Kinky Submissive Box Set: An Erotica Box Set

by Natalie Sharp

  I'm a slut.

  It's been days since he's fucked me. I don't know why he is withholding his body, but I’m miserable. I try to keep busy, but everything takes on an erotic charge. As I wash dishes, I imagine the flow of water on my clit and the slow, deep orgasm it would bring me. The vibration of the washing machine arouses me. I wonder if I could ride it to climax.

  I turn on the television to escape the incessant noise in my head, but everything I see and hear turns my thoughts to sex. In frustration I switch from TV to radio. I must move or I will lose my mind, so I dance as I work. I dance and imagine that I am dancing for him, my Master. I move sensually, hoping that he will see and desire me again.

  But I'm alone, and he sees nothing. He can't see me caressing myself as I dance, cupping my breasts through my thin tee shirt, stroking my thighs, my ass, imagining his hands on my flesh, rough and tender.

  My hands slid my shorts down and they dropped to the floor. I slipped them under my shirt and fondled my breasts, pinching my nipples until they ache.

  I was panting, dancing and making love to myself. I've had gone too far and now I knew I couldn’t stop until I had finished what I had begun. I slipped out of my panties and laid down on the couch, one leg thrown over the arm rest.

  I stroked the insides of my thighs up to where my pussy was wet and hungry for release. My fingers slipped into my slit. The smooth pink walls clenched at them, so I fucked myself with three fingers, then four. Then I pressed my thumb hard against my clit.

  In a few moments, it was over, a fast, hurried orgasm that left me unsatisfied, but aware that I had broken one of the cardinal rules of my servitude, and I was terrified.

  I picked up my clothing from the floor and raced to the bathroom to wash away any trace of my juices off my sin. I scrubbed away the musk from my pussy, praying that he wouldn’t choose to go down on me that night. He can always smell sex on me. I wish he'd let me shave, but he says my hair holds my scent and makes me look like the woman I am, not a little girl.

  "I want your pussy to look like the woman you are." He always says when I bring up the subject.

  I changed clothes and threw in another load to wash, afraid that he would smell the arousal on my shirt or panties. Then I started dinner, cooking things with a strong scent, hoping to confuse his senses. I baked a dessert that I hoped would distract him. I should have realized that I was giving myself away with my attempts to draw his attention away from me.

  He arrived home and I knelt before him.

  "What have you done today?" He asked as he set down his briefcase and hung up his coat. So began my nightly examination.

  "I have cleaned your house thoroughly. I have washed your clothing. I have cooked your dinner. I believe that I have done everything that you ordered me to do, Master," I replied, word perfect.

  "Did you look inside The Box?" He asked.

  "No, Master,"

  "Did you touch yourself?"

  I hesitated. It's only a millisecond longer than my other replies.

  "No, Master."

  His face darkens with anger.

  "You whore, you've been masturbating again. Did you invite men in off the street to fuck you in my bed?"

  "No, Master, I swear--"

  "Don't swear. I know what you are. I allow you to live here and you betray me in every possible way."

  "I'm so sorry." I choked on the words because the pleasure I gave myself wasn't worth what was to come.

  "Fetch The Box."

  "Please, I--"

  "Fetch the damn box!" He shouted and I hurried to the living room and took it down off the mantel. The warm scent of beeswax was like an aphrodisiac. I was holding the source of my tortures in my hands, and I was already aroused.

  I went to the couch where he was sitting in the exact spot where I masturbated. I knelt and set The Box on the coffee table.

  "Open it," He said. I lift the carved lid. "Take two," he said. "For hesitating."

  I removed two and handed them to him. He read the first and nodded. As he read the second there was a suggestion of a smile on his lips. "Put The Box back."

  I took The Box back to the mantel and placed it in precisely the spot it belonged. Then I returned and knelt before him. He read the first punishment to me.

  "The Corner." I knew what it meant, so I went to the DVD player and inserted the video. I turned on the TV and started the show, then I undressed and stood in the corner, face to the wall.

  "No, turn around."

  I did as I was told.

  "Now lift your arms above your head and close your eyes. You'll stand like that until I'm finished. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "Good. Now imagine what you're missing because you haven’t followed your orders today."

  I could hear the sex. The people in the video were loud and they liked dirty talk. My Master said he didn’t care for dirty talk, but I knew he loved that video because it was the one he chose to masturbate to when I stood in the corner.

  I imagined him undressing, removing his tie, his crisp white shirt, and unbuckling his belt and lowering his slacks. I knew what underwear he was wearing because I had dressed him that morning. They were a pale blue silk with his monogram on them, JL. They caressed his cock and ass all day, and he came home ready to fuck.

  I should have remembered the silk boxers, I should have known that he was going to fuck me that night and I had ruined it with my slutty ways.

