The Perfect Table

Bacchus at Erosblog refers us to this gallery of pictures because he's impressed by the variety of facial expressions the model treats us to throughout her examination.

What I am drawn to, however, is the table. This is the table of my fantasy and the moment I saw it I wished I could find an opportunity to get my check-up in that office.

It is perfect.

This picture is intriguing, as is the ample girth of the cock she's being impaled with, but look at the table. The restraints in exactly the right location to lock her wrists in place to the side of her head.


In this picture, you can see the stirrups that support her thighs and can comfortably (a word I use here lightly) hold her in place.



Oh yes, the perfect examination table for my doctor (and his nurse, of course) to test my many reactions to their ministrations.

Blame it on the Cat

As I walk in the door I sense immediately something’s wrong. It’s too quiet. And not a peaceful quiet.. I call out, “Hello?” but he doesn’t answer. I assume he’s not home and that I’m being paranoid and breathe an inaudible sigh of relief.

After putting my bag on the table and taking off my boots, I wander to the kitchen for a drink of water and try to figure out what on earth I’ll make for dinner. He’s sick of ordering all the time and wants me to cook more. I’m not a great cook and don’t really enjoy it, but I’m trying. I stand for far too long staring into the open refrigerator willing something to jump out at me and say, “Cook me!”. I remember there’s some chicken in the freezer. I take it out and put it in the fridge to thaw some. I’ll nuke it later to thaw completely before I cook it. That out of the way, I wander into the living room with my glass of water in one hand and the mail in the other.

One moment I’m looking at the mail, and the next it’s on the floor at my feet. Because as I look up there he is sitting in “his” chair, silently, patiently, with that evil smirk on his face and all I can think as my mind clenches up like a fist is, “Uh-oh.” Our eyes meet, his with smug satisfaction, mine with abject fear.

“Welcome home,” he says in a deceivingly pleasant voice.

“Hi,” I croak out.

“How was your day?”

“Oh, um, not too bad. Busy. How was yours?”

Neither of us has moved as we continue on with this banal conversation for what feels like an eternity. I’m frozen in my spot like a statue. He’s comfortable in his chair, legs crossed, hands placidly clasped in his lap.

“Come over here,” he says. Almost as if it’s a request, but I know full well it is not. I move closer to his chair and as I approach he uncrosses his legs and spreads them apart. This indicates to me I’m to stand between them.

Once I’m in place and he’s looking up at me, my eyes averted downward, but not looking at him, he begins to explain why I am, as I suspected the moment I saw him, in trouble.

“Here’s something interesting”, he begins, “when I got home today there was a message on the machine from Ernie. He wanted to mention that before he left for work today, as he was passing the house, he noticed our garage door was open, but no cars were around. He pulled into the driveway and, assuming we had just left it open by accident when leaving for work, he kindly closed it so no-one would be tempted to come in and steal anything. He’s a lovely neighbor, Ernie. Too bad all our neighbors aren’t like him, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mentally I’m kicking and cursing myself for stupidly forgetting to close the door.
“I was running a bit late because I had to give Kit her meds,” I say. “I almost forgot, I was half way out the door when I remembered and ran back in and gave them to her. The vet was adamant that she have them everyday or the infection would take longer to heal. Then I ran out and sped off so I wouldn’t be late for work and must have forgotten to close the door. I’m sorry. Ernie is very conscientious.”

This is a perfectly reasonable explanation, I think. But, I know that there’s no help here. At least this is not THAT bad. I mean, he can’t think something like this would deserve a really bad punishment. So, while I’m nervous, anxious that what’s to come will be bad, I also realize that from the moment I realized I’d done something wrong, I began to get excited. The warm, dark space between my legs was getting damp.

“Well,” he says, “that is a perfectly reasonable explanation.” I think, no good can come from the fact that he’s just said exactly what I was thinking.

“Come closer to me.” I move up a few inches. “Take your pants off, please.” I pull my pants down and off my legs, fold them neatly and put them on the floor beside me. I stand back up and for a moment he just looks at me. Quietly, but I’m interpreting this as menacing.

