Flash 52 {8}: After Care

Once again it's time for a Flash 52 piece.  I particularly love this picture and with me being in week eight of my BDSM flashes this most definitely smacked of a special thing called "aftercare" to me.  So please enjoy this little tidbit of when a submissive is her most vulnerable and what a master might say or do can change everything.         ~Dakota

Flash 52 {8}: After Care 

“What’s your level, slave?” The brush of my Master’s fingers over my stinging bottom, sent sparks of need through me. My thighs were already wet with my juices and my nipples were hard against the padded cushion of the spanking bench I was bent over. It was always this way for me. I’d be unbearably aroused the moment I heard the swish of the flogger as Master warmed up his arm and he knew it – delighted in fact, since the first time we’d indulged at the club. 

“Green, Master,“ I whispered, perfectly balanced on the edge of pleasure and pain. Only my Master could do this for me. 

“Brace yourself.” The order was accompanied by the loud rasp of his zipper. I moaned and parted my legs further, trying to obey even with my hands restrained by the padded cuffs attached to the front of the bench. The feel of his hands against my hips was followed by the slide of his hardness against my sensitive buns. I whimpered in my throat, canting my hips in a blatant invitation. Despite the rub of his calf-skins pants against my redden ass, I needed him. A low gasp broke free of my throat as he teased me a bit more, rubbing himself up and down between my cheeks. 

“So beautiful.” He tapped one tender globe, sending a fresh wave of erotic pain through my trembling body. I wanted to cry, to beg, even plead with him to allow me to fall over the edge, but knew from past experiences it would more than likely only delay my inevitable climax. Master didn’t mind me making sounds during our scene, but I wasn’t allowed to beg – at least not without paying the price. As on the edge as I was, I didn’t think I could handle one of his diabolic sessions where he teased me, brought me to the edge only to back off and let the urgent pulses subside before starting again. 

I gritted my teeth against a building plea, when his fingers slipped between my legs to forge their way inside my sopping sex. His growl of approval was lost on me as I fought to keep from coming right then and there. Another rule which could lengthen my misery or pleasure. 

“You need to come, don’t you?” His whiskers tickled my bare shoulder as he rubbed his lips over it. “I can feel you tightening around my fingers, fighting the urge to come without permission.” He nipped the skin under his mouth, sending another wave of sensations down my spine, tightening the coil inside of me. I bit my lip to keep the ‘please’ I felt hovering on the tip of my tongue inside. 

“But that’s not going to happen, is it?” His fingers abandoned me and the familiar damp head of him parted my labia. “My slave has more control than any woman I have ever had on my bench.” He pressed forward – stretching me, but not filling me as I’d hoped. “Which is why you are going to completely lose it tonight...” He licked me, his tongue hot and wet against my skin. “You’re going to scream and holler for me.” He flexed his hips, driving hard and deep inside me. “…and come like you’ve never come before.” 

“Master!” The word popped out against my will, as he began fucking me in long, pounding thrusts designed to do just that. Fighting the pleasurable pain wasn’t an option. The rub of his leathers against me, the warmth of his body along mine, even the familiar scent of his cologne were all conspiring against me. Another mumbled plea fell from my lips when his hand slipped between the bench and my aching breasts to torment my nipples. Each squeeze of his knowing fingers sent me skittering closer to the edge. I was only hanging on by my fingertips, until a sudden vibration against my clit began. I’m sure my eyes grew wide as the sensations hit me, but I was too busy babbling, screaming and crying as I literally came apart under him, my release soaking the bench below me. 

“Ah, fuck yeah.” Master’s voice gritty with lust. It only sent me higher as he pressed the small vibrating egg against me even harder while continuing to tug on my nipple. Another wave hit me and I tried to shy away from the toy and his hands, but was caught in a vortex of never ending pleasure. “Shit…” he groaned. 

I barely caught the signs of his approaching orgasm: the jerky motion of his hips against mine as his rhythm faltered, the thickening of his cock just before he gave a muffled shout, and warmth filling me as he released his seed against the mouth of my womb…as I slipped into the beaconing darkness… 

…I whimpered as he lifted me from the bench, my brain still as fuzzy as if I’d drank a whole bottle of my favorite wine too fast. The press of a cool bottle against my lips was familiar, and I drank cool water thirstily. Then there was warmth as the softness of a mattress under my body registered before I was pulled towards him. Instinct had me moving into his arms, seeking shelter. He would protect me - keep me safe as he always had. As they closed around me, holding me close - I pressed my cheek to his damp chest, inhaling and taking his comforting presence deep inside of me as possible. 

The cadence of his voice, praising me, telling me how wonderful I was, how much he cherished my submission was a litany that coaxed me back down from the staggering heights he’d sent me. My lids grew heavy as I felt slumber tugging on me. The emotional and physical release Master had given me had left me exhausted in his arms - but centered once more. 

“What’s your level, Sadie?” He whispered against my ear, his arms tight around me. 

“Green…Master…love you…” I mumbled as sleep claimed me just as surely as my husband, my lover, and more importantly…my Master had. 

©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.