Thanks to Astro and Geeky for editing.
She waits in darkness.
The thick fold of black satin tied around her eyes blocks out the light, but she knows her Master is there. She hears the pad of his bare feet against the hardwood floor, the steady cadence of his breaths as he walks in a circle around her.
She is naked and kneeling, chest forward, spine arched. Her hands are bound not by rope or ties, but by his will, her shoulders straight as she presents herself. Her knees ache, yet she doesn't adjust them — just waits with her thighs wide and her ankles crossed behind her, taking pride in the bite of pain that means she's serving her Master.
The denim of his jeans rubs against her cheek as he stands before her, cupping the back of her head in his palm. He draws her to him, stroking her hair as she soaks up the comfort of his touch.
"I missed you this week, love."
Her eyes flutter and close behind the blindfold. The term is more than an endearment. It's a reminder. He deemed 'pet' too common for her, saying a possession so special deserved a name more fitting, and so he switches between other names. Love is her favorite, though, as she's told him before. It's the one that makes her skin tingle and her heart race, the one that makes her collar feel more like an anchor.
"Did you miss me?"
She has to purse her lips against the 'yes' that almost escapes. He was away for eight days on a business trip, and each hour of it seemed longer than the last.
"I sat through endless meetings, wishing I was in this room with you. I wished to have you in this position, presenting your beautiful body to me. I imagined how your lips would feel stretched around my cock, and I thought I'd go crazy with wanting you."
His voice is soft, verging on tender. He's never been one for humiliation or coldness — her Master is pure warmth, and this only makes the shame of her impending confession worse. He enjoys controlling her. He enjoys giving her commands and having her fulfill them, but he has never set one with the intent to make her fail. He knows how deeply she feels any infraction, that it scars her like a burn to the skin. He wants her submission, craves the gift of it.
And she failed him.
"All I could think of was coming back to you and sinking deep into your body. You're bad for my focus. Maybe I should punish you for that, hm?"
She stiffens and his fingers falter in their movements over her hair.
His voice isn't so soft this time. "Speak to me."
Her tongue feels too big for her mouth, her throat too dry to get the words out. She swallows, trying to summon strength. "I disobeyed you, Master."
He removes his hand completely and steps back until their bodies are no longer touching. "Explain."
"I had a dream of you, of... of us. In here. And I couldn't… I touched myself."
Silence. The pinch of the hard floor on her joints is more painful than before, but she's frozen. This is the part she fears. Not the punishments, like many would assume, because she needs that redemption. This moment of confession is what she dreads, the admission of failure to a man she'd give anything to please. Each second without a response feels like a needle pricking at her flesh, but she can't apologize. Her words are meaningless in the face of her actions.
"I told you explicitly that you were forbidden to touch yourself while I was away, did I not?"
She blinks back tears at the harsh disappointment in his tone. "Yes."
"And you did it anyway, Isabella?"
The blood in her veins turns to ice at the sound of that name from his lips. She is called that only by strangers, and he could never be one.
He's her Master.
"I spent the whole journey imagining this scene and the ways I'd tell you to please me. I wanted you to show me how much you'd missed your Master and how grateful you were to have him home." His sigh feels like a slap. "Instead, my plans were for nothing, and I have to spend my first night home punishing you."
She grips her arms tightly, hating that she's ruined his excitement. She can hear him making his way over to the far side of the room, the creak of a wooden door telling her that he's opened up the oak cabinet in the corner.
Not being able to see what he's selected makes her uncomfortable. Her Master has whips and canes, chains and clamps, ropes that he could use to render her helpless. She takes a deep breath. He knows her hard limits, and she trusts that he'd never push them. Still, the pulsepoint on her wrist pounds against her palm as she hears rustling, and then the doors of the cabinet close again. Soft thuds make their way back to her, and her shiver is enough to tell her that her Master stands before her again.
She leans forward without hesitation, her lips pressing against cold leather.
She knows it well. As thick as her forearm, with tiny holes dotting the curved end that allow air to whistle through and make the impact harder. It's not often used. She rarely disobeys, and it's been months since she's defied a direct command in such a way.
She tries to be graceful, though with her wrists still behind her back, it's difficult. Her Master grips the top of her arm to steady her, then lets go as soon as she's upright.
The sensation of his fingertips scorches her skin, and she wishes she could lie to him. She wishes she could disobey and not tell him, but that's not what she needs. She needs him to wash away her sins, to absolve her of them until her shoulders aren't weighed down by their burden any longer.
"The bench, Isabella," he says quietly, and she hesitates before taking a step. The bench has always been one of her least favorite parts of the playroom. Still, she moves forward until she feels the padded top against her knees and then she bends down, positioning herself as fast as she can.
She hears nothing but her Master's heavy breaths in response.
The sound of his open palm hitting the back of her thigh echoes around the room, and her eyes screw shut behind the blindfold.
This time, his hand strikes across the flesh of her ass, the sting making her squeeze her legs together.
He spanks her until her skin is bright pink, preparing her for the strap. When it strikes, she's glad her Master is so meticulous in his warm-up.
Unbearable heat blooms across her flesh after the hit, a starburst of pain radiating out from where the leather punched her skin.
"Sixteen, Master," she says hoarsely, fighting the urge to bite her lip when he hits the crease between her ass and thigh. "Seventeen, Master."
He punishes her powerfully, skillfully, making sure never to hit the exact same place twice. He's firm but steady, giving her scant seconds between the strikes to catch her breath.
