Getting up Early

Getting Up Early

       Your whimpers wake me, early in the morning. Stretching, I enjoy the space in bed, the cool sheets on my skin. On a hot night like this, it can be good to sleep alone.

       

       I wonder if you feel the same way. Switching the bedside light on, I sit up and look down at you. There you are, lying beside our bed, arms and legs bound together behind you, stretching you uncomfortably on the carpet. I admire my handiwork for a moment – the ropes binding your arms together behind you, your legs together at the knees. Wrists and ankles linked, pulling you into a bow on your right side. Beautiful, but clearly uncomfortable; perfect for my beloved slut. Or at least, perfect for me to enjoy the sight of you.

       You seem less happy about it than I am, from the sounds you're making, and the little wriggles as you try to get comfortable. Perhaps you shouldn't have objected when I told you that you were sleeping on the floor tonight? You still wouldn't have been comfortable there, but I might not have tied you so harshly, and you probably wouldn't be marked with quite so many bruises.

       And then your whimpers might not be waking me now, and I wouldn't be wondering what to do with you next. Would that be a good or bad thing, from my beloved's point of view?

       Swinging myself out of bed, I kick your ribs to get your attention. “What's with all the noise, cunt? I'm trying to sleep.

       “Do you need another lesson?”

       “I'm sorry Sir,” you gasp back, wriggling to kiss my foot. “I didn't mean to wake you, please forgive me, please punish me if I've been bad.”

       Not answering, I give you another kick, enjoying your whimpered cry, and get up. Crouching over you, I take a few moments to land heavy slaps on your skin, turning your whimpers into little sobs. On your side as you are, there's no hiding your breasts from my heavy hands, and I can enjoy making them bounce.

       “Thank you Sir,” you sob, as I stop beating you to watch the red palm-prints glowing on your skin. “Thank you for punishing me, I'll be a good girl and keep quiet.”

       I smile at that, giving you a few seconds to show me. Your breath is heavy, and racked with sobs – far from quiet. So I haul more rope from under the bed, to punish you for lying to me. It's not fair, I know, to punish you for making the sounds I enjoy so much – but then, why should I be fair to a bitch like you?

       “If you can't keep quiet, cunt, I'll just have to give you something to cry about,” I tell you, winding the thin cord around your bruised breasts to bind them painfully tight. You squirm so beautifully, helpless as I bind you.

       “Please Sir, please no, I'll be quiet!”

       “Tch, silly bitch,” I yank on the rope where it passes between your gorgeous tits, dragging you a few inches across the carpet to the sound of your cry of pain. “It's too late for silence to please me. Now I want to hear your screams.”

       You're a glorious sight, wriggling helplessly on the floor in front of me, your skin marked red with the shape of my palm. Your eyes are scared, yet eager, as you anticipate suffering for me. I look down at you, meeting your gaze lovingly, and considering where and how to hurt you next.

       I start in the obvious place, slapping your bound breasts hard. Your cry of pain is lovely, but not enough for me, not nearly enough; standing, I drag you with me by the bonds, the ropes digging into you and the carpet burning as I pull. I listen to your agonised howls with pleasure as I bring you to the end of the bed, where I can retrieve my belt from my clothes.

       “That's better,” I say, smacking the leather down across you hard and heavy, getting another lovely scream. I start with strokes across your breasts as you lie on your side, wriggling to try to escape the rain of blows. After a dozen or so, as you sob pitifully, I start to move my target, striking across your bound limbs, marking them in red stripes, working up a sweat in my cruel exercise. Loving you with each stroke of the belt, and loving your cries of pain.

       “Thank you, Master,” your voice is almost inaudible, under your sobs. “Thank you for hurting me, for punishing me, for using me!”

       I laugh again, at that. “I've only started, cunt. You're going to suffer tonight, since you couldn't let me sleep!”

       A kick rolls you onto your front, bound and bruised breasts pressed into the carpet to get a fresh scream. I chuckle, pressing a foot down on your back above your bound arms to grind you into the floor, crushing your bruises into the carpet and driving the air out of you. Leaning onto you, I watch with interest as your limbs thrash in the little space my ropes leave you, trying to struggle and relieve the pain.