  I heard the man on the video tell the woman that he was going to fuck her until cum poured out of her mouth.

  "Yes, baby, yes, fuck me hard with that big dick of yours." The woman shouted followed by wet sounds of deep, hard fucking. It was effective. I was getting excited.

  I thought about my Master's cock. It wasn’t very long, but it was thick. So thick that the first time he fucked me, it felt as if he was going to split me down the middle. I loved the feeling of it deep inside my pussy. Because I was a stupid whore I wouldn’t feel it inside me that night, and I wanted to cry.

  I could hear him. He was noisy during sex, and I heard him moaning as he stroked himself. I had seen him do it so many times and I never got tired of watching his fingers swirling around the head of his dick while his other hand cupped his balls.

  His cock rose out of a thick nest of perfect, dark curls. When I sucked him I took him so deep into my throat that his pubic hair tickled my nose. He wasn’t going to let me do that that night though.

  "Oh yeah," the woman whined. "Oh yeah, baby, that's it. Deeper, harder. Make me scream." I could imagine the feeling the woman in the video had. The feeling of a thick cock stretching her pussy lips wide, her walls rippling around his throbbing head as he jammed it deeper.

  "I would have made you scream tonight," my Master said. I said nothing. I was not allowed to speak in the corner unless I was asked a question. I couldn’t even nod to signal that I knew, that I was sorry for what I had done. I imagined the head of his cock oozing with pre-cum. I was hungry for the taste of it.

  The man and the woman on screen were grunting and moaning, drowning out my Master's sounds of self-pleasure. I was denied even that much of him. Tears leaked from my eyes while wetness leaked from my pussy and cooled my inner thighs. My arms are started to get tired from holding them up. I flexed my fingers to keep the blood flowing. They had started to feel numb.

  All the sounds from the TV started to run together in my head, a soup of sex talk and animal noises. I didn’t know who is making what noises, the couple on the TV or my Master. I wanted to open my eyes. I wanted at least to watch him cum. I needed that much of him.

  Yet I knew if I opened my eyes, the punishment would double. I would suffer the entire night, and worse, I would disappoint him. I kept my eyes squeezed shut; I had not forgotten all my training.

  My arms were starting to burn. The muscles twitched and I could feel my hands wavering slightly like flowers in a breeze. I was covered in sweat, trying not to make a sound.

  Th
e room filled with silence as the television suddenly switched off. I waited.

  "Do you want to know what the second piece of paper says?"

  "Yes, Master," I whispered. I could barely hold my arms up. If he didn’t release me soon, I was going to disgrace myself yet again.

  "It says, ‘the clamps’. I think that's an apt punishment, don't you?"

  "Yes, Master." This time I gasped in spite of myself.

  "Put your arms down."

  They dropped like lead. I tried my best to shake the life back into them.

  "You may open your eyes now."

  The light in the room made me wince. When they adjusted I could see my Master standing in front of the television. He was putting the DVD away. I noticed that he had his shorts on.

  "Put my clothing away," he told me and I hurried to the couch to collect his suit, shirt, and tie. When I tried to pick up his shoes, they fell out of my still-numb fingers.

  "I'm sorry, Master."

  "Just get it done."

  I rushed to follow my orders. I thought maybe if I did this well, he would be kind to me later. Perhaps before we slept, he would let me suck him at least.

  When I returned to the living room, he told me to get the restraints and put them on my wrists and ankles. Once I have them fastened, he told me to sit in the chair. It was a big wing chair with a back high and wide enough that he could fasten my wrists above my head. The chair was wide enough that he could stretch my legs and leave me entirely exposed to whatever he wanted to do to me.

  He fastened the restraints and picked up the box of clamps. There was an assortment of plastic clothespins in bright, almost neon colors in there. But there was also a smaller box with special clamps for ‘special purposes’. The clothespins came first.

  He fastened them in a row down the skin on my upper arm, the tender skin on the inside. With each new pinch, I gasped.

  When both arms were clamped, my Master clipped the clothespins in a row down the sensitive skin that goes from my armpit to my breasts. He liked symmetry, and continued the line of clips along the sides of my breasts all the way to my nipple. That’s when he opened the special box and took out a pair of diamond-studded nipple clamps. He had given them to me on my birthday.

  "No," he said, shaking his head. "You don't deserve these. You've been dishonest with me." He put them back in the box and clipped bright red clothespins on each of my nipples with a smile. I cried out from the pain and humiliation of it.

  My Master decorated my stomach with clothespins, and then my inner thighs. He put larger clamps on my pussy lips and fastened their chains to my ankle restraints. I was wide open to his gaze, and he lingered over the sight of my exposed slit and my clit.

  "Let's make this a little more interesting," He said as he picked up a riding crop.

  The first blow landed on my ass; short, sharp blows that made my skin tingle. He cropped my thighs, then ran the tip of the crop along the row of clothespins.

