Confession

I had him tied up. He was used to it. Every now and again, especially when the urge took control, we would play this game. I was the master. He was the slave. I was the recipient of the pleasure; any he felt was a mere by-product.
This night was different, though. Now that I was privy to his secret I wanted more from him. How much more, I didn’t really know; I had no way of gauging what would satisfy the insatiable. I wanted to break him, and not in a way where I had him on his knees all the time abiding to my every need. I wanted his mind to break open and relinquish all the things that held him back, all the things that he kept hidden in there, secret and secure.
We were in the basement. When we officially moved in together, a few weeks after our engagement, we refurnished the basement. We added carpet, mirrors, lights, and furniture down there. We blew life into a room that was gray and drab, mottled with spider-webs and creepy crawlers. We turned the basement into our private sex liar.
It wasn’t as though sex in the bedroom was intolerable, just a little cliched and innocent for the activities we engaged. We did things down there, after the renovations, before we made our commitment official, but we did nothing major. Things started to get serious after the first week of marriage. In our sixth week, I needed to step things up. Get inside his head, break him and break him hard. However dark it may sound, I knew it would bring the ultimate climax.
I had on my usual apparel. The lace lingerie and knee-high boots. I chose white this time though, as opposed to red or black. I knew he would like how my brown skin looked against the white. He seemed to have always liked the contrast.
Before I bound him, I blindfolded him. I thought it would add some spice into the mix. Plus, I thought the initial reaction of seeing me all sexy in a white lace bra and thongs and white leather boots that came up to my knees (and cost a fortune, I might add) would be delightful. He would want to grab me, run his fingers tauntingly along the line of my thong, or on my breast, just above the nipple, until I told him to move further down. I knew it would be pleasurable to see his face as he fantasized about it and knew he couldn’t do it. Not on that night anyway.
There were leather shackles that hung from the ceiling, attached to a metal bar screwed securely into the ceiling, and a pair attached to the headboard of the bed as well as a pair attached to the footboard. I had secured his feet first with the shackles attached to the headboard, then made him lift his arms and secured his wrists. He was spread-eagled, but comfortable, or at least as comfortable as one can get while standing.
I took off his blindfold. There were no lights on, just the flames of about twenty-something candles flickering. He blinked a few times and then gazed at me through the mirror, which he was standing in front of. He smiled and gave an audible groan, the one that seeps with sexual intention.
“You like?” I asked turning around for him to get the full picture. He nodded, groaned again. “I thought you would,” I said going over to him and smacking his smooth nude ass as hard as I could. His body jumped and I heard him make a sound. His eyes closed momentarily, seeming to savor the moment. For the first time I realized that perhaps he really did enjoy this and that he wasn’t pretending or being the nice husband he was by indulging into it just to satisfy me.
We began our game. I asked him did he do something, and he would reply that he had been a bad boy. He enjoyed saying that, enjoyed being guilty. I would implement “severe punishment,” whipping him twenty times with a wooden paddle that had a hole in the middle. I started off light, then hit harder and harder until his lips parted and I heard what could be interpreted as a mild scream. That sound always made my private pulse. His voice almost always made my private pulse. It was rich with sensuality, that kind of deep voice that was made for the bedroom.
He was sweating by this time. His ass was blood red against his beige skin. And I wasn’t done. I rubbed by hands hard over his ass, squeezing it and molding it, making him yelp in pain yet moan in pleasure. Then, I got on the bed. I let his skin rub against the leather. He liked that. I grabbed his brown hair, yanked his head back and ran the paddle over his lips.
“You wanna make mommy happy?” I whispered into his ear.
He answered, his voice exposing a tinge of exasperation mixed with excitement, “Yes. God, yes.”
“Then, close your eyes.” When he obeyed, I quickly hit his muscled chest with the paddle. His face crunched up in pain and he clenched his teeth. I repeated it, moving swiftly, not letting him get accustomed to my patterns and not letting him take too long of a rest after the hit. I bit down on his earlobe and felt his body react underneath my hold. I sucked on it and he moaned loudly. I continued my feverish hitting, moving down to his abdomen. I hit harder. He lounged backwards and I pulled his hair a little bit harder, causing a more pronounced scream to rupture from his full red lips. He made me want to kiss him without knowing it. But, in this game, kissing the prisoner was not allowed. I continued my feverish hitting until I was down to his package.
