Neither of them had any idea how long it had taken her to suck him off. Certainly it was longer than either had imagined because their
coffee was stone cold.
“Sorry, master,” Emma giggled. “Your coffee’s gone cold. Does that mean I get punished?”
He noticed the wicked grin playing on her face. She wanted it, the little slut. Power surged through him again.
“Bend over the table,” he told her sternly. It was a bit of an act, but that was OK, games and real life can interleave quite
successfully. She broke free from his grasp and did as she was told, moving to the circular pine table and stretching across it so her hands
were gripping the rim at the far side. She looked over her shoulder at him. His face was slightly tense, flushed with excitement. He was
taking off his jacket, hanging it over the kitchen chair nearest him. Then he was unbuckling a rather wide black leather belt. She heard the
slight swish as he pulled it from the belt loops, and turned her face away from him to await her fate.
Carl looked down at her sexy bottom encased in the black skirt. He doubled the belt and brought it down sharply across her
buttocks. She yelped and stood up, her hands going to her cheeks.
“Did I hurt you?” His voice betrayed concern.
“Yes,” she replied. “Do it again, please.” She bent over again and he hit her again, with the same result. He told her that this
would take ages if she kept standing and covering her ass with her hands, to which she coquettishly replied, “Maybe you should tie me
So that’s what she was after. “Sexy bitch,” he growled at her. If she’d been a cat, she’d have been purring. He looked around
for something to use to tie her. He had his tie on, so could use that, but wanted more. He unfastened his tie as he thought. “Any ideas?” he
asked her when she looked back at him again.
She suggested she could go upstairs and get some of Lee’s ties. Before she went, he had more orders. “Take off the blouse,” he
told her. She cast a nervous glance towards the kitchen window to find out if anyone could see in. The teenager’s window at the back was at
the wrong angle, so it looked safe enough. She pulled the blouse from the waistband of her skirt and reached for the bottom button. She did
it slowly, feeling like a striptease artist as she gradually revealed more and more.
Carl was enjoying her impromptu routine. There was something about that blouse, the way he could see what was beneath it made
its gradual revelation even more exciting. She stopped when it was undone, allowing it to rest against her breasts, the stark contrast
between the black of the blouse and the paleness of the vertical strip of skin the gap revealed being broken only by the thin strip of cloth
joining her bra cups.
“Take it off, I said.” He tried to put menace in the voice, as if refusal to do so would bring swift retribution. She reached up
and slipped the blouse off her left shoulder, then used the other hand to slip it off the right, letting it rustle down her arms and fall
silently to the floor. She stood like a slave at a market, ready for her master’s inspection.
“Now the skirt.” He was eager to see her dressed just in her underwear. She reached to her side and unhooked the skirt, drawing
down the zip and holding it in her left hand as it slid down her thighs, holding it as she lifted one leg, then the other, to step out of
it. Carl let a gasp of air escape from his lips. She looked gorgeous. How could he be so lucky as to have this beautiful woman to use as he
wished? He pulled himself together, stuffed his full erection back in his trousers and zipped up.
“The ties?” he reminded her. She draped the skirt over the back of the chair and he watched as she walked towards the kitchen
door. The thong appeared to end half way down between her buttocks, hidden by their symmetry. All of a sudden he developed an interest in
Then she was gone. He put the kettle on again for fresh coffee - he noticed his mouth had gone very dry.
Emma climbed the stairs and went into her bedroom. She was glad the curtains were still drawn, so the youth opposite wouldn’t be
able to see. She opened Lee’s wardrobe - it felt odd, yet exciting, to be selecting ties which in a few minutes would be holding her
helpless - almost like digging her own grave. She selected six older ones - she had no idea how many he would want - and returned
He was just pouring the coffee when she arrived. She held the ties behind her back and handed them to him as she reached him,
then - without being asked - resumed her position across the table. She felt very wicked, she knew just how revealing the thong was and
could feel it cutting into the crease between her buttocks. Her legs were tensed as she stood, adding to the sexy shape of her calves,
accentuated by her heels. Carl put down the coffee mugs and moved to her head. His erection still pressed against the cloth and he thought
about using her mouth again, but he really wanted to tie her and beat her, so he forced himself to concentrate.
