#MasturbationMonday: At His Pleasure

The moment he prowled into the short foyer, she knew she was in for a very long evening. She lowered her eyes just a little more, making sure her hands rested perfectly flat on her bare thighs and her head was held perfectly erect without making eye contact with him.


Usually he paired his greeting command with some form of endearment. The fact he hadn’t this time was not lost on her. Whatever his day had been like, it had clearly aroused his darker nature. She allowed herself a luxurious shiver of anticipation as she came to her feet.

He swooped in for a long, heated, almost punishing kiss. When he pulled away, her head swam and her nipples and clit had risen to exquisitely aching sensitivity. One thing she couldn’t deny: Her Master was one hell of a good kisser. He knew exactly how to do it so it left her nerve endings jangling and her body longing to assume the position so he could use her for his pleasure, as well as hers.

His lips parted in a wolfish grin.

“Follow me.” His hand reached out to tweak one erect nipple, drawing an involuntarily gasp from her lips. The sharp pressure on the aroused area goaded her to action, and she quickly fell into lockstep behind him, scrambling to make sure her body was never more than half an arm’s length behind him. From his brusque mannerisms and brisk pace, it was clear to her he’d had a rotten day and planned to play rough with his toy tonight.

A state of affairs which couldn’t have made his toy happier.

He paused at the door to the garage while he fumbled for his keys and unlocked the three sturdy bolts. When he’d first installed them, she’d wondered if that wasn’t a bit of overkill. Then she’d seen what he’d done with the garage, and her objections and protests died out quickly. Now he opened the door with a slight flourish and gestured.

“After you,” he said. As she sidled past, his hand whipped out and planted a solid smack right on the fleshiest part of her ass, encouraging her to hurry. After long practice, she knew exactly where he would want her to stand, and she scuttled across the floor barefoot, grateful for the thick plush carpet he’d put down over the bare concrete. Her feet found the rough texture of the abrasive tape he’d placed in the exact center of the garage in an X and she stopped. She brought her hands up to lock behind her neck, sucked in her stomach, thrust out her modest breasts and spread her legs in a single, fluid motion. She had played his games often enough to know her part, and she played it with pride and passion.

He followed behind her. His feet fell soundless on the carpet, but the adrenaline blasting through her system had sharpened her senses and awareness of his proximity to a level that just barely escaped being agonizing. She could smell the lingering traces of his aftershave, feel the heat from his body and even the moist warmth of his breath just behind her, the Big Bad Wolf to her Little Red Riding Hood.

The lights came on, pitiless blades of direct illumination along the walls at the various stations he had demarcated, highlighting the old-fashioned gynecological exam chair, the St. Andrew’s cross and the various restraints, props and implements he used in their play. The recessed can lights cast a soft glow in the center of the room, softening outlines without sacrificing clear visibility, while pouring merciless light down onto the focal areas of the well-equipped dungeon.

Once she was settled into position, he began to circle her, his eyes boring into every millimeter of her bare skin. She knew he valued the art of the mindfuck, making her feel every inch the prey to his predator, prolonging the erotic fear and anticipation before he began. But it was a safe fear, a frisson, akin to that one might feel watching a horror movie in a darkened room or getting on a roller coaster. Likewise, she knew he understood her cravings and her need to serve him. Many people thought of submission as a series of chains, wrapping her ever tighter and binding her to his will, and this was not an unfair characterization. However, the part they overlooked was that in her chains, which she had willingly forged link by link and donned like a cocktail dress of steel, she found her wings. She trusted him, and although he pushed her boundaries, he never abused them or her.

After several slow circumambulations, he abruptly peeled off and strode over to the pegboard taking up the entire east wall of the room. In short order he selected two coils of soft black jute rope, long, heavy clover clamps and–she bit her lip to stifle a groan–a massager with an outsized head on a long, heavy base. She felt certain she knew what was coming, and if she was right, she was going to be absolutely exhausted and wrung out by the time this scene was over.