  "This is what happens to lying, disobedient girls," he said, and laid the crop directly on my clit.

  I tried to choke back a cry, and failed miserably. "Please, that hurts." I begged.

  "I know." He struck again, twice. "I'm glad it hurts." I squirmed under the punishment, hissing through my teeth as the pain prickled along my pussy lips.

  "I am too," I said in tears. He struck again and again, punishing the part of me that betrayed him.

  "Did you really think I'd reward you after you gave in to your selfish whims?" he asked as he smacked my inner thigh again, much harder this time. The tip of the crop comes down on my skin two, three, four times and I gasp out, "I'm sorry! I’m so sorry, Master! I was thinking of you."

  He stopped. "What did you say?"

  "It was you I was thinking of. When I was touching myself."

  The crop landed twice on my swollen clit and twice more on my aching pussy lips. "You're a liar."

  "I'm not! I found myself thinking about how much I wanted you, and I couldn't help myself. I had to touch myself."

  "Tell me exactly what you were thinking," he ordered.

  I took a deep breath. "You haven't fucked me in a long time, and I miss it. I was thinking about your body."

  "And?"

  "I thought about how much I love the feel of it on top of me. I was thinking about how good that fat cock of yours feels as it slips inside my pussy."

  He slapped me again with the crop. "Haven't I taught you to use the right words?"

  "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I was thinking about the pleasure your fat penis gives me when you're inside my vagina."

  "Anything else?"

  "I thought a lot about how it felt last time we were having intercourse and you ejaculated inside me. I thought about you filling me up with your semen."

  I could see that he was aroused. His thick cock was straining against his silk boxers.

  "You swear to me that this is the truth?"

  "Look how wet I am just talking about it."

  And then, miraculously, he got down on one knee and slid a finger between my pussy lips. "You're soaked." He rubbed the juice on my clit. "Perhaps I've been too hasty."

  He bent his head and flicked his tongue across my clit, sucking it into his mouth with a kiss. It was both intensely painful and pleasurable after the whipping and I could feel myself growing wetter by the minute.

  He pressed his fingers into me and fucked me with them as he suckled against my clit. The pleasure was almost unbearable. I withered in the chair and tried to roll my hips against his teasing mouth.

  "I've been remiss. This isn't your fault, little one, it's my shame that I haven't done right by you sexually in far too long." He rubbed my clit and pussy lips with his slick fingers in a gesture that was almost tender. "I can't expect you to be a good slave if I'm not a good Master."

  He opened the special box and took out the third diamond clamp. "I love to watch you squirm," he told me as he fastened the clamp just above my clit. "You’re so sensitive." He flicked his finger against the clip and I was overwhelmed with the sensations that shot through my body. I started to gasp, barely able to take a full breath into my lungs.

  Then my Master lowered his boxers and kicked them away. His thick cock was half erect. I ached to feel it inside me. I could barely breathe.

  "Look at me," he ordered as he took hold of his cock and stroked it firmly. "This is for you," he told me, his fingers caressing the dark crimson head. “Because it's what a good Master owes his slave."

  I watched his dick grow and strain against his fingers. He worked it until it was stiff and jutting out in front of him. With a smile, he bent and put the tip against my slick, swollen pussy lips and pushed inward.

  Because of the whipping, my whole pussy was so sensitive that it throbbed as he penetrated me. I felt every inch, every millimeter of his engorged flesh pushing past my lips and into my wet, waiting slit.

  He pulled the clips off my thighs, and lifted me up to stuff his cock inside me. The size of him sometimes overwhelmed me. My body strained around his thick shaft. The pain from where the clamps were on my thighs was almost agonizing when he moved against the abused flesh.

  He flicked the clamp on my clit again and I was lost. My orgasm rushed through me quickly, leaving me wanting more.

  "Fuck me, "I begged him. "Fuck me hard."

  He started to thrust, slowly at first, his cock chafing my tender lips. He pulled out until only his head was inside me, and then pushed back the whole way.

  It was slow, deliberate, deep fucking.

  One-by-one he removed the clips on my belly and arms, then finally on my breasts. The pain of removal was even more intense than the pain of clamping them in place. When he removed the clothespins from my nipples I screamed from the shock of it.

  Without warning, he pulled his cock out of me. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "I just wasn't ready for that, but I'm fine."

  "You sure?" He was so good at making sure I wasn’t in serious pain.
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br />   "I'm good, I promise, I'm good," I assured him.

  "I think these need to come off," he said as he unfastened the restraints around my wrists and ankles. "I can't get a good angle inside you like that."

  "Dining room table?" I asked. It was a good height for fucking.

  He carried me over there even though I told him I could walk. He set me down on a towel. I put my feet up on the table and scooted forward, and as I did I have a thought. "We should get a gynecologist's table for the basement."