He took one tie and wrapped it three times round her right wrist before he tied it in a knot, checking it was not restricting
her circulation. He pulled it over the edge of the table and tied the other end to the table leg. Next he did the same with her left hand
until she was stretched across the table top in a Y shape.
“Comfy?” he asked her. She just smiled.
He moved round to the other side of the table, carrying the remaining ties. Her position meant she could not raise her head
sufficiently to watch him. She sensed him crouch down moments before she felt another tie encircling her right ankle. Carl tied it round as
he had done her wrists before pulling her leg to the side and securing it to the table leg. She’d kept her legs together as she’d bent over
the table as some last vestige of pointless modesty, but his action had denied her that. She knew what was next. Her left leg soon mirrored
the right, and apart from the minuscule covering offered by her thong, she was open and exposed to him. She felt his eyes on her, and she
felt herself blush.
There would be no straightening up now. No covering her buttocks with her hands. He was walking round to her head again,
crouching down to talk to her.
“How many d’you think you deserve?” he asked her, a grin playing on his face.
That was OK, she could play games too. “None, I’ve been a good girl,” she pouted.
“That’s an extra five for lying,” he countered.
“Five!?” How many lashes was he planning to give her?
“And that’s another three for reacting. That makes twelve in all.”
He stood and picked up the belt from the worktop, doubling it and moving to her left.
“Ready?” he asked. Emma nodded.
Carl brought the belt down hard on her bottom, causing her to yelp and tug at her bonds. It hurt. It was as hard as she wanted.
The next was harder. Carl stopped to admire the two red stripes he had caused on her cheeks. He wondered whether he had done it too hard or
not hard enough. Not being on the receiving end, he had no way of knowing.
“I have to ask, Emma. I’m not doing it too hard, am I?”
“I told you before, take, don’t ask. Sure it hurts, but you want to hurt me, don’t you? Honestly?”
He was honest. “Yes, I do. I want to hurt you.”
“So hurt me, do it till I cry out.”
“I can’t, Emma. I have to know if I go too far.”
“I’ll let you know if you do, master,” she replied. “But I want you to hurt me.”
He straightened again, bringing the belt down hard. Emma yelped. Again. Harder. Another yelp. This time it was tinged with an
erotic gasp. Carl put the belt down and reached for another tie. He went to her head again, placing the tie between her lips and tying it
round the back of her head.
“Raise two fingers if you want me to stop, OK?” he asked, and she grunted a “yes”.
Emma never raised her fingers. She accepted the increasingly-severe lashing with declining protest and mounting excitement. She
pulled at her bonds, trying to escape - not because she wanted to escape but because she wanted constant reminders of the fact that she
couldn’t. When he’d finished, he threw down the belt, pulling his clothes off in a rush to take her. If she could have spoken, she would
have been saying, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” but the words came out as a gagged series of mumbles. But Carl knew what they meant. For some
things words are unimportant.
When he was naked, he stood between her thighs, pulling the thong to one side to completely expose her. Foreplay - to the extent
she needed it for lubrication - was unnecessary. She was soaked. He had to bend his legs slightly to get the right level, but slid his cock
smoothly into her. Despite his earlier climax he was incapable of holding back. He had to thrust into her. He had to do it with power, had
to take. It wasn’t lovemaking, it was fucking. It was what they both needed. Emma felt him pounding into her as her head rocked against the
table top. She felt her climax starting and screamed his name against the gag. She was his. Maybe only for today, or for snatched moments,
but she was his.
“Mmmm, mmm, mhhh,” told him how she felt as he pumped his spunk inside her, though she wasn’t sure when she said it whether he
knew what she’d said. She told him later, though, when he’d untied her and they’d made a third coffee and sat together on the sofa together.
She told him with a smile on her face. She wanted him and nothing else mattered.