Burning Dinner

I don't like pain. Pain hurts. I'm like anyone else, I tend to avoid pain.

Even so, as my desire for bondage and submission has developed during my life, pain has been an integral part of it. Starting in the earliest teen years my self bondage involved only basic discomfort and the discomfort was a direct result of the bondage; being tied up tightly and unable to move results in being uncomfortable and is part of the experience. Muscles cramp, rope chafes and cuts, handcuffs pinch. I've always embraced the discomfort of tight bondage and it has very much enhanced my enjoyment and satisfaction.

As I grew older and more advanced in my desires, acceptance of discomfort gave way to acceptance of pain. I may write at some point of my first experiences as a teen with boyfriends that accepted (and in some cases took advantage of) my desire for sexual bondage, and how these experiences introduced the idea that pain was a direct manifestation and reflection of how I had lost control. That loss of control is what I sought, so much so that when I felt the first twinges of ache, cramp or constricted blood flow, I also became aware of nipples hardening and wetness between my legs.

No, I don't like writhing in pain. But pain is part of my total submission and the control of another and enhances and excites me. In that sense pain is satisfying, it clarifies and sharpens the sensations of helplessness that I crave, down deep. In that sense I enjoy pain.

Jason and I had been married for almost four years and it was turning out to be the best decision of my life. It hasn't always been the easiest, but I've been more sexually and emotionally satisfied as Jason's slave than I ever dreamed I could be.

There was a time when I had behaved very well for some time, learning how to obey and satisfy my husband and owner. His needs were taken care of, his desires catered to, his passions satisfied. As a result I had earned the right to wear clothes in the house, and was seldom restrained in any significantly uncomfortable or painful way. In other words, it was getting boring.

I took matters into my own hands. One night I came home from work, changed clothes into my usual attire (that night it was tight jeans and a button blouse, unbuttoned halfway to reveal braless breasts) and started to work on dinner. Jason arrived a half hour later and came into the kitchen. I continued cooking the Chicken Marsala, forcing him to come over and touch me before I turned to greet him. (Normally I will greet him in some submissive way, by kneeling, or kissing his cheek and taking his coat, or serving him in some other simple manner). This was a minor infraction, but just the beginning.

The Chicken Marsala was coming out well. Too well. I let it simmer and turned up the heat on the pan, as well as the pot with pasta boiling. A lid on the pan kept the smoke from spreading until it was too late-- the chicken was burned. Stirring the pieces that were slightly blackened and stuck to the bottom, I kept the heat going. The pasta grew hard and burned as well. Garlic green beans were brought to a boil but immediately removed before they completely thawed; they would be nearly inedible.

Satisfied, I called Jason to dinner (another infraction). Coming to the table his face was dark, as if troubled by something. I served him dinner, and sat down to eat with him. As planned, the dinner was crappy. The chicken tasted of charcoal, the pasta was rubbery and hard, and the green beans were actually cold on the inside. Jason tried to eat, but after a few bites he put is fork down and looked at me.

"Are you serious?"

"What is it Jason? I've had a hard day and am in no mood." If that didn't do it, I didn't know what would.

Jason looked at me with a red face and quietly got up, cleared the plates on the table and returned with my leash. (I wear a permanent slave collar, so a leash is all that is needed).

"Remove your clothes," he said in a quiet but stern voice.  I unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off (no bra underneath, not allowed at home). My jeans were pealed off. I am not allowed to wear shoes in the house, so when my panties came off I was completely naked except for my slave collar.

The leash was clipped to my collar. I hung my head with my hair falling to the sides of my face as he led me into the kitchen, where he strapped my elbows behind my back leaving my hands and wrists free but with very limited movement. The leash was then clipped to a small ring in the wall. The leash was long enough I could move around the kitchen but could not leave the area.

"Clean this travesty of a dinner up, and report to me after." His voice made me a bit scared, and I nodded and set about cleaning dishes. It was difficult, really difficult with my elbows pinioned behind my back. Instead of 10 minutes it took 45.

"Sir, I am done," I called over to where Jason sat in the living room. Being naked, restrained and in trouble made me shiver with arousal. It felt good, though being naked in front of a clothed male, even my husband, always made me feel very vulnerable. I was nervous, anticipating more punishment. The nerves heightened my senses and emotions, making me excited and aroused.

Jason let me stand in the kitchen for a while as he watched the end of a sitcom on TV. I stood and waited obediently. When it ended he came over, unclipped my leash, unstrapped my arms, and told me to get my razor.

"You have not shaved properly or well. Do it now."

"I think I am fine down there. I shaved just a couple of days ago," I responded. Talk back like that is direct disobedience and I could tell was having the desired impact on Jason. He was pissed off.

