My Secret Fear, Part 5

“Yes, please, Master.”

“Thank you,” he said.

He tapped the tip of the cane a few times on my upper thigh.  Then it landed higher and harder, right where my thigh met the

flesh of my lower ass.  Gentler taps interspersed with heavier strokes, landing oh-so-close, but never exactly in the same spot. Deeper and deeper I sank as the sensations intensified.  

Whenever the cane hit, I first felt a piercing sting and had to breathe through the pain, knowing it would disperse into a pleasure that would leave me right on the edge of wanting more. Some of the strikes reverberated through the entire portion of my lower body. Almost as if stroking the needy and wanting part of me. 

Then it stopped and I was still breathing deeply, still right on the edge. Waiting. Wanting.
And completely encased in a deep, throbbing desire that pulsed throughout my body. 

His hands were at my waist and I sighed.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said, thrilled by the affection and pleasure in his touch.

“I’ve marked you,” he said, and at that moment, I felt every stripe. “They’ll probably fade later today, but you’ll be sore.” His fingers skirted my waist, dancing over the ache of my backside, dipping between my legs. “Mmm,” he hummed. “What is this?”

I held still, knowing he felt the evidence of just how much I’d liked what he’d done to me.

“You enjoyed yourself,” he said.

“Yes, Master.”

He gently pushed my legs apart and moved a few of the rolled towels under my stomach for support. “I can smell you,” he said, his breath tickling my exposed flesh. “I want to taste you.” 

His mouth was warm, and his tongue playful and teasing as it darted around me.  His teeth nipped my skin and I moaned in pleasure. As always, the combination of pleasure-laced pain excited me further.  

He’d told me to come when I wished and though I never thought I’d come from the feel of the cane, I was surprised at how turned on I was in its aftermath. It didn’t take long before I felt my body approach its climax.

He licked me again from end to end, swirling his tongue, dipping it inside me.  I clenched the blanket underneath me.  My orgasm was soft, but intense, and I shook as it overtook me. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered and I knew I was beautiful because of him.  Any beauty of my orgasm was a result of what he did to me. 

He kept touching me while the tremors of my climax subsided and afterward, he placed a soft kiss on my still weak flesh.  I felt soft and weightless, and sighed.

He rubbed my neck. “Rest here or in bed?”

“Bed please, Master,” I said, struggling to keep my eyes open.

With a tenderness that seemed at odds with his strength, he pulled me close and carefully lifted me into his arms. 

I was asleep before he laid me in our bed.