Tabletop

The submissive in this story is femme-presenting, nonbinary, so they/them pronouns are used for the sub. This is new for me, but inclusion is important. I hope I didn’t screw that up, and that EVERYONE enjoys the story.

The table was cool against their nipples when he pressed their chest flat upon the table. He spread their legs further apart, lining them up with the legs of the table and attached the chain to the ankle cuffs. He left their wrists to rest comfortably on either side of their head, allowing the chains slack for his sweet sub to move. A breeze flowed from the open doors at the opposite side of the table. Their brow furrowed in concern. They didn’t know what he had planned. The vacation house was fairly isolated, but what if someone heard? The chains rattled as if to emphasize the point.

They could hear him moving around the kitchen behind them. Is he… cooking? Chopping sounds, packages opening, then the beep of the slow cooker. Fricking mind games, they thought incredulously. Ruefully, they acknowledged the effectiveness of the tactic: objectification during the mundane. His gaze strayed to their prone body often and he would let out a little hum of satisfaction at the sight. The vulnerability of their displayed position excited them.

Of course, he knew it did. He didn’t even need to check for the telling gleam of desire- though he’d inspect for it in a few moments. Taunt his pet for it. His sweet sub jolted at the loud thud of a gear bag hitting the floor. His dark laugh mingled with the rattling chains. He croouched behind them and took a breath, flooding his senses with the scent of desire. It lit him up, nudging him closer to Dom space. For him, Dom space was one of methodical focus where his sadist was free to drink up every cry of pleasure and pain wrung from his pet.

His large hands curled above the ankle cuffs, stroking up their calves, turning so the backs of his fingers ticked the sensitive spot behindtheir knees. A giggle and twitching foot were met with a kiss. He continued upwards. Fingers curled, his nails and fingertips stroked and scratched, meandering up, down, and between their thighs. He watched their soft, smooth legs tighten and tremble, muscles of their ass flex, knees dipping when he hit a sensitive spot, hips moving… their body chased his touch, seeking it where they needed it most. His breath fanned their bum, the closed lips of their pussy. The softest sound of need escaped their throat. His tongue. They needed his tongue.

Those teasing fingers traced the curve of their cheeks before suddenly turning. Gripping the meaty swells of their arse, he pushed the cheeks up and away, exposing their hidden treasures. They gasped at the cool air; the wetness released. The dusky colors of their cunt and ass were exposed to his gaze. His voice rumbled with the depth it has when dominance claims him.

“What a soaking, needy pet. Your body dared to keep its secrets until I split your sweet peach apart? Tsk. Tsk. Look at this!”, his finger circled delicately over their clip, already slipping from the hood. “This too!”, his fingers moved, tracing their hole.

“Your fuckhole is already opening, begging to be stuffed. My slutty little fuckpet!” His hand landed a spank on the right cheek, but not hard enough. “Aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I what?”, they feigned ignorance. *SLAP* Again, not hard enough.

“You heard me. I’ll not repeat myself.”

They shivered, giving him the words not because he commanded, but because announcing them loud and clear thrilled them too. “I am your slutty little fuckpet!”

He leaned forward, biting their left cheek, he murmured agreement amid grips, light spanks, swirling circle of cares, and kisses. The kisses, nibbles, caresses, and sketches wound their way across the expansion of their back and bottom as he stood. Every nerve ending kindled under his touch. They shivered and pursued. A meer brush againsttheir clip at this point could make them cum. He was tuning them like an instrument; every touch was intended to inflame. They felt the diploma towards subspace. He bent, pressing his clothed body over their nudity, grinding his hard cock against their hip.

“Mine.” He bit their shoulder, sucking, leaving a mark. One of many. They had barely registered that he’d stepped to the side before his hand fell in a measured pace of spanks across their ass: hard, soft, soothe, 5 hard on the right, 5 hard on the left, soothe, bite, five more with the small paddle. Every action was deliberate. Their ankles tightly restrained; unable to kick. Their arms had more freedom to reach, chains scraping the tabletop and chiming on the tiles. The spanking had them gasping, yelping. All concerns about being heard were obliterated in the onslaught. After a time, slowed, stopped; just caresing the heat rising from their skin.