“Pull your panties down to your ankles.” I do this and once I’m standing again, he puts his right foot between my ankles and nudges my feet about 18 inches apart. Enough so that my thighs aren’t touching and he has a clear view of my increasingly swollen vulva. For what feels like hours he just looks at me. He looks at my cunt. I wonder if he can see, like stop-gap photography, how excited I’m becoming by his gaze. How puffy and wet and hot my pussy continues to get with each passing minute.

With his head tilted to one side a bit and his gaze still intent on my crotch, he licks his lips and says, “I love how I can see your lips hanging down. They’re big, your lips. Big and dark and luscious, and I like how I can see them. Spread your legs a bit wider for me.”

I do so with a little gasp of excitement. His stare has made me so wet I wonder if I am literally dripping. With my legs spread wider he sits forward in his chair, still looking, watching my cunt. Almost like he’s watching TV and waiting for the next part of the plot to unfold.

He speaks and his voice is thick with desire and excitement and I see the evidence of this in the bulge in his slacks.

“Touch yourself. Slowly, put your middle finger first down to your opening, making your finger wet, and then pull it up to your clit and masturbate.”

With tremendous relief I follow his instructions to the letter. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, I think. The moment my finger touches my cunt an involuntary moan escapes my throat. My finger, slick and covered with juice, begins to make slow concentric circles on my clit. My eyes close as I feel the sensation, the pleasure, of finally being allowed to attend to my desire. I slowly massage my clit, making sure not to speed up and get too close.

“Stop.” This is said quietly and slowly, but firmly. I reluctantly pull my hand away and let it rest at my side. Then, with a motion so fast and smooth it’s barely conceivable, I am across his lap, my wet sex pressed firmly against his thigh and my ass exposed.

His right hand gently rubs my cheeks, warming them, enjoying them. He does this for a while and then quickly drops his finger between my legs and enters me, fast and deep, but not hard. With just 2 fingers he rhythmically fucks me. My legs spread automatically and I push my ass up to force him to go deeper into me. He fucks me with such skill and knowledge, I am quickly close to coming. He knows this and stops. Pulling his fingers out he swiftly smacks my ass 3 times in succession on each cheek - high, low, thigh; high, low, thigh. Hard, punishing, stinging smacks. The sound of them echoes in the room and when he’s done he takes a moment, just a few seconds, to watch as his finger marks appear.

Then he repeats the series 2 more times, each time a little harder than the last. With each swat I cry out with tears streaming down my face. At the end of the course, he rests, just a moment, and then again, plunges his fingers into my molten, dripping cunt. Pushing me, driving me to the brink of release, and again stops and begins another series of the spanking.

I lose count how many times he puts me through the progression of spanking and fucking and spanking and fucking. I can’t tell how many orgasms I’ve found and lost and found again, only to feel it denied again and again and again and replaced with resounding, unrelenting pain and burn.

Until they are one and the same, the pleasure and the pain are no different one from the other and I crave them both, and hate them both. And he’s no longer separate from me, punishing and cruel and denying. We’re connected now in a way that is necessary and exquisite.

And his fingers, now 4 of them, are massaging my cervix and reaching into me, pushing me in places that only these fingers know to go and this time they aren’t stopping and this time I’m so close and I know there is no more denial, there is no more punishment, and like a wave crashing over me my cunt clenches and spasms around these fingers and my body convulses and my voice cries out in the ecstasy. His face is now close to mine, his hot breath and lips close to my ear, “Good girl. Such a good girl.”

New tears spring from my eyes, tears of undying release and relief and my body of it’s own curls up towards him, into him and his arms wrap around me, envelop me and hold me and I’m at home and at peace. And we rest like this for some time.

After a short while in this sublime state, with laughter in his voice and a smile in his eyes as he gazes down at me, a lump on his lap, he says, “Now, I know you won’t leave the garage door open again, will you my love?”

“Of course not”, I say with a gleam in my eye.

