The Spur Ch. 11

Literotic asexstories – The Spur Ch. 11 by Spartamac,Spartamac
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male. –Rudyard Kipling

JAMILA

I asked Steve for the use of his tape, and re-taped Jill’s eyes, camouflaging them with a pair of aviator sunglasses. I like subs to show up in my apartment having no idea where they are, or how they got there; it heightens their sense of being at my mercy.

Steve handed me Jill’s overnight bag which, if he had followed my instructions, contained Jill’s toiletries case, a comfortable sweatshirt and leggings, and a single pair of those cute boyshorts she favored. The final surprise, which even Steve didn’t know about, was hidden in my apartment. Steve slipped her boots onto her feet, and I slipped her coat over her shoulders. We made eye contact and nodded.

“Time to go, beautiful,” I said, taking her hand. “You ready?” Jill nodded. I led her to the door, which Steve opened for us.

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“I know you will,” he answered. We kissed goodnight, and I lead my captive the four blocks to my car.

After closing and locking my apartment door, I took Jill’s coat and boots off and put them in the closet, also removing the aviator glasses and setting them on a small table by the door where I kept my wallet, sunglasses, and keys. My apartment has a loft, and except for a bearskin rug half-hidden behind the loft stairs, anything soft and comforting and luxurious stays there. The ground floor is bare, gray and Spartan.

I stepped up behind her and pulled her to me. She sighed and softened into my embrace. After a moment of just breathing in her scent and letting the warmth of her penetrate her robe and my dress, I began to untie her belt, whispering into her ear, “I’m going to give you pleasure like you’ve never known.” Slipping the belt out of its loops so that the robe fell open, I added, “And pain like you’ve never imagined.” Hearing her breathing go ragged, I continued, “Are you prepared for that?” Equal parts anxious and excited, she answered,

“I think so.”

“Honey, I need you be certain.” She stood up straighter and made a show of pulling herself together.

“I’m certain.”

I slipped the robe from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. With the belt, I bound her wrists in the slender small of her back, saying, “You’ve had a long night, and you’re tired. We’ll go over the rules in the morning.” After cinching off her bonds, I slid the backs of my nails very softly up her back to her shoulders, then down her arms. She shivered at the sensation, and I again gently drew my nails up her back, then over her shoulders to her breasts, circling them in ever-tightening spirals until I caught her nipples between my fingers. She hissed in sharply through her teeth, and I lazily ran my hand over her exquisite little belly (sometimes Steve’s fetishes are not wrong) and, gentle and weightless as butterfly wings, lay my fingers on the lace panel in the front of her panties. She held her breath.

“Why, you delightful little slut!” I said as, increasing the pressure of my fingers just a little, I could feel how wringing wet she was. “I’ll bet you’re ready for a nice orgasm, aren’t you?” She whimpered as I slid two fingers under her waistband and explored that wetness like Jacques Cousteau exploring an undersea cave. When “Jacques” found what he was looking for, Jill moaned. “I’ll bet you could safely say you’ve earned yourself an orgasm.” Abruptly, I withdrew my hands from her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t going to happen tonight.” Though obviously bitterly disappointed, she was well-behaved and didn’t whine or protest. I wondered if she were one of those subs who don’t like to give their dommes the satisfaction of pleading; if so, this was going to be even more fun than I thought.

I led her, still blind and bound, carefully up the stairs to my loft. At the bathroom door, I untied her hands, untaped her eyes, and handed her the toiletry bag. While she made ready for bed, I made her bed ready for her with a cozy nest of pillows, cushions, and silk blankets. When she emerged, I took her over to her bed, pushed her down to her knees, and watched as she crawled docilely into the cage–which was about the size of a large dog crate, but with thicker, sturdier bars that didn’t rattle when she moved. She curled up and was almost asleep before I could tell her, “Do not masturbate, do you understand?” She nodded with a faint, muffled “Yes, Mistress.”

