Pain Deferred pt 5

With apologies for the long delay, here is Grace’s encounter with her flogger.

– –

She saw those long heavy falls in her mind, as she felt them tickling her back. Tracing over her shoulders with just enough weight to imply their texture. Then the spread of hard impact, of fast propelled leather on ivory skin. Something about that multi-layered pain began to speak to her from within sensation’s stimuli. A 2nd and 3rd blow confirmed that this device, in his hands, might be a new level of pleasure. As the teasing trace moved to the lower she listened for the blow to begin, but a 2nd trail of leather over expectant skin came first.

Then the blow that called pleasure forth from deep within, urging her to savour this moment. Only one this time, before the leather trail began again; over and over from curve of back to the beginning of her sore redness. Just the tingle of how those weighty traces might feel over her abused flesh was causing more juices to flow within her aching twitching pussy. The blows created a delicious pain but not as much as she might have expected. Was he holding back? Why?

The shudders started as he rested the full weight of those leather falls on her sensitised arse, pulling them so slowly up her curves, swirling them across her cheeks, circling upwards to lean them against her delicate buttocks. She struggled to quell her impulse to squirm, to raise herself upwards seeking force, impact, violence. Oh yes. Now! As he moved the flogger away, no contact, that air surely betokening the divine vicious impact she craved.

And contact she got, of the handle’s bulbous end opening her lips, juices coating the lovely leather and spread by it over the full extent of her vulva. That delicious lubed massage sending delirious signals running from pussy to nipples, to toes, to brain. When he started up a long luscious stroke up to and over her clit, her moans grew louder, desperate attempts to fuck into the pressure with her still swollen pussy. She was so close already.

‘Oh God, Fuck. I’m going to come.’

All contact ceased.

‘Not yet.’

Frustration groaned from her.

Then she had no space for thought, no capacity for speech. The repeated blows started to be the only things in her existence apart from the sexual power surging through her body, she had no consciousness of her surroundings. Even the much desired presence of her lover, her Master, existed only as a lodestone within her heart, a dedicatee of her total tribute.  Then a change in sensation, as blows whipped the arcing tips across her skin, instead of directly onto it. This continued as she heard his voice. She remembered what he had said later, but did not seem to have processed them at the time.

‘You wanted this

And more

I will meet your need

With this and more

I give myself to you with every blow

As you give yourself to me.’

The direct blows after the voice showed her that before he had been gentle. She entered some weird timeless space. A space of dark warmth and delicious pain. In which she came, in which she was the earthquake within a body the volcanic aching surge, of building tension and orgasmic release.

Her partial return was to continued pain-stimulus, no longer in orgasm’s throes but still in what she would learn to call sub-space. When the lashes stopped and his hands rested on her brutalised flesh, she heard him call her name.

‘Grace. Grace!

I am going to make you come again.’

The stinging pain on her pussy was tremendous. It was also unbelievably erotic, a direct trigger onto the electric switch of her clit. The narrow crop landed again and again on her pussy lips. Before his fingers thrust just inside her. Firm and hard against her sweet spot, repeatedly. Other fingers pinched her clit and moved. Her pussy walls moved with them, clenching in waves over his.

And he kept going, as she shrieked and moaned and shuddered as best she could within her restraints, driving her again up and over the peak, never letting her fall far before the next ascent. And then the crop began to land sharp and hard upon her arse. Her world became enclosed again, with this burning stinging pain as its centre.

She found herself being softly kissed, hands gentle on her body, her name being softly spoken in that voice she found she loved. Cuffs were still on her wrists and ankles but free to move. She began to kiss back eagerly but not too hard, her unconscious self perhaps recognising her emotional exhaustion – as it seemed did he.

Him. Her lover, her Muse – her need, her desire. Now, at last, her Master.


So they rested for a while, as he caressed her aroused skin, murmured the types of things she had longed to hear as pillow-talk for so long. They kissed softly, with passion and affection, as he held her. He praised her behaviour and her endurance, but insisted he must now treat her wounds of pleasure. From his bag he drew a small tub. ‘Arnica cream.’ He smoothed it softly over her arse which had received such cruel, divine treatment, before returning to cradle her in his arms.