I always stopped here. But this time, for some reason, I was entranced seeing his muscles jump at every hot sting on his skin. More so than usual. His perspiration only added to it. I was turned on, but I still wanted more. Without a second thought, I pulled my hand back and whacked him right there in his private area. He yelped. I did it again, harder. I got the same reaction. I did it harder, he sweared loudly and it went into a scream. My vagina was throbbing. I wanted more.
I let him go, and he took deep breaths. He looked up at me in the mirror, those big blue eyes glancing me over in a tight look of confusion, and perhaps anger. His eyes looked so pretty in the light of the candles, almost iridescent-like. He always had pretty eyes, and I had a major thing for pretty eyes. That was my first attraction to him.
I watched intently, coldly, as he tried to recover from what just happened. I had never been that violent before. We had limits, and I had overstepped them. And I didn’t give a damn. I was hungry, very hungry. I guess these are the kind of hunger pains Dommes usually get, and usually get fulfilled.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, but his voice was not raised. The anger left his eyes. I didn’t answer. I walked over to the side of the bed, glanced him over. Damn, he was sexy, and I wanted to mount him right then and ride into a climax.
But he was hard.
I was admittedly shocked and wildly excited by this. I had overstepped boundaries, did more than what I was supposed to, and yet he was aroused.
I smiled coyly at him. “You, you want more, don’t you?”
He looked at me perplexed, but it was a deceiving gaze. I could see right through it. I got on the bed, right in front of him, grabbed his testicles and squeezed them hard.
“Answer truthfully,” I said between clenched teeth. I watched as he screamed, and tried to hold the rest of the scream in as he wiggled to escape my grasp. I squeezed even harder. He screamed again, but nodded. I let go and sat down in front of him.
“Jesus, Chloe, what do you want from me?”
I took the paddle and hit his thigh really hard. That same leg buckled at the pain.
“You know better. Mistress, bitch. Call me Mistress.” I hit him again on the other thigh, just to amuse myself. I would have felt incredibly bad if it didn’t feel so good, and if his penis size wasn’t increasing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his head lowered. I nodded in acknowledgement.
“Look at me. Tell me what you want from me. What you want me to do,” I said.
He looked up at me, perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” I said, trying to hold myself together. His appearance was really turning me on, and the sweat that matted his hair against his forehead wasn’t helping. “You have dark desires. I know you do. Tell me about them.”
He bit his lower lip, avoided eye contact with me. He seemed uneasy. I became more excited. Was I nearing his breaking point?
“Tell me,” I said. “What do you want me to do? Is it what I’ve always wanted to do to you?”
He looked at me suddenly, intensely. I almost bubbled over from it all. He had often told me that he never wanted me to do this, that it was simply not for him, yet I had always been prepared for it, wondering if I should force him into doing it anyway. But I love him enough to honor his wishes, so I never pressed the issue, although I fantasized about it a lot.
I began to rub myself. I put my finger inside my bra and started to rub my dark brown nipple. That caught his attention. I propped myself up, opened my legs wide, and stuck a finger down my thong. I moaned softly, sensually. I wanted to torture him with this. I wanted him to know he couldn’t have it until he gave me something.
“Christ,” he said, trying to move in some attempt to stop him from hardening.
“Just tell me,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll off myself a few times and make you watch. And I’ll leave you right down here for the entire night.”
He didn’t respond. I was nearing my climax. He watched as I moved and thrust my finger inside myself. He groaned loudly. I could almost sense his near climax as though it were a heavy presence. I stopped immediately. “Oh, no you don’t,” I said as I grabbed his penis and jabbed my fingernails into his shaft. He let out a wail.
“Let go, let go, let go!” he cried out and eventually I did.
