She pushed him gently down to his knees then wrapped her arm around his head from behind, tugged slightly up on his chin until his back straightened. Let go, nodded her approval to herself, and stepped back. “You know what a safeword is?”

He nodded. “Yes. I say yellow if I need you to slow down, red if I need you to stop.”

“Yes what?”

She smiled at the blush that washed down to his neck from his face. “Sorry, I meant yes ma’am.”

“Good boy.” She started slow with the flogger, working across his back from one side to the other, listening to his his breath grow ragged and watching him shudder. Pausing when he twitched faster and lost control of his breathing, starting again when he calmed, using a little more force, a slightly more painful tool, pushing him slightly further under every time. Finally running a hand along his hot, broken skin and feeling him shudder under her fingertips. “You ok?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded and she smiled down at his suffering.

“Good boy, you remembered. And are you having fun?”

“Yes ma’am. Are you? Having fun I mean.”

Her fingers pushed sweat up from the small of his back, sliding it higher and and then letting the drops slowly reform and start to roll down his skin, tracing themselves along lines of fractured flesh. “Heheh. Yes, I’m having fun. Your little whimpers and moans are making me very happy, and very, very wet.”

“I’ll try to do that more then, ma’am.” He shoved himself back, and forced his back straight as he waited for her to add more pain.

Instead, she walked in front of him, sat down so they were level and gently shook her head. “No, never act for me. I want it all to be real. Never pretend to be in more pain than you really are. Ever. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am. Sorry…” He nodded, then swallowed hard.

“It’s ok. And don’t worry, just be honest and I promise you’ll be whimpering and moaning plenty.” She stood up, walked behind him, and picked up the liquid cane. “Now, tell me about your safewords one more time, and then we’ll see about getting that genuine moaning and whimpering out of you.” She slapped the solid rubber tube against the palm of her hand and winced. “And some sobbing and begging as well, I think…”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Face down, duct tape bound his wrists and ankles to the legs of the table, the wooden edges digging further into his thighs and arms whenever he tensed up. She had stripped him violently, jerking his body into position and pulling his clothes off, throwing them on the floor. Hard, violent slaps across each cheek when he was trembling before her, naked, until his breaths turned to gasps and whimpers.

Her fingers had pulled hard on his hair, jerking his head down and dragging him to the table. She threw him down, kicked his ass hard, forcing his body to scramble down the length of it. The “SCHNIIIK” sound of adhesive pulling loose came from behind him, and he had felt her wrapping the tape around his ankle, the leg of the table, around and around until movement was impossible. The other leg and each wrist followed, holding him down tightly.

She had stopped then, breathing hard from lust and exertion, pulled off her panties and lifted his face up. Brought them close to his mouth, watched him close his eyes, open his mouth wide, stick his tongue out to reach for them. The cloth had barely touched his tongue when she laughed, and threw them into the corner of the room.

He could still see them there, an oval of wet desire in the middle, laying on the floor. She was sitting on his lower back, occasionally grinding herself down, masturbating with his skin. The operating room smell of sterilized flesh hung in the air, the bottle of alcohol sitting on the floor in the corner of his vision.

He could feel the needle dragging through his flesh, carving lines and curves. She felt his whimpers deep insider her as the steel point separated skin, then moaned whenever she paused and his whimpers became quick gasps of breathless pain.

She set one needle aside, ripped open the packaging on another.

“What do you think I’m writing? Guess correctly and I’ll give you a reward, maybe even let you lick my boots.”

Whimpering sighs as he tried to remember the path the pain had taken across his back while she hummed the tune to Jeopardy. “Are you writing ‘Whore’ ma’am?”

She skipped to the last three bars, and sighed dramatically. “Nope. Guess again, while I do another letter. But good job on phrasing the answer in the form of a question. Let’s say the next one is for a good hard rogering with my strapon.”

“Agg… Are you writing ‘Slave’ ma’am?”

The needle skipped higher up his back, filled in a line until it was properly oozing crimson blood. “Swing and a miss boy. Last chance, wait until we’re done. And think hard, because if you guess right I might just let you lick my cunt.”

He whimpered, tried to focus on the path of pain moving across his back. Tried to picture the flesh parting, the nerve endings being molested until they screamed, tried to imagine how it would look outside his body until he got lost in a trance, until the world was contained in the lines of pain she was using him to create.