‘When we have rested a little more, and you have refreshed yourself, I would like to see how many successive orgasms you can experience.’

The smile accompanying this statement was both loving and wicked, and Grace was melting again.

– – –



Pain Deferred. Pt 4

She checked her watch and placed it on the bed, undid the belt of her satin robe and discarded it, and knelt on the carpet facing the window, head bowed, waiting for him. He had said she must wait for 5 minutes but have no means of tracking those seconds except within her own head. She thought of what she had asked of him, what he had promised to give, and his request that she submit first, allow herself this abdication of control. He had promised her pain though, pain she had been unable to receive, but for which she was desperate. The litany of flogger, paddle, crop and cane ran through her mind, and her damp pussy became awash with her juices in moments, as she waited, alone, patient, desperate. Still, she was waiting for his first touch.

Surely this was more than 5 minutes. Maybe he was delayed. But she remembered he had said her phone could be left on for now to reassure her, although he claimed notoriously punctuality. Her legs were beginning to tremble, not from any physical stress of her position but from her emotional turmoil; rampant lust mixed with doubt… and fear she now acknowledged. Fear of whether she could in fact take what she wanted to experience.

A sound. Footfalls muffled by the carpet outside, the keycard in the lock! She heard him move into the room, and was desperate to see him, but she kept her discipline as he had said she should, her head remained bowed, eyes fixed on the carpet before her. She heard what must be a bag plop onto the bed and then she heard that lovely dark voice.

‘Grace. You are stunning. Even the beautiful pictures you sent me came nowhere near doing justice to the vision I see before me. I am singularly blessed that you chose me as your partner.’

She heard him getting closer as he spoke, his shoes and chinos appeared in her vision.

‘Raise your head and kiss me.’

She obeyed joyously, seeing him drop to one knee before her, quickly noticing his broad chest, wide shoulders, and lovely beard. An impression of brown sensitive eyes were all she had time for before his lips were softly brushing against hers, slowly inviting, pressing gently. He smelt of spice and dark sex, his taste was rich and full. Slowly, their mouths opened to each other, tongues met, embraced, chased, slowly, then with more purpose. She felt herself melting at this kiss, becoming a flowing, pulsing entity as he stirred her with his presence and touch. Only half-aware it was happening, her lips were becoming firmer and he matched her, not trying to dominate, just seeing what she liked it seemed. After what felt like a delicious age, she felt the pressure lessen along with the pace, and he moved to kiss her eyelids. Never before had she felt so full of energy but almost weak enough to faint.

‘Such beautiful eyes. I look forward to seeing them in many different moods, but for now I must forego that pleasure and ask you to look downwards again.’

This time her compliance met an inward reluctance but this did not slow her actions. He moved up and back towards the bed. That was the bag opening she thought, a little rummaging, and he is returning, going round behind her.

‘You desire restraint but your experience has been limited, let’s introduce you to cuffs. Stand for me Grace, and put your hands behind your back.’

She felt his strong hands guide her wrists into leather, and support her arms as the straps were tightened. Then she felt movement and heard metal click. He backed away a little and stayed still. Her hands were fastened together, cuffs on her wrists, and the sensation was so much greater than could be explained by the leather. She was bound, bound by him, bound to him.

‘Beautiful. Just so sexy and tempting, that arse really does cry out for the full treatment. Kneel again for me Grace.’

The silence grew as she achieved the required posture, it endured.

‘Remember you told me how this proposal of mine turned you on? That you would wait and wait as I watched? And that as you waited you would be more and more turned on? Let us test this remark of yours.’

Silence reigned again, as he moved to a position over to her left, out of vision as he sat in the chair she knew was there. She waited.

And it was as she had said.

She could still feel him there, the strength of his regard, and she believed his words that he found her beautiful, that he wanted her. He had always said this, but there was no faking that kiss. It had left her breathless. Her yearning for him was an aching fire, threatening to swamp her pussy and turn her legs to jelly… and he had hardly touched her yet.

She so wanted him, it had been building ever since she first read more than one story at a sitting. She did not care what he did, for she knew instinctively that she would love each and every nuance, every twist and turn, every demand, every offer. So she knelt still, offering herself completely. And waited as her passion took her over, but still she held.