I was angry then. I left him there, shackled up, for at least a half-an-hour. I went back down, and he said nothing. He said nothing as I took a whip and hit his flesh until he pleaded for me to stop. I didn’t stop when I saw the whelps either. I kept commanding him to tell me. He wouldn’t and I continued. It didn’t stop until he couldn’t bear it anymore; until the pain was so great tears started to roll down his cheeks.
I went around to face him. He was in pain, and it did something to me. I was on the verge of unshackling him and embracing him. He looked beaten, broken, like he had just finished combat in war. He looked torture.
I was going to grab his face, talk to him sweetly. But that may have retracted his confession, and I needed it now. I needed it to climax. I needed it to somehow feel complete and superior.
“Tell me,” I said forcefully. “What do you want me to do?”
He said nothing. He wouldn’t look at me.
“I already know,” I whispered to him. “Just fuckin’ tell me. I need you to tell me.” I saw his bright blue eyes now. He looked at me, dazed. Again, nothing came form his lips.
I became angry again. He was not going to take this satisfaction from me. I ran upstairs again, gathered a thick dildo, cream, and the evidence. When I returned, I unshackled him – and he put up no fight, perhaps too spent from the whippings – and re-shackled his feet to the shackles attached to the footboard. I took his hands and handcuffed them behind his back. I put the evidence down in front of him, and got behind him, the strap-on dildo beside me on the bed.
He swallowed. His breathing became harder.
I made him kneel and I kneeled with him. I forced his head down. “Read,” I said pointing to the piece of paper now in front of him on the bed.
“Chloe, please,”
“Read, damn it!” I yelled into his ear. I was beginning to believe that he wouldn’t confess. That I wouldn’t get to have my way. That I wouldn’t be granted the opportunity to satisfy both me and him.
He began to read, the words flowed out of his mouth in small whispers. “The penis entered me, rammed into me, stroked the inside of me until I was on fire, until I almost came –.” He paused. Moaned between gritted teeth and his body jumped. I had invaded him with my fingers, rubbed the inside of his anus, twisting my fingers and bending them as though I was searching for something. I think I may have hit his prostate a few times. He let out a yelp every time I did, and his entire body seemed to jerk.
“Keep going,” I said pushing in further. He took a sharp inhale and then growled. But, he continued.
“I only wish that can happen to me.” His voice was trembling. It took him a lot to read his words. He continued, “Wish that I could be fucked by a penis. But how – .” He stopped himself this time. I pulled my fingers out. I knew the part he stopped on. It was about me.
“How can I tell Chloe,” I whispered. He sighed heavily.
“Why did you do this Chloe?” he asked. He was referring to me invading his privacy by going through his journal, reading it. I came across it merely by accident. Curiosity had caused me to pull back the black matte leather cover.
“For me. For you,” I said. “So say it. Tell me what you want me to do.” I said as I began putting on the device.
He sighed again. “I want you to – ” he stopped. Shook his head. Took another breathe. He looked up at me. He looked so weary as he looked up at me, parted his lips and said, “It’s disgusting. It’s perverted.”
Where was my whip? I found it and hit him on his back. “It’s not disgusting,” I said throwing another lash.
He shuddered. “What are you going to do Chloe? Beat me until I tell you? Didn’t you already try that?”
I screamed in frustration. I dropped the whip. What was the use?
I sat down on the edge of the bed, my head in my hand. “Just say it. Why can’t you just say it? Don’t you trust me?”
He said nothing. Moments passed and I heard him whisper, “A straight man shouldn’t want it, Chloe.”
I sighed and turned to him. I smiled. He was so adorable. “Baby, why do you say that? Because society puts a gay label on it? If you like it, why not enjoy it! I want to do this for you. I want to do this for me. But I really want to hear it from your lips.”
He looked away from me, then sighed heavily. He put his head down. “You don’t think I’m a pervert?”
I chuckled. “No, baby. I don’t. I like that you want this, that you are sexually open. Now, really liberate yourself, and confess.”
He shook his head, inhaled deeply. I got back into position. “Now, I said, where were we?”
