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Subject: {ASSM} Learning her: part 8
Date: Sat,  7 Dec 2002 21:10:03 -0500
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Learning her: part 8

(C) E. Howe  2002
All rights reserved

Ah, yes, the strap-on.  I was on my hands and knees, tied to the foot
of the bed by my hair, my own hair, mind you, to the post of the bed.
And I could hear her adjusting the straps, the jingle of the D-rings.
Soon, the jingle was gone, and I could hear the leather as it slid 
through the rings, her tugging the straps snug around her shapely
hips.  I licked my lips.  My mouth had gone dry, I was terrified,
terrified of my reaction.  

I felt the bed shift, the mattress give beneath her weight as she
mounted it.  I shuddered.  My breath came in gasps, and I felt like a
fish out of water.  I could feel the heat of her gaze over my form--I
know that sounds trite, but I could, I tell you!  She seemed to drink
in the sight of me helpless before her.  I trembled, my breathing
ragged, my cunt open and swollen, wet with want.  I made some
inarticulate sound, a moan, perhaps. 
 
She slapped me!  I jerked, furious, angered, and then it happened
again, her palm striking me with what I thought must have been full
force against my upraised ass.  I wailed, and tried to turn on her,
but my hair met it's length, and my head was snapped on its neck.  I
tried to drop and kick, but she wrestled me by my waist, and began
raining blows one after another, harder and harder than I could have
imagined.  I screamed, wailed, and the tears flowed down my face.  

I had not deserved this, I had offered myself to her, had bared my
needs... my needs.  My needs, indeed.  I needed this, to feel pain for
no reason other than it was something she wanted to give. I needed to
bear the brunt of her accumulated anger at her helplessness.  I needed
to feel the humiliation of being spanked like a little girl, a spoiled
brat, a willful and unruly child.  She filled that need, and as the
pain spread across my ass, she moved down my thighs, and they too 
became red.  

I swear I felt my ass swell, just as my cunt lips had swollen, as my
clit had swollen.  I could feel my breast dangling beneath me until my
arms gave out, and I had to prostrate myself on the bed, still
screaming into the covers, and through the mattress.  I tried to lift
my hips for her to hit me, but I could not.  And still I wanted more,
to feel the pain burn and expiate my sins.  

I was still crying when she stopped, and my ass must have been
brilliant.  It felt like it was on fire, and my cunt pulsed with my
heartbeat.  I could barely support myself when she pulled me up and
back on my knees.  With both hands on my hips, I could feel her as she
moved between my legs, kneeing my calves and thighs apart to make me
present myself to her.  I hastened to obey, trying to still my
shaking.  I could feel the cold tip of the phallus pressing against
me, and with a vicious jerk; she heaved back on my hips and impaled me
on it.  

Once again, I screamed.  I screamed for my burning ass, for my lost
dignity, for the want that ran rampant through my veins, I screamed
until I had to gasp for air, and still I screamed with I had filled my
lungs again.  Over and over, she thrust hard into me, and all I could
do was scream.  It felt so good to scream.  

I could get tedious with details, my friends.  I could describe in
minute detail each orgasm, down to the number of contractions I felt,
the delicious ripples traveling over the length and breadth of my
body, from that core of pleasure and pain.  I could tell you of the
begging I did as the orgasm finally coursed through me that first
impaling.  Begging to be released, and yet begging to be forced some
more.  I won't.  You all know what that feels like, or if you don't,
it cannot be fully described.  

Nor will I chronicle all three days.  But I will tell you that for
those three days, I was brought lower and lower in humiliation, made
to face my own need to submit, and to welcome that part of myself.  I
learned to void my bowels and bladder at her command, to deny myself 
pleasure, and to spend on order.  I learned that no part of myself was
my own.  

I learned the utter freedom of being owned and used.  	

On the final day, she washed my body of the blood that had been
spilled by a vicious caning, spread ointment on the wounds.  I stood
still as she dressed me.  I realized that she was taking care to
select clothes that would cover the marks.  Once dressed, she placed
that very cane in my hand, and knelt at my feet.  Just then, the
doorbell rang, and I knew it was her owner, come to claim her back. 

	She had not spoken one word the whole three days.  

	I squared my shoulders, and went to answer the door.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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