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Time spent in hell can do more than mess up your head.

They have to be more careful about moving around the house. Bondage and discipline in the study and kitchen are more at risk than they used to be. So they are colonizing the second floor. The toys are spread around, and the mattress from the trundle bed is T'd to the single bed.

He'd told her that of course she'd be punished for removing the plastic clips, but that she'd be punished anyway for his pleasure in her pain. So whether or not she'd "earned" punishment, he would have it for its own sake.

Earlier, she'd been on her back on that foam mattress on the floor, ankles Velcro-cuffed to the tops of the red bars of the single bed's head- and foot-boards. He had dripped hot wax in a spiral around her navel and down to her clitoris in a long slow hour interspersed with carving on her breasts light lines with his knife. She'd been blindfolded then, lost in the surprises of the two entirely different kinds of burns - the knife, the hot wax. Not knowing what was coming where... Waiting... Surrendered to the not knowing and then the pain. He knows she loves the blindfold most of all - it is the clearest representation of lost control. The ideal metaphor and the ideal reality for her.

Now she was without the blindfold and working at the keyboard, getting some of it down for his reading pleasure. She's got to be easily as good and hopefully better than much of what he reads on the internet.

She knows he'll be in soon with making marks in mind. The beautiful red lines on her breasts inflame thoughts of more marks to come. She has a weekly massage and he is very aware that her ass and thighs are subject to inspection on Tuesdays. The massage therapist never sees her breasts, so they are his to mark whenever. But her breasts can't take the serious pressure he likes to lay on with the crop... The crop is reserved for her ass and thighs, though sometimes he is tempted up her back with it - she screaming into her ball gag if he's been aware enough to jam it in her mouth.

Her mouth is drawing his attention lately. He has asked her to wear lipstick and to remember that her mouth is his opening and he will use it to remind her of his possession.

He walks in and lifts the skirt of the black elastic lace chemise she wears.

"Still have the clips on? It's been more than 30 minutes. You are t-o-u-g-h... you can take it, beauty. You're so strong... So brave in withstanding. I'm going to take them off now and I'm sure they'll scream for a bit here. But you'll take it as you take everything I ask of you."

"I'm yours..."

"We've learned something here: data gathered. Knowing that you can take these clips for this long gives me some freedom in imposing clips for dinner. I wouldn't do it on a school pickup in case the timing didn't work and you needed to get them off and weren't able to get the privacy to do that. I'll always try to leave you an out. But I really am intrigued by playing in public with you - dominating you in layers of ways that can't always be seen by those we're with."

"I love those layers too... Things like your knowing I'm not wearing underwear... or a scar on my breast, a tingling nipple that's been scraped by teeth and twisted... or the perfect bars of red imposed by the crop, unseen under my clothes as I move about my day."

He has removed the plastic clips, and now fastens her wrist cuffs to the dog collar around her neck.

"Suck on me." He slides into her red lipsticked mouth, he already hard, her mouth and throat wet and slick. Her hands hang at the right height to play with his balls as he slams into her mouth, fucking her face. She concentrates on breathing slowly, deeply, through her nose, not panicking - when suddenly he withdraws. He moves to the bed, sitting on the edge.

"Come lie across my lap."

She moves to stretch across his lap, her mound across his now flacid penis.

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