       Now my belt can reach your other side, the one you were lying on before, leaving dark marks on the rough red pattern the carpet has already marked you with. You can hardly get enough breath to scream, as I lean on you and beat your beautiful flesh. But fun as it is, without hearing your cries and pleas I tire of it soon enough.

       Stepping down, I let you drag in a sobbing breath and crouch before you again, to get a better look at you. Lifting your head by the hair, I look you in the tear-filled eyes as you sob and shake. I raise your face up higher, arching your back, until you are level with my now-hard cock, letting you see the effect your suffering has on your Master.

       In this position, I can't resist the chance to slap your cheeks, too, snapping your head to and fro as I support you by the hair. Red-faced, tear-stained, you sob and gaze up at me, eyes pleading, needing. Grabbing the ropes gain with my free hand, I jerk you closer, bringing your face to me, your lips kissing me, eager to please and serve.

       “That's it, slut, be a useful bitch for your Master,” I command, pulling you down on me, filling your mouth and throat with my hardness. I love the look of your arched and suffering body as I take your throat roughly, feeling it pulse around me as I thrust into you.

       I don't indulge for too long, though. Pulling out of you, letting you gasp down air, I slap my cock across your face and drop you to the floor again, standing over you as you cry.

       “Thank you, Master!” It takes you a few goes to force out the words, but like the horny little slut you are, you thank me for using you. Hurting you. Showing you your place. I push my foot under your face, letting you kiss me, and show me your submission.

       “Please Master, may I be a good cunt for you and please you?” your thanks give way to pleas for use, as I stand over you. I laugh, and pull back my foot slowly, watching you wriggle and writhe, trying to get close enough to keep kissing me. “Please, Sir? Use me?”

       “Do you deserve to be used, cunt?” I let you reach me again, kicking softly against your lips when you do. “Do you think you've earned my touch?”

       “Please, oh please Sir,” you beg between sobs and kisses. “I've only earned whatever you want to do to me. But you wouldn't even need to touch me, Master, please, I want to make you happy!”

       “Dirty little whore,” I say, stepping over you to roughly force my hand between your bound legs, into your wet pussy. “Disgusting bitch, turned on by your beatings.”

       Your moan is wonderful to hear, so I force my hand deeper into you, stretching and opening you painfully as I show you what a whore you are for me. The ropes bite deep into your limbs as you squirm, struggle, and squeal on my hand, until I tire of that game and pull myself out of your wet embrace to wipe my hand in your hair.

       “A dirty, noisy little paintoy like you doesn't deserve a fucking,” I say to your disappointed moan. “You don't deserve even to taste my cock tonight. Do you?”

       “No Sir,” you whimper, and then yelp as I slap my hand down across the angry red marks on your arms. “Thank you for using me at all!”

       “Oh, I'll use your eager little cunt, whore,” I say, hands pulling at the knots binding your legs. My voice is a snarl, my hands rough, as I pull your legs apart. “Like a paintoy's cunt should be used.”

       Your ankles still bound to your wrists, I've not given you back much freedom – but you can part your thighs, and my slapping hands force you to open them wide for me. You start to sob as soon as I lift the belt from the floor again, knowing what I intend. But you're a good little slut, and you know what you need to say:

       “Thank you Sir, thank you for using me, for hurting your disgusting little painwhore! Please Sir, hurt me, I want to suffer for you.”

       I swing the belt down as you finish the plea. Cracking it hard across your open sex, as you spread for me. With you lying on your front, I can't reach as much of you as I'd like, but from your shriek it's painful enough even so.

       “Another, bitch?” I trail the belt down across you gently, teasing you with it as I ask.

       “Y-yes, Master, please hurt me,”  you respond, gasping and crying. So I strike again, harder, across the inside of one thigh. Then the other. And a third stroke to your cunt again, while you still writhe from the first two. Wonderful noises of pain from my beloved little whore; tied as you were, those sensitive inner thighs have escaped my attention until now. Your gorgeous, wonderful submission to my will is clear, as you keep them spread to let me place my mark upon them with another couple of swift, cracking strokes.

       Looking down at your shaking, bruised and bound body – so beautiful! So sexy! - I find myself so hard for you. Should I go back on my earlier words? I think of it, fucking your hot pussy roughly, each thrust slamming me into your bruises, driving your breasts across the carpet... a wonderfully nasty image, and I can almost hear the pleading moans you'd make, begging me to use you, to let you come. But no, I said I wouldn't, that you didn't deserve it. There are other ways you can please me.

