I asked what you wanted, as I have many times before. Usually, you will tell me you are unsure, and decide in the moment what will please you. This time you had an answer.
“I want to hear you laugh.”
I was taken aback. Have I been so depressed that you are unable to see something so simple? Has it become so rare you feel the need to request it? I am disheartened to think I have stopped giving you such a small thing.
I shake my head of my thoughts and look at you. “You want me to laugh?”
“Yes. It makes me happy to hear you laugh.”
It has been a long time since I was at a loss for words. I do not know where to even begin to make this happen. If it were so easy, I probably would have done so already. It will be a challenge Sir. But I am sure I can accommodate your request.
I am nervous Sir. I have been so unsure of what you have planned. I am so afraid of disappointing you. This is the first time you have told me what you plan to do. I always thought that doing so would take away the anticipation. It did not.
You have decided on tickle torture.
I am convinced of two things. I am probably going to piss myself. And I am probably going to die. Ok, that is a little dramatic, even for me. But I cannot help it.
I am standing before you, completely exposed. I am trying to be patient. Methodically, you are wrapping rope around me. My arms are folded behind me, each hand clasping an opposite forearm. My eyes are closed, and I am trying to relax my breathing.
Ropes have never been a limit. We just do not use them. I have discovered that my patience is minimal when it comes to this kind of prep work.
Your hands are soft as you move the rope around me. Ever so slowly, it tightens into place. Finally, I hear you chuckle. I am curious at what has amused you. My eyes pop open just in time to catch the camera flash.
My head dropped down to hide my blush. No matter how depraved we get, I never cease to feel so shy when your attention is focused on me.
“Head up sweetie.”
I complied.
Your hands are tugging at different spots. I am sure you are making sure that nothing will damage me.
“How does that feel?”
“Good, Master. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We are just getting started.”
There is that feeling again. The nervous anticipation.
Your fingers are running through my hair. It is so long now. You seem to have such a fascination with it. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I kneel. As I settle, I feel a brush run through my hair. I stay silent, enjoying the feeling. You have never done this before.
I try to stamp down the little voice inside my head that tells me that you are dissatisfied with me for leaving my hair down. I normally pull it back, but I thought you might enjoy the change. Was I wrong, Sir? Should I not have deviated from my normal routine?
I try not to let my inner thoughts ruin what you are doing. I have to remember to breathe. It does not matter the why. It only matters what pleases you.
After several long moments, I feel you pull my hair back and wrap it into a ponytail. Then I felt the telltale pull of braiding. I have not had someone braid my hair in years. It is odd how much I am enjoying this.
Of course, I am not blind to the fact that the nicer you are now, the rougher you will be later.
I am sure I make quite the picture, Sir. The white ropes are stark as they crisscross over my skin. My shoulder muscles are taunt from trying to free my hands. My hair hangs in a braid down my back. And the beautiful cherry on top, is my jaw wrenched open by a red ball gag. I can feel the amount of drool sliding down the sides of my mouth.
Do I glisten Sir? Are you enjoying the mess you have turned me into before we have even started?
You do not have to answer Sir. I can see the glint in your eye. You are enjoying this.
At least you were kind enough to use the gag with holes through it. Maybe I will still be breathing at the end of this.
The first shove took me off guard. I have been standing here, just waiting for instructions, and you have not said a word. You just stared at me. Do you know how unnerving that is or how much it makes me want to squirm?
But I know better. I waited, as still as possible, for your instruction.
Suddenly, I felt your hand in the middle of my back and I was forcefully shoved. My body hits the bed and it takes the wind out of me for a second. I try to get my knees under me to adjust myself, but you are not letting up.
The game has begun.
I feel several rough smacks from your hand every time I try to shift up. There is no warm-up today. Finally, taking far longer than it should have for me to understand, I stop trying to get my knees under me. All I am doing is giving you a target.
I start rotating my body so that I can flip onto my side. You start tickling my feet. I cannot help but laugh. It sounds awfully breathy through the gag. I hate being tickled. Did I mention that Sir? I despise it. But above all, I despise anyone tickling my feet. They are so sensitive that it often hurts.
My brain is fighting over the rules. I am not supposed to move when you tickle me. Because you enjoy watching me struggle. Yet, my reflex is to kick at you.
I curl my knees up, trying to keep my feet still but move from your reach. It is a fruitless endeavor. You simply move closer. My body is twisting, I have lost the battle to stay still. I am laughing. I turn to look at you. Your face is filled with Sadistic glee.
In that second, I know exactly why I agreed to this.
I cannot take it anymore. My legs are kicking at you. This just seems to amuse you more. I roll onto my back so I can use my feet to push me up the bed, trying to escape. You expected the move. Your hands wrap around my ankles and tug. My ass is at the edge of the bed. You move over me and straddle my hips. As you meet my eyes, your fingers move to my sides and start tickling me relentlessly.
I toss my head side to side. Your thighs tighten on my hips. I am pinned. I will be at your mercy until you decide otherwise.
It hurts but I cannot stop laughing. My brow is matted with sweat. This is one hell of a workout.
