Too Late

 

I whip the slave the stronger I can. She doesn't respect me. I see it in the corner of her mouth, a shade of a smile that shouldn't be there.

I'm her mistress, but she doesn't respect me. She's here because she needs it, but she doesn't love me. She doesn't love me the way I need her to do, so I whip her the stronger I can.

I whip her like she deserves, like she needs, like she wants.

I hope she cum soon, just to force her to have an orgasm the way I like her to have. And then, another, and another, and another...

The skinny slave has tears in her eyes, but they are giggling... she loves it- not me, the beating. For her, I'm nothing more than an extension of the whip.

I whip her as strong as I can. As I always do.

Inside, she keeps smiling because even if I'm failing to keep my temper. I give her to her needs, and no more. 

 Somewhere inside me, I wish to destroy her and her smile. To be strong, but I'm a weak mistress.

She likes me to be weak, she likes to make me angry, she likes to know that she can handle more than what I am capable of. 

She likes to be the real one in control. She delights in it.

She likes the pain and I very much like to give it to her, again and again and again, to make her feel stronger than ever.

But we have no needles; the whore forgot to buy a new packet from last Thursday. I don't want to go out, and buy syringes in a pharmacy that keeps open this late.

Not that this could be done without spreading rumors, in this rat hole of village they call a town, where everybody's peeping the rest of the world.

And I know, we both know, she didn't really forget, I didn't forget to remind her... we both knew what we were going to try today, what we were really tingling to do, even if it's our "Needles Thursday".

Unspoken words sometimes can be felt just loud enough.

There is a mountain to climb, something that we have always failed to achieve, no matter how hard we tried... I was too weak, she was weak too... we let it for when we were stronger. NOW WE ARE - maybe.

The rope is a little bit too long, but I don't want to cut it. We need it for other games, maybe I should really buy some more.

I do my best to bind her tits tight, right at the base, first with a band two inches wide, then with the rope... I manage to obtain a solid knot, in the middle of her breast... to verify if it slips, as it did the last time, I put my right hand into the knot I try to raise her from the floor.
It didn't work, I'm too weak, but the harness seams to stay firmly in place... we've improved.

It's hard to do because her tits are not as big as they ought to be, but we really want to try a suspension by them. We want it desperately.
While I lower the pulley, she helps me... I don't like when she helps me like this. She's supposed not to like what we are going to do now; she's breaking the rules of our play.

I pass a security cable under her armpits... in case of any problem it will share some weight and assure that things will not come to the worst. 

I hook the knot and the security cable to the pulley, and I start to pull... I'm weak, I can't raise her without a multiple pulley, as I wish... as she wish.

I know she wants some strong yet classy mistress; a Lisa Lyon turned domme. I should have never gotten her that Mapplethorpe book.

She dreams of a woman stronger than the average man, while she's stuck with me: a diminutive, skinny brunette. 

But I'm the most reliable domme that she has found; the others were crazy, fat, ugly, devious or all of that at the same time.

Or, at least, it's what she says... it hurts me, to be her most reliable choice; the most reliable, not the best. 

I'm pretty sure of it, the bitch doesn't love me; she will run away with some shady mistress, one with a silver tongue and a sparkling technique, and I will never see her again.

I pull the rope… at first, she climbs on her toes, trying to escape the force that's stretching her flesh, deforming her boobs in a couple of balloons placed above the line of her clavicles. 

I love the wrinkles in her skin, from right under the rope to the base of her chest.

Her eyes stare at me, like they always do. They are full of pain; but I see no fear in them, and no respect for me.

She looks at me as if I am just an instrument of her lust for pain. 

Some tears run through the make-up, she lifts her left hand to clean it. As always, there was no need to tie her arms.

Four inches from the floor, she starts gasping. 

Not a great height, but I wage she's got vertigo now. 

When her tits are deep purple, I decide that she had enough... yet she keeps smiling. I feel the temptation of leaving her up awhile.... she's smiling.

The fucked bitch is smiling at me, her tits menacing to part from her torso and she's smiling at her mistress like it was nothing.

I untie her, her legs are a little shaky - at least she felt something. 

I take a longer whip; I whip her cunt from her front, bottom-up, the tip of the flogger reaching her back. She keeps her look into my eyes, more defiant than ever.

I clean my right hand from her greasy foundation, no need to dirty the whip's handle.

I continue, till I decide she's softened enough for our new toy.

It took my time to carve its plaster mould, and more money than what seemed right to convince my friends at the foundry to make it.

"A folly of the artist", they said in front of the big bronze cock I made for her, full of protuberances that should take her fucking smile away, yet smooth enough to be safe to use.

My orders are simple: she has to sit around it – not on top, or over… around It.

She can use whatever she wants, oil, grease, butter, silicone gel, prayers... she has all the time to do her deed, and the bronze is so smooth I have no doubt she will succeed.

I spent hours polishing my masterpiece, savoring this moment.

She climbs at the top of the monster, she puts her left hand on the leg of a nearby trestle and, finally, she raises cautiously her legs, putting weight upon her labia. 

It's slow, and I can almost hear the sound of the flesh surrendering to the force of gravity.

I know she can't take it all; nobody could... when she reaches her limit, and she puts her legs more firmly on the ground, stopping the fall. 

I don't say anything. She did more than what I dared to dream of; as she always do.

I force her to stay seated for a little longer than what she would be comfortable with.

The tension is starting to make her legs shake harder. 
Soon enough, her muscles will cease to hold her weight as her legs are spread too wide to bear one body's weight with ease. 

She will lose control and completely impale herself.

And she knows this way better than me.

She's on the verge of a crisis, when I finally let her stand up. 

She's crying. She's sobbing. She's hurting, more than she ever did before... She's satisfied, more than she ever was before.

I look at the slave in the mirror. 

Her left hand comes to her watery eyes, when I clean the sweat from my forehead.

My right hand gets dirty another time. 

As always, as the last stunt of the day, I try to put my fist into her ass.

I never succeeded, but each time we do a little better. We entered almost to the knuckles, today.

While I'm working our butt, she starts groaning and moaning. 

She's at the edge of her resistance, on the brink of a fourth orgasm.

I take her to the limit. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of me. I take another look into the mirror.

The makeup is a dissolved, confused mask around my eyes.

Tears keep flowing freely, while my mistress in the mirror nods at me. 

I need to do more yoga, if I want to put that fist where it belongs...

I can hardly stand up, legs won't keep me...

Alone as I entered, I walk out of my "games room". 

The slave in the mirror comes with me, her mistress. 

The bronze cock we carved rests in the room, waiting for us.

Sorry, for me. I have to find a very convinced slave girl, or a merciless but honest mistress.

I have to go out of this little, miserable city where the people pass its life peeping over each others' shoulders.

I need to find the woman I need to love. To start acting like the person that I now know I am and not like I'm supposed to behave.

I have to go looking for her; I have to be free to be a slaved cunt, or to beat my girl senseless.

I have to go, before my mind starts falling apart.

When I reach my bed I know that, if there was a mirror there, the innocent girl I was would look at me aghast.

Maybe, it's already too late.

Note: it has passed quite a bit of time since I wrote this. It feels a bit pretentious, today...