"Go get the razor. Shave yourself before me. Now." Jason's voice was quieter but more dangerous. I figured I had achieved what I needed to achieve and maybe gone too far. I obediently obtained the razor and some shaving cream. Really, I was pretty clean down there, though it had been a few days. Returning I presented myself to Jason.

"Go ahead. I want to watch to assure you shave especially close. Completely smooth."

This was a little odd but I sat, spread my legs, and began running the razor between them. Shaving in front of Jason made me feel even more vulnerable and exposed. I can't remember ever doing that before, and it felt very strange. Shaving close to assure I was completely smooth left the flesh of my pussy slightly raw, but only very slightly. When I was done, Jason came over and touched me, verifying the job I had done.

"All right. Now. On the floor, on your back. Legs spread. Masturbate for me."

Yeah, this was turning out to be a somewhat strange evening, but not entirely without precedent. I slipped down, spread legs wide, and began rubbing slowly. Jason watched as I ran my fingers on the folds of flesh between my legs, feeling the pleasure of touch, enjoying exhibiting myself for him. It actually feels good to expose myself for him; I like the attention and focus, though it does make me feel very open and helpless.

Dipping my fingers inside myself I took the wetness that was welling up and smeared it over the outside of my pussy, up over my clit. I rubbed harder, feeling the pleasure coming in slow undulating waves. My other hand pinched my nipples. I felt myself reaching an orgasm. He would observe me as I reached sexual climax, My fingers were rubbing hard now, and fast. I forgot exactly what I was doing on the floor and just felt my body glowing as the pleasure flooded through me.

My hips jerked up, thrusting as if there was a cock entering me, though there wasn't. It was instinctive when I came. I moaned, whimpered a little, and then slowed. Panting on the floor I calmed, letting the pleasure slowly drain away.

Jason had observed me closely during the show. Now he lifted me up to stand and guided me upstairs to our bedroom. He led me to the corner and instructed me to stand with my face to the wall. I stood obediently and waited while he moved about the room, preparing something. I was getting nervous; obviously the acts of obedience downstairs were not my true punishment. He had something more in mind.

"Come over to the bed. Lay on it with your ass on the pillows."

There were three pillows piled up in the middle. I climbed into our marriage bed and lifted my ass up and over on top of the pillow pile. When I was positioned, my hips were propped significantly higher than my body, though the pillows made it comfortable. The way my hips were thrust up accentuated my mons pubis and hip bones. I wondered if he might fuck me then.

Part of Jason's prep was four lengths of rope. They were a good soft hemp he had used before. Doubled back on itself to make two strands, he wrapped one piece around my right ankle, slipped the ends through the loop and pulled tight. Two more wraps around and the ends through another loop and my ankle was secured tightly. He pulled the rope to one corner of the bed and tied the loose end trailing from my ankle to a small eye ring installed in the bedpost.

He did the same to my left ankle, and when done my legs were spread and secured tightly to the lower corners of the bed. I'd been in this position before, usually when he wanted to fuck me while I was tied up spread eagle. I wasn't sure he was just going to fuck me after that fiasco of a dinner service, but there I was, hips lifted high, legs tied wide apart, ready to accept him inside whether I liked it or not.

It was time for my wrists; a couple of loops and the rope tightened and stretched my right wrists high above my head and to the right. The left wrist followed. As he tied each wrist to the bedpost, Jason pulled, tightening the rope and stretching my body taught. The muscles in my arms, shoulders and back felt the pull. I remember thinking, this must be what victims of the rack felt, just before the first horrible turn began pulling their arms out of their sockets.

I shivered with horror at the thought, and turned my attention to what Jason was doing. My body was stretched tight with virtually no room for movement, making me feel as helpless and exposed as I could be. Jason left the room, exiting into the extensive en suite bathroom. I heard him rummaging about and then saw him return.

He sat on the bed between my legs, and then began to work on me. He had something in his hands, but I couldn't see what it was. I did feel it though, as he began gently smearing some sort of oil or cream on my bare pussy flesh.

It felt cool, sort of interesting and nice. At least at first. He smeared and massaged my pussy flesh, and then slipped lower between my legs, spreading my ass cheeks and placing some of the cream there as well. It isn't uncommon for Jason to ass fuck me roughly as a sort of punishment; I thought perhaps this was what he had in mind though giving me lube was out of character.

A few minutes later and the cool sensation was gone, slowly moving to a warm feeling. Jason waited, doing nothing but observing me. Not much later my pussy wasn't cool any more, it was burning hot. I grunted a bit.

"Uahhh... ah... Jason, what is that? God, it is beginning to hurt."

And it was. Flames licked between my legs, the heat scorching my flesh as the burning hot ointment soaked into my flesh. They weren't real flames of course, but they felt like it. Slowly I realized what my master had done.

Capsaicin cream. Sold as a topical pain killer, I was discovering it should actually be called a topical torture punishment cream. God, it hurt.

