The Bad Man
(Just an FYI — tonight’s session was a little edgy. Remember… I wanted it.)
New Guy wrote to me again this morning. The Bible thumper from yesterday was nowhere to be found.
He’d written to me several times this week — brief, threatening notes saying that my naked pictures would attract the wrong kind of men. Bad men. To all these, I scoffed. I believe at one point, I wrote back, “Maybe you’re a bad man. Ever think of that?” Probably not the best idea.
This morning’s note said I was to answer my door tonight dressed exactly as I had been for the red couch pictures. (In other words, not dressed.) And his last sentence read: You will find out precisely what type of man pictures like that attract.
I had all day to think about it. What was he going to do? Did it matter? Not really. I just wanted to see him. Feel his hands again, feel the impact of his arsenal.
Would it hurt? Hell, yes.
He showed up right on time; good thing, because by then, I was so nervous, I could hardly stand on those damn high heels — the only thing I had on.
No niceties, no catching up. Not yet. New Guy wasn’t here yet; he’d be there later. Right now, I had to deal with The Bad Man who was going to show me what happens to naughty girls who post naked pictures on the Internet.
He told me to clear off my coffee table; I did so. He threw two pillows onto the table, then pushed me down on top of it, pulling my arms forward. Out of his bag came lengths of rope — first he tied my wrists together, then the other end to the table leg. Then he tied each of my legs to the table. Finally, he wound rope around my waist. All the while, he was taunting me, winding his fist in my hair and making me look up at him.
“You’re going to learn a good lesson tonight,” he said. I couldn’t hardly move. My hair went in my face, into my mouth, but I couldn’t do anything about it. The table felt cold under my bare arms.
It’s New Guy. It’s the man you trust. You’re OK. You’re OK. Take it. Be in it.
He’d purchased a brand-new belt during his travels… nice and stiff. A gift for me, he said. He’d thought about me when he bought it. Oh my god, that thing hurt. Hurt good, but still hurt. I moaned and jerked, but I couldn’t get away from it. The paddle, the big strap… l wanted so badly to put my hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream, but of course, I couldn’t do that.
“You’re not going to scream, are you?” he said, running his nails down my back.
“Please,” I begged, “please don’t make me scream!” My neighbors… but oh damn, I needed to scream.
He made me face him again; there was something in his hand. It looked like a towel. “I guess we can’t have that, can we?” And he stuffed the cloth deep into my mouth.
I’ve never been gagged before. I suppose I could have spit it out, but I didn’t dare. Now I could scream, but all that came out were muffled shrieks. The helplessness, the emotional surge, the pain all merged together and engulfed me. I started to cry.
“This is what the bad men do,” he growled. “They spank girls until they cry.”
I wept as he continued, feeling my entire body tremble within its bounds. It seemed to go on for a long time, but in reality, it probably wasn’t as long as most of our scenes. But it was off the scale as far as intensity was concerned.
And then, finally… “Are you ready to be untied now?” I nodded vigorously. He released me then, and I collapsed into the table, crying hard. It wasn’t bad crying, though. It felt like it was cleaning all the emotional crud out of my system.
The Bad Man disappeared. In his place was the sweet top I know, soothing me with lotion, bringing me tissues, checking in with me. Quoting Pixie Wells, I gasped out, “Tears are hot, snot is not,” and blew my nose. Yes, I’m too sexy.
After I’d returned to reality, drunk some water, etc., he booted up his laptop and showed me all the cool pictures he’d taken during his trip. Oh, and he brought me a necklace from Wisconsin, made from bright yellow plastic cheese wedges. 😀
Later, I told him all about my adventures at Spanking Court and what a little monster I’d been. Guess what? He decided I needed more spanking. This time, it was OTK on the couch. Awesome…
Finally, he had to take off. But that’s OK. I’ll get to see him again in just a week. No more long waits. No more hunger.
So, am I sore? Yes, my toe definitely smarts.
As he was leaving, he brushed up against my Barnabas cane, and it fell over. The silver handle landed on my big toe. I jumped and yelped, but then forgot about it. Until a few minutes later when I glanced down at my foot.
Freaking cane cut my toe!! OK, I figured I’d be in some hurt tonight, but not my toe, for God’s sake.
OK, OK, my butt’s sore too. (dreamy smile)
Welcome back, NG. Even when you’re bad, you’re fan-f*&#ing-tastic. 🙂