textfiles/sex/EROTICA/0/2worship.txt

			 To Worship You
	
	Can I hurt someone that I want to worship? A single thought, 
a single question. I keep asking myself that, as I look down at your 
body. I tie you in a kneeling position. I tie your hands to the corners of 
my futon. The knees held apart by a spreader bar and resting on the 
floor. I debate if I should place a pillow under them, but I know that 
you would not like this gesture. 
	I know that you don't want me to be gentle. I know that you 
don't want me to do anything to protect you. Can I hurt someone that I 
want to worship? Again that nagging thought. I check the ties at your
wrists, making sure that I can remove them in seconds. I know in my 
heart, that you will not cry safe word. Perhaps that scares me. I know 
that it scares me.
	I move around to your face and lift it off the thick mattress. 
Your beautiful blue eyes stare back at me, slipping into your own space. 
Oh how much I want to please you. How much I want to be used by 
you. I steal a quick gentle kiss from your soft lips, and place the thick 
leather blindfold over your eyes. My kiss causes your body to jerk 
slightly in frustration. I think.
	I look at your lips and wonder what those full lips would look 
like around a gag. I know that I will not put that gag in your mouth, I 
need to hear you cry out. To know that this is what you want me to do. 
I still do not believe that you wish this from me. My mind cries 
"wouldn't you rather do this to me?", But I am far too afraid to ask. Can 
I hurt you? All that is inside me wants to ask, but I can not.
	The "toy chest" is open at your feet. I look inside it, still not 
believing that it is me that is looking at them. My master has told me 
many times that I am a switch. I am supposed to have rage in me that 
would allow me to do this. Right now, I am not so sure.
	I choose my toys with care. My shaking hands move into the 
black box and remove a cat. It is large bladed with a long studded 
handle. So strange to touch this weapon that has often reduced me to 
tears. I place it on the floor, straightening out the blades. Next out of the 
chest is a riding crop with a large keeper. The crop is soon joined on the 
floor by a flicker whip. My body shudders. Such a deadly little device. I 
do not know if I can use it on you. I wish that you where holding it, and 
not me. I remove a small black rubber whip that has little nubs on the 
blades. The last two items are a paddle and a strap. I wonder if I am 
putting these out so that I may find the courage to use them.
	You have not told me what type of pain you enjoy. I know 
that you don't want to be branded, burned, cut. I know I could never do 
that to you. I wish to ask. Damn it! Why do you have to be 
masochistic? 
	Such a strong beautiful body. I want to run my hands though 
your jet black silky hair. To feel your hard arms and soft breasts. To cup 
your full ass and rub your powerful thighs. I wonder what my head 
would feel like between those thighs. To have my head trapped there as 
you grab my face, forcing me to fuck you like you need to be fucked. 
What strong hands you must have. 
	I move up and press my lips to your ear and I whisper  "your 
safe word is destiny." You nod. I command you to repeat it. I can't bear 
how false I must sound to your ears. You must know. "Destiny" you 
hiss.
	I control a sigh. Such a sweet sound from your lips. I reward 
you with another kiss. I lick your lips with soft flicking motions. I am 
amazed that your tongue would come out to meet mine. I suck on your 
tongue, loving the taste.
	I move back down to the black box. As if by magic, a pair of 
tweezer style nipple clamps appears in my hands. I hold them by the 
chain and let the drop onto your warm back. Your sharp intake of 
breath fills the silent room. 
	The silence bothers me. It makes me feel that I must do 
something. As if I must do something, when I can do nothing. I leave 
the room and get the CD player. I put on a Digital Underground CD, 
something that I know that you like. Your blindfolded face wrinkles up 
in confusion. I mentally slap myself in the face and put on music that I 
know you don't like, music from the romantic period. Your body 
relaxes and a slight smile crosses your face.
	You know! You know that I just want to be yours. You know 
that this is hard for me. But you are going to do it because you want me 
to suffer. I feel myself start to blush as a hot wave shoots though me. 
You must know how much this humiliates me, and how much I love 
that humiliation.
	I take the warmed nipple clamps off your wonderful back. 
Such light brown color, just like milk chocolate. A beautiful contrast to 
my own pale skin. I ask you to rise up so that I may put on the claps, 
then command you to do so. I am pleased to see that your dark nipples 
are hardened in expectation.
