Path of Torment

I've already told you: the only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure. Marquis de Sade

[finding-art-in-everyday-life]

[oscurozahori]

[prettybaby-always]

[bykleintje-alittlesmind]

[nagasakys-blog]

[lsfire-deactivated20190813]

[bonnytasia-deactivated20230519]

[nerkkat]

[2016-bdsm-inspection]

[cleohelen-deactivated20171028]

[submissive-housewife]

[rosadelicata]

[somelittleslut-deactivated20171]

[eenslaved]

“Oh no,” he said to her in a very gentle voice. “No, you’re not allowed on the furniture in my home, dear.”

At the time she had stood there, more baffled than anything. She heard the words clearly, but she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. It took her a moment to comprehend. During this time, he just watched her with that even gaze, steady and impassive, though she thought that his keen mind was calculating and assessing.

He did not repeat himself, just let the silence stretch. When her mind finally settled on his words, she blushed. She stood there, feeling intensely embarrassed and a little chastened, though she wasn’t sure why.

If anyone else had tried to tell her that she was not permitted to do something, she would have snapped back with brazen belligerence. But in the face of his mild voice, and his eyes that wouldn’t let her look away, she fumbled to respond.

“What do you mean?” she asked. She wanted to fidget, but something about his demeanor compelled her to stand still before him.

He gave her a smile. “I’m glad you asked when you were unsure.” He clarified, “You won’t be allowed on any of my furniture without permission.”

"This is…one of your rules?”

“One of my rules for you, yes. Another is that you will remain unclothed while in this house. And we know how wet you get, don’t we? You’re wet right now.”

He cupped her between her legs as he spoke, an unhurried gesture that still startled her. 

“You’re wet, aren’t you?” he prompted, his voice low but firm.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His thumb traced over her panties, creasing the fabric as he increased pressure. 

“Yes, you’re very wet right now. You’re like a pet that can’t stop drooling. As such, you won’t be allowed to dirty or damage the furniture. If you make a mess on the floor, you’ll clean up after yourself, won’t you?”

“Yes,” she uttered, in a way that seemed she wasn’t just agreeing that yes, certainly she would be responsible for cleaning up her own messes, but that she was agreeing with everything he said. She was a pet. Indulged by her owner or not, as was his prerogative.

So it came to be that when she stayed over in his home, he kept her as he would a pet. In the guest bath, there was a flat stainless steel tray, lined with layers of fresh newspapers, for her to use when he was not there to make her go outside in the backyard. 

It was such a special treat for her to be invited onto the sofa beside him. Usually she leaned against his legs or stayed framed between them. Sometimes he made her squat over his outstretched leg and let her use rub her wet pussy on him. As humiliating as she found this exercise, her body was always eager for this treat. 

[sweetbabybea]

No one ever sends me asks or messages or asks me questions. You should ask me things! I promise I'll answer!

[micha-ac-deactivated20260422]

[alternative-pinup]

[just-another-lrishman-deactivat]