Here is a short story I wrote in 2004, first written in French, then translated with some help (see below).

I slid the nozzle between my bum cheeks and into my anus and I filled myself full with fluids, as full as a water skin. This I did for you Mistress. The hot liquid penetrated my body, it excited me like it always does, and I felt my pussy getting wet. I stayed calm and concentrated on my present activity: my lower body ingested the water and held it until the suffering transformed into pleasure. I allowed my bottom’s receptacle to form, getting it ready to submit to you Mistress; in order to please you. Eventually, I had to run and empty my bowels. When I was done, I came back and filled myself up again, repeating the cleansing process so that I would be as clean as a new penny, clean like you want me to be when I receive you.

For you Mistress, I filled my ass and slid my body against the blue butt plug, the one that we chose together. The one that you made me decide on, made me anticipate until I begged for you to fill me with it. I brought my bum towards the plug and inserted the object inside me. It felt like a foreign object, but a welcomed and recognized one nonetheless. It was like as if my ass was made to receive it, to receive you. By the end, it was entirely in me and I could feel it penetrate upward, all the way to my stomach. I kept it in my body for a long time in order to mould my asshole to your liking Mistress, so that it responds to your needs.

I now find myself groveling before you Mistress. I must seem like an inflatable toy that has been plugged. My natural reflex is to expel the object invading it, but the belt you had me put on is holding it firmly in place, conserving the sensation of intrusion in me, breaking me in. I know you are examining my body. You wanted me like this – at your feet – in the most humble position possible. You like to see me positioned like this before you; I like to see myself here too. To me, it is the best feeling in the world. This thought – as much as the plug resting inside me – has the power to excite me, and I know you can see my fluids trickling down my thighs, mixing with the lubricant

I am your object, your thing, your toy. I beg of you to tell me that what I am offering you, pleases you, that you like that moment when I’m before you, when all the possibilities are still opened-up. You must have known right away how much I crave that uncertain moment between your assaults, the moment where I can reflect on what’s coming next, when you let me fill myself with that shameful but exquisite wait. Just until my body trembles.

You slide a muzzle into my mouth and you pull the strap tight around my head. Then, you tell me to lift my knees and to spread my legs. I do this and following your instructions, I open my legs as wide as possible. I do this for you Mistress, so that I can be your consenting whore, giving you access to my entire body. I am naked, but your gaze undresses me further so that you can see past my flesh and into my soul; so that you can see me better than I can see myself. Gently, with almost loving gestures, you wrap a rope around my ankles and thighs, so that the extremities of my legs become immobilized against one another. I am restrained tight enough so that I cannot stretch my legs, but loose enough so that the rope doesn’t hurt me. In the same gentle manner, you tie my wrists to the sides of my body and I am left spread out on the carpet with open legs and immobilized wrists. You lean over me and pinch my lips. I moan, but the muzzle stifles the sound of my voice. My pussy is so moist that the liquid runs between your fingers each time you try to grasp me. You take a napkin and wipe my vulva so that it be dry. Then, you pin my lips with wooden clothes pins. You use a total of eight pins, an even number – today you are sparing my clitoris. The pins bite into my flesh, provoking a small sharp pain that is gradually receding until it becomes a small discomfort.

Next, you approach my chest and bring out another rope, tying up my small tits. This time you tie the ropes tighter, so that my breasts become nothing but two small spheres perched at the top of my body. With an expert hand, you take hold of my nipples and pinch them cruelly. I whimper again. You pull on them as if you have no other care in the world, as if I was made of paste that could be molded by your hands. Then, you clench my nipples between two clothes pins. You straighten yourself again and stand up to contemplate your work. Here I am, stretched in front of you, pinned to the ground, like a rare insect, like an artist’s work in progress. You use your foot to play with one of the pins pinching my lips. I moan with anticipation. I can feel my pussy moisten, but the clips stay firmly in place. Your foot moves towards my anus and pushes lightly on the plug. This time, I gasp. You remain silent, but you look at me in a questioning manner: “Do you want me to screw you in the ass, little bitch?” Without uttering a word, I shake my head in response to your question. Your foot continues to push the object in my ass. Your eyes always remain fixed on me, examining my every reaction, assisting in debasing me. Eventually, your foot moves back to my pussy. The top of your foot slides between my lips, between the pins. It rubs against my clitoris, which is already suffering with desire waiting for you to pay attention to it. I take a deep breath and feel my eyes filling with water, on the verge of tears.