His wonderful strong voice softly penetrated her erotic haze.

‘Grace, I am so proud of you. I can see just how turned on you are. Just waiting for me, you can make into the most wonderful pleasure for yourself. This is a great talent. One to be celebrated and nurtured.

Let us take you fully into the world of restraint, as you desire, and let me give you a little surprise before I begin to spank you. Would you like that?’

‘Oh yes,’ oh God yes she thought.

So saying he came to her, held her wrists and her arm as she stood, helping her to overcome her unsteadiness.

‘First let me disconnect these,’ he separated the cuffs from each other, allowing her hands to come to her sides. ‘Come and kneel on the bed, here. With your feet still near the bottom of the bed here, and your hands spread on the covers before you.’

She saw the other cuffs near the foot of the bed, and divined their destination. She noticed the restraints near them, and the longer straps coming from the edges of the headboard. With her pussy already so wet it seemed incomprehensible that this was exciting her further, but there was no denying it. Just like she knew there would be no denying him. Absolutely anything he asked she would give, she knew this. And still he had hardly touched her.

As she mounted the bed she almost came when she brushed one of the cuffs. Fuck. What was going on. Her labia were so distended and her pussy so wet, it felt heavy.

‘That’s good.’

And the simple praise sent such thrills coursing through her. She felt him attach a cuff to each ankle, stroking her skin softly as he applied them. His touch was delicious agony.

‘A little wider.’ She spread her knees apart and her feet, and then she could feel him attaching the cuffs to the straps. ‘Now for your wrists again.’

He took a pillow and placed it on the bed before her face, about level with her chin, as she pushed her hands forward so she sloped down from her hips. In this position he connected these cuffs and tightened the straps. At the moment she could now rock her hips forward if she needed, but could do little else.

Suddenly he grabbed her hair and roughly pulled her head up and tilted it sideways, the shock and lust filled her eyes.

‘So beautiful,’ he stroked a finger oh so gently along her jaw and over her cheekbone, so different from the lovely pain in her scalp. ‘That pussy looks oh so hungry, and so swollen and wet. Let us see if we can make it more so.’

He disappeared for a moment and the she felt something over her pussy, from mound down to below her cunt, cupping it and smeared in lube. She heard a noise and pressure pulled her pussy into the device. This must be a pussy pump.

‘Tell me when it begins to get uncomfortable, I believe this is the first time you have tried a pussy pump.’

Another noise and the suction began to be difficult to endure.

‘A bit too much,’ she gasped, causing him to reduce the pressure a little.


‘Yes. Much.’

‘Now we shall leave it to do its work for a while, as I get out the instruments I have chosen for your instruction and show them to you.’

He pulled his bag onto the side of the bed and reached within.

‘Now. Have you decided on your safe word?’

‘Yes. Dante.’

‘Ah you decided to stick with that. Sounds good. Easy to remember easy to say, easy to hear. And a vision of heaven. How apt in your case’

She had to smile, he was always doing this, showering her with compliments.  It took a little while for her to realise he really did mean them.

The first spanking paddle appeared, pink satin on one side, leather on the other. He turned it slowly in his capable hands, displaying it for her before placing it on the bed. Next was a handle and a shaft, with a top – a two-part crop, the head was leather and thin, adequately long – it would be wicked. A small rubber flogger was flicked gently before her, and then placed down.  Another paddle, this one thick leather with studs, was set next to its fellow. She gasped when the heavy whip/flogger was taken from the bag. A big thick handle, substantial tails of leather, many of them, maybe 2 feet long, now draped over the covers. Others followed, a tiny box, maybe lipstick sized, that made her curious, another crop, heavy, leather tipped again, a real equestrian piece by the look of it, a simple 12” wooden ruler. Lastly, he moved away, and returned with a cane that he swished vigorously before dropping onto the bed.

