The Corner

I am standing where you told me to stand, in the corner of our room. My arms are raised, crossed with my forearms resting on my head, my hands holding my elbows, giving you free access to my breasts if you so desire. I have been standing there for a while – standing there since you ordered me from the living room. It was my punishment for displeasing you.

I had arrived home from work on time. I ensured I completed my work as soon as possible to be able to walk through the door at the time you commanded. You allowed me a few moments of privacy, to push my workday from my mind. I made you coffee, and asked about your activities. As we talked, I sat on the left arm of the single-seat armchair you were relaxing in, your left hand stroking my bare knee. I never wore pantyhose to work, and, on this day, you seemed pleased with my long-held decision. This morning, you ordered me not to wear underpants to work, but allowed me the bra in deference to my workplace and the thin uniform blouse. My nipples and breasts belonged to you, you reminded me. No other man was allowed to see them without your permission. You selected the bra I was to wear yourself as I showered. It was one of the oldest I owned, almost ready to be discarded. At the time, I wondered why, but I also knew that it was not my place to question. I wore what you gave me to wear, the lining of my skirt sliding across my bare ass throughout the day as I walked around the office. Every time I moved, I thought of the evening ahead and remembered that my body was yours to play with, to command and to control.

We sat and talked of the day that had passed, the music from the stereo the only other sound. Before long, you placed your coffee cup on the table beside you to your right, your left hand straying further up my right thigh. By it’s own volition, my hand had moved to your neck, playing with your hair and gently massaging. Suddenly, your other hand, now free of the cup, reached up and grabbed mine, pulling me forward slightly and then across you. My chest ended up balancing on the opposite arm of the chair, my legs still over the other.

“Want to play, do you slave?” I knew it wasn’t a question requiring my response. You always began our sessions suddenly, your voice growling, but nevertheless I could usually hear your amusement as well. Today was no different. You move your cup away further from my outstretched hands, before enclosing both of my wrists. “You must have forgotten that these hands are mine, and I didn’t give them permission to play.”

Swiftly, you spank me twice, the suddenness making me gasp. Again, your hand connects. “Do you remember now, slave?” You push my skirt up, revealing my naked ass.

You smack me again. “Yes, master.”

“Who do your hands belong to?”

“You, master.”

“Who does this ass belong to?”

“You, master.”

“And who do you belong to?”

Each one of your questions was punctuated with two slaps on my ass, each of my responses the same. Each smack harder than the one before, increasing the pain.

“Only you, master.” Tears were catching in my throat, from both the still mild punishment, and the intense feeling of being owned, of being yours.

Gently, you slide your hand from my ass, pulling my skirk back into place, and then along my legs, before creeping up again, this time beneath the garment. “Good girl,” you say as you trace along my cunt, feeling my dampness. I inhale, gasping as I raised my head slightly, at your touch. I love it when you touch me, knowing how much magic your hands can bring. Quickly, you remove your hand, smoothing down my skirt, before once again smacking me and releasing my hands. “Stand up, slave.”

I pushed myself up, sliding my legs to the floor, my skirt rubbing against the marks you had just left, intensifying the sensation. I ensured that my hands did not touch you, since you had not given me permission, and I did not wish to displease you again. As I stood, I clasped my hands behind my back, my head up, but eyes downcast, in just the way you liked. I was yours to control, and we both knew it.

In my peripheral vision, I see you adjust your position on the chair, and reach for the remote control to the stereo. As you increased the volume of the music, you told me to move to the centre of the living room, directly in front of you.

“Dance for me.”

I danced for you, in the living room, the curtains open wide, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through. If I looked outside, I could see our neighbours coming home from work, or out doing some late afternoon gardening. But I don’t look out. My action isn’t from shame or embarrassment – I could never feel that with you. My attention is on pleasing you, and not on what may be going on elsewhere. Elsewhere doesn’t involve you, therefore it is not a part of my world. At your command, I slowly unbutton my shirt, letting it slide from my shoulders. Still moving in time with the music, you tell me to turn to face away from you, and unzip my skirt. I pushed it from my hips and over my ass, still hot from your slaps. The garment pooled on the floor around my feet. In front of me lays my blouse.

“Bend, and fold your clothes, slave. You are not to be messy in my presence.”

Legs slightly spread, I bend from the hip, reaching for my blouse. My legs are straight, as you like, stretching them, giving them an illusion of extra length. I remain in position as I fold my blouse, leaving it folded on the floor as I collected my skirt, lifting my feet, placing them back into the exact spot. Behind me, I can hear you rise from the armchair and, as I finish folding the short skirt and placing it on my blouse, I can feel your body heat. I hear a gentle click, but I don’t recognise what it is. Softly, you tell me to stand and to keep my arms at my side. I do so, wondering what will happen next.

