I was snuggled under his arm as we watched Game of Thrones in bed. Despite losing myself in the story and the feeling of his warm body next to mine, I could feel a tight coil of tension at my center. The stress of worrying about the future and mourning our impending separation was my constant companion. The mornings were easiest when I had work and caring for my child to distract me. By the time sir returned home for dinner, though, I could feel tears threatening. I knew it was about needing a physical release for the emotional tensions of my day, but I was reluctant to give in to it. I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer, and I really didn’t want sir to begin associating his return home with a deluge of my tears every time he walked through the door. So I mentally placed those coils of tension in a small box somewhere around my stomach, and tried to ignore it.
After the program ended, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand to set the alarm. Sir disentangled himself from the bed sheets and got to his feet to go to the bathroom, I presumed. To my surprise he strode to the closet instead and began digging through the toy bag. I watched in disbelief as he pulled out black clover clamps and walked over to my side of the bed.
“Stand up and take off your pajamas,” he said.
My mouth dropped open in disbelief, and I stopped myself a second before asking why out loud. Asking for an explanation of sir’s motivations would only get me in hot water.
I did as he commanded, and he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He watched me intently, one hand on his lap and the other holding the clamps that I loathed. Finally I stood in front of him wearing only knee socks, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
“Step out,” he said and motioned for me to spread my legs.
My heartbeat kicked against my chest, and I took a tentative step. His expression was pleasant, but I heard the underlying hint of steel in his voice. His hand went to my crotch, but I backed away. I stared at the clover clamps glinting at me in the dim light.
“I can’t handle clover clamps on my pussy,” I said.
Panic blossomed through me, and I found myself shaking my head. My eyes were wide, and that box inside me where I had kept the day’s fears was threatening to spill open. There was no way on God’s green earth that I could tolerate the merciless clamp of metal on my sensitive nether regions. The thought was overwhelming. I couldn’t do it. Not even for the man I loved.
Sir laughed. “You say that like you think there’s a Door #2 or something. There’s no other option. Come here.”
“I can’t do it,” I repeated and shied away from his questing fingers.
“You’re going to do this,” he said, “or I’m going to beat you with a wire hanger.”
If he had threatened me with any of our usual toys, a cane or whip or flogger, I would have dived for the alternative. But a hanger was so outside our usual play parameters that I recognized it as a true deterrent. Plus, I had seen Mommy Dearest. Did I think he would actually do it? Probably not, but I understood the message beneath the uncommon implement. Sir was dead serious.
My voice caught in my throat. In that moment I knew there was nothing to be done but submit. I could feel the emotion welling in my throat, along with defeat, and there was no denying that the avalanche of feeling contained within me would break free. Tears slid down my cheeks as I slowly stepped forward and gave him access to my labia. I couldn’t bear to watch him apply the clamps, so I shut my eyes and looked away. My tears fell faster, and I started to shake. Big hiccupping sobs shook my chest as I felt sir’s hands move from my pussy to my breasts. Still I refused to look.
His fingers gently teased my erect nipples as he clamped them, and the familiar weighted chain felt cold against my skin. Relief that he wasn’t going to clamp my pussy washed through me, but it couldn’t stop the torrent of emotions that had been unleashed. I continued to sob as sir murmured endearments.
“Just let go, baby,” he crooned. His lips grazed the underside of my breast, and then he kissed a clamped nipple. He gently caressed my skin with his hands as his lips planted sweet kisses over my chest.
As he wrapped his arms around my waist to pull me even closer, I rested my cheek on the top of his head. Finally my tears were spent, and I took a ragged breath. I felt exhausted and empty, exhumed of all tension and sadness.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Sir sat back on the bed and carefully removed the clamps. “I think you really needed that.”
“I did.”
“You know, I was never going to put these clamps on your pussy. That would have been mean.”
I shook my head and felt a small smile bow my lips. “You really are a champion mind fucker.”
We crawled into bed and returned to the positions that had originally started our evening. I snuggled into his side, my head on his chest, and I took my first deep breath of the night. Deep feelings of love and gratitude swept through me, and I pulled them tight around me like a blanket. I wanted the moment to last forever.
Want more stories of a good girl being naughty? TALES OF A FILTHY GOOD GIRL by Heather Cole is now available on Nook, , and Smashwords.