Vacation Adventure

“I know what you need.” A disembodied voice whispers into my ear. A loud whisper over the crash and boom of the music playing. I turn around on my bar stool to find a tall, slim man in his late 40’s. He has an angular, oddly handsome face, clear, green eyes and dark hair. And an impish grin that tells me he’s come to play.

“Do you? And how is it you know that?” I ask.

“Something about the way you were leaning forward on the stool. Something about the way you walked to the Ladies room before, and then back. I have good radar.”

“For what?” I ask again. Wondering what in hell this man is talking about, but feeling a little excited that maybe he does know what I need.

“So, when did you arrive?” he asks, an obvious stall.

“Wednesday.”

“What have you been doing? Clearly you’ve been to the beach with that stunning tan.”

“Thank you.” I say with a smile. I’m enjoying his cool delivery. “Lying on the beach, a little shopping, a little gambling in the casino, although I must be very unlucky because all I do is lose.”

“Meet anyone?” And now I think we’re steering back to the topic we’re really both interested in.

“No. A little flirting, that’s about it.” I say.

“But, I’m sure you’ve thought about it. With so many men here.” the word men obviously meant to be quoted. “All these Spring breakers, twenty something’s, I’m sure they’ve caught your eye.”

This last is delivered with a twinkle in his eye. He’s leading me somewhere, but I don’t know where. He wants me to admit to something. Maybe, I think, that’s his fetish. Older women and younger men. Him not being in the latter category any longer. Maybe he wants to watch and thinks he can arrange a little show.

“Well” I give a little laugh “I can’t say I haven’t struck up conversation with some cute boys. But, I do have some morals and am trying to stick to my rule.”

“Which is?”

“That I won’t be with someone who I could have given birth to. So, these Spring Break guys are out of bounds. But, I can flirt.” I say this and turn for a sip of my martini.

“And fantasize.” He says this as a statement of fact. I choke a little on my drink. He’s trying to make his point, but I’m missing it. He goes on. “I’m sure you’ve pictured yourself wrapped around one of these sweet skinned, stamina filled young men. They can go on and on and you want that.” Again, a declaration of my desires. His green eyes are looking into me and I find my pulse is racing a bit. My breath comes a little too fast and I’m hoping to hell I’m not becoming pink in the cheeks. Because he is, of course, right.

I finally decide to call his bluff. “What are you getting at?” I ask with a smile and a laugh. I’m accusing him of something, but since I’m not sure what it is, I think I should treat this as a joke.

“That you’re a naughty girl, under all that cool reserve. Under that dirty martini and clingy dress. You may have your rule, but I’m sure if the right boy came along, you’d break it in a flash. You’ve broken it before.” Again, this said as a statement. And, while a part of me wonders how he would know that, I realize it wouldn’t be hard to figure out that I wouldn’t have to have a rule if I hadn’t already broken it.

And then it comes. Delivered in almost a whisper, his mouth so close to my ear I can feel his warm breath gently moving the hair around my face.

“Maybe you make your rules so you can break them. So you can be that naughty girl. You know, deep down, what you really need, what you really want, is to be punished.”

Bingo!

“You shouldn’t be allowed to continue on with these fantasies of young men.” He pauses, waiting to see if I have any response to that, but I’m flustered. How could this man possibly know what I long for from simply watching me across the bar? Is my need so transparent, I wonder. And worry. But, I’m also not just a little excited. I can feel between my legs the tingle and the dampness of how this is affecting me. “As it happens”, he says, “I have some experience in administering punishment to women such as yourself.”

I croak out, “What kind of woman is that?”

With the little smile he’s worn throughout this entire interaction, not exactly warm, more just amused, and with his eyes not leaving mine, he says, “A slut.”

I gasp and my eyes close in a blink for the briefest moment. A current runs through me from my head to my cunt. A wave of excitement and arousal so strong, I know he knows it. He can’t not know how he’s just affected me.

