Mr Storm is one of my semi-regular play partners. Apart from our play sessions we've nothing at all in common. I like the rough and detached way we play. Neither of us overly worries about the other. Replying on a mutual understanding of what we both need. We don't even bother with much roleplay. It's all about a serious thrashing. I love getting it. He loves giving it to me.
He likes for me to hold still and take my beatings quietly. My acceptance of what he is doing is part of the thrill for him. He likes knowing he can do what he wants to me. He likes trying to break me. Loves to make me cry. Our sessions are always severe and the marks often last for days. Sometimes I question playing with him. But the intoxicating intensity we reach always draws me back.
I don't expect sympathy or mercy and he doesn't show it. He will continue, each time increasingly sadistic, not stopping unless I safeword.
Before our last session he instructed me to insert my metal anal beads in my ass before I left my house. He knows this is hard for me. I'm never in the zone unless I'm there with him. Having to put the beads in myself, in my own house, feels dirty and wrong. Feelings he's very good at invoking.
With difficulty I comply, feeling uncomfortably full as I travel to his house. The compliance only serves to rise my defiance. I know it will be a tough session and I resolve to not let him break me. He loves the challenge I offer.
On entering his house I'm immediately told to strip and put on the clothes he has for me. This is the usual process. Him picking clothes I hate wearing and enjoying my sulking as I have to don them. I like pretty, girly clothes. He insists on leather and rubber. Black and unflattering. Exposing my pussy, ass and tits. And impossibly high heels. I can't walk in them and he laughs as I stumble around. I feel the degradation keenly
Bit by bit he's stripping away my defences.
When I'm ready he pushes me over the back of the couch. Rough fingers check my compliance with his orders. He finds the anal beads and tugs the string roughly and I can't help whimpering. Then laughs as his fingers find my already wet pussy, teasing me for being such a slut.
He spanks me hard and fast with his hand, making me feel the beads even more and pushing his free fingers into my pussy. I can't resist grinding myself onto them, acting like the shameful slut he wants me to be. Without warning he withdraws his fingers and quickly pulls the beads from my ass, making me moan in pain and shock.
'Stand up, hands on head, legs apart' he orders. 'I think we'll start with a nice caning before I take you downstairs and show you what you really deserve.'
I know what that means, being suspended with my hands tied to the ceiling, barely able to reach the floor. Then he'll take out his clamps and whips and beat me until I scream. Then he'll gag me, so he can beat me harder. And when he's satisfied with my surrender he'll untie me so I can kneel before him with my warm mouth and thank him for his attentions.
But for now a caning awaits. I look up as he stands in front of me. Two canes in his hands. His latest trick is to apply two at a time, One on my front thighs, the other on the back, or one on each side. Starting off slow until he builds harder and faster, until I can't stay still and get punished with hard, fiery strokes that bring tears to my eyes.
And the despair will set in, knowing we've only just begun.
He likes for me to hold still and take my beatings quietly. My acceptance of what he is doing is part of the thrill for him. He likes knowing he can do what he wants to me. He likes trying to break me. Loves to make me cry. Our sessions are always severe and the marks often last for days. Sometimes I question playing with him. But the intoxicating intensity we reach always draws me back.
I don't expect sympathy or mercy and he doesn't show it. He will continue, each time increasingly sadistic, not stopping unless I safeword.
Before our last session he instructed me to insert my metal anal beads in my ass before I left my house. He knows this is hard for me. I'm never in the zone unless I'm there with him. Having to put the beads in myself, in my own house, feels dirty and wrong. Feelings he's very good at invoking.
With difficulty I comply, feeling uncomfortably full as I travel to his house. The compliance only serves to rise my defiance. I know it will be a tough session and I resolve to not let him break me. He loves the challenge I offer.
On entering his house I'm immediately told to strip and put on the clothes he has for me. This is the usual process. Him picking clothes I hate wearing and enjoying my sulking as I have to don them. I like pretty, girly clothes. He insists on leather and rubber. Black and unflattering. Exposing my pussy, ass and tits. And impossibly high heels. I can't walk in them and he laughs as I stumble around. I feel the degradation keenly
Bit by bit he's stripping away my defences.
When I'm ready he pushes me over the back of the couch. Rough fingers check my compliance with his orders. He finds the anal beads and tugs the string roughly and I can't help whimpering. Then laughs as his fingers find my already wet pussy, teasing me for being such a slut.
He spanks me hard and fast with his hand, making me feel the beads even more and pushing his free fingers into my pussy. I can't resist grinding myself onto them, acting like the shameful slut he wants me to be. Without warning he withdraws his fingers and quickly pulls the beads from my ass, making me moan in pain and shock.
'Stand up, hands on head, legs apart' he orders. 'I think we'll start with a nice caning before I take you downstairs and show you what you really deserve.'
I know what that means, being suspended with my hands tied to the ceiling, barely able to reach the floor. Then he'll take out his clamps and whips and beat me until I scream. Then he'll gag me, so he can beat me harder. And when he's satisfied with my surrender he'll untie me so I can kneel before him with my warm mouth and thank him for his attentions.
But for now a caning awaits. I look up as he stands in front of me. Two canes in his hands. His latest trick is to apply two at a time, One on my front thighs, the other on the back, or one on each side. Starting off slow until he builds harder and faster, until I can't stay still and get punished with hard, fiery strokes that bring tears to my eyes.
And the despair will set in, knowing we've only just begun.
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