“If you do, I will know, and your punishment will be savage. Understand?” Nodding again, she mumbled something and was asleep before I had even locked her in.

In the morning, I let her out of the cage, and when she was finished in the bathroom, I asked if she knew how to use a French press.

“Yes…” she hesitated, unsure how to address me.

“You may call me Jamila for the time being. Bring me a cup of black coffee and we’ll discuss the rules.”

“Yes, Jamila.” Wearing only last night’s panties (a word which, I discovered, she disliked, and so never failed to use myself) she pattered down the loft stairs and into the kitchen. I heard the electric kettle heating up, followed by some unexpected sounds: a window opening and closing, and the opening of cupboards and rattling of glass. I lay still, curious. Before long, if a trifle longer than I’d expected, she appeared at the top of the stairs with a small tray, holding a cup of hot coffee and a bunch of tiny, purple-blue flowers tucked into one of my Turkish tea glasses.

“I couldn’t find a bud vase, so I used this; I hope that’s ok?”

“Sweetie, they’re beautiful! What are they? Where did you get them?”

“Veronica; there’s a bunch of them growing out of a crack in the wall right near your east window. I had to lean pretty far out to reach them; I hope nobody saw me!” After a moment, she added, “There’s lots of wildflowers that can grow out of walls, sidewalks–you just have to look for them. These are a little late–they’re usually a spring bloomer–so I was lucky to find them. I think maybe the warm spell tricked them. Am I talking too much?”

“Steve’s right,” I said with a laugh; “you *are* delightful!” She smiled proudly as she handed me the tray, which I set down on the night table. I then invited her to snuggle up to me on the bed, where we half-reclined, propped up on cushions.

“Let’s go over the rules,” I said.

“Yes, Jamila.”

“You should be standing at attention for this, but your little gesture has softened me for now. Rule number one: When I address you as–what is that ridiculous name he gave you?”

“Grasshopper.”

“Yes; when I address you as Grasshopper, that will be your cue to address me as “My Lady.” You will continue to address me as “My Lady” until I again address you by your name. Then, and only then, may you resume addressing me by mine. Do you understand, Grasshopper?”

“I understand, My Lady.” I could hear the smile in her voice, as if she had just tried on a sexy dress and looked good in it.

“Good. Do you and Steve have a safeword?”

“‘Yellow’ to slow down, ‘Mercy’ to stop what we’re doing, ‘Red’ to end the scene, My Lady.”

“Have you ever used them?”

“I used ‘Mercy’ once, My Lady.”

“I’m not surprised; Steve is insufferable about his ability to ‘read’ a sub. Well, I want you to feel free to use any or all your safewords here; there is no shame in it. I am not a gentle domme, and I only have you for a very short time, so I will probably be pushing you harder than you’re used to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lady,” she answered. I thought for a moment. Reaching a decision, I added,

“You know what? To hell with Steve’s name for you; I’m going to call you ‘Veronica.'”

“I would like that, My Lady,” she said, with a sweet smile.

“Good. Rule number 3: I know Steve is drawn to smart-mouthed, bratty subs. Here, there will be none of that. Any and all smart-assery will be swiftly punished, so I advise you to keep it in check and avoid acting out. Do not test me on this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, My Lady.” This time the smile in her voice sounded like she had worn the sexy dress to church and given the minister a hard-on. She definitely trusts too much in her cuteness, I decided. And yes, I had put up with all kinds of smart-assery from boy subs, but I wouldn’t have it from girls. Call me queen bee if you like, but I keep girl subs on a shorter leash.

“One more thing,” I added. “We are going to Bechdel the shit out of the rest of this weekend; there will be no further mention of the S-man, or the G-man or any other man. Until Monday afternoon, only you and I exist. Got that?”

“Yes, My Lady,” she said, with delightful enthusiasm.

