The Last Time M/F

[Kate]

Her diary had been her downfall. She realized, just before she went out the door for the last time that she had forgotten it. She’d picked it up and was headed for the door when she suddenly found it blocked.

“Going somewhere?” Roger had asked. Of course she was and he knew it. All week, behind his back, she’d been moving her things out of the house and into storage. She had no worries as to where she would go, and friends knew exactly where she was at the moment, and would hack the house to pieces to get her out if they had to, but now the perfect time to leave had gone all wrong.

But now there was no avoiding the fact that before leaving there was going to be a “first”, a “before”, and she was going to be made to pay dearly for leaving him. “One last time” he’d told her as he’d blocked her exit. One last reminder and a price to pay for her choice.

He’d stripped and hogtied her and left her in front of a roaring fire in the basement which he fondly referred to as his “dungeon”. It was finished all over with a deep purple shag carpet that felt deceptively soft, and muffled the sound of any screams. He’d set up his scaffold and placed her where she could not avoid seeing it, and looking at it she was shaking so hard she couldn’t stop. Also in view was the chair he liked to sit in while he spanked her, and the cupboard where he kept what he fondly called his “implements”.

Damn him. How long did it take to get a drink anyway? He’d already gotten her “ready”, so to speak, along with bathing her, and anointing her with his favorite of her perfumed lotions—Ralph Lauren “Eternity”. He must have had duplicates of all her perfumes, moisturizers, and makeup because when he’d finished with her, she looked like she was ready for an evening out. That was when he’d put the ball gag in her mouth.

The door opened and footsteps sounded on the stairs. Suddenly he was in front of her, large scotch with little ice in one hand, the cane in the other and a charming smile on his face. “That is what Caligula must have looked like before he tortured a prisoner”, she thought.

“Well now, where shall we start?” he asked as though he was seeking her opinion. “We won’t get into why this is happening, the reason is obvious. I’m just trying the think of the how.”

He stood behind her, stroking her buttocks with the cane and suddenly its tip found its way into the opening between them, then started stroking it back and forth. And as much as she wanted to fight it, she started moving along with the strokes and hated herself for craving the sensations it caused.

“Shall we begin?” he asked as he swiftly removed her ropes, and carrying her by the waist he went to the chair and sat down and adjusted her on his lap so that her ass pointed up in the air. “I trust you are not going to try anything stupid because if I have to bind you it’s going to be in a way you won’t like. If you thought you had it bad before, you’ll see that I can always make it much worse.”

The first stroke of his hand hit so hard she almost bounced out of his lap. The second came down harder. ‘Nooooooooooo”, came her muffled cry from behind the gag, but to no avail. This was worse than anything before. She started to count to herself as his hand came down again and again, and it wasn’t until around 25 that he stopped.

He spread her legs and a wicked finger began to stroke her pussy and her asshole. “Nooooo”, she moaned for a different reason, but the finger gave her no peace, penetrating her pussy then his thumb was in her asshole, not stopping their motions until she was practically screaming behind her gag from coming so hard. Her whole body shook and she felt ashamed of the way he had her literally limp and dripping.

Then he put her on the floor and removed the gag, He unzipped his pants and she knew what she was expected to do. He was already hard as a rock when he took her by the sides of her head and guided himself into her mouth. Obedient, she did what he wanted, accommodated him, too afraid that escape would not be possible if she made him angry, or angrier than he already was.

“Up in the chair,” he said abruptly after he came, as if she hadn’t wrung every drop of pleasure out of him, “spread your legs and don’t move.”

He went to the cupboard, then came back carrying a leather strap. “You’re going to be too sore to accommodate your new boyfriend for a few days. And you’re going to carry a few bruises just to remember me by. If those legs move at all I’m going to flog your asshole and you won’t be able to sit down without a pillow by the by the time I’m done.”

He took a long drink, then held her chin made her take a longer one. He set the glass down. “Now, shall we?”

The humiliation, her wetness, his strong arm cracking down the strap on her sensitive pussy started her crying. She hadn’t meant to cry but each stroke, hard and merciless and seeming to go on and on wrung tears out of her. She saw him smile but she held her tongue and would not would not would not beg. And he did not stop when she became swollen but kept on for a little while longer.

“This is what I like,” he said, “and we’re not even done, but it’s time for my special treat,” and he put his mouth down on her, merciless tongue finding her clit and tormenting her, tongue-fucking her as he watched the expression on her face as she grew more helpless, raising her hips so his tongue could reach further.