	I take the right one in my hand. "Tell me when they are tight 
enough." I slide the ring up the clamps until you tell me to stop. Then I 
tightened them just a little further. You smile. Damn you! I take the left 
nipple and do the same. Tightening it even further than the one of the 
right. I put a hand on your back and push you down flat onto the 
mattress.
	I go back to the chest and pull out a long thin leather strip with 
a snap hook on one end. Fastening the strip to the head of the bed, and 
the snap to your nose ring, I ensure that you will not rise up far. It 
worries me that you may try to damage that wonderful face of yours, so 
I warn you. "You had better not try to raise up, or you'll tear your ring 
out." You nod the best that you can.
	Another item comes out of that chest, a medium sized butt 
plug. I debate if I should use lubricant or not, but I cannot bring myself 
to hurt you that way. I apply a huge amount of K-Y jelly to your 
asshole and to my fingers. I slowly press one of them inside you. How 
wonderfully warm you are there. I gently stroke you with my finger, 
letting you become accustomed to it. Then I insert another finger and 
stoke you some more. Finally  I lubricate the plug and press it in. I can 
see that it is a little too large for you, and that it hurts you. I can not tell 
how much it hurts you. I panic. Should I stop?
	I move to untie you, but your body relaxes. I look you over, 
taking in the details. Your ass cheeks clenching, your slight whimpers, 
the raking of your fingernails across the sheets, your knees pressing 
against the spreader bar. This pleases me greatly, and I am ashamed 
because it does. 
	I wonder what to do. It was easy to get you into this position, 
but now what? I run my hands down your neck and back. Just feeling, 
not hurting you. I want you to feel good. That is all that I want. I run 
my hands down your sides, letting my fingernails lightly rake your 
body. I watch as goose bumps appear on your body, just as they do on 
mine.
	I dig my fingernails into your further. Oh how much I love it 
when my master does this to me. You moan slightly and move your 
ass. 
	The handle of the paddle feels smooth in my hands. I bring it 
down softly on your ass. The smacking sound is very faint. I don't think 
I hit you hard enough. I want to ask you how hard to hit you, but won't. 
I know you would enjoy that. My mind sneers at me, and again I 
wonder how I can hurt something so beautiful as you are.
	You moan in a rather impatient way. I hit you harder -- the 
sound louder than before. Your chocolate skin starts to redden a little. 
Red. So wonderfully red. I bring it again, switching to the other cheek. 
Not very hard, but much harder than before. The skin reddens even 
more.
	I am fascinated at the way skin goes red after it has been 
struck. Left cheek. Right cheek. Left cheek. Right cheek. Each time 
harder than the last. Each time faster than the last. Each time the 
wonderful red color deepens. Each time your body moves into the 
blow.
	After I stop, you cry in frustration. I reach down and begin to 
squeeze and pinch the reddened skin. You stiffen some, but do not cry 
out. I pick up the paddle and begin to redden the skin even more. I am 
entranced by your ass and the contrast of the light brown with the red.
	Left - SMACK - right - SMACK. I have worked up to a pace 
that is beginning to tire my arms and sting my hands. You still haven't 
cried out. I wonder if I am doing something wrong. I wonder if I am 
hurting you enough. My arms start to ache, and I must stop. I run my 
hands over your red ass, feeling your heat. I can't resist pinching the 
skin to see how you will react.
	I put down the paddle and pick up the small rubber whip. I 
know how this feels when my master uses it on me. I don't strike you, 
but rather "dust" you with it. Quick short strokes, almost like I was 
using a feather duster. You clamp down on a cry, and I am strangely 
pleased with this. 
	I start to hit you with the rubber whip. I am very gentle, as I 
know that this whip has a hard bite. I move down to the back of your 
legs, taking care not to strike your inner thighs. Red welts follow the 
whip. Different that the paddle, but somehow still comfortable. I move 
down to your calves and work them over harder than your ass or thighs.
	You start to shift away from the whip. As if your body can 
actually get away. You lung forwards, then back almost pulling your 
nose ring out. I remove the binding on your nose ring and put down the 
rubber whip.
	While I start to decide what to use next, you are granted a brief 
rest. I do not know if you are happy or angry about this short break. I 
choose the strap and go back to work on your ass.
	The color is going into a deep red color, the heat increasing 
even more. The strap leaves a broad square red welt and I leave the 
welts on your thighs and calves and inner thighs. You are crying out 
now, no very loud, but definitely crying out.
	Those cries give me a perverse thrill and I bring the strap down 
harder to get more cries out of you. I want them louder, more pained. I 
hit you back without breaking rhythm and you cry out in surprise and 
pain.
