Edged to subspace with my hands and his words [BDSM] [Edging] [Nipple clamps] [Clit clamp] [MDom] [Fsub]

Though it is not a truth universally acknowledged that all the best days begin by waking to a text from the night before which reads: “I’m abusing you tomorrow, baby x”; it ought to be.

Barely awake and already hit with that sucker punch of arousal, nipples tightening underneath the duvet; abused I am ready to be.

My morning routine usually consists of re-lubing my butt plug – which I wear 24/7 (Sir likes a permanent reminder of his ownership and I like my ass to be ready for whenever Sir decides to use it) – selecting three underwear choices from which Sir will choose his favourite and then ten firm spanks to my arse to set me in the right mindset for the day.

Today, my instructions are clear:

“20 slaps on each cheek, and 5 on each side of your face. And let’s not forget your clamps.”

My cunt quivers. Clamps. All day. For a split second I imagine being sat at my desk, clit and nipples throbbing under the pressure of the clamps while I try to concentrate on a time sensitive matter. And then I’m reaching for my clamps with a flurry of excitement, ignoring the voice telling me that I’m building my own coffin.

Five minutes later and I’m firing a text back: “Spanked, clamped, slapped and dressed, Sir”, attaching two pictures of four rosy cheeks.

By the time Sir sends a text at midday asking how his little toy’s clamps are sitting, my panties are soaked and my work non-existent. How are they sitting? My nipples are throbbing slowly. And if I arch my back just enough, tugging gently on the clamp gripping my clit I can feel the rhythmic ebb and flow of blood there too. I tell Sir as much.

“At lunch you may give your nipples a reprieve. But your clit stays on, I want you soaked on the train home .”

Do I want a reprieve? I shift in my seat, the clamps move with me sending a shock through my sore, aching nipples. Sir said he wanted me abused. I decline the offer of reprieve.

“Good girl. Seeing as you decided to decline, take yourself off to a stall and give those chains a nice hard pull for Sir.”

I’ll give it to him. Sir is as fair as he is cruel.

Glad of the flimsy underwear Sir picked out, I’m pulling the bra up over my swollen breasts before I’ve so much as locked the toilet door. I begin tugging on the clamps as my free hand works to push my skirt and panties down to my ankles and I imagine Sir stroking his fingers through my wetness as I yank harder, stuffing the ends of my blouse into my mouth in an effort not to moan. The feeling is sublime. The heady mix of pleasure and discomfort. It’s an effort to stay on my feet but the relief of stimulation after hours of nothing is blissful and when I pull my panties up 5 minutes later, the cool wetness I’d left there all morning sends another jolt straight to my clit.

The next text that comes though is cryptic and cruel.

“Let Sir know when you are home, bathed and fed.” 

The afternoon is tortuous and passes in something of a blur. I find a gentle rhythm of rocking to see me through to 5pm. Forwards to tug my nipples, backwards onto my plug to give my clit a yank. Forwards, backwards. Forwards, Backwards. I hope it is subtle enough to go unnoticed but I don’t really care if it isn’t.

By 7:30pm I’m clean, naked save for my clamps and kneeling on my bedroom floor. I type a feverish text letting Sir know I am ready.

“Stockings kitten.” Comes the first message. “And there’ll be no need for much else.”

Obediently I reach forward, feeling my wetness slick against my thigh as I retrieve a pair of black stockings from my drawer. I pull them on in a hurry but being careful not to ladder them. That would never do.

I resume my position and let Sir know I’m ready to play.

Task one:

“Take your large silicone toy and begin sucking the tip as if it were me. As you do, tug firmly on your clit clamp. For every five tugs slap your pussy, then each cheek in turn. You may not cum. Begin.”

I spread my legs so my feet are either side of my arse and begin to drool. The effect is almost instantaneous and after 11 hours of being stimulated by the clamps I am ready to do whatever is asked. I take the toy in question and begin suckling the tip, my cunt dripping onto the carpet as I imagine it’s Sir’s hot cock leaking pre-cum onto my tongue. The slaps are hard and unforgiving and yanking my clit becomes painful after the first 7 tugs.

The clock ticks by for ten relentless minutes.

By the time I’m instructed to stop I already feel light and hazy, the irresistible pull of subspace chipping away at my comprehension. I’m thinking about how much I would like Sir to shove three of his fingers down my throat until I’m gagging and drooling onto my breasts when the next task chimes through:

“Good girl. Now find something you can stick your toy down to. Get on all fours and throat as much of it as you can as you gently massage your labia. Again, do not cum.”

It’s like he reads my mind and I am far too eager to please. I launch myself forward, throating the toy until the tip hits the back of my throat unexpectedly soon and I gag all over it, saliva running in rivulets down its length and pooling at the bottom. I am undeterred. My eyes are running as my fingers hedonistically fondle the folds of my cunt, being careful to avoid the chain pinching my clit. I imagine how hot and hard Sir’s cock would be seeing how wet and desperate I am for him that I’m choking on a dildo on my bedroom floor in an effort to please him. My eyes roll back as I moan around the toy and fight the urge to cum.