"Oh, fuck! Jason, please, that stuff is really hurting, it burns!"

"Yes, I suppose it does. Sort of like your dinner tonight." Jason just sat and watched me as I began pulling on the ropes which spread my arms and legs wide.

I struggled. I couldn't help it. My crotch hurt, it burned, and my ass was beginning to hurt as well. The burning sensation was the worst right at my anus. I also realized why he had made me shave-- the irritation of the blade made me more sensitive. It worked.

Straining against the ropes as automatic. The pain needed a response, I couldn't just lay there. My muscles tensed, my hips bucked up as much as they could. I tried to angle myself to wipe off the torture cream on the pillows beneath my ass, but no luck. I pushed, moving back and forth to try and use the pillows to spread my ass cheeks to I could get the pillowcases to wipe my ass. Sort of like a dog scraping their ass on the carpet. I managed to get my ass cheeks spread a little but I had so little wriggle room because of the tight stretch of the ropes, it was impossible to get my anus wiped.

It didn't matter, my clit was throbbing with fire, my labia burning. I stared at the ceiling but saw nothing. A tear trickled out of the corner of one eye and down the side of my head. Moaning and pulled, writhing and jerking, I coped with the pain as best I could.

"You are so damn beautiful in pain," Jason said as he watched me.

I flushed, partly because of the painful burn between my legs, partly from the compliment. I truly did find it arousing and made me happy to realize my pain was giving Jason pleasure.

Leaning over my panting chest, Jason took a little torture pain cream and circled my nipples with it. It felt good as he manipulated my breasts, but I knew it was not going to last long.

"Fuck, Oh, Jason, I am sorry. I will be good. Please... god, please... no..."

My hips were writhing and wriggling up and down, and I shook my breasts as the pain began there, as well.

I have a good body. A sexy one. I keep myself in shape, for him. At times like that one I knew I looked amazing, spread wide and struggling.

Jason pulled out his cock and began stroking it as he watched me. I imagined the pain had begun to subside, but it still hurt so bad. How long had I been there, an hour? More? Fuck, I was so aroused though, the pain combined with being tied tightly was what I needed. Having Jason watch and enjoy my helpless agony turned me on so much. I wanted him to cum, I wanted him to reach climax because of me, my body, my pain.

And he did. His cock was hard and pointed at my face, as he slowly stroked himself, I tried to reach up and take it in my mouth, but he held it just out of reach. So, I watched through the red haze of slowly diminishing pain as he fondled and teased himself.

He semen came spurting out and onto my face. I moaned and actually cried out, "fuck.... Siobhan... you are so gorgeous... "

The white slime spewed across my face from my forehead, across my right eye and down my cheek. Another spurt spread from my hair down my nose to my lips. My eye stung and I closed it, feeling the semen continued to drop onto my face and cover it. Some went up my nose and I snorted, then groaned again as my pussy flared up in pain.

When he was done, Jason wiped a tiny bit of semen from the end of his cock, but left the bulk of it on my face. I was continuing to writhe and pull, tears streaming down from my eyes.

"Please, Jason, it's been long enough. Please wipe that stuff off me, it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad."

"When my cum dries on your face, I will clean you up. Not before." Jason spoke kindly, but firmly. His statement seemed stab me, cutting deep and I sobbed out loud. Snot smeared down my face from my nose, mixing with the sperm.

I felt ugly. I knew my body was good, Jason enjoyed it and intellectually I knew I was extremely sexy. But the situation made me feel ugly, especially with my face covered with tears, semen and snot that I could not wipe away.

I also felt incredibly aroused. Being tied tightly, humiliated and in pain, helpless to help myself, was what I needed, down deep.

The pain was slowly but surely subsiding. It had been well over an hour, and my sobs quieted. The burning sensation lasted for some time, and Jason got himself a drink and sat next to me, gently stroking my bare flesh, playing and touching with all my most sensitive parts. It made me feel truly treasured.

Perhaps three hours after I had been tied up, Jason wiped his finger over my face. His semen had dried and was crusty, except for the points where it had mixed with tears or snot.

Satisfied, Jason went into the bathroom and returned with a makeup cleanup kit which included an oil based makeup remover and soft cotton pads. He wiped my crotch thoroughly, as if I were a baby getting its diaper changed. He cleaned between my butt cheeks, with special attention to my anus. He wiped up the burning residue of torture cream from my nipples.

Finally, he cleaned my face, wiping tears, semen and snot away.

Moments later he had untied me and I had pulled my legs up and curled into a fetal position and cried once again. He lay behind me and spooned my naked body, caressing my skin gently. I felt so loved and cared for, I was so grateful I was his.

Jason is the best.

The pain from the torture cream faded slowly. It lasted several hours, though the peak of pain started diminishing after an hour or so. I was fine by the next morning when I dressed and went to work.