I feel one of your hands move up my stomach and grab roughly at my boob. Your fingers pinch my nipples tightly and you tug upward. You are just holding it. Every time I try to twist from the tickling. You gave me a slight reprieve from the tickling but now both my nipples are under your sadistic hands.
Your thumb and pointer fingers hold tight to my nipples. You seem to enjoy pinching right where my piercings lay. It hurts so much more, especially when you roll them until your nails are dig into the tender flesh.
You smirk down at me when I hiss in pain. Without a word, you lean down and take my nipple between your teeth and tug harshly. I should probably specify that the strangled noise you heard was, in fact, a gasp. A gasp, I repeated, as you spent a few minutes alternating between each of my nipples.
They are so tender Sir. They will be for days. But you know that. You know my work clothes will press upon the tortured flesh and I will be distracted by the memories it conjures.
You let go suddenly and lean back. Your body weight presses down on my thighs and my stomach heaves in exhaustion. You are looking down at me. Your eyes boring into mine. My face is flush. I can feel it. My jaw aches as I pant through the gag.
I’ve never seen you so energetic during play. You have a glow about you. It makes me happy.
I can feel myself slipping Sir. I can see the static starting to form around you. The blood is rushing loudly through my ears, making it difficult to hear. I am quickly sinking into subspace, Sir.
I am positive you see it.
Your hand wraps in the front harness of ropes and pulls my upper body close to you. My eyes feel blown open as I try to meet your eyes. It is so difficult to make eye contact Sir. I am losing focus.
You let go and I drop back to the bed. My head bounces. I am saddened by the loss of pressure.
Suddenly, your hand is wrapped back in the ropes as you spin my body around. I will never understand how you can move me as though I am weightless.
My feet are on the wall and my legs are bent. My head rests in the middle of the bed and I am staring up at the ceiling. I laugh when you wrap my braid around your hands. I understand now.
I needed a handle.
I push against the wall, trying to alleviate the tugging on my head as I am pulled to the edge of the bed. As my head comes to rest, hanging off the bed, I see you crouch down. I feel you undoing the buckle of the gag. Your fingers slide around my cheeks, towards my lips, and you gently pry the gag from between my teeth.
The first thing I did was swallow. I am sticky with sweat and saliva, but I unable to move to wipe it away. As you stand, I move to lift my head, but you prevent it by stepping forward. Your jeans press against my face.
I can smell your arousal Sir. It excites me.
Like the good girl I am, I open wide and stick out my tongue.
Have I been good enough to get a reward Sir? Will I get to taste you?
You stand there for a few minutes. I feel restless. I rub my face against your jeans. Please, Sir. Please may I please you?
I keep still and quiet. You do not like to feel rushed. I am here for your pleasure, not the other way around.
Then I hear it.
Your zipper slides down and the button is tugged from its home. Teasingly, you take your time pulling out your cock. I have no choice but to wait patiently. I am not in a position to initiate anything and you know it.
You put the tip to my lips. I stick my tongue out and work my piercing around the head. I push the tip of my tongue slightly against your slit, moving it up and down for a few strokes before I return to circling the head.
I must have teased you a little too much.
Without warning, your length is down my throat, passed my gag reflex. My throat is spasming around you as I gag. I am struggling to breath. My nose is buried in your balls and your scent is all around me, but I cannot draw breath.
I start struggling. My feet flatten on the bed and I lift my hips. My lower half is twisting, trying to tell you I need to breathe.
You wait a few seconds more.
Then you pull back. I draw breath just before you thrust in again. Over and over, I struggle to breathe as you alternate your rhythm. Sometimes you fuck my mouth without mercy. Then you will bury yourself deep and wait until my body twists and turns in panic before pulling back.
It starts to get fuzzy around here Sir. I remember your hand wrapping around my throat as you push your length slowly back in. You do not go far enough to trigger my gag reflex. My chest is heaving, drawing small, short pockets of air around your cock.
I feel as though I am suffocating but you always leave me enough room to draw breath.
When your hand leaves my neck, I feel you pull yourself from my mouth. My eyes are struggling to stay open.
As they slide closed, my body exhausted, I feel you finish on my face. I can feel it across my forehead and my eyes. There is even a bit sliding down my cheek.
I feel relaxed now Sir. My breathing is slowing, and everything is quiet.
I feel your finger tap twice on my lips. I open obediently. You wipe the last of your cum across my tongue.
I must have missed you speaking. It is rare you resort to hand signals.
It is so quiet.
Where are you, Sir?
My body is freezing now. All the hairs are standing on end and I am shivering.
Your hands are like fire as they caress my skin.
I both love and hate this. I want to curl into you Sir. Yet, I have to wait as you remove the ropes. I know you are being cautious, so I do not get burned, but I just want you to hold me.
Once free, my body just drops. I do not even have the strength to even lift my head.
I jump slightly when I feel a warm cloth on my face. You are cleaning me up.
It saddens me to have my face cleaned but I appreciate you taking care of me, Sir.
Even with my eyes closed, I know you are talking to me. I cannot hear you. But that is normal.
I hope my laughter has pleased you, Sir.
As soon as my senses dull, and I come back to you, I will be sure to thank you properly.
With three kisses to each boot and my forehead to the floor.