You step closer, your left arm moving around me to hold me close to your body. You are looking over my left shoulder, in your right hand is something silver, an object I had seen many times in the house, but never thought you would use in our play.

“Don’t move, slave. There is a new blade in this knife. It’s very sharp. I do not wish to have blood over my carpets.”

My breath caught in my throat as I watched the Stanley knife in your hand move closer to my body, wondering what it was exactly you were going to do. My mental question was answered quickly, as you gently scraped the edge of the blade against the top of the cup, where the strap joined.

“No!” I cried before pulling back slightly. I knew you wouldn’t cut me, but you cutting my clothing took me by surprise. The sound was out before I realised it. I heard your soft “Tsk tsk” in my ear. “I told you not to move, slave. You don’t want me to slip, do you?” I knew you wouldn’t slip, you wouldn’t be so clumsy. But I also knew that my making sounds displeased you. I had forgotten our first rule – I was only to speak when asked. The first rule learnt. The rule I forgot.

I remained silent as you slowly severed the strap, gradually cutting through the fibres. I remained still as you moved to the other side, your arm tight across my chest. You dragged the body of the knife across my taut nipple, causing a whimper to escape from me. Again, you sounded your disappointment, and gently bit down on my shoulder, enough pressure to make me want to moan again. But I had already displeased you twice in a short period of time, and my punishment would only grow if I continued. You moved the knife to my other nipple, the metal cold against my skin. You still bite my shoulder, enough for me to remain quiet. Slowly, you move your right arm under mine so you had better access to your next goal – the centre of my bra. I could hear the blade scrape across the fabric, severing each strand. Soon, the last strands br
eak, revealing my breasts. It doesn’t fall to the floor, the rest still trapped between our bodie
s. You stop biting my shoulder, and gently kiss the flesh.

You retract the blade, and toss the knife onto the pile of clothes before us. You lean back slightly to allow my now useless bra to fall to the floor. With both hands now empty, you rub them up my arms, positioning them so they are outstretched to my sides. Gently, you run your hands along my sides, down to my hips and then up to my breasts. Your hands just graze my breasts, making me long for more of your touch. My knees weaken as your tongue traces the marks your teeth have left on my shoulder, but I don’t move.

“You disapprove of my slicing your clothes, don’t you slave?”

“No, master.” My response makes you chuckle, and I can feel it through my whole being.

“You lie, slave.”

“No, master.”

“You know I hate it when you lie, slave.” Your tongue plays more insistently on my shoulder where it meets my neck. You know this is one of my weaknesses. Your hands have stilled on my hips, your fingers caressing. “Slaves who lie must be punished.”

Roughly, you turned me to face you, your hands holding my upper arms. “How will you be punished, slave?”

“You know best, master.” My voice was quiet, deepening with arousal.

“Yes, I do. It’s good that you remember that.” You let my arms go, and stand back. “You’ve been a bad girl, slave. Bad girls are punished in a special way. You remember how bad girls are punished, don’t you slave?”

“Yes, master.”

“Tell me.”

“I must stand in the corner, master, until you allow otherwise. I must not move, I must not look at anything other than the opposite corner.”

“Yes. You remember well, slave. However, you seem to be forgetting the little things. Today you must also stand with your arms raised. This will remind you that your breasts are mine, and therefore anything that covers them is mine as well. And what is mine, I will do with as I wish.”

Your words are a statement of fact, and to punctuate your point, you reached out and squeezed both nipples hard. As always, the sensation travelled through my body to my clit. You know this, you know how I respond, you know how to achieve the effect you desire.

“Go. Get out of my sight until I forgive you.”

And so, I am standing where you told me to stand, in the corner of our room. My arms are raised, crossed with my forearms resting on my head, my hands holding my elbows, giving you free access to my breasts if you so desire. I have been standing there for a while – standing there since you ordered me from the living room. It is my punishment for displeasing you.

I am looking forward at the opposite corner. In the middle of the room is the bed; prepared for any activities you have in mind.

Nearby sits the toy box, the lid open wide. If I disobey you, by looking away from the opposite corner, I can see the various scarves and cuffs, seemingly spilling haphazardly over the edge. But you never do anything haphazardly in relation to this game. Beneath those are the mini-vibrators and clit teasers you apply so skilfully to take my breath away, the nipple clamps that cause that intense pleasurable pain, as your hands did earlier. To one side, I know sit the full size vibrators, dildos and butt plugs, set aside for when you feel I deserve them. On a separate fitted tray, an assortment of lubricants, oils and lotions – to soothe and calm, to tighten or relax. There is a myriad of flavours, but each is for the same purpose. Each are for you to use, as you see fit, on the body you own. And secured into the lid, a small solid paddle and a leather riding crop. You rarely use these, preferring that your own hand mar my skin, but on occasion, my misbehaviour has warranted additional punishment.