As I try in my stupor to, rather unsuccessfully, compose myself, I find he’s called the bartender over and is settling up my tab. I still can’t speak, but spend some time straightening out the skirt of my dress and pushing my hair behind my ear. All the while trying to catch my breath, which is somehow caught inexorably in my esophagus. He turns and still with the smile on his lips very gently, but also firmly, puts his hand under my bent elbow and leads me off the bar stool. I know what’s happening, and even as a voice in my head is screaming at me to speak, to stop, to run, I follow his lead. With shaking knees, shallow breath, and so wet I’m afraid I've marked the back of my dress, I allow myself to be led towards the elevators.

Radio Silence

It seems I'm finally adjusting to his being gone. It's still so silent. The phone doesn't ring as much, no texts. It's weird. I cried a lot, but not so much today.

Am starting, though, to think of how I would punish him if given the chance.

No talking. Go immediately to the bedroom upon walking in the door. Take off all your clothes and kneel at the end of the bed. No pillow under your knees, just bare on the rug. Now wait.

I'm having a glass of wine. I'm trying to calm down after all these days of silence and having to endure abandonment and betrayal. I'm smoking a cigarette and drinking my wine, gazing out the window at the city while you remain kneeling, quietly, patiently at the end of the bed.

After some time, 20 minutes or so, I get up and go to see what you're up to. I'm impressed with your obedience, but there will be no rewards today. No rewards for many days.

I get out the restraints and attach you to the bars at the end of the bed. I pull the straps as tightly as I can and I know it's a little uncomfortable. I get a rush as I see you wince. The degree to which I want to hurt you tonight is astonishing. You're going to suffer like you've never even imagined.

During our time apart, I bought a whip and took a class and have been practicing. It's a cat 'o nine. It's black and it's sharp. But, I don't want to start there. I start with the small flogger. A few light strokes, then a few more, then a little harder until you're grunting with a little bit of pain and I see that your cock is getting hard. You're semi-erect and while this excites me the only thing I want to do is smack it. Later...

I rest a bit, and drink a little wine and then pull out my new toy. I show it to you, "See what I bought while you were away?", I say sarcastically. "A new toy. And I didn't even know you were going to be able to help me break it in. How lucky!" With that I come behind you, and I see you brace yourself and you should. With a a little crack I give your back just the end, a little sting, not the full effect. But, you are affected. You cry out a bit and now your cock is hard. I give you another and another, each time a little harder. I stop and watch as your back turns red and the welts come out.

Now for your ass. Again, I start with just the tip, a little sting. A tingle. Until I can't hold back anymore and I am beating you like you never imagined possible. All the while telling you what a fucking son of a bitch asshole you are for even daring to leave me, for lying to me over and over, each stroke is for another lie and there were so many. Your cock betrays you, even though I know you're in tremendous pain.

Once I think I've covered every lie, and just before I think I will draw blood, I stop. I sit on the end of the bed in front of you and just watch as you try to catch your breath, tears streaming down your face, and as the real pain starts to sink in. You look up at me with scared, sorrowful eyes and for a moment I know why you deserve this. You wouldn't if I didn't feel this way about you. But, it's just a moment and then I remember and I'm up.

I undo the restraints and tell you to lie on your back on the bed. I know this will be painful and watch as you gingerly lay back. You're still semi-erect, but I want you hard. I kneel over you, just above your cock, my pussy dripping from the power and the anger, and begin to touch my clit, rubbing back and forth. I push one, then two fingers deep into my cunt. I watch your face as you watch me and see that even with your pain, you can't help but be aroused. And, again, your cock gives you away. You're now hard as a rock.

I move off of you, and kneel beside you, looking at your hard on, sticking up in the air. Listening to your breath, fast and excited. I raise my hand and as hard as I can I slap your cock. The look of surprise and fear that cross your face make me smile, and I slap it again, and again, and again. You are still very hard. You know you deserve this.

When I'm bored with this I straddle your face, I push my pussy down onto your mouth, forcing you to fuck me with your tongue, commanding you to suck on my clit and flick your tongue over it. I rock back and forth, over and over, until I explode, dripping into your mouth, gagging you with my juices.

