It starts with a message - clear, concise instructions. I shiver when I read them and feel the wetness growing between my legs.

When I arrive, restraints are laid out, sinking into the pillowy surface of the pristine white comforter that envelops the four-poster bed. The message said I am to put them on: the cuffs for both wrists and ankles, the collar. There are other implements. I try not to focus on the flogger, the anal plug, or the rope.

I take off my dress, leaving only the lacy lingerie, as I follow my commands. I place the clothes neatly out of the way and secure the leash hanging from the bed to the deep blue collar that is now snug around my neck. I notice that the rope is the same indigo hue as the cuff set and the lingerie. The meticulousness makes me shiver.

As I kneel at the foot of the bed, the leash is just long enough to make the collar uncomfortably tight. Each breath is noticeable as I strain against it. It doesn't matter; I am to wait as I have been told.

When he enters the room, a smirk slowly spreads across his face as he looks me up and down, taking his time. His gaze lingers at the top of my breasts, where red-gold hair is curling against blue lace and pale creamy skin. I watch as his eyes move lower to my erect nipples, which are straining against the sheer fabric.

The clear pleasure evident in his face as I eagerly looked up at him is what made the slap so shocking.

“Thank me,” he said.

I'm eager to please and do so with alacrity, thanking him again as a second slap lands against the other cheek. I try not to wince but fail as I see his hand raise a third time. Instead of the expected blow, he gently tucks a curl softly behind my ear, fingertips brushing my cheek and making me shiver as he does so. His other hand slides into my panties, feeling my wetness. Fingers graze against my clit for a tantalizing moment, making me buck and eliciting a growl of pleasure from my tormentor, before they are gone, and I am being helped to my feet.

He kicks my feet apart and positions me. The way he binds me to the end posts of the bed, standing with arms and legs spread, makes me think of da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. My round ass faces him, helpless.

The heavy, stinging blows of the flogger begin to land on my ass, and I almost immediately begin to cry. His breathing gets heavier, the blows get harder. He wants more tears, and I give them freely. I beg him to stop. I tell him I've changed my mind. I do not want this, but this is what I need. What I begged for. He knows it and does not accede to my pleading requests.

The blows continue, and I count each one aloud as he instructs, until finally, it is finished, and I think I will be free of the strain of each of my limbs being pulled in separate directions. I can tell from the sound of his belt being undone that I am wrong.

“Beg me for it, slut.”

“Please,” I whimper. “Please fuck me, Sir. I need it. I need to be used.”

“Do you want to be my good little fuck doll?”

“Yes,” I practically groan. “Please make me your little fuck doll. You can do anything to me. Please fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he growls as he places a hand around my throat, another in my hair. With a well-placed shove, his thick cock is deep inside of me.

The girth of it feels like it is splitting me in two, but I am so wet my body begins to accommodate him. I writhe against my bonds and he pounds into me. I can barely breathe with his hand wrapped tight around my throat. Barely think. Has he been fucking me two minutes? Twenty? My limbs are screaming. I’m screaming. And his hand moves over my mouth, covering my screams as he grunts and fills me with rope after rope of semen.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he says menacingly as I hang limp, his cum dripping out of me.

“Yes Master,” I say through a haze of pain and pleasure. Sated with the knowledge that I know I have pleased him well.