So i walked three miles (instead of jumping jacks,) did 50 crunches, 50 push-ups, and tried to do the stupid plank thing, You realize, i only call it stupid because i can’t do it, right? But i did try, even though i think i was probably doing it wrong, just like i was doing the push-ups wrong until Sir showed me the right way. Grumble, grumble…
Last night, Sir spanked me for two minutes ~ “spanked” is my substitute for planked ~ mwhahahahahaha! It was a lovely spanking, with plenty of rubbing too, and i went to bed a happy girl.
Day 2, here we come.
They aren’t rough, the hands on her, but not quite gentle either, not a caress exactly, but an examination, she thinks. And then wonders how she can think so calmly while they touch her.
The calm lasts just for a minute, while hands ~ how many? five or six perhaps? ~ stroke her inner thighs, lift each breast, gently pinch the nipples, spread her ass cheeks and then part the folds of her wet pussy. She can experience that calmly, even the comments.
“Her asshole has not been used it seems,” says one of the men.
“No?” says another one. “Well, if so, that’s easily remedied. No marks on her anywhere that I can see.”
“That can be remedied too!” and they laugh. She wonders what they mean. Surely not birthmarks? But what then?
The touch continues, comments and gentle laughter. “She’s very wet already,” and “She’ll be begging us to fuck her before we’re through,” they say.
She is humiliated to realize their words are increasing her arousal. With her arms fastened above her head, ankles attached to the spreader bar, blindfolded, she is completely open, at their mercy.
And they have been merciful so far, but that ends quickly as they attach the nipple clamps to her nipples. Pinching each nipple first and then fastening ~ omg ~ she doesn’t know what it is, but it hurts, each nipple hurts as the whatever-it-is goes on, and then they get tighter and she whimpers.
“Does that hurt?” says a voice.
She doesn’t realize she’s supposed to answer until she hears a whoosh and feels a sudden slash of pain across her upper thighs ~ O ~ it hurts, and she cries out. She doesn’t even know what they have struck her with, but, “Answer the question, slut,” says the voice. “Do the nipple clamps hurt?”
“Yes,” she says, “Yes!” and o, no – the whoosh and slash comes again, and “Sir,” he says. “It’s ‘Yes, Sir,’ always, slut. Or ‘Yes, Master,’ that works too. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” she says, tears in her eyes, and she is not sure if the tears are completely from the pain, or if it is also the humiliation of not knowing the right thing, not knowing how to please. “Yes, Master, it hurts,” she adds.
“Better,” he says, and he sounds pleased. But ~ hands on her nipples, and suddenly the clamps are even tighter, and she whimpers again. “Hurt more?” he asks, his tone casual.
“Yes, Sir, Yes, Master,” she says, eager now to get it right.
“Good girl,” he says, and she thinks he is smiling. “We’re going to whip you in a little bit. That will hurt too. I think you have not felt much pain before, right?”
“No, Sir,” she says. “Not ~ um, no, Sir.”
“And I think you have not been well-trained either.” Suddenly a hand is in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat. A thumb caresses her lips.
“Have you been trained to use your mouth for your Master’s pleasure?” He asks, his mouth close to her ear.
“I ~ I ~ no, Sir, not trained. No, Sir.”
He releases her hair then, and she makes a little sound, just a little almost-whimper, and maybe she misses that firm hand just a tiny bit.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We will be glad to train you.”