Page 41 of Hurts So Good

Such a sweet threat to a brat’s ears…

It’s good when a top keeps a promise delivered in the heat of lust. More to test his resolve (would he take me where I needed to go?) and less because I wanted to shield my red, burning ass, I wrestled my hand free as if to cover my butt, and he laughed again before delivering a long series of stinging swats to my thighs. The last one cracked the plastic hairbrush and made us both laugh in surprise.

But he kept his promise. He pulled me to my feet, stood up, and arranged some pillows on the bed to prop up my hips. Then he pushed me back down and used scarves to tie me. He pulled my wrists overhead and tied them to the headboard. He spread my legs, tying each ankle to a corner of the bed. Even with my baby doll T-shirt and skirt still on, I felt exposed in a way I’d never experienced even while totally naked. He flipped my skirt back up and picked up the belt, pressing the cool leather against my hot, red ass, tracing it lightly against the skin, teasing my inner thighs and startling the hell out of me when the first lick landed squarely on my clit rather than my ass. The sound that escaped me, a low moan of raw lust, revealed my desire to keep this going.

My desire for more and more.

The feel of leather on my body was a skin-to-skin contact of the most primal kind. He alternated cheeks, then thighs, then careful blows directly on my dripping wet cunt that I thought might make me climax if he continued long enough. But he didn’t. He went back to laying the strokes evenly across my ass. He taught me the dance of this form of desire and pushed me to what I thought might be a limit of sensation. The fiery heat on my bottom became nearly unbearable before he backed off, rubbing, pinching, teasing my clit, and repeating, stretching my limits and leaving me wanting even more.

Finally, when he decided I’d had enough, he introduced me to another deep form of pleasure. He dropped the belt, and the buckle made a satisfying clink as it hit the floor. He stepped into my field of vision, unzipped his jeans, and pulled out his cock. The last shred of doubt, the tiniest bit of fear that he would think my desires odd was put to rest when I realized he was gloriously aroused.

There was no resistance as he plunged his cock into my slick pussy and began fucking me hard. His hips pounded against my throbbing ass as he reached around and teased my clit with his fingers. The climax that had been building from the first moment his hand landed on my skin burst forth in waves radiating out from my ass and pussy. My orgasm consumed my whole body with an intensity I had never experienced before. The walls of my pussy gripped his cock with the rhythm of my climax. With a few more deep thrusts, he came.

The pleasantries we exchanged afterwards were as easily forgotten as those beforehand. What was more memorable was the realization that there was no turning back, no forgetting the throbbing heat of my ass or the mind-blowing climax I’d just had. The pleasure of pain was just too good.

CROSSED

Rachel Kramer Bussel

I’m strung up on a St. Andrew’s cross, blindfolded, my breasts pressing through the space of the X as I face the wall, my back and ass exposed to any and all who want to look. And though my eyes may be covered, there are plenty who want to look. I can hear them chattering behind me while my husband, Chuck, readies his implements. I’m nervous, but the kind of nervous that makes my pussy tighten, my nipples harden. I like being nervous, I like trying new things. I like being pushed to my limits.

There’s a leather ball gag shoved in my mouth. I happen to know it’s purple, but only because Chuck told me after he’d blindfolded me. He bought it especially for me—large. I know because he used to use a smaller one on his ex, but he told me I not only have a bigger mouth, but I’m a bigger brat, and I needed more of a challenge. I’m such a competitive, horny slut that hearing this only made me open wide as could be. We both have mixed feelings about gags—at the right time, there is nothing hotter than hearing a man or woman scream in ecstasy as she gets beaten in all the right ways. Those piercing cries can fill a room and become the perfect soundtrack to sadism. But there is also a charm in watching someone struggle, in being aware that those screams exist, but for the moment are locked away, known only to the one holding them in. It’s like watching a silent movie, and the noise has to transform into some other outlet of pain, be it a wrenched face or muscle spasms or twisting and writhing, all of which can send any true sadist into orbit.

I should know, because despite my current enjoyable predicament, I am one—a sadist, I mean. See, the two of us are switches, meaning that we go both ways kinkwise. We can get off on being held down, controlled, dominated, as well as being the one inflicting the best kind of pain in the world. I have been known to grin as widely as a lottery winner when I’ve got him over my knee and turn his wide ass a beautiful shade of rose. But I can’t deny that being strung up, immobilized, cuffed into place is also one of the most highly charged fantasies I have.

We like to spice things up to make sure our lives never get stagnant. So for the annual BDSM conference we attend in our nation’s capital, far from our small Iowa town, we decided to bet on who would be the top and who would be the bottom for this momentous occasion, and who could get the other off the fastest. Having been high school sweethearts and marrying at age 20 (we’re now 42), we know a lot about how to make each other come. But apparently he knew just that much more than me, clocking in at three minutes, six seconds, while it took me three minutes, twenty-two seconds to make Chuck come in my mouth. Not that I’m complaining—first because I love blowing him and would gladly linger on his cock for an hour; and second because now here I am, with a whole audience watching my still trim ass and strong back as I await what will happen next.