“Very good. Now stand up.” I stood also, wrapped my floral silk robe around me tighter, and took her face in my hands, kissed her delicate lips, drinking from them, our bodies pressed together as I explored her with my fingertips. My hands slid over her hips, and around to cup her adorable little ass. I slid my knee between her legs, pulling her into me. I could feel her heat on my thigh. Still kissing her lips, I stepped back just enough to take her firm little breasts in my hands as she panted into my mouth. Extricating myself from her, I took a step back and had a good, long look at my weekend playmate.

“Downstairs,” I ordered. She preceded me down the loft stairs to the more severe first floor. At the bottom, she turned and looked at me questioningly.

“Against the wall,” I told her, indicating a spot to the right of the door. “Wait there,” I said.

“Yes, My Lady.”

I reached behind the stairs and withdrew my black toy bag from beneath the second stair. Straightening up, I noticed her looking at my open wallet on the table, with a strange, wide-eyed expression. I quickly crossed the floor and closed the wallet, then slapped her hard on the left cheek. Startled, her eyes filled with tears as her hand flew to the red mark on her face.

I reached out tenderly and touched her cheek, lightly trailing my fingers down her neck and down the slope of her breast, giving the nipple a gentle squeeze. She arched her back and thrust her breast into my palm. I squeezed a little harder, eliciting a low moan. Seeing how I was getting to her made me wet. God! I wanted to throw her to the floor and just take her, right there and then! But patience pays off and I got myself under control. While one hand worried that sweet little nipple, the other slid its way down her belly. Our eyes locked as I slipped my fingers between the waistband of her panties and her smooth skin. When my fingers finally reached their destination, I was greeted by a gushing flow of nectar. With that, I grabbed the hair at the back of her head and locked her in a passionate kiss, slipping two fingers deep inside her. ‘It’s going to be a long, wonderful weekend!’, I thought.

I broke away from our kiss and brought those two fingers to my lips. The scent of her was intoxicating, and the taste even more so. I looked into her eyes and her lips parted as I slipped those same fingers into her mouth. She sucked deeply, loving my fingers with her tongue. Making love to her was going to be a joy, I knew–but first, I wanted her to beg.

I slipped my fingers out of her mouth and stepped away from her. As I opened the black bag, she became aware of all the toys and ropes it contained. She shivered deliciously with anticipation.

After my inventory was complete, and the ropes lay in several piles on the floor, I selected four lengths. I draped two over each shoulder and allowed the cool, slick nylon to caress her skin. “Don’t move!” I told her. She closed her eyes for a moment to revel in the feel of the rope, uncertain what was coming next. I turned her to face me, and brushed my open palms across her nipples, which hardened instantly. They were too tempting to pass up; I leaned down and flicked one with my tongue, then caught it gently between my teeth. Holding it still with my teeth, I worried it mercilessly with my tongue. She moaned and laced her fingers through my hair, holding my head. Still clenching her nipple with my teeth, I admonished her: “I told you not to move!” She immediately dropped her hands to her sides. I stood up and flicked her nipple hard with my forefinger. With her sharp intake of breath, I turned and walked out of the room. “Turn around and face the door,” I ordered as I stalked off.

From where I then stood, her back was to me and she couldn’t see where I was or what I was doing. I quietly pulled up a stool and sat as I watched her struggle with not turning to see me. Disobedience leads to punishment. Also, I admired the view. She had a long, lean look despite her short stature; her strong back flowed smoothly into slender hips and a tight little ass.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the pink start to come up on her shoulders from a steady flogging, and I could feel the hardness of her ass as I smacked it with my open hand. With that thought, I moved back into the room to pick up where I had left off.

I withdrew a black leather blindfold from the bag and buckled it snugly in place, then took her hand and led her across the room to climb the stairs. I stopped her on the fourth stair, took one of her hands, raised it above her head, and tied it to a ring set into the ceiling. I did the same to the other hand. I took one ankle, and then the other, and tied them to rings set in the stairs. She was beautifully spread-eagled and incapable of moving more than a few inches in any direction.

“Well, look at you, Veronica,” I teased. “Blindfolded and bound and completely at my mercy.”

