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Authors: Claire Thompson
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his interview that he was a virgin in the area of cock and ball torture. He should be fine for at least another thirty minutes in the pillory, though she probably wouldn’t keep him there that long anyway, just to be safe.
By his powerful reaction, he was clearly deeply excited by the scenario she’d laid out for this session, and she didn’t want to make the mistake she’d made sometimes early on in her career as a pro Domme, of ending a scene too early. His cock was as hard as the steel pillory rod he was shackled to, and for a brief, absurd moment, Sylvie imagined straddling that hard cock and riding herself to orgasm.
“Ready for your punishment?” she said softly as she stepped behind him.
“Yes, Mistress.”
Oui, M aîtresse .
He even sounded a little like Jacques, with his rich baritone, made breathless by his predicament. Unable to resist, Sylvie placed her fist lightly into the hollow just below Owen’s right hip, which was emphasized by his firm, rounded ass. He had the body of a Greek Adonis, muscular and lean. If she owned him for real, she found herself thinking, she would keep him naked while at home, save for a collar around his neck.
Sylvie saw that Owen’s hands were clenched into fists. “Relax your hands,” she said, waiting until he complied. She started lightly, tapping his ass with the crop, enjoying the sound of the leather smacking against his skin. His body was glistening with sweat, and the setting sun outside the window made it seem as if he were glowing.
She struck him harder, her nipples stiffening as he hissed his pain around the chain he dutifully held between his teeth. Excited, she struck him harder still, several firm swats with the leather all in the same spot on his left ass cheek, leaving an angry square of red. She did the same on the right side, Owen’s groans like fingers stroking her swelling clit. He was still on his toes, his calf muscles bulging and twitching. She would need to let him down soon.
She moved to stand in front of him, setting the crop down on the desk. Owen’s chest was heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. Sylvie reached for the chain. “Open your mouth,” she said, her voice husky with desire she forced herself to ignore. “I’m going to remove the clamps,” she said brusquely. “It’s going to hurt. Try to stay still.”
Just to be safe, she loosened the wing nuts a little on the vise, in case he jerked when his compressed nipples were suddenly freed. He was watching her as she reached for the first nipple, his eyes wide. His body was actually shaking and Sylvie had to push down her impulse to put her arms around him.
“Calm yourself,” she said instead. “You are doing wonderfully well, my brave boy.” She released the first clamp and, as she expected, Owen hissed with pain as the blood reentered his tortured nipple. She released the second one quickly, placing her hands flat over his nipples, which poked against her palms. When he had calmed enough to stop panting, she took her hands away. Reaching for the wing nuts, she unscrewed the vise that gripped Owen’s genitals. She unclipped the vise from the rod, and set it on the desk.
Owen sighed with obvious relief as the pressure was removed from his cock and balls. He lowered himself until his feet were flat on the platform. Sylvie didn’t release his ankles, nor did she remove the cuffs from his wrists. His cock remained erect, the balls beneath it full and round. Succumbing to an impulse, Sylvie lightly gripped his shaft, releasing it quickly when he moaned.
What the fuck was she doing? She needed to get control of herself. Owen was a client, not a lover, and there were lines she must never cross. To distract herself as much as Owen, Sylvie announced, “As your reward for doing so well, I think we’ll end the session with a good beating. I’m going to allow you to choose the instrument of your pleasure and pain. I can use the slapper, the
By his powerful reaction, he was clearly deeply excited by the scenario she’d laid out for this session, and she didn’t want to make the mistake she’d made sometimes early on in her career as a pro Domme, of ending a scene too early. His cock was as hard as the steel pillory rod he was shackled to, and for a brief, absurd moment, Sylvie imagined straddling that hard cock and riding herself to orgasm.
“Ready for your punishment?” she said softly as she stepped behind him.
“Yes, Mistress.”
Oui, M aîtresse .
He even sounded a little like Jacques, with his rich baritone, made breathless by his predicament. Unable to resist, Sylvie placed her fist lightly into the hollow just below Owen’s right hip, which was emphasized by his firm, rounded ass. He had the body of a Greek Adonis, muscular and lean. If she owned him for real, she found herself thinking, she would keep him naked while at home, save for a collar around his neck.
Sylvie saw that Owen’s hands were clenched into fists. “Relax your hands,” she said, waiting until he complied. She started lightly, tapping his ass with the crop, enjoying the sound of the leather smacking against his skin. His body was glistening with sweat, and the setting sun outside the window made it seem as if he were glowing.
She struck him harder, her nipples stiffening as he hissed his pain around the chain he dutifully held between his teeth. Excited, she struck him harder still, several firm swats with the leather all in the same spot on his left ass cheek, leaving an angry square of red. She did the same on the right side, Owen’s groans like fingers stroking her swelling clit. He was still on his toes, his calf muscles bulging and twitching. She would need to let him down soon.
She moved to stand in front of him, setting the crop down on the desk. Owen’s chest was heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. Sylvie reached for the chain. “Open your mouth,” she said, her voice husky with desire she forced herself to ignore. “I’m going to remove the clamps,” she said brusquely. “It’s going to hurt. Try to stay still.”
Just to be safe, she loosened the wing nuts a little on the vise, in case he jerked when his compressed nipples were suddenly freed. He was watching her as she reached for the first nipple, his eyes wide. His body was actually shaking and Sylvie had to push down her impulse to put her arms around him.
“Calm yourself,” she said instead. “You are doing wonderfully well, my brave boy.” She released the first clamp and, as she expected, Owen hissed with pain as the blood reentered his tortured nipple. She released the second one quickly, placing her hands flat over his nipples, which poked against her palms. When he had calmed enough to stop panting, she took her hands away. Reaching for the wing nuts, she unscrewed the vise that gripped Owen’s genitals. She unclipped the vise from the rod, and set it on the desk.
Owen sighed with obvious relief as the pressure was removed from his cock and balls. He lowered himself until his feet were flat on the platform. Sylvie didn’t release his ankles, nor did she remove the cuffs from his wrists. His cock remained erect, the balls beneath it full and round. Succumbing to an impulse, Sylvie lightly gripped his shaft, releasing it quickly when he moaned.
What the fuck was she doing? She needed to get control of herself. Owen was a client, not a lover, and there were lines she must never cross. To distract herself as much as Owen, Sylvie announced, “As your reward for doing so well, I think we’ll end the session with a good beating. I’m going to allow you to choose the instrument of your pleasure and pain. I can use the slapper, the
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