He crossed the floor and knelt, depositing one of the coils of rope, the clamps and the massager on the floor at her feet. Then he rose, stopping at the freshly shaved junction between her thighs to give her already-damp seam a slow, loving lick. She closed her eyes as sensation thrummed down her nerve endings from his tongue meeting those intimate places only the most skilled and attentive lover can find.

“Arms up, pet.”

She raised her arms without a word. One of his many rules was not to waste time acknowledging his commands when she could be executing them unless she had a question. More to the point, she knew what he was after already. The heavy steel ring depending from an overhead joist hung just low enough that she could touch her fingertips to it while standing flat-footed. She had watched him secure the ring to the joist with heavy-duty bolts and strike plates, then do ten pull-ups to test and demonstrate the stability of the final product, so she knew it would bear her lesser weight without difficulty. Now she stretched her hands upward, stopping just before the point where the extension would become uncomfortable and difficult to maintain, and placed her hands with her fingertips pressed together against the cool metal of the ring.

He stepped in behind her. A quick series of slithering sounds told her he was adjusting the rope to his needs. In seconds, she felt the first caress of the well-worn but sturdy rope about her forearm. In less than two minutes, he had drawn a series of loops around both arms and tied them off. This done, he tossed the trailing edge of the rope through the steel loop and brought it back down, finishing it off with an elegant knot he had learned in a Shibari class. This left her helpless to lower her arms, and the enforced vulnerability drew a trickle of desire from her exposed cunt.

Pressing two fingers between her skin and the rope, he checked to make sure he hadn’t tied the double-column too tightly. With a quick backward step, he pursed his lips and surveyed the results of his rigging critically. “What are the rules?”

She ticked them off from memory. This was his ritual every time he tied her in any way, both to remind her of the safety protocols and to demonstrate his ongoing commitment to her safety. “I am to let you know at once if the ropes become too tight. If I start feeling numbness, tingling, pain or a cold sensation, especially if it is localized in the extremities, I am to use my safeword immediately to prevent nerve damage. Sir.”

He nodded approval. “Well done.” Kneeling, he scooped up the clover clamps and stood. “Deep breath, pet.”

She sucked in until the air seemed to fill her all the way to her toes and held her breath as he applied the clamps quickly to her erect nipples. The pain sang through her, transmuting into a warmth somewhere around the pit of her stomach and becoming an infernal, cruel pleasure by the time it reached the ends of her nether nerves. He gave the clamps a light tug, prompting a whimper from her.

“Breathe out.”

She did, immediately drawing in another deep breath through her nose. Meanwhile, he knelt once more between her parted thighs. More slithering sounds came, and then a deep, heavy, invasive slurp from his tongue shivered ecstasy through her entire body.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Without further conversation, he pressed the bulbous head of the massager against her cunt lips, which parted readily to receive the invader. In anther three minutes, he had securely anchored the massager with the other length of jute so her own hips formed a sort of bench which held the device in place. The rope harness he created fitted her pubic region like a G-string, and it might have been uncomfortable except for the sudden heating of her blood.

With a grim, predatory little smirk, he ambled over to the workbench and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He snapped off a few quick pictures and then picked up a small, boxy object. She recognized it instantly as a speed control and winced. Now she knew without a doubt what he had in mind, the sadistic, sexy sonofabitch!

Plugging the massager’s power cord into the controller, he twiddled the dial and then reached over and flicked the switch on the massager’s wand base.

The massager shuddered and began to whir lightly, pounding against her clitoris with gentle pressure. She closed her eyes as a flood of pussy juice boiled to the surface, dampening her thighs and making the buzzing object lashed to her thighs slide with a gentle, teasing pressure. She moaned softly as the vibration and lovely pressure against her clit inched upward, pushing her need for release ever higher.

