled moans through the huge ballgag and trying desperately to move into the sensation. I've always preferred dull pain over sharp, stinging one.
You stop when my ass is red all over, and when I feel you shift behind me I expect you to take off my restraints, not the sound of a lighter followed by the burning flash of wax hitting my skin.
Again and again.
My moans have now turned into groans of pain, the hightened sensitivity of my skin making every drop feel like liquid fire, even when it hits spots already covered in wax. I haven't felt sensation like this before. And yet, I do not know what I am still in for.
When you blow out the candle I again think that it is over. It does not dawn on me that you are planning to torture me more than you ever have before. To destroy me today. Not even when you scrape off every inch of dried wax with a cruel fingernail, tracing the lines with sadistic precision.
When the first clothespin finds its place on my ass, the shudder that goes through me is almost strong enough to break my bonds. Almost.
I shriek with every new one you add. You take your time, carefully picking out the places they will hurt the most, but you never leave the general area you have stayed in the whole time. Why start something new when this part is so beautifully prepared? Even when you are done and taking a break to admire your work, you don't touch the rest of my body. This is not about me. This is about you creating a piece of art.
When you start hitting off the clothespins with a riding crop is when I start begging. I beg and I yell through the gag and there are tears streaming down my face, but you won't stop until every last one has been removed in this cruel manner.
Once the last one hits the mattress beneath us, you go in for your big finish.
As soon as the first strike of the cane hits, I have been reduced to a babbling, sobbing mess. You stop briefly to brutally pull back my head by the strap of my gag so I don't choke, the edges digging into the corners of my mouth, and then you go at it with everything you've got. Every beat brings out screams of a level you hadn't thought possible before. You hit again and again until my flesh is covered in crimson and purple welts, crisscrossing along my ass in beautiful patterns.
I do not know when you'll stop. But I know that I'll be feeling your love for a very, very long time.
