Hooded

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He slipped the hood over my head and smoothed it down over my face. My heart was hammering. I was sure he could hear it beating from where he stood, his hands on my arms, as I fumbled with the fit to insure the breathing holes were directly under my nostrils. The leather smell was strong and I tasted it too, after the gag was seated between my tongue and the roof of my suddenly dry mouth. Not even a sliver of light showed beneath the blindfold which was held tautly in place by two strong snaps at my temples.

I lowered my hands and he moved behind me to finish lacing me into the hood. It was tight but not claustrophobically so. Made of glove quality leather, it caressed my face in an almost sensual manner. I moaned quietly, the sound drawn from me and muffled into the leather encasing my head.

He touched it, stroking me through the leather. His hand cradled my head and I felt his lips pressing mine, the sensation muffled and distant. His low murmurs of admiration and reassurance reached me through the soft blackness that enveloped my awareness. Fingers, his whole hand, his mouth, touched my face and moved down my naked body. Responding to his familiar touch, I moaned again and again.

He stood, gathering me to him. “Are you okay?” he asked, his lips moving against the leather covering my ear.

Nodding in assent, speech denied me by the gag, I reached blindly for him, wanting to hold on to him. New to me, the hood was far outside my comfort zone. He knew it, of course, but wanted it for me, for us, to stretch where we’d been together.

Avoiding my reaching hands, he guided me to the bed, positioning me face down on the softness of the spread. With experienced fingers, he fastened the strong leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles, then drew my hands back behind me and attached all four cuffs together tightly. Hogtied. He’d hogtied me. Faintly, I heard the snicking of the padlocks as he completed the bondage, locking me into place. Tendrils of excitement and futility curled through my body when I pulled hard, testing, and could barely move.

I always tried to find a way out of my bonds. If I could get loose, Betist I would. If I could get loose, the intensity and eroticism of what lay between us was hugely diminished for us both, but I had to try. We were well matched in that way. I had to try to get loose and he had to try to insure I could not.

He stood, I imagined, and watched me struggle as I rotated my wrists and ankles inside the custom, made-for-me cuffs, my fingers wrenching toward buckles and ties. I pulled hard on the special leather-and-chain hogtie holding my limbs together, twisting and pulling as I tried to find a weak place in his work. My legs began to tremble, the strain of the position already taking a toll. Panting a little, beginning to sweat a bit inside the hood, I finally lay quietly, accepting my bondage and waiting for whatever he would do.

No speech was possible for me. No sound. No sight. No movement but for minor shifting. My body began to respond to the absence of stimuli and anticipate the touches to come. Slickness gathered between the folds of my labia. My nipples and clit became erect and need fisted deep in my belly.

He touched my back and stroked down over my butt, gently, softly. I moaned, shivering, small bumps of sensation following behind his touch to pebble my skin. Down one leg and up the inside of the other, and then his hand was nudging between my legs, touching lightly against my pussy. He checked lightly for that which can’t be faked, his fingers barely touching me. I groaned again, the sound quiet, and tried to back myself onto his fingers but he moved them away.

His body barely grazed mine as he leaned over me. His words drifted in quietly from the darkness that enveloped me. “You okay, baby?” he asked again, knowing how afraid I’d been of this for so long.

I nodded, air coming raggedly through the small holes under my nose as the heat of his touch singed into my skin. I focused on his muffled words, on the almost-delicacy of his touch. I could hear my own breathing, feel the blood pounding through my veins, and smell my arousal perfuming the air.

He brushed a tender kiss across the Betist Giriş place where the leather hood met my neck and I shivered violently, the sensuality of the slight contact almost overwhelming from inside my dark bondage. As he withdrew, I continued my slow slide into the moment, into waiting, into a kind of crystalline immediacy in which only this time existed.

And then the pain began. Hot, red, and explosive. Over and over, one butt cheek, then the other, then the first again. Sharp and stinging, the blows grew more pronounced with each stroke. He was using the tawse, with its two wicked straps that were made of thick and stiff leather. On and on it went, each blow sharper and more biting than the last, the tip of each tail imprinting my skin with small red bite marks. I screamed from behind my gag as the pain mounted and my focus narrowed. My insatiable need for this kind of intensity spiraled wildly over my skin and through my body.

The tawse was still stinging into my skin when the utter futility of escape crashed into my awareness. I was totally unable to alter the content of this time in any real manner. I was in his hands. My safety, my pleasure and pain, my deepest needs and desires were his to call forth, to use and to play with. I couldn’t alter his touches, however they came, in any manner at all. I was completely and utterly at his disposal.

On the heels of that gut-level knowing, not a rational thought at all but a primal flash of fact, came the kiss of the flogger. Its heavy thuddy suede was almost a relief after the sharpness of the tawse. Soon enough, though, that momentary relief gave way to a further blooming of red sensation. Pain and pleasure spiraled into my brain, into the deep parts of my heart, and into the wet and slick places in my body. As the blows continued, I gasped raggedly, quivering, lost in my dark world of intense sensation. Besides involuntary body-flinches after each hard caress from the many flogger tails, I was almost still as he played my responses like a Master.

He stopped and unfastened me, helping me to stretch and move my limbs for a couple minutes. His hands stroked possessively over my red and welted backside and I heard him murmuring his satisfaction with my conduct.

He turned me to my back and using the hardware on the cuffs, attached my left wrist to my left ankle and my right wrist to my right ankle. Each pairing was locked with one of the small padlocks we had bought the week before while cruising Home Base. I pulled, moaning quietly at the hard and tight ache that began in shoulders, and wordlessly, almost soundlessly, protested the dull pain shooting through each wrist.

“I love you,” he said into leather covering my ear, his voice sounding ragged. His hands were working down low, pushing my legs apart. A moment, and then I felt his face slide between my thighs. The tip of his tongue pressed hard against the throbbing wetness of my clit. Stunned at the explosion of sensation, I trembled violently, gasping.

Lifting my hips the little I could move them, I tried to push against his mouth, silently begging for more. He pressed more firmly against my clit, flicking his tongue over it rapidly. I screamed against the black leather thrust between my teeth as fire singed up and down the insides of my legs. My body began to spasm into orgasm and I gasped, trembling violently and trying wildly to beg permission from him to finish it.

“Yes. Now.” I heard his words, hoarse, giving me what I needed to fully lose myself in the pleasure. His tongue continued its dance against my clit.

I shook and screamed inside my dark prison, totally lost in the sensation, the heat and pain in my backside completely subsumed into wild fierce pleasure. Writhing and trembling, gagged and bound, I gasped inside my darkness as the pleasure consumed me.

He flowed up my body then, pressing into me roughly, stretching me open. His hands unsnapped and removed the gag. “Mine,” he said against my lips, his voice hoarse and trembling. “My slave.”

“Yours,” I panted from the deepest part of my submission, the word sounding rusty coming from dried lips and a drier mouth. My legs were shaking almost uncontrollably under his and my words did the same under his lips. He began to move inside me, his thrusts rapid and hard. “Yours,” I swore again, the word a promise and an oath, bound to him from the darkness of my bondage and the depths of my soul.

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