Not Just Randomly Sadistic

Breakfast in a greasy spoon cafe; we eat bacon sandwiches with HP sauce and drink bright orange tea from mugs. D grips my chin between his finger and thumb and draws me towards him across the table, licking a dribble of sauce from my bottom lip then nipping it between his teeth. I wriggle in my plastic chair, my bum pink and tender from this morning’s whipping.

D laughs at me, “Still sore?”

“No.” My face is hot from such an obvious lie.

“I mustn’t be doing it hard enough.”

He is. It’s time to distract him so I fiddle crossly with my bra strap. “Tsk, I can’t get this adjusted properly; it’s such a problem when they’re new.” I sneak a glance at his face. Good, bovine expressionlessness. That’s the correct male response to a flash of chartreuse green satin bra. I’ve been shopping early for Christmas at Top Shop and while I couldn’t resist breaking out the green satin immediately, I have safely squirreled away the peach sequined hotpants and matching bra for a more festive occasion.

Having reasserted the balance of power in the relationship, I take a big glug of tea. My throat is still raw from the struggle to hold his cock all the way down while he timed me. I’m not absolutely convinced this was the result of an erotic impulse in him; it might equally have been because he has a silly new watch with lots of buttons and gadgets and they were the real turn on. Anyway, things we learned form this include: D needs to take his watch off so he can press the button with one hand and grip my hair with the other; holding my nose is not a significant help; and I can do 50 seconds with a moderate amount of struggling and gagging before the urge to vomit makes me shove him away. My failure to manage a whole minute is what earned me my whipping this morning; I wouldn’t want you to think he was just randomly sadistic or anything.