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Opowiadania: Szhival - Misbehaved [18+|M/M|ENG]  
Autor: Szhival
Opublikowano: 2014/1/31
Przeczytano: 1551 raz(y)
Rozmiar 8.47 KB

Jak wrzucic mam wszedzie, to wrzucam wszedzie :D


You whimper.
Last sound allowed by your Master for you to make, before the ball gag slides into place in your muzzle. The hard, rubber ball presses against your teeth as your owner secures its buckle over the back of your head. Rubbing your tongue over the surface you feel the previous teeth marks you left on the ball, bite marks left both from pain and pleasure your Master allowed you. The taste, slowly filling your muzzle, bitter, salty, your own seed, spilled over the gag as you were allowed, ordered to paw off while he was simply watched. Un-amused, not caring, cold eyes, which you were ordered to look into, to see the shame and dissatisfaction you caused for your Master with your transgression.
"Do you feel guilt?" He asked, as you came with a moan worthy only a slave, a pet, a slut like you could muster. "Do you feel the weight of your actions, pet?". You nod, why wouldn't you? A pets sole purpose is to satisfy his Master, a pet should be always caring only about his owners needs.
Then why do you deserve punishment?
Bare footpaws slowly encircle you, claws sounding against the stone floor. No words are needed, no sound required, just you and your Master's breath. He stands behind you, your ears already low, his breath brushes over your collared neck, causing you to shiver. A fingertip sliding under your collar, warm touch that makes your skin go into goose bumps. Nothing needs to be said. "Do you still want to be mine?" His fingers ask. "Do you accept the punishment that comes with it?" His claws ask, as his second hand slides down your chest, brushing over your nipple, before they press their tips into your belly.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose. He always gives you choice and he always allows you to take a step back. Yet you always agree to take two more steps further. His smell. It's almost always Masters smell that fills you with the desire to be his. A mixture of fur shampoo and that hint of his natural musk, like a hidden needle that's covered in a poisonous drug, intoxicating you, heating up the passion to find its source and stay there.
You lift your neck, exposing it to your owner. You murr through the gag. "I do Master". He understands your body language even better then you do his. The tip of his fangs slowly close around the side of your neck, biting down until he hears you squeal, drawing a single drop of blood, a signature of your further submission to him. His hand reaches down your body, brushing his fingertips through your fur, until he reaches your groin. He wraps his hand around your half-hard malehood, wiping it with a silky soft piece of cloth. You almost fall down as he takes a step back. The same piece of cloth is wrapped around your eyes, your own smell slowly drying into your fur from the blindfold.
A familiar sound of a leash being attached to your collar readies you for the tug as your Master pulls you, signaling you to walk with him. Having just enough time to move onto all fours, you follow your owner. The stone floor is a bit rough, and cold under your limbs, but at least you're guided with care, and aside from the occasional loose of balance you luckily don't walk into anything. The walk isn't long. As the leash stops pulling, you freeze, just a moment before bumping you nosetip into Masters legs. You hear metal jiggling as your owner readies something. Suddenly, your nose comes in contact with the underside of Masters bare footpaw. He chuckles, apparently teasing you, as he readies your punishment. A blunt clawtip rubs your chin, the paw pressing a bit harder. The biggest toe brushes around your lips, spread by the gag, as you do all that you can - nuzzle and rub your wet, cold nosetip over your owner's pawpads. Your ears lower a bit as Master calls you his pawslut, but you cannot stop yourself, cannot deny your owner the service he demands.
Rubbing his feet over your face one last time, he finally steps away from you, again pulling you by the collar. This time, Masters paws guide you, as he pulls you onto a padded bench. The adjustable bench is familiar to you, but this time your owner slid so high, that as you climb on it, you can no longer feel the floor with your limbs. The device welcomes you with the touch of cold leather, softly squeaking as you lay on it. Your owner pulls your limbs, wrapping leather cuffs around your wrists and ankles, attaching them to the bench, robbing you of your mobility. Your hands are strapped together, right under your malehood, and as your owner works you, shameless drips of your own precum drop right onto your palms. Your legs are pulled apart, tail pulled up by an extra strap attached to your collar. Exposed, your Master encircles you. Even with the blindfold, you can feel his ice blue eyes following the curves of your bound body. You almost see his white fangtips as he grins at his helpless pet.
His clawtips slowly run down your back, pressing into your exposed rear, his happy purr louder in the air then your helpless whimper. The first slap always hurt the most - unexpected, coming down upon your rear without warning. Just a quick move of your Masters paw, hitting down your teased rear, leaving a burning sensation, a stinging feeling where each of your owners fingers swatted your asscheek. The second hit was always different. You know it was coming, but your owner always loved playing with you, waiting for your body to relax, waiting until that spark of hope ignites, that maybe, just maybe the second hit isn't coming. He always had a great sense for the right moment and the second swat always came as surprisingly as the first one, reigniting the pain and deepening the shame.
But the time for surprise is over, and so your Masters paws come down on your rear again and again, each hit making you yip through your gag, music for your owners ears. One last surprise finally comes, as he changes his bare hands for a wooden paddle, large enough to ignite your skin with stinging pain on your whole asscheek with one hit. And it's always more then just one hit, yips turning into muffled whimpers as the cruel wood slaps you again and again, the pain feeling as if someone pulled every single nerve ending from your rear, mashed them into a pulp, then ignited them before pressing them back in. Time seems to fold into a loop for you: hit - smack - burning pain - cold breeze - hit again. Lost in it, you almost fail to notice your Master has stopped - the pain not going down for quite a while, both of your red cheeks numb from it. A clawtip slowly runs over your oversensitive flesh, feeling like a knife cutting your body, while in truth it's barely brushing your skin. Your owner grins, as he writes letters on your rear, asking you what word he just wrote.
“Slut.” You can't answer through the gag, but the sound you make seems to pass as an answer. You hear a laugh. Then a goodbye slap onto your abused rear. His slut. He again leaves you for a moment, footsteps and your long, harsh breath is the only sound filling the room. A shiver runs down your spine, as you know the final act of your punishment comes.
It begins with your Master circling around you, his fingertips brushing through your fur with care and warmth. He knows all your weak spots, all the triggers he has to press to make you squirm in need. Teasing with his touch, as a shiver runs up your spine, giving you goosebumps. His paws finally find their target, each groping an asscheek, spreading them apart.
The tip of the toy is already lubed - and you know that's all what you'll get. The blunt tip slowly rubs around your entrance, your Master applying pressure until it slides its way inside you. And you recognize the toy. Recognize one of the most devious possessions of your owner. The plug swiftly slides inside you, once the tip is past your ring. And no surprise - it's not an impressive toy, both in length, and width. Its warm base presses between your legs, as its secured inside you. Your owner gives it a soft pat, and leaves your hindquarters.
Only a few words leave his lips.
"It's set on random. For six hours."
Six hours of being teased with an inflatable, vibrating butt plug.
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