She tossed aside the needle and stood up. “Tell the truth, I think I’d like your tongue on my cunt now even if you guess wrong. But consistent ma’am is consistent. On the other hand, no reason I can’t give you a hint.”

She got the knife, carefully cut the tape away from the legs of the table until he could pull himself loose. “No peeking.” She pulled him off the table, dragged him into the bathroom on all fours. “In the tub, on your hands and knees.”

He crawled in, lines of blood rolling down his sides now, forming into small drops and hanging off him.

“You do want a hint, don’t you?” She paused, one leg in the air.

“Yes ma’am. Please.”

Her feet on the sides of the tub, she carefully maneuvered herself over him, and released herself. Hot piss poured down onto his back, filling the letters and turning the words from a dull throb back into fresh, burning pain.

Animal sounds of pain and pleasure came out of his throat, his hands curled into fists and his face contorted.

“What did I write, boy?”

He tried to think back, to all the things she had ever called him while he suffered in front of her. To the words that had come through his pain and screams and made it all ok, made it something he desperately needed to do for her again. To think of how she would brand him, what phrase would mark him forever as hers. “Did you write ‘Mine’ ma’am?”

“Tsk, nope.” She shook her head, climbed down off the tub, carefully placed her feet on the floor. “Stand up, look in the mirror.”

He pushed himself up, gray ribbons of tape hanging off his hands like broken manacles. Shoulders slumped, he looked over his shoulder, avoiding her eyes and reversing the letters in the mirror. “Oh.” He smiled, turned around to look at her. “I love you too ma’am.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

“So how’s it coming?”

“It’s not, really. I made a grocery list though. Do we need milk?”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, rocked him back and forth in the chair slowly. “Yeah, we need milk. What’s the problem with the story?”

“Just can’t figure out… I want to write about a scene where she makes him keep the bottom of his tongue on her clit, perfectly still, and uses the Hitachi on the top of his tongue to vibrate through until she gets off…” He shrugged. “I guess it’s more of a fantasy than a story or even a scene. It reads like a recipe no matter how I write it. I don’t even know if it would work.”

“Huh.” She pursed her lips, and the slight crease in her forehead appeared when she was thinking something over. “OK, I’ll help. Go get the Hitachi. If this gets me off, you’ll sleep in the closet with the rest of the sex toys and then you can finish this in the morning. If not, I’ll find something very unpleasant to do to you… Either way, you should have a story in the morning.”

His head rolled back, and smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

She shrugged. “The burden of being a muse. Get the Hitachi. And don’t forget to put milk on the list.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

She pulled down, hauling him up until he was suspended horizontally above her. Tied the rope carefully to a hard point, and stepped back to admire her work.

The gag forced his mouth open, uncontrolled saliva slipping over his lips, forming lazy white line rivers as it fell to the floor. “Stick out your tongue.” She slipped a clothes peg over it, letting springs slowly press down into the pink flesh. Another peg on the side, and again directly across, a triangle of pressure that he panted and drooled around.

The pegs continued down his flesh, tracing lines across his chest, pushing into nerve endings, closing on nipples and thighs, reminding him he was helpless meat. She carefully lined them up on his cock and balls, shifting them to exact positions, watching each fall and pull skin and making minute adjustments until they were perfect.

Sweat running across his face and pooling with spit by the time she was done. Fingertips tenderly stroked his hair and she spoke around his gasps of pain. “Shhh… it’s ok. Now I want you to listen to me carefully… I have two bags, one for each hand. As much as I’d leave to beat you until your stomach explodes and your intestines are laying in a pile on the floor, that’d be kind of messy. And fatal. So I’m going to give you these bags, and you’re going to try to hold onto them like a good pinata until all the clothes pegs are knocked off. If you can’t, well, it’s not candy in these bags… and I think I might want to play with my new toys right away. Understand?”

He started to nod and a strangled yelp leaped out of his throat as the clothes pegs shifted. Forcing himself to stay still until the sharp bites turned back into dull throbs, he choked out a garbled “Yeshhh mooam.”

Her hand stroked his hair softly, and she stood on tiptoes to kiss him behind the ear. “Good, I’m going to put goggles on you now, so you don’t accidentally get hit in the eye. Then I’m going to get our guests from the other room, and we’ll start. I’m very proud of you.”

She slipped the rubber strap carefully over his head and pulled the goggles down over his eyes. “Happy Cinco de Mayo, boy.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.