	I am not sure if I have hit you too hard, but continue to lash 
out anyway. It takes me a long while to work that gorgeous back of 
yours into that red color that I love. My arms are numb, my mind is 
numb.
	I put down the strap and pick up the crop. I have to get further 
away from your body before I can use it. It feels strange to me. Long 
and thin with a large square piece of leather on the end. I take a practice 
swing with it and like the sound. 
	I bring the square of leather down upon your thighs. The 
slapping sound is odd, but still rather pleasant. The recoil of the crop 
almost takes it out of my hands. I get a firmer grip and strike down at 
your ass. You yelp in surprise, you thought I had forgotten your ass. 
	I remember that my master moves the crop very fast and I 
wonder how he does it. I practice for a bit until I find that the recoil of 
the crop can be used to make it faster. I start to lay into your ass. Hard 
and fast blows. Switching cheeks, but keeping away from a rhythm. I 
don't want you to adjust, I want you to hurt. 
	I move down to your inner thighs and place the crop between 
them. I start to slap them both. Yanking the crop to the right, then to the 
left, to the right, then the left, it is just like a pain pendulum. I move the 
pendulum up until I am just under your clit. Then back until I am just 
above your knees. I cycle up and down, wrecking your thighs. I reach 
up and yank the butt plug out with viscous satisfaction.  
	You are crying openly now, your body wracked with sobs. 
The tears run down from behind your blindfold. I want to lift it up so 
that I can see your blue eyes again. But I would rather hear you cry, 
than give you a chance to recover. I throw down the crop and pick up 
the cat. It feels heavier than I remember it did before.
	I wonder how this thing is used. I bring it down as hard as I 
think I should in the middle of your back, and watch the large black 
leather blades fall away after impact. So much more pleasing to watch 
than the simple red stripe of the strap. I hit you again, letting the tips 
graze you, just as my master does to me. This time I notice that the 
welts are rising. They are broad and redder than the red skin. So many 
of them from one strike. Very pleasing indeed. I love the sound of the 
blades whooshing through the air, and then the crash as they hit the 
back, the slithering sound as they slide off the back.
	I slam the broad blades into you hard. I no longer care that you 
may call "destiny". I no longer care about you, unless you are in pain. 
Again and again I bring my arm up, just so that I can slam it down hard. 
I hit your sides, your back, your ass, your thighs, your calves. I want to 
untie you so that I can hit your breasts and stomach, but don't want to 
stop.
	You scream. One long high scream. You seem so beautiful 
right now. So utterly beautiful. I wait for your safe word and keep 
hitting you. You are a shade of deep red from your neck to your ankles. 
	I stop and pick up the last whip. The flicker whip. My master 
loves this almost as much as I fear it. But I feel none of that fear now. It 
has the same recoil as the crop does, but has a thin tip on the end of it, 
instead of the square leather.
	I lash you hard on the back and am immediately rewarded 
with a thin stripe that seems to separate the skin. I look at the mark. It 
seems that the blood is pooling up inside the welt, but still under the 
skin. This reminds me of a hickey. It doesn't scare me. I don't care if I 
cut you. I don't care anymore.
	I bring the whip down fast right next to that spot. I missed 
some, but I don't care where I hit. Another stripe. I move the whip as 
fast as I can, letting the tip rip open your back. You are still screaming, 
but your screaming takes on a higher pitch as the skin separates and the 
blood starts to run out.
	One part of my mind screams at me. I stare at the blood. 
Something tells me that it shouldn't be running down your back. I bring 
down the whip again, drawing more blood. Then the screaming part of 
my mind finally gets through.
	I stop. The blood stops me. I ask "do you want me to stop?". 
You nod your head. I move up to your face and lift up your head. I take 
off the leather blindfold and look at your eyes. They are so shinny and 
bright blue that I almost start to cry myself. I kiss you gently on the 
forehead and let your head drop. Reaching down, I take off your nipple 
clamps. Your whimpers increase as the blood rushes back into your 
nipples. Your tears wetting the sheets below you. I move down between 
your thighs and take off your spreader bar. Then I move up and take off 
your ties.
	Your body goes slack and you slide back onto your knees, 
your face still on the mattress. I lift up your strong body and move you 
onto the futon. Holding you in my arms, I tell you how beautiful you 
are. I am happy to worship you. I fall asleep holding you tight to my 
body.