And, Mistress, you continue to look me in the eyes. “You want me to let you cum, you little whore, don’t you?” You don’t say it, but I can hear you, and I moan signaling consent, my chest rising, opening my thighs even wider within the confines of the bindings. You take off the pins retaining my breasts and the blood flows back to my nipples. Quickly, you take off your pants and you straddle me, sitting with your pussy rubbing against my left breast and then my right one. Both of them redden like hot iron, inflaming together, tender and sensitive underneath your soft, moist flesh. You use my hardened nipples to caress your pussy, to stimulate your clitoris. You thread my right breast through to the bottom of your lips, onto your clitoris. Your pelvis starts to move in a circular motion. How I would like to touch you, caress your pussy until you squeeze out little cries of pleasure, to lick you, to slide my fingers inside you. You move graciously along my chest and despite your calm and collectedness, I can feel the pleasure rising up into your body. I can feel the spasms and I can see your face reddening. Your fluids drip onto my breasts and sooth them; your flesh briskly caresses my nipples and you rub yourself on me so hard that your fluids flow down my stomach and settle into the nape of my neck. You never cease to look at me with a challenging gaze, as if to say: “You see, I orgasm whenever I want to”. Suddenly, your body trembles and stiffens, and you fall back lightly without losing composure. You sit back down on my body, after pleasuring yourself on me.

Finally, you get up. I stay there, quivering on the ground, unable of keeping a hold on the desire growing in me. The smile on your face is indecipherable. You focus yourself between my open legs and this time you kneel, supporting yourself with your hand on one of my knees. You’re so close to my pussy that you could almost touch it – but not yet. Not until you contemplate my level of arousal. With the index finger of your right hand, you finally touch my clit. It rubs up against your finger, replete with desire. You lightly touch me, almost absentmindedly. Your caress makes me crazy and I want to cum. If I don’t, I know I will die. The revolutions on my clit intensify and I can feel you adding more pressure. You press harder on me, caressing me more vigorously, and finally, I can feel the excitement rising and growing, although I sense that it is still not yet time to finish . You detach the strap that is retaining the plug, but you don’t take it out of my body yet. Still caressing my clit with your right hand, you let the plug slide out of my anus a bit and then you drive it in again. My membranes ache even though my bowel opens up upon the thrusts. My body doesn’t want this to stop, it is receiving this with all its heart and soul. Without forgetting to take care of my clit, you drive the plug several times into me, its textured surface scrapping my anus, its round tip penetrating deeply into my bowel. I groan, I cry, I tremble, and I quiver. Silently, I ask for more. You sodomize me with the plug, you tease my clit with your finger, you dominate me with your presence, all of the sensations melting together and giving birth to a warmth in my stomach, to a warm feeling of fullness that climbs and climbs and at the end, I don’t know which part of me feels the most pleasure: my clitoris that is distending and retracting in order to squirt out its fluids, or; my anus, where I can feel the heat diffusing suddenly throughout my entire pelvis, or; my soul dominated by you and pleasured because you exist.

You pull the pins off very quickly and my lips burn from their newfound liberty. I rest like this for what feels like an eternity, agitated by spasms. My entire pussy is moist; my muscles are strained from my desire to retain this feeling, shaking from the shivers and tears induced by the intensity of the instant. And I stay there, on my back, bound, spread, with you still holding the plug slightly out of my body, your hand always resting on my vulva. You finish by removing the plug and my anus closes from an absence that now seems strange to me. With the appropriate gestures, you release my wrists, then my thighs, my ankles, and finally my breasts. Then you help me sit up and I straighten myself again. I feel a little weak and unsteady. You sit behind me and wrap your arms around my body. You take off the gag. You hold me there for a long time, whispering soothing words over and over again – and in these words I sometimes hear the name that only you give me.

Thanks to Monica Frommer who helped me with the English version.
Reproduction of this text is forbidden unless authorised by the author.
z.beline ©2004-2010

Also check the French version of that short story: Soumise.