The accumulation of possibilities was wonderful, her imagination played with the different sensations each could provide in the hands of this man who seemed to know them all, as he knew her, despite their circumstances. She knew this was why the display had been made, in silence. He believed that at crucial times, her body would know what she craved and cry out for it, once she knew what was possible and how she had reached her current level of fused pleasure and pain. Until then, he would be her guide, as he had been by message and email, and phone. She knew he would bring her pleasure even more exquisite than the delights of these last days. She desperately wanted this, needed it, as did her pussy, now even more swollen and madly sensitive.

‘How is your pussy feeling Grace my angel? Are you throbbing and hot? And wet as sin?’ He teasingly drew her attention back to her current focus of sensation.

As he released the suction and removed the cup, the surge of blood finding a new equilibrium was amazing, like suction or removing clamps on a nipple, but magnified, and in that even more sensitive area. She moaned before she could stop herself, but then realised that they were not currently playing the game of dominance to the extent that permission must be asked, and him addressed as Master or Sir. He moved to select the small rubber flogger and the satin and leather paddle. She waited.

‘Such a beautiful arse, so tender, such delicious curves.’

The lightest tickles began on her pert cheek, moving to the other, and back, and again, and down over the curves. In her current state she struggled not to ram her pelvis onto an imaginary cock. Soft satin surely now began a light rub, around the curves of her bum, the shapely sides, the tensioned buttocks. The first light blows landed and she shook. Not from the force of any blow, but from the joy. Not just the joy of this sensation, but also the knowledge of how much more was to come, how much she needed. She knew his awareness of her need for much more pain, more extreme heavy blows, but still he started this gently, and she could not credit the depth of her response.

The firmer stroking that followed was squirmingly divine, the tickling flicks of the flogger were light by comparison. Then he started in earnest, even firm blows of satin covered punishment, repeating themselves on her arse. He began on her buttocks, spreading upwards and round the sides as the warmth built in her arse, not yet a competitor to the fire in her pussy, but building. A pause, and now his naked hand smoothed over her arse, kneading her.

‘Ungh!’ Despite herself and her readiness, this blow caught her by surprise – so much harder. She caught her lower lip beneath her teeth as she stifled her voice as a second and third blow landed. And she was almost coming already. Two more blows and the tension throughout her body was unbelievable, the heat of her pussy and arse fired her convulsions. ‘Oooh.’ Thwack! And her pussy and her body shook in the throes of her first blinding orgasm in his presence.’Yeah, fuuuuck’ and moans of gibberish were shaken from her throat. She scarcely noticed he was spanking her still, harder as he knew she wanted. Little cries were coming from her unbidden. And it stopped.

‘Good girl Grace. Such a good slut, coming for me so soon. But you have so much more to give.’

Her blurry vision just saw him pulling the big flogger off the bed. Some part of her knew this might hurt worse, all of her knew she would love it.

Pain Deferred

This story, as it is appearing on a blog anyway, is going to be presented in parts. I hope you will enjoy it, by instalments, and as a whole.


Pain Deferred


Blank's little slut


The two weeks had passed in an erotic blur, friends had noticed a wild look in her eyes, little realising her pupils were almost permanently dilated with unbridled lust. And he still had not touched her.

She had never seen him, this cruel provider of intense pleasure. She could be coasting back down towards sanity when she would see a message from him, and her pulse would race. She always had to read it now, no matter the cost or potential embarrassment, she could not wait. Even if it was something trivial she would be in a heightened state. The moment she realised it was something sexual she would feel her pussy beginning to heat, and if he had decided to be descriptive or go into detail she would rapidly become sodden. The whole fucking fortnight had been like this.

There was ‘bare arse’ day, when she had to endure her jeans rubbing over her bare arse. That was the day they had decided the state of her pussy was ‘sodden’, the day he had told her to imagine that contact as a paddle in his hand rubbed against her preparatory to spanking her, and she so wanted to be spanked by this man. She wanted to give herself totally to him, for pleasure and for pain, and the delightful mingling of the two she most craved, but only from him, this name on a screen, a voice on a recording. She had come like an absolute steam train when she finally got the opportunity later that day.

Her orgasms had seemed to be getting stronger ever since she had first noticed this guy’s fiction online, and the change strengthened once she started to actually interact with him. He was so kind, polite but gently flirtatious, until she had effectively indicated that flirting was fine with her, more than fine in fact. She was still not clear exactly how they had established the effect his writing, and thus he, had upon her, nor how that had developed into the revelation that she wanted him, physically, with everything that she was, but as that was probably impossible, then virtually.