Ten long, agonising minutes pass. By the time the “Stop” text comes, my throat feels abused, my knees are screaming and I’m not sure where the salvia stops and the wetness from my cunt begins.

“Spend the next 15 minutes running your subtle feet over your now wet toy. Picture it as Sir’s cock. Pinch and release your clit clamp. Slowly.”

 This I can do. I scramble into position, the blissful feeling of finally being able to stretch my legs nearly rivalling the surge of euphoria when I ease the clamp off my clit for the first time. I find my rhythm with this one quickly, releasing the clamp every time my feet reach the tip of the toy. It’s an insidious, hypnotising pace. My head rolls back as my mouth falls open, the occasional incoherent leaving my mouth.

I barely feel like 5 minutes has passed when the “Stop” text suddenly chimes. I fight through the fuzziness of subspace to read my next task.

“Rest your toy between your feet and let nothing more than the tip enter you. Slowly in and out with a stable rhythm as you bounce up and down, taking time on occasion to taste yourself with two fingers. Not cummed yet?”

“No, Sir.”

“Such a pretty slut.”

The praise spurs me on and I find a position that allows me to use my bedside table as leverage. Folding my arms atop of it, I drag my soaked cunt over the toy before easing myself back over the tip. The feeling of something being inside of me after too long makes me moan. I imagine it’s Sir’s cock taunting my desperate cunt as I slide two fingers though my wetness before shoving them into my mouth and sucking gratefully. I find a rhythmic bounce as I rest my forehead on the edge of the table in front of me and allow myself to be swept away until the only things I am aware of is the burning of my knees, the sloppiness of my cunt and the agonising pull of the clamps on my nipples and my clit as they jerk with every bounce. I try to moan but even to my own ears it sounds like a garbled mess as my eyes roll back and I begin to float. All I can think about is doing as Sir asked. Pleasing him. Like a good little sub. Fuck yes, that’s right. I’m a good little submissive.

The next task passes in a haze of barely consciousness.

“Lay on your bed, remove your clamps and lift your legs. With your breasts pushed together I want you to take turns fondling your sore nipples with your thumb and forefinger. Gently massage your engorged clit between them.”

I have a vague memory of clambering onto my bed. I’d laid a fluffy blanket down before we began to play and I feel it envelop me like a safe warm hug. The fairy lights above me fade into a blurry string of dots as my vision loses focus. I’m sure my nipples should be burning and my clit throbbing but I am beyond being able to feel the pain. I pinch my clit hard and allow myself to drift away. All the while clinging to what feels like the only thing keeping me sane. Sir said do not cum. Sir said do not cum.

When the Stop text comes fifteen minutes later I barely register it. It’s quickly followed by another one:

“Does kitten think she’s earned the right to cum?”

Do I? I don’t know. I barely know my own name. Something about the message makes me want to get back onto my knees and suckle Sir’s cock. I slump back onto the floor with a ragged moan and very little grace. As always, Sir manages to read my mind.

“Does kitten think she’d like some more toying with?”

My cunt dribbles another bout of cum onto the carpet. Yes, Sir.

“Alright. Get into doggy and place three fingers in your wet cunt. You are to tickle your G-spot whilst biting down on your chains and gently twisting your plug. Don’t cum. Begin.”

I shouldn’t have drank so much water before we began to play. As soon as my fingers hit my G spot I am choking back the urge to squirt. I twist the plug in an effort to distract myself but angle means the pressure of the metal only stimulates me more. I pull more the metal clamps into my mouth by my tongue and begin to whine. A constant, desperate noise. I rub my nipples against the carpet and think about how proud Sir will be of me if I make it through the next fifteen minutes. Or how bad the punishment will be if I gush all over my hands before the time is up.

By the time Sir says stop I feel like I’ve taken a worrying amount of MDMA. When Sir asks how I’m feeling I tell him I am ready going to squirt all over the floor.

“Well I think it would be a shame to not have that filmed. So, on your back, legs crossed to one side nice and high and your favourite squirting toy in full use. You are permitted to thank me as you cum.”

 I could cry with relief. He’s going to let me cum. Sir is finally going to let me cum. I grab my favourite squirting toy – a purple vibrating dildo with a soft round head that I slap against my clit. I set my camera up and begin fucking my cunt with fervour. It feels so good I nearly choke on it, spluttering around moans as my eyes roll to the back of my head and stay there. Squirt for Sir. I keep telling myself. Squirt everywhere for Sir.

I’m so blissed out by the time the first orgasm hits that I’m barely aware it’s happening until it’s too late to stop. I begin slapping the toy against my clit, the sopping wet sounds nearly drowning out the sound of my own desperate panting.

It’s barely over by the time the second one comes, the white was of pleasure so blissfully intense that in a moment of clarity I remember to thank Sir as I come. And I do, loudly. Legs shaking, cunt squirting and plug pulsing in my ass all for Sir, wholly and completely, as I finally return to earth.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ms0qpr/edged_to_subspace_with_my_hands_and_his_words

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