My mind is not on the toys, though. My mind is on how I displeased you, by speaking, by moving against your command, by forgetting that you own me. I stand there, staring at the corner, remembering each time I had displeased you since I came home from work, my shame growing. I had earned my punishment. I deserve my punishment.

The only indication of time I have is by the light and shadows moving across the room. I can hear you move around the living room and the kitchen; the music has been turned up further. The time doesn’t matter to me now though. I know you have control of that as well. The only thing that is on my mind is how I had displeased you, and how I could make sure I pleased you for the rest of the evening.

Eventually, I hear you moving along the hallway. You’re carrying a plate with half a sandwich. The other half you are eating as you walk into the bedroom. You sit the plate on the bedside table, and make yourself comfortable on a nearby chair. You watch me as you eat. My eyes don’t stray from the corner of the room though.

You sit the plate on the bedside table again, and then stand. Gathering the plate, you walk back to the kitchen, not paying attention to me standing there. For now, I am merely decoration, a living statue. I hear the water run in the kitchen as you rinse the plate, and then your footsteps back to the bedroom. Casually, you lean against the doorframe.

“Relax your arms, slave. Slowly let them down to rest at your side.” I did so, feeling the muscles in my shoulders complain gently as I move. Pushing yourself from the doorway, you stroll to the toy box, collecting the wrist cuffs and restraining strap. From the ceiling hangs a hook. On ‘normal’ days, a potted plant hangs from there. As you walk towards me, I know today I will. You reach up and hang the strap from the hook. You are leaning close against me, and I can smell your scent. Not just the soap and aftershave you use, but the unmistakable scent of you. Once done, you attach the cuffs to my wrists, before firmly massaging the remaining ache from my shoulders.

“Do you remember why you are standing in the corner, slave?”

“Yes, master.”

“Tell me.”

“I am in the corner, master, because I spoke. Because I moved without your permission. Because I forgot that I belong to you.” My voice was soft and deep, but this time from the shame of displeasing my master.

“That’s correct. But standing in the corner is not enough for you. You need further reminding.”

You raise both of my arms, holding them in place as you attach the cuffs to the strap. You then pull the strap taut, stretching out my body. My feet, still in the high heels I wore to work, just touch the ground, just enough for me to keep my balance, and not have all of my weight hanging from my bound wrists. Once again, you run your hands down my body, rolling your wrists to bring your thumbs in to scrape across the bottom of my breasts. They meet at my stomach before moving back up again. This time, you cup my breasts, your thumbs grazing my nipples. I am trying to control my breathing, but my body aches for your touch.

“You will learn eventually, slave,” you say as you bend your head to lick and nip at my tightening nipple. With a silent moan, I try to press my breast further into your mouth. I feel you chuckle again as you catch my nipple, scraping and pulling it between your teeth. I close my eyes with the pain, another misdemeanour. You stand, and tap me on my nose. I open my eyes to look into yours. “You really are being a bad girl tonight.” You are grinning, and you shake your head as you turn back to the box.

I can imagine what is to come. We both well know what is in that box, and I have a fair idea of what is to come. But even that knowledge won’t make it any easier.

Your grin is still there when you return to me. You attach the first nipple clamp, looking in my eyes as you adjust the tension. You can always read my eyes. You stand back a bit, staring at my other breast as if considering. Then with a classic move of a sudden idea, a big grin spreading across y
our face and your hand forming the classic “Ah-ha!” motion, you lean forward and give my other nipple the same treatment as the
first, licking, sucking and biting. “Can’t have it feeling left out, now can we slave,” you say with a chuckle as you tighten the tension to match its mate. You have selected the weighted clamps, and with a soft touch, you set the weight to swing very slightly. The effect is to intensify the pressure and pain. My sodden cunt becomes wetter, my clit becomes just that more erect. And you know this as you kneel in front of me.

Gently, you spread my legs to make it easier for you to attach the straps of the clit teaser. You make sure it is in place before standing. You are still grinning, knowing that I won’t be able to take this punishment for long.

Again, you sit on the chair. In one hand is the remote for the clit teaser. With the other, you pick up a nearby magazine, as if to settle in for a relaxing evening. You open the magazine, and issue your commands without looking in my direction.

“Now slave, I’m going to read. You are not to make a sound. I don’t wish to be disturbed. You are not to come. You are not to close your eyes or look away from the corner. You have to learn to remember that you are mine, and I will do with you and what’s on you as I please.”

With that, you flick through the pages as if looking for a story, and casually switch on the remote.

Oh god! The pressure on my nipples alters as the pendulum swings with my body. The first vibrations tickle through my sensitive clit, reverberating throughout my whole body. With force, I keep my eyes open, wishing you’d forgive me so I could submit to this feeling. But wishing won’t do it. I have to earn my forgiveness from you.

