The Penitent

Discussion in 'Stories' started by phillylibertine, Apr 24, 2010.

  1. phillylibertine

    phillylibertine New Member

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    This is another story for the ladies. You can read this piece and others on my blog

    If my erotica strikes a resonant note in your heart and psyche, please do not be shy -- Tell me. I write for others who share my predilections.

    Here is a teaser....

    It was at first glance an ordinary sawhorse. A quick inspection would not have revealed any salient differences to the more utilitarian variety one might find at a building site. But first impressions were deceptive. To the cognoscenti of pleasure and pain certain additions and modifications would have been recognized for the purposes they served. These refinements might not be useful in the work-a-day world of carpentry and other trades but within his circle the modifications he had made to the basic design meant the difference between mere pain and excruciating pain.

    She had seen the horse often when she visited. But until today it was always in the back round – a prop suggestive of play she would be initiated in once, but only once, he deemed her ready. His training was measured. The first time she shared herself with him, it was vanilla. Penetration. Some oral. He spanked her buttocks while she on top, astride him, rode his cock to climax. The first whack took her by surprised. She could not tell whether she was annoyed or delighted. But once the palm of his hand struck her a second time she knew the sensation to be one of delight. The tempo of his slaps was timed to his thrusts – the effect was to magnify the sensations swelling within.

    During their second encounter he introduced her to the art of ropes and knots. She enjoyed the ritual of being bound. He displayed a certain artistry in how using a single strand he first tied her hands together, then bound her arms behind her to her frame and finally tying the loose ends together in a bow knot just beneath her breasts.

    On this occasion he used a cord woven from silk and cotton strands. As he pulled the ends taut she felt the rope caressing her skin. During their next encounter he used an ordinary clothes line to bind her wrists and arms. Using two additional strands he bound each of her ankles to her thighs. Rendered immobile and powerless she felt an indescribable exhilaration as he fucked her. He could be gentle and passionate when he desired; but he could also assume be a brute, a Neanderthal, unleashing his id, his primitive fury, on her. Grasping the top of her knees, he spread her trussed legs wide. Her sex exposed he shoved his cock into her warm, moist vagina. His hard and forceful thrusts continued even after his bounty exploded deep within her womb.

    Each subsequent tryst involved variations on this theme. A constant though was the ropes became progressively coarser, the constraints tighter and the sex ever more primal. She never failed to be amazed as his meticulousness. He was an artisan at rendering her vulnerable and helpless.

    But it was not all forethought. He proved to be a master of improvisation as well. If he felt the rope was not coarse enough he was ready with a rasp to fray the woven bands of fibers. At first she bristled at the touch of the rope against her skin. It did not helped that he had looped the rope under and through her bosom. The sensation provoked revulsion: she felt as if he or someone had drop a colony of fire ants down her cleavage. The exposed fibers pricked at the flesh of her orbs much like the pincers of a marauding ant or an invasion of gnats on a humid summer evening. After a few minutes the abrasion, the itch, the irritation were unbearable.

    As she started to cry his response was to force his swollen manhood down her throat. Grabbing both sides of her head he pounded his cock against her lips until she gagged from the tip of his penis tickling the back of her throat. He did not cease until his cock erupted causing his jism to course down her throat and to spew from her lips, thus initiating a stream of semen on a journey over the contours of her breast and down unto the flat lands of her stomach. If she press a rewind button and begin the whole scenario, from start to finish, anew, she knew she would jump at the opportunity. She knew however it would never be possible to replicate exactly what had transpired and what she had experienced.

    Instead, Renee pushed herself, forced herself against what others might call her better judgment to permit him to further her corruption. Her close friends, had they any idea, would have expressed their disapproval. They would have claimed he was abusing Renee, violating her and objectifying her. Renee knew they would be wrong. From their first encounter Renee sensed she was his prized possession.

    As his prized possession he was intent on molding her into an epicure of physical pleasure in all its forms. Sometimes this meant coping with and ultimately acclimating herself to what others would consider intense pain. She knew though, deep down, intense pain is often the path to boundless pleasure. Renee as a consequence was never deterred. Just as she thought, There is no way she could possibly endure any activity more extreme, well, he forced her to reconsider her boundaries as he introduced her to perversions, practices and pleasures darker, acquainting her to a new realm of pleasure.

    These thoughts were Renee’s attempt to distract her mind from the extreme discomfort she was presently feeling. Straddling the horse, only the strip of her crotch bore the full force of gravity pulling the weight of her body down. Another of his improvisations accentuated the sensations emanating in her loins and cascading through her nervous system. He had fashioned a seat – not unlike the seat of a racing bike – narrower than the four by four beam which constituted the horizontal portion of the horse. The seat was carved from a solid block of wood and carved in such a way that there was a slight ridge in the center. Another innovation were the tens of little wooden bumps placed astride this ridge. So no matter how Renee tried to position herself by swaying forward or backward, to the left or to the right, she ended up in the same position: the ridge cutting into her crotch, abrading her sex. The wooden pustules also played their part by tickling her flesh along the length of her inner thighs. The tingling sensation they produced caused Renee to constantly shift her position in a vain effort to find relief. But each twist, turn and shift only magnified the sensations.

    And the garment accentuated the sensations. He – rather, she, based on his instructions – fashioned a camisole set made of burlap. Her cilice or hair shirt ensemble consisted two pieces: low rise style panties and a strapless top.

    His design for the top was devious. Fluted panels of burlap formed the cups; a narrow strip joined the pair; and, a band of fabric on either side comprised the back. Eye hooks in parallel rows were sewn on both sides. A piece of twine looped alternatively through the hooks held her burlap bra in place. And, like the lace on a corset, the twine was pulled tight to cinch the bra drawing in closer to her skin.

    Renee’s nipples rubbed against the coarse fabric. The loose strands of hemp fiber tickled and scratched the tops and sides of her nipples. Even when not engorged by lust and desire, Renee’s nipples were large and pronounced. Today – if possible – they seemed to her to have swelled to twice their usual size. And her attempts to adjust herself only made matters worse. Every movement on Renee’s part – no matter how slight – caused the burlap to rub against her skin.

    Her panties posed their own challenges to Renee’s comfort. The inverted v shaped crotch was just the right design to further maximize the discomfit of the saddle ridge. She had stopped feeling her clit – or, rather, it ceased to feel recognizable to her. The rough touch of the burlap, with its myriad fraying strands, pricked at her sex in a way which was not exactly unpleasant, but, which after two or three hours – Renee had lost track of time – was unbearable. Not in a painful way, she thought -- though with her mind clouded by the flood of sensation straining at her nerve endings, she was not sure whether these were her thoughts or her thoughts of what her thoughts should be.

    Several hours of unrelenting sensation, painful and pleasurable, are certain to have this effect. The blindfold did not help either. Enshrouded in darkness Renee could only sense what was going on around her. But overcome with sensation she would have been unable to say what transpired even if someone fired a gun in the room. She was so preoccupied with the flood of sensation emanating from her loins, from her breasts and from the strain of the ropes binding her wrists and her arms to her torso, she was oblivious to all else around her.

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