Pride in Him

The clothes pins went on. Tight. Pinching. Painful. But the pleasure of his voice praising me combined with the pain cause a gush of pleasure and pride in my body.

This is all part of my training. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Until he enters me, that is. Then, I explode. He keeps the pins on as he fucks me. They will stEV68NONWAAAEM_Pay on until we have both enjoyed an orgasm. Mine, naturally, comes quickly – at least the first one.

His takes a little longer. I both bless and curse his control. Nonetheless, twenty minutes later my body is satiated by the three orgasms I’ve enjoyed and filled with the proof of his pleasure.

He unclips my nipples and I scream as blood rushes to my swollen, red nipples. I want to rub them, but I don’t. The first day I did and was punished with a riding crop applied five times to each nip.

I’m not allowed to touch them. Only HE can do that.

He smiles down at me, kisses me, kisses each swollen bud. We snuggle for a few moments then he helps me up. We shower together. He dresses then hands me cEXqWRp6WAAAQWY0lothing.

“One button. That’s it. Get dressed. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

I look at myself in the mirror, my face red.  He stands behind me, cups my breasts, kisses my neck.

“Perfect. You look perfect.”

I smile at his reflection, nod, and stand straight.

“Then let’s go,” I say.

The stares of strangers hold no meaning for me. The appreciative glances he gives, though, mean everything.

What matter is social norms when I have the respect and love of this one man.

 

 

 

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