I climb off of you. I stand at the end of the bed for a moment looking at you, hard, covered in my come, in pain, pathetic. I take my wine and leave the room.

The punishment I deserve

I woke up at 1:00 a.m. and couldn't fall back asleep. I was ridden with guilt and anxiety over what had happened with him today. I made a stupid, stupid mistake. One only I could make with my ridiculous, impulsive behavior. I was afraid to lose him. I could only hope he would/could forgive me. Maybe a punishment could be considered a suitable atonement.

He is so angry that as he ties my hands together and attaches them to the headboard, he pulls the rope very tight, almost cutting into my skin. I cry out, only a bit. He looks at me and doesn't loosen them (but, he doesn't tighten them anymore, either). His look alone expresses his anger and I shrivel at his wrath (and worry about what's to come). I am on my belly with my hands now tied above me. He pulls my legs apart, opening me up, giving me no place to hide. He begins to wrap 1 rope around close to the top of my left thigh, over and over, many times, then pulls the end of the rope and ties it to the side of the bed. He does the same to the right thigh. I am helpless. My hands are tied, my legs spread apart, vulnerable, exposed. He doesn't gag me and I wonder why, but will soon find out.

He just stands by the side of the bed for a while looking at me. Looking at his work. Not making any adjustments, just taking it in. I turn my head to watch him looking at me and we make eye contact. Again, his eyes are on fire with anger. He moves closer to the bed and before I realize what's coming, his hand lands hard and strong on my left cheek, then on my right. Again, I cry out, but he seems not to notice. And then it begins. Over and over, in quick succession, one blow after another on each cheek. ...4, 5, 6... and then he stops. Again, viewing his work. The welts and redness that no doubt now cover my ass.

"Does it hurt?", he asks, somewhat sardonically. "Yes", I say. "Not enough, I'm sure", he answers. "The punishment you deserve is only just beginning, you understand. Each smack represents each moment I've had to endure since that incident this afternoon. When I'm done you will wish you had never called me. And you will never say anything like that again."

With that, he walks to the closet, and pulls out the switch. The long, flexible, stick he saves for "special" occasions. When we use it it's usually gently, but I know today I will not be that lucky. And I'm not. Again, without warning except the noise of the stick singing through the air, it lands squarely across both cheeks and this time I cry out loudly, and tears spring to my eyes. ...1,2,3...Tears are flowing down my cheeks, but I try not to make a sound, knowing I deserve every swat.

He puts down the switch and comes to the end of the bed and moves up to between my legs. Looking at my ass, looking at my pussy, which I know, despite myself, is wet. Dripping and swollen. He sees this and, despite how angry he is, I can tell he is pleased. He spreads me apart and gently puts his thumb on my clit and rubs. I moan with the pleasure of it, mixing with the burning of my ass. Quickly, he pushes his thumb into my cunt and fucks me hard and fast. And then stops. I moan from the loss of being filled.

And it begins again. Another round with his hand, another round with the switch, and again, he finger fucks me, this time harder, more forceful. I know he is still so angry. "Beg me. Beg me to beat you. Beg me to fuck you until you can't walk." And I do. "Please, hurt me, make me bleed and sting, I so deserve to be bruised and scarred."

Then he takes off his pants. I see that his cock is hard, huge, he's so turned-on from this punishment. He crawls between my legs and with no preamble plunges his cock deep into me and proceeds to fuck me hard, very, very hard. "Does it hurt?", he wants to know. "Yes." "Good." And he pushes even harder. "I punished you with my hand, with the switch and now I'm going to punish you with my cock."

He pounds away at me, all the while telling me what a bad girl I am, what a foolish, impulsive woman I am. How he wonders if it was on purpose so I can be given this severe punishment. Still sliding his enormous cock in and out of me.

"I'm going to come all over your red, sore ass. I'm going to cover your ass with my cream." He reaches up and grabs a handful of my hair and pulls it back, hard at the same time he pulls his cock out of my cunt and comes all over my ass. "Bitch", he moans from a place so deep, I know he means it. And I know I deserve it.