The bastard. Expecting to get a polite rebuff somewhere along the line, she discovered he was deadly serious in wanting her equally as much. So here they were, her driven to distraction by his erotic suggestions and demands, actually by his presence in her virtual life, and him on his way to her, in this decidedly un-seedy hotel. Oh God, he was actually going to be here. In about half an hour. Their first physical interaction. There was no escaping the degree of nerves she was suffering, despite his assurances that the pictures and the communication told him he thought she was wonderful and incredibly sexy. Those old doubts are so hard to shift.

She distracted herself from her worries again by the same tactic, returning to the 2nd day of this 14-day sexual flood-tide. Oh yes, that orgasm. Such heat burning through her, electricity arching her back and erupting from her rigid nipples, tingling from toes to head, lost in the surge. Such a crashing wave of release, such a pulsing in her pussy, as she came thinking of him fucking her, thinking of coming just for him, the drab reality entirely absent from her experience.

As she inserted the Ben Wa balls that day she remembered the joke they had shared, that he was transforming himself (or some part of him) into the pleasure giving toy deep in her cunt. As she worked those muscles, as the weights moved, she was to think of squeezing his cock as she rode him. This was the first day her preoccupied wild eyes had been noticed, and at almost the same moment she received another message. Open your legs, let people passing see your beautiful panties as they covered your crotch. And she did. Without question. And she loved it.

Loving the photos she had already sent he requested another. The nape of her neck offered to him, her hair held aside – because he knew she loved her neck being kissed and that she liked to kiss the necks of her female lovers – and because he already loved to do this and would revel in bringing her this pleasure.

This was the reason she had become so hooked, just by his writing, you could tell he loved women, dedicated himself to giving them pleasure, willing to be so soft and tender and gentle, but also to be rough, to control with temperament and pain, because all that mattered was their enjoyment, which is what gave him his. The way he wrote about their bodies, their sensations, the tiny details, the recognition of clues, their responses and ecstasy – surely, she had thought, much of this was close to real experience. Some pieces seemed written for specific lovers, celebrating all that was unique to them and their lovemaking.

Some tasks he set her he called ‘easy’, selecting a location for a tryst, because they both wanted this; choosing clothing sexier than she could normally wear, to wear with him, for him, and, he explained, very much for herself. ‘Be free, be daring,’ he urged her, ‘let your sexuality surge free, luxuriate in it, and the power it gives you, I will love it.’ Always he insisted, enjoy your tasks, remember they express our mutual need, our desire, and they help to make our pleasure a tactile reality, and make that reality magical.  As choices were advanced he complimented her, told her how sexy she would look, recounted plans and temptations that came to mind, prompted by what he saw, and other things…

She would not let him buy for her though, a line was drawn, one he seemed reluctant to accept, but did, with praise for her principles, even if he felt them misguided. She knew she would not deny him the chance to see some of these possibilities they had shared, knew she would dress for him in something he had inspired her to wear, and undress for him too.

As she worked, and played, and did those endless but essential chores that daily life demands of us, she found her thoughts locked upon him. He did not need to contact her to have her wet for him, but contact her he did. He loved to tease. Once, she told him that there were no opportunities for relief. He was relentless, loving descriptions of her pussy, of gently sucking her labia, stroking her breasts. Telling her how hard he was from thinking about her, how much he wanted to fuck her, that he knew she burned to fuck him.

Burning, that is what she endured, her pussy aflame and aching, and he made it worse. In words and in her mind he bound her, in leather, in silk, made her submit, made her wait, granted pleasure through pain when he was ready, when she was beyond desperate, as she came to be that day. He told her he could see her biting her lower lip, and she was. How? How could this happen? ‘Climbing the walls’ for once felt truly apt, she was crazy with desire, with need. Still he continued and she could never look away, never ignore this vicious need for pleasure, for torment. Many hours later, fresh from the briefest of exchanges, the orgasm was still stronger once again. She could not believe this, but could not deny its truth.