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For me, the anticipation had been building. I had, for so long, been eagerly awaiting this moment when PD would once again take my wrists and so nimbly apply them with rope.
As he continued the binding by tying my elbows, and subsequently securing my arms to the column in an intense, backward stretch I could feel the excitement begin to overwhelm me. The sensation of moisture that had been accumulating inside me since we began had now escalated to where I could feel it begin to run down my leg.
Now fully attached to the column, securely fastened far from the ground with my bent knees supporting my weight. I prayed that PD would notice the mess I was making below. I imagined him cramming his hand into the moisture, which made me wetter. I wanted him to punish me for making such a mess, by ordering me to thoroughly clean his hand with my tongue. I wanted to feel him force his fist into my mouth and force me to suck until I had extracted all remnants of my naughty indiscretion.
Even as my mind was filled with such erotic thoughts, each arousing me more then the last, every slap of the flog brought me closer to reality. The pain coursing through my back muscles grew more intense, as did the screaming and the sexual desire.
As if reading my mind, my master took pity, stroking his finger tips gingerly across my clit all the memories of pain in my thighs, aching in my shoulders and the sting of the flog all became so distant. As if only DŽjˆ vu.
Harder and faster his hand worked magically, escalating the pleasureful sensations that were driving me mad. I felt certain I would cum at and second, but I knew I must wait.
The longer I held off the more I could feel my clit writhing under my masterÕs fingers. My pussy began contracting involuntarily. I was getting so close to an explosion.
Then he stopped.
That was the worst torture.
What mercy master showed in allowing me those few moments of pleasure.
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