By the time he's finished, her tears have soaked through the blindfold, and her backside feels raw. She sobs while her Master rubs soothing gel into her skin. His hands are so, so gentle, and it just makes her press her cheek harder in to the bench.
Her Master taps her hip twice, signalling her to stand. When she does, he pulls the blindfold from her head and kisses her eyelids.
"No more tears, sweet."
"I—I'm sorry, Master."
"Because I should have listened to you."
He strokes her hair. "I give you orders because you need them," he says, and she nods. "Because you need to obey me, and I love to watch you succeed. I give you orders so you remember that I own you."
Her eyes fill with yet more tears, because she hears what he isn't saying. You forgot to whom you belong. She hates that she's caused such disappointment, that she's frayed the bond of trust between them.
"No more crying, now. You served your punishment well. We won't speak of this again."
"Okay," she whispers, heart thudding as she meets his eyes. He's always allowed eye contact, and she's grateful. "May I kiss you, Master?"
She tastes his smile as his lips descend upon hers, his tongue forcing his way into her mouth. He licks her lips as goosebumps lick her skin, and one of his arms wraps around her waist. "I shouldn't be letting you have my mouth."
"Why?" She's almost breathless as he kisses the corner of her mouth.
"I don't know if you deserve it."
"What shall I do to earn it?"
His kisses feel like whispers of a flame brushing across her cheek and making a path to her ear. "On your knees." His voice is dark and deep, and his command is enough to make her automatically comply.
She loves it.
She kneels before him quickly, fingers fumbling at the button of his jeans. He shoves them down as soon as they're undone, gripping his flushed cock in his fist. He moves closer to her, tapping her lips with the thick head. His pre-cum is sticky and bitter, but she licks it from her lips immediately.
Her Master laughs. "Greedy."
He presses the head of his cock to her lips again, moving his hips forward so she knows to open her mouth. She sucks him deep and runs her tongue along the veins, just the way he taught her. She watches as he throws his head back, and she marvels that even her Master, a man who can command respect from anyone he meets and seems unmovable, isn't immune to a blowjob.
She opens her mouth wider and focuses on relaxing her throat, taking him as far down as she can. His hand tangles in her hair, and she hums quietly, needy for his affection. She works her tongue around the sensitive underside of the head, sucking hard as she brings a hand up to work the rest of him.
When she looks up, he's looking down at her, his face all hard lines and pursed lips. He runs his thumb along her brow, and she flicks her tongue along his dick. He huffs a laugh that turns into a groan, hand moving back to grip her hair.
"My girl knows what I like," he says, and she glows.
His abs ripple as he moves his hips shallowly, not letting her control the pace for long. She loves this feeling of being used, of being the one who gives her Master pleasure. He thrusts harder, and she closes her lips around him tight, increasing the friction. He fucks her mouth and she takes it, sucks it, loves it.
All too soon, he pulls back and grips her hand to pull her to her feet. "Climb on the bed."
She moves to the corner of the room and does as he says, watching as he stalks toward her like a predator. He yanks her ankle so she's forced to lie on her back in front of him, the soft comforter enough to make her ass sting even more.
She opens them wide, and his hand goes straight to her pussy, rough fingers moving gently. Her mouth opens as he brushes her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure before he moves away again. His hand repeats the motion until she's circling her hips, biting her cheek to stop moans escaping.
He hooks his arms under her knees and pulls her forward until her wetness meets his cock, and then he's pushing inside her slowly. She wants to slow time, to memorize the way his eyes flicker as he bottoms out, but she isn't in charge.
Her Master is.
He fucks her fast and hard, and then slow and deep, and then back to fast. And through it all, she's lost. All she sees is him; all she knows is his body over hers. He treats her body in the way only a Master can, dominates and occupies it until she doesn't know where she ends and he begins. His hips snap, quick and relentless, his thrusts making her exhale in little gasps.
"I shouldn't let you come," he says, voice barely strained. "I should fuck you until I'm done, and then I'll leave you wanting."
She can barely comprehend his words, but when she does, she can't hold back her protest. She's so close, so fucking close.
"You want to come?"
She nods frantically.
"Please? Please, can I come, Master?"
He fucks harder, forcing her body further up the bed.
"Please let me come," she pleads.
His thumb presses down on her clit. Her back arches, and her eyes meet her Master's blazing ones. She tenses her thighs, trying to fight back her orgasm.
"Lucky for you that I love how your pussy feels around me when you come," he says, his voice rumbling and low. "I can't resist that, not now. Not when you're so fucking wet that you're soaking me."
He stops, and she almost cries out. She's there, but she can't let go until she has permission. Just when she thinks she's going to fail, her Master's there, pulling her back.
"Come. Loudly," he says, and finally she gives in. Even in the midst of blinding, paralyzing pleasure, she heeds her Master's command. She moans long and loud as she comes so hard that she shakes, whimpering when his cock still rubs that place inside. Her sounds mix with his grunts as he finally stills deep inside her, owning her from the inside out.
"Mine," he says, so savagely it's almost a snarl, little aftershocks of her orgasm making him slack-jawed.
Finally, they both still, slick with sweat and pressed together. One of his hands comes up to rub the padlock holding her collar closed.
"I love you, Master," she whispers.
He wraps his palm around that lock, grips it tight, like it's dear and he can't bear to let go. "My Bella."
This was way out of my comfort zone, but I hope you liked it.
Thank you for reading!