Series
Making a Masochist Part I
After a little chatter and a game of pool, I knew I would fuck this man.
I’ve just reached the bottom step at the College’s main doors when my phone rings. Juggling my books and bag, I search my pockets, using the constant vibrations as a location device. The screen shows it’s Ian. In America from Wales, we met at an off-campus pub, his thick accent making my knees melt as if made of butter. His well-built physique and head of thick golden curls didn’t hurt either. It’s the kind of hair you want to sink your hands into and hold tight as you ride their face. Yes, please.
After a little chatter and a game of pool, I knew I would fuck this man. And I want to, but he seems to have other ideas. He’s a Dominant. I didn’t know what that was until I met him. But Ian has opened my eyes to a world I want to explore. He’s given me so much pleasure and no small amount of pain, in every sense of the word, but has yet to fuck me.
“Hello, Sir,” I say in answer to the incoming call. His first rule is that I am always to address him as such.
“Hello, Savannah. In the boot of your car is a bag. You have one hour to do the required task. If you succeed, I’ll fuck you. If not, I bought a new cane in preparation.”
Not sure that I understand what he’s saying, I stop walking. “Sir?”
“Is there something you don’t understand?”
“Um, yes Sir. I have library study group in forty-five minutes and I’m not sure what the task is.”
“Very well. You still have an hour, and the instructions are in the bag. Follow them exactly, I’ll know if you don’t.” Unceremoniously, the line goes dead.
I look around, knowing he’s here somewhere. He’s made quite the routine of checking up on me throughout the day. To thrust his fingers into me roughly or choke me on his long, thick cock. Never a dull moment!
Hurrying to my car, I open the trunk. As he said, there is a black overnight bag. I open the zipper to find a note placed on top. Unfolding it, my mouth gapes as I read…
Hello my lovely slut,
In this bag is everything you need to complete the task I have assigned. If there is anything that is unclear, I expect you to call me immediately to get clarification. If I do not hear from you, I will assume that you are doing your best to complete it.
Using the objects in this bag, you are to:
-redden that beautiful round arse of yours. Not pink, RED!
-leave marks that are not from impact on your perfect porcelain skin. They must be visible in many areas. The erogenous ones too, please. These marks need to be visible even when you are clothed.
-pleasure yourself until you climax. You may use your fingers- on only your clit and nipples, but not inside MY cunt!
I require photographic proof that you’ve completed it. Your phone camera will suffice.
I flip the page over, but there’s nothing else.
Quickly, I look through the items in the bag, finding only a boar bristle paddle brush and a condom. Tucked at the bottom is a small blanket that’s more of a throw, really. Checking my watch, I register that five minutes have passed. I now have fifty-five minutes to do my task and forty to make it to the study group.
Honestly, studying seems kind of dull now. I’m more interested in my task. And being fucked later. Just the thought turns me on. My nipples harden, my clit pulls up, craving a mere touch, just a brush of a finger, even if it is mine. But Ian will not tolerate me skipping class or taking what belongs to him.
Knowing I’ll have to complete the task in the library to get to group on time, I remove the brush and condom, placing them into my backpack. I think about the blanket and decide I don’t need it, but change my mind right before slamming the lid shut, draping it over my arm.
Walking briskly, I make it to the library with no diversions. I must have a determined look on my face, as nobody stopped me to talk. Only waves and nods today. Mentally, I thank my resting bitch face. Sometimes it serves me well, just not when I’m on my knees in front of Ian.
Okay, for the first task, reddening my ass. Paddle brushes are loud when used as impact implements. I should know. Looking around the entranceway, I see a tarp draped over the far wall and hear the unmistakable tune of construction. Workers are coming and going and it doesn’t seem anyone is close to the area. Perfect.
Tugging the edge of the tarp aside, I spot the restroom behind the current construction site and dash to it. To my delight, the door is unlocked and I sneak inside, leaning my back against it to collect myself. My heart pounds, echoing like thunder in my ears. I check the stalls and find each empty. Good.
Locking the door, I walk to the vanity mirrors and unload the brush. It’s of fine quality and brand new by the look of it. The bristles are firm, but not overly so. I rub it against my palm, getting the feel for them. Not too bad. A little rough, but mostly soft.
Lifting my skirt, that has become almost a uniform since that fateful day in the pub, I lower my panties and grab the brush firmly by the handle. I enjoy being spanked, but Ian has always done it previously. I would never have thought about doing it to myself.
Bending my knees, I stick my ass out, swinging the brush gently. The impact is light and I know I’m going to have to hit harder to get the proper reddening that Ian requested. I aim and swing again, this time with speed and force. The brush comes back with a loud crack, the sting instantly bringing tears to my eyes. And I wonder how I’m going to do this.
Biting my lip, I try again. But as the brush connects, I think I won’t be able to follow through. I take a deep breath and am just about to swing a third time when my phone rings anew. I know it’s him before I answer.
“Yes, Sir?”
“How will you get caught if you’re in the loo, behind a blocked off area?”
“I’m concerned about the sound of the brush, Sir. I don’t want to bring attention to myself and chance getting caught.”
“That’s the point, little girl, that they may witness you being a dirty slut. How’s that red arse coming?”
“Not well, Sir. It hurts more when I do it.”
“So you don’t want to be fucked, then? Would you rather feel the bite of my cane? It will hurt much more than that brush.”
“No Sir, I’ll try again.”
“Good girl, you have 30 minutes left.” Click.
I stare at my phone. I have to do this! Need to feel him inside me, no matter what it takes. It’s filled my fantasies for too long. For six months, the only cock I’ve had inside my cunt was of the silicone variety. I need this more than I need air.
Getting back into position, I bite my lip and strike. If I do it fast, maybe it won’t hurt so much. The impact still echoes off the walls, but the slightly numbed skin from my previous swats mutes the sting. The pain is less intense, the arousal more so. I hit myself, again and again, four, five, six times. The echo in the small space louder with each swing.
Looking in the mirror, I see the red globe of my ass. On one side. Shit! I have to start again on the other. I stand and look at my reflection.
“You can do this. Ian will make it worth it. He always does. Stop being such a wimp and do it!” I whisper to the wide-eyed girl in the mirror. The look of longing on her face agrees with me.
Holding the brush in my opposite hand, I give my ass a couple of preliminary spanks, getting the flesh ready for the sting and my arm used to the odd angle. My aim is horrible with my left hand but I get the swing of it- no pun intended- and bring the brush down in one high arching blow. The impact reverberates up my arm, which distracts me from the agonizing ache on my backside.
Bracing myself, I let it fly again, but can’t stop the gasp and sob that I release. Wiping a stray tear, I check my reflection and decide that after one last hit, my ass is sufficiently red. Taking my phone, I take a few quick shots and send them off to Ian before rubbing my bottom. The added friction changes the sting to a very familiar heat. My pussy moistens at the thought of Ian being pleased with and stroking my reddened ass.
As I’m pulling my panties back up and resettling my skirt, my phone signals his reply.
Very nice, my little slut. But no more hiding in the loo. Two parts left. Now go.
Sticking my tongue out at the screen, I hurry from my hidden refuge and make my way to the library. Checking my watch, I have twenty minutes left and only five until my study buddies arrive.
Read part II here…
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Another Tantalizing Tale by Eve Taylor