“Yes, My Lady,” she answered, trembling.

“I hope I don’t take *advantage* of the situation,” I purred. I began to explore her lovely body, trailing my fingers up the backs of her calves to the sensitive spot behind her knees–both obviously ticklish, I noted–and then up the backs of her thighs. I brushed my cheek up the inside of her thigh and playfully bit the tender flesh; she caught her breath but said nothing.

Still exploring, I stroked her through her soaked panties. I reached around from behind and pressed her against me as I bit the curve of her neck. Touching her made me so hot that I could no longer resist; I slid my hand down her panties. I dipped my fingers in her wet pussy and then, slowly, began to service her clit.

I started out with light strokes–teasing really–barely touching. Then I began to stroke in earnest. As my strokes intensified, her body began to quiver. I could feel her pussy swell as she drew closer to orgasm. Getting a firm grip on her breast, rolling and pulling the nipple between my fingertips, I watched her as she got closer.

“Please, My Lady,” she implored, utterly prostrate, perfectly willing to do whatever I demanded to make the wanting stop. “Please! I’ll do anything!”

By then she was beginning to moan and rock her hips with the motion of my strokes. *Closer.* I pinched harder on her nipple. *Closer.* The strokes became harder, faster—she’s nearly there–when I squeezed fiercely on her nipple as I bit hard on her neck.

That sent her over the edge, her body wracked with spasms of ecstasy. Her cries and moans were magnificent. I slipped my fingers inside her to feel her pussy clamp down as the waves continued. Her body sagged against me, straining her bonds. I gently kissed her shoulders and back as she slowly returned to earth. When I judged her ready to stand on her own again, I untied her wrists and ankles, removed the blindfold, and led her down the stairs to the floor.

Slowly, then, I caressed her body, following the indentation of her waist and the curve of her hips. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slid them to the floor, leaving her gloriously naked to my gaze. If she were mine, I would keep her naked always. I intended to for the rest of the weekend, anyway.

After instructing her to “stand right there and don’t move”, I sat on the ottoman and began to check my ropes. As she craned her neck–surreptitiously, she thought–to see what I was doing, I watched the emotions cross her face as the smooth nylon slipped easily through my hands. The action hypnotically erotic, as I thought of where this rope would soon be nestled.

She started when I touched her shoulder, but relaxed immediately. I trailed my fingers along her neck and shoulder and then begin to tie the knots. First, the shoulders, and then the base of the neck and throat. Creating a crisscross pattern, I saw the rope dress begin to take shape as I tied the ropes to frame her breasts and her navel. Her eyes opened wide as I tied the knots for the crotch rope and, very deliberately, placed them exactly where I wanted them. Her breath caught in her throat as I pulled the rope tight and tied it into place. To make sure it was going to be effective, I tugged on the rope three times. Each time, her breath caught. I knelt to continue tying, and, feeling creative, split the crotch rope in two and used it to spread her labia wide open. I wanted full access to her. From this vantage point I had a clear view of her unguarded pink pussy. It was wet from all our exertions so far, and the rope was causing it to swell slightly. I breathed deeply the scent of her, and lightly danced my fingertips across her tender flesh, making her shiver.

With the rope dress complete, I led her beneath the open staircase, where I proceeded to tie her spread eagle once again. I like playing underneath the staircase because I can access a sub from all sides. I can flog, fondle, and fuck without hindrance. Once she was bound, I left her, returning moments later with a long pole–about the length of her inseam–with a smooth glass phallus mounted on top. I instructed her to rise up on her toes as I inserted the dildo deep inside. She moaned and shivered as the cold phallus filled her. I instructed her to come back down on flat feet as I inserted the bottom of the pole into a hole in the floor. She then realized that even on her toes she was impaled, unable to remove herself from the dildo.