“Uh-uh-uh, pet,” he said, wagging his index finger from side to side. “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

She shuddered and whimpered, pressing her lips firmly together to prevent herself from begging. Her body betrayed her, hips bucking futilely against empty air, but her silent pleas were to no avail. As he turned the dial again, the massager’s light whir morphed into an malign buzz, then an evil roar, and soon became the ear-shattering thunder of Satan’s motorcycle in her head. Her clit twitched and throbbed, and she gasped with the sharpness of the erotic flames lapping at her body.

“Are you ready, pet?”

She hissed in a breath and screamed, “Yes, sir, God, please let me cum, I need it…” Her words devolved into incoherent babbling and tears of frustration trembled at the edges of her eyelids.

“Not just yet, babygirl.” He set the controller down and stalked up to her, taking the chain connecting the clover clamps in his fingers. “You may cum…”

She waited, trembling, praying he would say the final word and grant her the release at whose edge she danced, right on the razor’s edge where pleasure and pain met and became one overwhelming sensation. Idly he skimmed his fingers over the chain as if trying to commit the structure of each individual link to a sense memory.

Then, with no warning, he jerked the chain taut. Luscious pain ignited in her nipples as he said, “NOW.”

That one word became her whole reality, exploding against her senses as the Big Bang blasted forth to fill the void of spacetime. In one word, he had said, “Let there be Light.” And Light filled her being as she screeched and cried and flailed in her bonds, her climax ripping through her, pushing conscious thought before it and scattering her perceptions like jackstraws before a cyclone. Her cream saturated her thighs and upper legs as one long climax became another.

And another.

And another.

The tears flowed freely down her face, the erotic eruption whipsawing back and forth between the ultimate pleasure and the greatest torture. She couldn’t think of her safeword, couldn’t summon enough will to form it as lightning arced from her clit throughout her body with such force she wondered if she would black out or even die from the ecstasy.

Finally, she managed to pull herself together and get a deep enough breath to cry out, “PANIC!”

He reacted instantly, cutting off the massager. Her knees went limp with relief as the diabolical assault on her cunt died away, leaving only the awkward weight of the appliance against her hips. Then he began to untie her from the loop, asking in a gentle tone for her to tell him everything she was feeling and thinking.

She gave him a quick rundown. Yes, I’m fine now that you stopped making me cum. No, the ropes weren’t too tight. No, I’m not crying because I’m hurt. Yes, I’m okay to proceed, just not with that damned massager.

He chuckled darkly at that and went to untie her arms.

“No, sir.”

He drew back, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Come again?”

“Not on your life!” she retorted, giving him a saucy little smile. “No, sir, please leave my arms tied for now. May pet please you, sir?”

He smiled, relaxing. “And how does pet propose to do that?”

She lowered herself to her knees and pressed her face to the bulge in the crotch of his khaki slacks.

“Ah.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Yes, pet, you may please me, my beautiful, strong, brave babygirl.”

She opened his fly with her teeth and winnowed about with her tongue until his length popped free of the confinement of his pants, only to be replaced by another hot, soft, wet prison. He moaned and gripped her head lightly, not forcing anything but keeping his skin in contact with hers. She smiled, no easy task with a mouthful of hard cockmeat, and resolved that by the time she was done with him, she would enslave him as absolutely as he had her. Bobbing with enthusiasm, luxuriating in the pulse, feel and musky taste and scent of him, she began to move faster, anticipating the salty result of his release.

After the glorious eruption he’d just given her, it seemed the least she could do.


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7 thoughts on “#MasturbationMonday: At His Pleasure

  1. OMG, welcome to Masturbation Monday! What a way to make an entrance! So of course my kinky heart loves this for plenty of reasons – the ritual and protocol, the preparation, the mindfuck, the pleasure, and the absolute care. So fucking good. I hope you continue to participate!


      1. I’ve already closed last week, but you can always share an old post on a future week – just make sure you link to the current week’s post on the Masturbation Monday page. But if you ever have any questions about it, feel free to email me: kaylalords at gmail


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