Once the bet was decided, we didn’t talk about the details. We have our fair share of kinky implements, but they’re the kind that can be easily put away when company comes. We don’t have any fancy equipment, which makes events like this a special treat for us, ones we fantasize about alone and together. We only attend about one a year, but when we’re there, we make the most of every minute of playtime. We’re often the first ones in the dungeon and sometimes the last to leave. So while it wasn’t an entirely unknown setting, the precise mechanics of what would take place were left a mystery, to me anyway. While we might talk about what other couples we wanted to invite back to our hotel room or which workshops we’d attend, the actual details about what would happen while I was strung up had been kept secret.

So there I am, my arms above my head, fastened in securely with padded black leather cuffs. My ankles are similarly bound. Just as I mentally wish for some stimulation of my nipples, Chuck reaches around me and pinches each of them. I can’t see, but I don’t need to in order to know he’s twisting them in this way he has that hurts and arouses me in equal measure. “Kathy,” he breathes in my ear. “Are you going to be a good slut for me? The perfect little pain slut?”

“Yes, Sir,” I tell him, deferring to the honorific I use when I bottom to him (he calls me “Mistress” when I top him). My reward is a set of vibrating nipple clamps that he attaches to each protruding bud, making me whimper. I’m glad that I’m facing the wall as opposed to a whole group of people, though that would bring its own sort of humiliation if they could all see me get my breasts whipped without me seeing them. As it is, I’m sure my cheeks are blushing, and the other set will be soon as well.

“What do you think of her ass?” I hear him ask the audience.

“Spank it!”

“Fuck it!”

“Hot—I want a piece of that,” I hear. If anyone in our hometown could see me now, they’d be either shocked and embarrassed or laughing hysterically, because they know me as the simple, plain woman who runs the local drugstore, always ready with a smile and medication. I know almost everyone there, but they don’t really know me. Not the real me, this me. These virtual strangers I see only once a year get to witness the true Kathy, the one who comes out on rare occasions but is hungry for everything kink can offer.

Being bound like this allows me to let go in ways I couldn’t otherwise. I love pain, as Chuck has correctly stated, but I need to be held in place in order to enjoy it to the utmost. Like this, I’m not my job or my family or even from Iowa. All I am is a pain slut, a girl who likes to be tied up, a girl who’s offering up her ass for whatever may come next.

“Would you like to do the honors?” I hear Chuck ask.

I shiver, my bonds keeping me in place as I feel moisture start to drop from my wide-open pussy. What will he be doing while they torment me?

I don’t have long to wonder as I bite my lip and feel a searing blow land evenly across both my buttcheeks. I whimper, and then feel soft hair brush against my inner thigh before someone is shoving what I think is a dildo into my wetness. The toy goes easily all the way inside me as another strike lands across my ass. My teeth sink deeper into my lip, not enough to draw blood but enough to make marks as the combination of getting fucked and spanked takes over.

“Oh yeah,” a deep Southern voice drawls as whoever is fucking me starts really pounding the dildo into me. And then I learn what exactly my husband’s role is when our familiar flogger falls sharply against my upper back. He knows that my back is right up there with my cunt and my nipples as an erogenous zone. I like to get bitten there, bitten to the point that he leaves marks, bitten until I scream. I like backrubs where the masseuse’s hands seem to become part of my skin, entering me on one side and leaving on the other. I like to get turned inside out, and Chuck knows this all too well. I have no escape route as the thuds of the flogger reverberate through my body.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that I want one. I like being the kind of woman who goes places other women don’t. I like being someone who goes right up to the edge of what she can stand, and sometimes beyond that. But sometimes I scare myself, just a little, emitting the kind of gasp you give in a haunted house, where you know you’re an adult, an intelligent, aware, self-reliant adult, and yet you can manage to spook yourself enough to make this sound.

That’s what it feels like, in a way. It isn’t quite the same as being suspended, where every ripple of the rope threatens to send you to the ground, where every motion rocks you to and fro. Here there is only solid wood and me, and my body is absorbing every shock. I’m getting fucked and flogged at the same time, my entire back, ass, pussy, legs open to whoever wants to look.

Part of me loves that. I’m a shameless slut and, in theory, each audience member could take turns coming up here and shoving something inside me, or running their hands all over me. Secretly, I sometimes fantasize about being bound, gagged, and blindfolded while strangers tease me, never letting me get off, only stroking or pinching or slapping or stinging for brief moments, enough to make me moan but not to come.

But there’s another part of me that, in the middle of a public scene, freezes up. I tense, sure that some long-lost schoolteacher or friend of my parents will recognize my naked body and run to blab it to our hometown paper. I become convinced that someone, somewhere, will suddenly realize that I’m not the nice girl I pretend to be but rather this other girl, one who, in the grip of lust, will display herself for anyone who wants to watch. Or touch. Because the truth is, the person shoving the giant dildo inside me, the person who is about to make me come, could be anyone. He could be a hot young stud with a giant cock, someone I’d gladly spread my legs for, or he could be someone embodying everything I can’t stand—too much facial hair, smoker’s breath, chauvinist tendencies. He could even be a Republican for all I know.