As she adjusted to being thoroughly filled, I took pleasure in touching her all over. Some touches were light, some less so. I clamped her nipples with tweezer clamps– not too harshly–but they did have a chain attached so that I could play. It was time to see if the knots were really in the right place. From behind her, I took hold of the crotch rope and tugged, very slightly. I began to work in a rhythm, as if I’d been stroking her clit myself. Her breathing became shallower as she bucked her hips around the pole she was impaled on. Her moans and sighs told me she was getting closer fast. Continuing to tug on the rope, I reached around and ran the tips of my fingers over her engorged nipples. She arched her back in a plea for more as I reached down and tugged on the chain. Her moans got louder, her movements wilder as she reached the brink of her second orgasm of the morning–when I suddenly whispered in her ear, “Wait”. I felt her body tense as the reality of what I was demanding of her sank in. (I knew Steve sometimes made her wait for permission, but he always warned her up-front.) She let out a whimper as she strove to control her response, even as I continued to stimulate her clit. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to hold back, but to no avail; her moans turned to sobs as the orgasm rocked her body. I ceased stroking, moved around to the front of her and told her that her disobedience must be punished. She whimpered, imagining what might be in store for her. I walked away. When I returned, I was carrying my deerskin flogger.

Purple and black, and perfectly balanced, the flogger’s falls are soft, but they can leave quite a welt when wielded with the right force. I trailed them across her breasts and belly. I walked behind her and trailed them across her shoulders, back and rump. She was holding very still.

I started out lightly, alternating shoulder blades and then ass cheeks. Her body tensed at the first strokes. I could tell she was trying to figure out whether to protest or not. Then her body relaxed a little as she decided not to protest yet.

I put a little more weight behind the strokes. Her skin began to pink up almost immediately, but she was brave and took the blows with determination. As the strokes got harder, she breathed through them. I watched her hands clench as she worked through the pain, and her body began to flinch as I became more merciless. I had worked into a rhythm and the pink had turned red when I let loose with the final three, vicious strokes. She cried out and arched her back to escape the tongues’ wrath. After the last stroke, I dropped the flogger and gently reached out and stroked her reddened back. I swiftly untied her feet, and with the press of a button, the dildo she’d been impaled on collapsed and slipped out of her, causing her to moan. Using a pair of safety scissors, I cut the rope dress from her. She had the most fascinating pattern crisscrossing her body. I slid off my robe and pressed myself to her back, soothing her, holding her gently with one arm while quickly untying her with the other hand. When she was completely released, I lowered her to the only soft surface on the ground floor–the bear-skin rug–and held her. I kissed away her tears, smoothed the hair from her face and told her I was proud of how well she had taken her punishment.

She was tired, but there were still the nipple clamps to deal with. Knowing they were going to be intense for her, I slipped one off. She screamed as the blood rushed in, followed by the pain. I gently sucked and tongued the nipple, soothing it. As I comforted the other nipple, I reached down and began to stroke her clit lightly. All of the pressure from the rope had made it hyper-sensitive, and with just a few light strokes she was having her third orgasm of the morning. Hearing her moans and watching her cum so many times had taken its toll on me. Holding her in one arm, I reached down between my own legs and begin to stroke my clit. She leaned down to suck on my nipple, slipping two fingers inside me.

It took very little before I was screaming my own orgasm as my walls clamped down on her fingers. As we both came back to earth, with the smell of sex all around us, we drifted into a blissful sleep right there on the living room floor.

STEVE’S JOURNAL

I tried.

“You should be with somebody closer to your own age. Squeeze out some puppies. You would be the mother to end all mothers; you know that, right?”

“I don’t want to end all mothers,” she said, slipping her arm through mine.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, but I don’t want to leave you. I’m not in a hurry. Besides, you’ve said you could picture us having a real future together.”

“I did, but I don’t want to think too much about the future until we have a better idea of what’s up with me.”

“Well, then, unless you ‘remove my collar and release me from your service’, I’m definitely not leaving you until then, at least.”

I’ll try again; I have to.

(Author’s note: I am indebted to My Captain, a dominatrix friend who helped me with the femdom POV for this chapter.)