The note He left me gave clear instructions in His spiky drunken-spider handwriting

Take off your clothes.
Insert the earbuds
Put on the hood.
Present yourself and wait for me.
Keep absolutely still at all times. If you move, you will be punished.

The hood! Our newest acquisition, an intimidating contraption of firm black leather and cold silvery buckles; it watches me from the table with a sightless gaze, promising darkness, silence, anticipation. I know what it’s for. I just don’t know what it’ll be like.

Once naked, I pick up the earphones. They’re an expensive set of Bluetooth buds, powered up and ready but silent. Once they are fitted inside my ears, the world goes silent. I can hear my own breathing, detect the slight quickening of my heartbeat. Will it be music? White noise? I hope not.

I pick up the hood. It’s heavy and stiff, as new leather should be. I pull it on, glad that we chose one with both nose and mouth holes. An almost-claustrophibic sense of enclosure starts to creep up my spine; but I can run my tongue out and feel the air outside the hood, reach up and touch the contours of the leather with my hands. I haven’t ceased to exist; I’m not trapped in limbo. It’s just a hood.

I go to work on the buckles.

With no sight, no hearing, held static in my kneeling position by the command of my Master, time ceases to pass. How long have I been wearing the hood? It could be three minutes or thirty or any length in between. Probably not thirty though, because knowing myself as I do; there’s no way I’d manage to stay awake sitting still that long.

Is He here? Has He been standing, watching me with a sardonic smile, enjoying my stillness and my silence, relishing the power of the unseen observer? Or am I alone, tilting my head in question at the empty air? I have no way of knowing but I like to think He’s close, reaching out almost to touch me, His eyes intent. My cunt twitches at the thought.

Warm breath on my neck. I jump, heart pounding, breath catching in surprise and excitement. He’s here! Right behind me!

A hand grips my throat. Too late, I recall the admonition not to move, the threat that accompanied it. The hand moves up to grip my jaw, turning my head from side to side. That’s all the warning I get before-


-the sound of His palm hitting the inside of my leg is almost as much of a shock as the pain painting a fiery handprint on my skin. I gasp but stay as motionless as I can. Perhaps the tiniest flinch escapes, but either He fails to notice it, or (more likely) He chooses to overlook it. If I could see His face, I’d know which; that telltale smirk might be tugging at the corner of His lips. Or it might not. I have no way to know, in here.

He trails His fingers lightly over the skin of my shoulders, down my shoulder blades.

And stops.

I catch myself just in time; I must not move. I cannot see or hear, movement is instinctive but futile. I am patient, I tell myself. I am a good girl.

Soft brush against my left nipple. Not the warm yielding pad of a fingertip; this is a lighter and tickling touch. Feathers, perhaps I guess or soft tassels. I picture His hand close to my breast poised with the feather, yes definitely a feather and feel the tightening of my nipples as they harden into questing nubs, reaching out eagerly for His whisper-soft touch.

Sudden diamond-chill licks my clit and vanishes. This time, I‘ve stiffened and jerked away before I can remind myself of my instructions. This is deliciously, deviously unfair – and also exactly what we both like. He will tease and titillate me in exactly the ways I cannot help but respond to; then punish me for reacting. The more He provokes me, the more intense my responses, the more pain I can expect.

I hang in a void for endless seconds. Is there a cane poised above my leg or my breast, waiting to sear sharp lines across my skin? A finger and thumb inching their pliers towards the tender back of my upper arm? Shit, where did that ice cube go?

Still nothing

Has He left?

A second before His hard cock nudges my lips, I smell His musk and sense His heat in front of me. I open my mouth as wide as the hood allows – I love sucking His cock – and hold my stomach rigid against the gag reflex when the head presses against the back of my throat.

He fucks my mouth hard, fast, roughly; this is evidently my punishment for reacting to the ice on my clit. I moan my excitement, my dark and perverted libido climbing the ladder upward from the black depths of my heart, spilling drool from my mouth and juices from my cunt in equal measure.

He thrusts deeper, pressing the hood into His stomach and His cock down my throat. The air holes are blocked. I can’t breathe. I’m choking.

I tap out. Our ‘Amber’ safecue, two firm pats of my hand. Released, I sprawl back onto my heels, choking and heaving, shuddering. He grasps my hand and I squeeze twice, telling Him I’m fine, I’m happy, I just needed to pause for a moment.

More. I want more

I give him the thumbs-up and He hauls me up onto my knees again.

Oh god, yes. Please.

Something cool and slippery sweeps across the back of my neck. I stiffen and do not move. Satin? Silk? Before I have time to decide, He cups my breasts, leans in to kiss my shoulders. His touch is tender, reverent and warming. In that moment, there is a connection between us that seems almost tangible, a line drawn in electricity arcing between our bodies, linking our minds, fuelling our lust.

With splayed fingers, Master pushes my knees apart so that my cunt is exposed.

-and disappears

I know he’s still there.

There is no void this time, there is only my body, my breath, the hard floor beneath me. My cunt is dripping, sending hot trails along the inside of my thighs.

I’m half-aching for His touch, half-shrinking from the notion that my sadist Master is probably right now preparing His next move. An escalation, naturally. I acknowledge to myself with an invisible grin just how eagerly I’m contemplating that prospect. As the rumbling wand is jammed against my clit, I steel myself to hold still as long as I possibly can. It’s going to be a battle I’ll lose again eventually – and that’s ok with me. I hope He’ll let me come at least once before I do.

Masturbation Monday Banner

4 thoughts on “Depravation

Comments are closed.