He took another deep breathe. I could hear the motor in his brain moving. He shifted his weight a little, tried to get comfortable. “I want you to fuck me, Mistress.”
I smiled. I was almost there. My sex was throbbing. “Fuck you? Fuck you like what?”
He swallowed. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit that he had always wanted this and probably even off-ed himself from the fantasy, though I knew he did. Knew it as a fact.
“A man,” he said in a very small voice. I could have almost died from the pleasure of it.
I took the cream and lubricated my dick, rubbed cream around and inside of his anus. I pushed him against the mirror, and pulled his hair back on to my shoulder.
“Look at yourself,” I whispered in his ear. “Look at yourself explode from being fucked by a woman…fucked by a woman like she was a man.”
I entered him slowly. I tried to wait out the discomfort as the large head penetrated him. He flinched at first and he grimaced, but as I went in further, the tension in his face ironed out a bit.
“Relax,” I said as I continued in. He did, finally, and he managed to take the whole makeshift dick in. I thrust into him hard and heard him yelp. I went harder, and faster; watched his face grimace. It hurt him, I could tell from his sounds and facial expression, but I didn’t stop. It was adding to my fantasy, and was probably adding to his.
I made sure to run my hands over him as I fucked him. I made circles around his nipples, ran my fingers over the ripples of his abs, and pulled his pubic hair. What a sight it was in the mirror! He looked completely enslaved. Completely mine. I never felt more powerful.
I switched my pattern and rotated my hips as I thrust. He moaned louder, with his eyes closed and his mouth partially opened. I grabbed his penis and stroked it like I had seen him do it when I made him masturbate in front of me. My grip was firm, my stroke was slow. I ran my fingers softly over the head and the underside of it. I occasionally stuck my finger into the hole of the head. I enjoyed the way his penis felt growing in my grasp. I liked knowing that I was making him hard, that I was in control.
I thrust harder, stroked harder and faster until I saw his face contort and felt his thick, hard penis twitch and lunge. His body arched and lost control as the orgasm exploded in him and his ejaculation squirted out of him. I think that was one of the most powerful orgasms he had ever had.
I pulled out of him, took the harness off, and released him from his shackles. He plopped down on the bed, and said nothing. I ran my hands across his backside, still incredibly horny from the sight that I had just seen. But the guilt flooded me, pushing the horniness way. I looked down at him and felt the wave of guilt again. Guilty that I had been so cold and cruel. Guilty that I had made him tell me. Guilty that I took him that way. Guilty that I was so selfish.
Then it occurred to me. He allowed me to do those things to him. He never uttered the safe word. He never really stressed that he really wanted me to stop. He had endured the torture to satisfy me, hadn’t he?
I felt an incredible sense of love for my husband. It clogged my throat, burned my skin. I needed to express how much I appreciated him. I kissed the calves of his legs, his thighs, and ran my fingers along the line where the butt and thigh meets. I kissed him there, and ran my tongue there as well. He moaned softly in response. I slipped a finger in between his cheeks just enough to make him groan. I parted his cheeks, kissed his anus, and continued up until I felt his spine. I lay on top of him, wanting him with each inhale he took.
I kissed his hair and fell to the side of him. He stared back at me, listlessly. Something was new there, fresh and fragile. He looked vulnerable. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his lips several times. “I want you to…” I began. I waited for a response. For a minute or so he continued to look that way, as though he was somewhere else, as though something tragic had happened to him. But then, suddenly, his eyes sparkled with that presence that I love. He smiled. “To what?”
“Make love to me…”I continued, playing in his hair.
“How?” he asked, his large hand running down the side of my leg and then grabbing my ass cheek and pulling me closer to him.
“Like a man,” I finished, smiling. He closed his eyes and smiled. He looked at me again, this time with recognition. In my own way I apologized, and told him that there was nothing wrong in his confession. I told him without words that he owned me as much as I owned him. He realized this, and his smile broadened. He kissed my mouth with such passion that it wiped my mind clear of all things and all I could think about was him being inside of me as I confessed that I needed him to take me like this more than I needed to dominate him.