Fear, Terror, & The Love of Pain, Part II

I once again reached into the glass for an ice cube and explained, “There is only one rule here, darling. If the ice cube touches the sheet, then we re-start your lesson from the very beginning.”

Content Warning: BDSM

I retreated into my library and dropped a few ice cubes in a glass. Next, I poured two fingers of bourbon and went straight to the bedroom. There, stretched face down across the bed, was an ivory-skinned ginger with gorgeous, waist-length hair. She was stripped naked, and each wrist was tied securely to one of the bedposts. Hours before, I had labored to meticulously tie the knots around her wrists.. From there, I told her to wait patiently, silently, and obediently for my return. I purposely left the air conditioning running on full so the room was shockingly cold. As she raised up on one side, her breasts were bared to me. I could clearly see that she was quite chilled.

“Sir, why did you leave me waiting for so long?” she purred.

I didn’t respond but rather took a sip of my bourbon and ice, then set it down on the nightstand. At the foot of the bed was a large wooden trunk with reinforced metal bands, much like a strongbox. It was, old, heavy, and covered in nicks and scars from its many years of service to me. I opened it and savored for a moment the soft, sweet scent of cedar and leather.  Then I removed a ball gag and a bamboo switch. I closed my beloved trunk, letting my hand run lovingly across the top of it for a moment. I returned to the side of the bed and sat down next to my new friend. She watched quietly as I checked and tugged at the intricate knots on each rope that bound her. I felt compelled to make sure they were snug, but not excruciating. But if she tried to pull, they would only get tighter. Finally, I turned and addressed her.

“Now, Estrella, are you still comfortable with my interview process? We discussed it before, but I just want to be sure.”

”Yes, I’m ready for my interview and training,” she murmured as she looked up at me from the mattress. Her voice husky, her tone subservient, she turned on her side to speak.  Those delicate arms were raised above her head, bound firmly to the heavy wooden posts on the headboard. She futilely twisted her wrists several times. We both knew she wasn’t getting free.

“And you remember the word?” I asked after she stopped squirming.

“Jealousy,” she whispered. It was almost inaudible. After a moment, she added, “But you won’t hear me say it.”

“Very good, but we shall see. Now the first part of your session will be about manners. You addressed me when I entered the room a few minutes ago. You do not address me during session unless I first give you permission.” I leaned forward and squeezed her mouth open with one hand. Then with my other hand, I shoved the ball gag roughly into place to reinforce my directive. She gagged for an instant, then pushed it forward with her tongue to a more comfortable position. It took only a moment for me to tighten the straps behind her head. I was careful not to tangle her beautiful red locks in the clasps as I cinched them tight.

I sat on the edge of the bed and admired the intricate tattoo that ran her length on one side. It started behind her ear as delicate line art. It then meandered down her neck until the line parted at her shoulder. From there, one line swirled down the side of her breast in the front. The other line fanned out into a pattern that splayed across her back. It extended almost to her rear before it then joined again with the front line at her hip. Moving onward, it continued as a single airy design that curved inside her thigh and spiralled around her leg, all the way to the ankle. The whole design was light and delicate. It looked as if it were a beautiful vine growing up her side.  A vine that rooted in her exquisite foot. One of her dainty feet that was complete with perfectly painted toes.

Or wait, maybe it was a spider’s thread that swirled and dangled from her hairline.That thick mane of strawberry hair. From there, it fluttered down and around her breathtaking form. A form perfect from head to heel. I stuck my finger in my drink and held an ice cube between my thumb and index finger as I looked at her multi-colored body art. It seemed to shimmer with her every move or undulation.

She squirmed when I touched the tattoo behind her ear with my freezing cold finger and lightly dusted its multiple paths down her body from start to finish. I paused only once to lean forward and brush a kiss where the ink lines joined at the cup-shaped hollow on her hip. She let out a low, muffled moan when my razor stubble dragged across the delicate spot.

I stood and commanded her, “Roll on your stomach.” She did so without a word.

With no warning, I dropped an ice cube onto the small of her back, right where her waist curved in to meet the rise of her exquisite tush. She twisted involuntarily at the sudden frozen gift. The ice cube fell onto the silk sheet below.

“Oh no, that won’t do,” I said as I retrieved it and placed it back in my drink. I took the bamboo cane and gave her three smart lashes on the bottom of her feet. She pulled her knees up to escape the sting. Doing so caused her pelvis to rise quickly, then grind slowly down again as she stretched her legs back out across the bed. A whimper caught in her throat, but nothing escaped the gag in her mouth.

I once again reached into the glass for an ice cube and explained, “There is only one rule here, darling. If the ice cube touches the sheet, then we re-start your lesson from the very beginning.”  I dropped another cube onto the small of her back. This time, she held perfectly still. I swirled and savored another taste of bourbon in my mouth and waited several minutes. I watched and paced my breath as I felt the heat of my ardor rising. A pool of cold water formed in the small of her back. I sipped my bourbon and patiently watched. She kept her head down, but I got the peculiar feeling that she liked me watching her lie there helpless. The cube continued its excruciatingly slow melt. Finally, like a lover’s release, enough melted and a trickle of water escaped the small of her back and ran down her side. Estrella shivered again in the cold room. Then she remained still. Nothing said. No sounds made. She averted direct eye contact. It was as if she wanted to impress me with how quickly she could learn obedience. She fully understood her role in our blossoming relationship.

“Now, Stella.  May I call you Stella?”

Estrella lifted her head, careful not to jar the half-melted ice cube, and nodded yes. Drool formed around the ball gag: shiny, slippery, and sticky. I watched as it gradually fell in several long strings, puddling onto the sheet in front of her.

“Excellent, Stella,” I said as I stood back up. I flexed the switch between my hands several times.  I flicked it back and forth in the air next to the bed. When it cut through the air, it made a swishing sound that was most satisfying.

I looked down at her and said, “Let’s go ahead and start the interview process, shall we?”

Dinlas (Wayne Davids)
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