The game of sex and submission

The bell chimed with a precise, almost clinical tone. I heard the scurry of her feet before the latch clicked, revealing F. She stood in the doorway, a slip of black lace clinging to her curves, her body a promise. No panties, as expected. My gaze dropped instantly, seeking the damp sheen between her thighs. A faint moisture glistened there, a subtle tribute. Good. "Ready, F for playing two rounds of sex and submission, both with a duration of 45 minutes and a 15 minutes break, equal to a soccer game.?" I asked, my voice a low rumble.

She offered a breathy, almost silent assent, her eyes dark and deep, already anticipating. Her hair, a tumbled cascade of waves, framed a face taut with a mixture of apprehension and desire. Without further word, I stepped across the threshold, and she turned, leading me up the stairs. The air in her house was thick with unspoken anticipation, a scent of her perfume mingling with something sharper, something primal.

In the bedroom, the bed was already stripped, the various implements laid out with an almost surgical precision on a small side table. I ran a hand over the smooth, cool wood of a paddle. F. stood before me, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, a picture of elegant vulnerability. I approached her, my hands, ordinary civil servant's hands, reaching for her shoulders.

My fingers began to knead the tense muscles of her neck, then moved lower, circling her collarbones, tracing the delicate line of her shoulders. It was a warm-up, a gentle prelude to the ritual we were about to perform. Her breath hitched occasionally, a quiet sigh escaping her lips as the initial tension began to melt under my touch. This tenderness was as much a part of the game as the pain, a contrast designed to heighten every sensation.

Then, the bed restraints came out. Black leather, supple and strong. I fastened the cuffs around her wrists, then her ankles. She offered no resistance, her body pliable, yielding. The click of the buckles echoed softly in the quiet room.

I positioned her first. The spread eagle demanded her arms and legs be stretched wide, secured to the posts of the bed. Her beautiful legs, usually so graceful, were now splayed open, exposing her completely. Her head turned to the side, her eyes finding mine, a silent question, an unwavering commitment to the terms.

I took the nipple clamps first, small metal jaws, cold against her sensitive flesh. They bit down gently, then tightened, the sharp pinch drawing a gasp from her. Her nipples, already erect, swelled beneath the pressure. I removed the clamps and immediately replaced them by nipple suckers next, the small bulbs creating a vacuum, pulling her flesh into painful, engorged peaks. She writhed subtly, a low moan escaping her. "Please calm down," she whispered, her voice strained, but the word "mercy" remained unspoken.

My gaze moved to the array of paddles. I selected the small one first, bringing it down in a rhythmic thwack against her inner thighs. The sound was sharp, the impact creating immediate reddening on her pale skin. Each strike was calculated, aimed to sting, to ignite the nerve endings, to prepare her. Her legs trembled, but she kept them spread wide, maintaining the position.

*SHE:*
*I felt the sting blossom across my skin, a searing heat that spread rapidly. My body arched, a silent protest, but I knew I must hold. The nipple suckers on my nipples were a constant, throbbing ache, making every breath a shallow struggle. His hands, though not large, held an unexpected power, and his touch was merciless even in its precision. The word "relax" was a plea, not a command, a desperate attempt to regulate the tide of sensation that threatened to overwhelm me. I would not yield the word. Not yet.

I exchanged the small paddle for the larger one, the long leather piece I favored. The blow landed on her buttocks, a heavier thud, leaving a vivid red stripe. "That's for your insolence," I murmured, my voice devoid of emotion. I repeated the strike, aiming for the same spot, then fanned out, decorating her pristine skin with an array of crimson welts. Her muscles clenched, but she held her position. "Slowly," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut.

I knelt between her legs, my dick, thick and ready, pressing against her labia. Her cunt was slick, eager. After that, I pushed my fingers into her, two, then three, stretching her, forcing her to expand. Her opening yielded, a sigh escaping her. I then withdrew my fingers, retrieving the large dildo from the table. It was thick, a solid, almost intimidating presence. I pressed its blunt tip against her opening, and with a slow, deliberate push, began to sink it into her.

Her body tensed, her hips lifting involuntarily off the bed. The dildo slid deeper, stretching her tighter than she had ever been. She cried out, a muffled sound of both pain and burgeoning pleasure. I twisted it, forcing her to accommodate its full girth. The opening of her pussy gaped around the shaft, a dark, stretched O, bearing testament to its forced expansion.

*SHE:*
*The dildo stretched me to my absolute limit, a burning expansion that consumed me from the inside out. My body screamed for release, for relief, but the word remained trapped in my throat. His movements were relentless, pushing, forcing, molding me to his will. The ache in my cunt was immense, but beneath it, a strange, electric current began to hum, a perverse excitement. This was the edge, the razor's kiss, and I would not fall.*

I removed the dildo, and she lay there, panting, her cunt still distended, slightly bruised. I then turned my attention to her ass. I chose the inflatable anal plug, a smaller introduction to the deeper stretches. I lubricated it generously and pressed it against her tightened sphincter. Slowly, patiently, I coaxed it inside, then inflated it, watching her face as the pressure built within her. Her eyes widened, a silent testament to the unfamiliar fullness.

The first 45 minutes were nearing their end. I released her legs from the spread eagle position, allowing her a moment of relief, then rearranged her. I pulled her legs up high, bending them at the knees until they rested beside her head, securing her ankles with the other end of the bed restraints that still held her wrists. It was an incredibly vulnerable and exposing position, her swollen, stretched openings now fully presented.