I inhale, and bite the inside of my bottom lip to keep from crying out. My orgasm is growing slowly, and I know there’s a chance that I could fail you in this as well. Time passes, and you slowly flick through the pages of your magazine. My breasts are aching from the pressure of the clamps, and longing for the touch of your hands and tongue. My cunt is throbbing with need, the need to feel your cock filling me. My clit is tortured relentlessly as you change speeds with the remote, sometimes turning it off completely for a few minutes, and then turning it on full.

You sense my growing need. You know exactly how much I can stand, what to do to make me weak, and to beg. You place the magazine back on the bedside table and turn off the remote. “Do you feel you have been punished enough yet, slave?”

“If you feel so, master.” You chuckle again. You know I cannot answer that question in any other way without being punished further. If I answer yes or no, I am being impertinent, and must think I know better than my master. I do not know better. You are in control.

“Will you remember what you learnt here this evening?”

“Yes, master.”

“If you don’t, your punishment will be doubled in the future.” You get out the chair, and move towards me, flicking the switch on the remote once again, watching my body as it tightens. “Have you come, slave?”

“No, master.” I am gasping as my clit is once again teased beyond mercy. You knew it was the truth. My whole body thrummed with the need of release. “Would you like me to forgive you now?”

“If it is your will, master.” As you once again turn off the clit teaser I almost sob in relief. You unsnap the straps that hold it to my body, gently removing it from me, careful not to touch my clit. You stand, and release the restraint that keeps me standing. Somehow, my knees hold me as you lead me to the bed.

You prepared the restraints on the bed earlier, and if I had disobeyed by looking from the corner, I would have seen the wedge-shaped pillow already in place. You stand behind me as we near the bed, massaging the tension from my shoulders. I feel your breath ticking my ear as once again lean forward to lick the marks left earlier by your teeth. You stand me there beside the bed, ensuring that my muscles are relaxing from their earlier position.

“Lie face down, slave. In position over the pillow. You know how I like it.”

I kneel on the edge of the bed and make my way to the centre. I place my hips against the pillow, and lay my torso along the slope, stretching my arms out to the side. I can feel you behind me, removing my shoes and massaging my feet. I love the way your hands move, and I almost purr. You slide your hands along my legs, and caress my ass where you had earlier smacked me. As if remembering my earlier punishment, you smack each cheek once, before leaning over me to fasten the cuff to the restraints.

I can feel you pressing against me, the roughness of your denim scratching along my exposed and sensitive ass and cunt. You run your hands over my body again, before letting your tongue tease my earlobe. I can feel your cock pressing through your jeans as you do, and I press back, earning a quick nip for the movement.

I shiver as you run your hands along my back, and then down to explore my dripping cunt. “You’ve done well with your punishment, slave. If you keep behaving yourself, I will soon forgive you for your earlier transgressions.”

“Thank you, master.” My voice is husky with need, and I feel you get off the bed. I can hear your clothes as you toss them over the chair, can feel your warmth as you move back to me.

Slowly, you rub your cock against me. “Remember, you are not allowed to come. Not until I forgive you.” I can feel you teasing my clit, rubbing harder, sending waves of sensual agony through me.

I am starting to shake. It’s becoming noticeable. I need you. I want you. You are my master. I can feel your cock tease my entrance, sliding in enough for me to want more. You withdraw fully, then enter again. You keep this going. Without thought, I begin to moan deep in my throat. You move in deeper, rubbing against my g-spot. I begin to spasm.

“Not yet, slave.” You are breathing heavily now, one of your hands sliding around to tease my clit.

Suddenly, you plunge deep, filling me. “Master!” I can feel you all the way, deep inside my throbbing cunt. You withdraw, just leaving the head in, before plunging again, and again, deeper and harder.

“Forgive me, Master, forgive me.” The words became a litany as, wave after wave, my orgasm approached.

“Forgiven. Come for me, slave. Come now.”

I met your thrusts as best I could with the restraints, clenching my muscles tight, riding the sensations you’re giving me. With every thrust, you took me higher, sending me over the edge. You call my name as your own orgasm approaches, my voice joins yours. My body shudders with release, my cunt over filling with our come. My mind was blank, the only thing I knew was that you forgave me and that I gave you what you wished.

Panting hard, you withdraw, running your hands again over my body. You undo the restraints, and help me move off the cushion. My heart beat slows as you hold me, cradled within your arms.

Holding you tight, I whisper “I love you, Master Nicholas.”

Your kiss on my forehead is my only reply. The only reply I need.

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The Corner, 8.2 out of 10 based on 6 ratings

No Responses to “The Corner”

  1. Ramcharger says:

    Very good story. You should write another part to this, but give it a twist. Maybe the Master could give the slave 1 day of being Master while he is the slave.

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  2. gadogry says:

    You’re really (REALLY) into it. Best narrative story I’ve ever read.

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  3. Jassica says:

    great story

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