       Without a word, I grab your hair again, lifting you to let me reach your breasts, and the rope between them. The rope digs into your swelling mounds as I grab it and drag you after me by them, pulling you to our bathroom. The carpet dragging across your bruised, tender flesh must be agony from the howling noises that escape your lovely throat – it's worth the inconvenience of pulling you this way, I think, as I drop you to the cool tiled floor.

       Your panting breaths echo in here, with mewling yelps as I tug on the ropes behind you. Separating your ankles from your wrists, so I can pull you up by the hair, to kneel before me. You lean in towards me as I release you, mouth seeking to please your Master – I put you back on your heels with a hard slap to the cheek. My foot presses between your thighs, against your heat, and your moan is both disappointment and eager pleasure as you press yourself down on it.

       “Did I say you could taste me, cunt?” Another slap, to show my displeasure at your presumption. “You've not earned that.”

       “Please, Master, please may I? I just want to please you, to be a good slut for my Master, please!”

       My hand moves to my cock, stroking and rubbing myself as you plead, bruises and scrapes decorating your lovely body, showing where I've enjoyed you. Your pleas to be allowed to serve are music to me, filled with pain and devotion, a burning love to match my own.

       “No, my beloved filthy little whore.” My right hand moves faster on me, and I feel your pussy rub against my foot, matching my rhythm. My left grabs one of your nipples, to pull and pinch cruelly as I please myself. “But since you beg so nicely, I will let you feel my come.

       “Open wide, cunt.”

       “Th-thank you!” Oh, so wonderful you sound, thanking me for using you, for the honour of having my seed sprayed on you. I gasp, swelling, and rub my foot against you, feeling you shuddering against me. Panting for breath, we both tense, both arch, your panting, sobbing mouth open wide as I aim for you.

       I can barely contain myself for a last vicious tweak of your swollen, hard nipple before I shoot over you. Spurts of my seed landing in your open, eager mouth. Across your tear-stained face, your bound, swollen breasts, in your beautifully disarrayed hair. Your voice matches mine in pleasure as you cry out, fucking my foot, grinding yourself against it. Eagerly moving against me as I shudder and relax, spent.

       “Master please, please, may I? May I come for you?” Your pleading desperate, voice hoarse from screaming, face sticky with my seed.

       “Disgusting little whore, aren't you?” I ask, my cock twitching even as it softens, as I watch you beg and writhe, rubbing yourself against me. “You think that you deserve to come?”

       “N-no Master, but please, I need it so much, please let your disgusting painwhore come. I'll do anything, please, I'll be a good slut for my Master!”

       I snarl down at you, still holding myself pointing at your face. “Anything, fucktoy?”

       “Anything! PLEASE!”

       I grin at that, and let myself relax further. My full bladder starts to empty, my piss shooting across your face and into your mouth as I laugh at you. “Okay then, pisswhore. Show your Master how much you love to drink his piss and come for me!”

       Your horrified moan is matched by a pumping of your hips as I spray across you, urine mixing with my come as I splatter across your breasts, before aiming back at your mouth, wonderfully, you hold it open for me, only closing to swallow convulsively, your eyes squeezed shut as I use you as my toilet. Degrade you, show you where you belong.

       Where you need to be.

       What you need to be.

       What you are, for me.

       Your cry of joy as you grind yourself against my foot turns into splutters in the stream of my steaming urine, as you arch and shudder and come. The last spurts of my piss dribble onto your hair as you fall forward to the floor, spent and bonelessly relaxed in your bonds, in the pool of what your mouth didn't catch.

       I hear a moaned “Thank you Master!” from you as I step back, shaking my urine splattered leg and tutting, and I look down fondly at my disgusting little bitch, curling up at my feet. Marked with bruises, and trapped in rope. Covered in my come and my piss. And thanking me for it, like a good whore should. I love my beautiful bitch, so very much.

       “No time for you to rest, cunt,” I nudge you playfully, tenderly, with my foot, and then step into the shower. “You've made a terrible mess in here. If you can lick it all up before I'm finished in here, maybe I'll be kind, and not use freezing water when I hose you down.”