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A New Use for Our Homemade Spreader Bar

September 3rd, 2013 Leave a comment Go to comments

image“So are you gonna go get on the bed so I can fuck you, or were we just gonna sit here?”

Master’s such a romantic, isn’t he?

“Actually,” he called out just as I was walking past the bathroom door, “why don’t you get in the shower, first?”

It wasn’t actually a question. And as I unbuckled my cuffs, I heard him get up off the couch and start taking his clothes off.

I climbed in, and just as I was finished shaving, Master climbed in behind me and hogged all the water. I’d expected there to be some shower silliness, but he was a man on a mission, so I washed up and got out. I dried off, and waited for the last little bit of lingering moisture to evaporate from my wrists and ankles, then buckled the cuffs on. I considered not putting on the ankle cuffs, but then I remembered that I was wearing them because he’d ordered me to…in a round about way.

“So, you know, that set has ankle cuffs. They match and everything,” he’d said.

“Oh really?” I quipped. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, so, you know, if you wanted to put them on, I wouldn’t be against it.”

“I wasn’t wearing them because my shoes gave me blisters on my ankles.”

“Well, I just figured I’d let you know there are some, just in case you wanted to put them on.”

No…no, he wasn’t. He was telling me to put them on. And he was even being nice about letting me know he didn’t give a flying fuck about my blisters. Good thing they’re mostly healed, I guess.

He took the longest shower in the history of ever. Or maybe it just felt like it to me. And when he got close to being done, he said, “Go get on the bed and fuck yourself while you wait.”

I grabbed my new go-to (Buzz 1), and, after giving it a quick rinse (the toys in my Ecstasy Bag are always clean…provided I remember to put them away), I laid on the bed and slipped the head between my lips. Unsure of how long he was going to be, I started with long, slow thrusts, the fingers of my other hand teasing my clit with gentle strokes. I got so involved in what I was doing between my thighs, that I forgot to listen for him. I think that was the point.

When he walked in, he bee-lined for the Cocoon where all his toys are stacked. I only caught a glimpse of it out the corner of my eye. I was too busy doing what I was told between my legs. He started with the new flogger. I think this is his idea of warm up. He doesn’t realize it’s only warm-up if you don’t come out swinging somewhere between six and eight on your strength scale.

Okay, it’s more likely he doesn’t care. Because the flogger was almost immediately not enough for him, and he traded it for the belt. It gets a little fuzzy from there. There’s a switch somewhere in my head that gets tripped at certain things he does. It’s not quite subspace, and it’s definitely not dissociation. It’s more like hyper-awareness; a completely objectified mindset where all that exists is my body, his whip and his cock, and they’re all connected to my pussy, even if they’re not. It’s like I experience everything all at once, even though that’s not physically possible, and it all gets mixed up in my mind. And I experience it all from that part of you that comes alive when you’re so turned on you can’t get fucked fast enough.

I’m pretty sure he pulled out the Wham Bam, but I could be wrong. By that point, I couldn’t really see anymore between the darkness and the spreader bar tied to my collar.

We have the Under the Bed Restraint System, and he clipped it to my wrists on either side of the mattress, but I have strong thighs. I can usually loosen it and close my legs. So this time, he grabbed the spreader bar he made a few years back. It’s just long enough to keep my pussy accessible. He hooked my ankles to each of the eye screws on the ends. Then, while he was fucking me, he tied it to my collar through the eye screw in the center, which spread my lips and gave him access to my ass and the backs of my thighs. He caned them all mercilessly.

That position definitely do do a number on the inner thighs. Eventually, I was no longer crying from the whipping. I was crying from the strain on my legs. And when he asked me what my problem was, I had to remind myself not to scream the problem at him hopelessly. His cock would get even harder, if that’s possible, and he’d figure out a way to make it worse.

“This hurts my thighs,” I practically whispered.

“You’re laying there till I cum,” he growled.

“Yes, Master,” I whimpered.

I sobbed as he came, which I’m sure made it better for him. And then I realized he was going to untie the rope before he was going to unhook my ankles, and I sobbed some more. I almost didn’t want to cum because it meant holding my legs in a very painful position. But when he unhooked my right wrist, and told me to get myself off, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

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