I picked up the wand vibrator, its hum a low growl in the room. I pressed it against her clitoris, sending intense waves of sensation through her. Her body bucked, her cries growing louder, more desperate. She began to squirt, a stream of clear fluid erupting from her, wetting the sheets beneath her. Her orgasm racked her body, but even through the throes of it, she did not utter the forbidden word.

The whistle I carried between my teeth gave a sharp blast, signaling the end of the first half. I immediately released her from the restraints. She lay there, trembling, her body marked with red welts, her nipples engorged, her holes stretched and sore. I sat beside her, pulling her gently into my arms. Her head rested against my chest, her breathing shallow and ragged.

I held a bottle of water to her lips. She drank deeply, her throat bobbing. I began to massage her arms, then her legs, coaxing the stiffness from her muscles, soothing the pain with gentle, deliberate strokes. Her body was a roadmap of my pleasure, etched with the evidence of her submission. She was exhausted, but her eyes, when she looked up at me, still held that defiant spark. "Almost there," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

The second whistle blew, signaling the start of the second half. This time, I positioned her on her knees and hands, her backside presented. The bed restraints were secured again, holding her firmly in the doggy position. Her back arched, her buttocks high, her stretched asshole now visibly gaping from the earlier plug.

I took the inflatable dildo, larger and more imposing than the plug. I watched her face as I guided its tip towards her anus. Her eyes clenched shut, her knuckles white as she gripped the sheets. Slowly, I pushed it in, then began to inflate it, a relentless expansion that caused her whole body to tremble. "Stop! Please, stop!" she pleaded, but the word I sought still eluded me.

*SHE:*
*The dildo expanding inside my ass was a new, terrifying dimension of pain, a stretching sensation that felt as if I would tear apart. My muscles screamed, my breath hitched in my throat, but I held. He watched me, his gaze cold and calculating, pushing me further than I had ever gone. "Slowly," I gasped, desperate for even a moment's reprieve, but the forbidden word remained locked away. I would not give him the satisfaction.*

I withdrew the dildo, her anus now visibly distended, an almost perfect O. I then reached for the anal bondage hook, a cruel, elegant curve of metal. I inserted its tip into her gaping hole, guiding it in, then pushing it deeper, allowing its curve to stretch her internal muscles further. She gasped, a deep, guttural sound, her hips bucking instinctively. The hook was a constant, sharp presence within her.

I reached for her, my civil servant's hands, now brutal instruments of sensation. I squeezed her buttocks, kneading them, then slapped them hard, leaving fresh, red marks across the earlier welts. The sound echoed in the room. Her body shuddered with each impact.

Then, I turned her head to face me. Her face was flushed, I see the pain in her eyes, but her gaze was still defiant. I lifted my hand and delivered a sharp, open-handed faceslap. The sound was shockingly loud in the room. Her head snapped back, a red mark appearing on her cheek. Then, I spat, a thick glob of saliva landing squarely on her face. Her eyes widened, a flash of humiliation, but then, a strange, electric current seemed to pass through her. A shiver ran down her spine, and a low moan escaped her lips. The degradation excited her beyond measure.

*SHE:*
*The spit on my face was a raw, visceral humiliation, a deep cut to my pride. Yet, as I felt it slide down my cheek, a strange, burning heat ignited deep within me. It was a potent cocktail of shame and arousal, stripping away any last vestiges of pretense. This was his complete dominance, my absolute surrender, and it was intoxicating. My body hummed with a perverse pleasure I had never truly understood until this moment.*

The final act. I positioned her on her back, her legs once more lifted, bent at the knees, exposing her. I lubricated my right hand, a generous amount, then positioned it over her asshole. This was it. Her first anal fisting. Her breath hitched, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and anticipation. I began to push, slowly, carefully, one finger at a time.

Her internal muscles fought, clenched, then slowly, hesitantly, began to yield. A single finger, then two, stretching her beyond anything she had experienced. Her cries were raw, primal, desperate. "No, please… stop… it hurts!" she begged, but the word "mercy" still remained just out of reach. I pushed another finger, then another, feeling her body tear and stretch around my invading hand. Her moans became screams, her entire body rigid with effort, with pain, with a terrible, agonizing expansion.

My fist, my civil servant's hand, was slowly, agonizingly, swallowed by her. Her anus gaped around my wrist, a dark, stretched abyss. Her body bucked, her hips slamming against the bed. She squirted again, convulsing, her body pushed past all limits. She was on the verge of breaking, but still, the word "mercy" did not pass her lips.

The final whistle sounded, shrill and clear. She lay there, spread-eagled, her body trembling, slick with sweat and her own fluids, marked with red welts and the profound, almost unbelievable stretching of her holes. Her cunt and asshole were wide, bruised, visibly gaping from the intense violation. She had endured.

I released her from the restraints. Her body was a ruin, yet her eyes, though exhausted, held a triumphant glint. "I... didn't say it," she whispered, her voice a mere thread. I nodded, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips.

Later, after she had managed a shower, the scent of lavender replacing the musk of our game, I brought her, the price of not saying merci, a delicious sushi plate. I fed her by hand, a piece of delicate salmon into her still-bruised mouth. She ate, slowly, gratefully, her eyes meeting mine, a silent acknowledgment of the victory she had achieved, and the new depths we had plumbed together.