I think it’s a very telling thing about my tastes and my personality when I rarely have a story in which a man dominates a woman strictly. And when I do, it’s almost always a very, very short story.
For you ladies (and men) who like a good man-in-charge smoking fetish story, my apologies. I’ll try to work on that. In the meantime, a tidbit of male domination action…
By Smokedawg
In hindsight, it was the worst word she could have used. The worst way she could possibly have begun their time together.
Please.
She kneeled there on the rug as she had been directed, naked and free of any makeup or perfume, hands behind her back, face toward the floor. She’d done everything perfectly, been the perfect sub. Done everything her master could expect of her and had been ready to accept bonds or lashes or clips or pinches.
But she had whispered, “Please…”
It had come unbidden. She hadn’t wanted to speak. Hadn’t wanted to say it, but she couldn’t help it.
“Please what?” he said fiercely from behind her. He barely raised his voice, but the clear irritation, disappointment, anger and command were there.
And now she was caught. She had to finish. She had to say something.
But she dare not say, “Please be kind” or “Please don’t hurt me” or “Please be gentle.”
Because she wanted none of these things. She wanted to be dominated, and she liked pain with her pleasure, preferably in a 1-to-2 ratio.
She also dare not say, “Please do your worst” because he might.
Yet she also could not say, “Please use me as you please” or “Please take me in any way you like.”
Because those were already rights she had given him. Those were already his prerogative, and to say to please do what he already was entitled to do would be to annoy him.
Before his anger could rise, perhaps leaving her with no orgasm tonight—or worse yet, with him telling her to begone, she had her escape.
“Please, master, help me be the best slave I can be to you.”
She could feel the tension drain behind her, and felt the sudden sharp kiss of a riding crop across her back. The pain sizzled quickly up and down her spine, a quick burst of sensation, and her pussy twitched in response. She did not yelp but sighed. She swallowed the pain into herself and emitted pleasure instead. This would not anger him, because he knew she felt the pain and respected that she could love it. Just as she could love the freedom he had over her body when she was locked in bondage.
She had avoided saying what she had wanted to, which was, “Please don’t make me smoke.”
He had been threatening to do just that. She had quit years ago, a hard-won fight to be free from an addiction. And she supposed that had driven her more fiercely to this new addiction, to be controlled by a man. To give her body and get less in return than what she gave, and to find the joy in that.
She knew he planned to make today that day to make her smoke for him. He liked smoke, he had told her. He liked the way a feminine cigarette mixed with the smoke of one of his cigars. He liked the way it perfumed a woman’s body and breath. He liked the way it felt on his cock.
And she had seen the corner of a pack of Eves poking out from his bag.
But she had avoiding saying those words.
She avoided the urge to say them again as she heard the soft snip of a cigar cutter and the ignition of a lighter. Heard the gentle puffing of a cigar brought to life and scented the first hints of the harsh smoke that such gentle sucking could produce.
She felt his smoke wash over her and was as grateful for it as she would be for the stripes of a flogger. She breathed it in, and made it her own, and did not sneer but gasped with pleasure instead that he graced her thus.
Then the smoke was closer, and his body pressing against her back, as she felt the filter of a cigarette placed against her lips, and heard the click of the lighter.
She did not hesitate. If she was slave to him, she would be slave to smoke again for him as long as he desired. And she hoped only that she wouldn’t find nicotine to be a more powerful master. Hoped it would not be something that would steal devotion to itself and away from him.
She did not say “Please don’t make me do this.”
She did not say, “Please don’t make me smoke more than one.”
She did not say, “Please don’t make me an addict again to smoke.”
She simply inhaled deeply, and mixed her feminine smoke with his masculine smoke.
And pleased him.
No comments:
Post a Comment