He feathered kisses across their shoulders and placed one tenderly on thetop of their head. They moaned as his nails raked in arches across their shoulder blades, then down their back, rekindling this peculiar erogenous zone. Their skin was awakened, prickling with goosebumps, muscles twitching, all while their mind slipped further into that heady space. They hadn’t noticed his movement to the end of the table until their arms jerked forward suddenly. He pulled the chains out so their arms were now fully extended, movement limited.

“Now you’re ready.” His declaration carried a tone of threatening satisfaction.

Swoosh! Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Awwwwww YES!”

He trailed the heavy tails up their spine, letting them flow and fall like a veil so they could huff the intoxicating cent of leather. Then he really began. With expert care and fire concentration, His beast flew. They both soared. His breath was measured, theirs panting and gasping. The flogger spun across their shoulders, the tips danced tickling down their spine before flying out and thumbing hard across their ass. A half step back and he delivered singing windmills over ass and shoulders. Then the thumbing blows resumed. It was a sequence repeating in a score known only to him.

He was composer, conductor, and musician to this symphony. An intermezzo of kisses, caresses, of delving and teasing fingers separated the movements of his piece. The final movement, a fierce allegro burned through the muscles of his shoulder. Sweat shoe on his chest. Satisfaction and throbbing arousal flared in response to those cries. His sweet sub’s cries run out like a chorus by the beatified damned.

Subspace kept them floating through the ache, unaware of the tears mingling with sweat. Time had no meaning; life was his breath and the relentless, glorious rhythm of leather on skin. When he stopped, finally dropping the flogger, the sounds echoed for a moment in the quiet. Bending close he kissed them, soothing.

“You did so well for me. You took it all so welland sang so sweetly. Are you alright? Was it good? I need to be inside you. Can I finish claiming you?” His fingers dipped into the molten pool of their cunt, his thumb against their clip, rousing them from their stupor.

“Fuck! So good!” Their voice was a little slurred. “Thank you. So good!”, they repeated more strongly. “Yes, please. I need you!”

One hand Keep them on the edge while he freed his cock with the other. They rocked against him as much as the restraints allowed, which was frustratingly minimal. His entrance was swift, hard, and exactly what they needed. Gripping a handful of hair, he raised their sweaty, tears-streaked face. He withdraw, thrust again.

The fingers of his left hand dug hard into their flesh, pushing the cheese of their ass, holding that sweet treasure box open for the deepest access. The fingerprint bruises would be masked by the flogging marks. The edges of his short fingerprintnails left tiny singing crescents. He began to move, with fierce intensnature. He released their hair only to curl his arm over their shoulder, across their chest, holding them up slightly. Pinching a nipple while he buried his face in the tangle of hair, they rutted. His hand moved to their clip, his balls tightening, his cock rocking against their g-spot. He grunted softly on each stroke. He broke his pet’s incoherent babble with his demand.

“Come. Come for me now. With me. I’m going to flood you and watch my cum slip down your tights before I knee behind you. I’m going to lick up your thighs, tasting us. I’m going to devour your cum-filled cunt until you come on my tongue too, like a good pet. Give it to me now!”

Breath halted, then exploded in a keening wail, punctuated with his shout of satisfaction as he spurt after spurt pulsed into their body. He collapsed, head resting lightly between their shoulder blades while he recovered. When he could move, he released their wrists, promising a mass later. Kissing his way back down until he onceagain knelt and took off their shoes. They saw in relief, shifting remotely as if expecting the ankle restraints to be released too. Oh no… no. He kept their ankles bound; legs wide apart so he could admit the view.

The lips were deeply flushed, shining with cum, and still parted from the width of his cock. He watched his cum slip down the cleft, clinging to their clip. He caught the drop on his fingertip before it fell and sucked it noisily clean. The whimper from above was aroused and embarrassed; one of his favorite combinations. Honestly, theirs too. More slipped, sliding to their thigh, as expected. His tongue made chase. Soft and slick, he licked up their thighs to the bikini line. He groaned, sucking each labia in turn before pumping his tongue within the hot pink channel. Their mingle flavor made his cock twitch, rousing slightly. Greenely he tongue fucked his sweet sub before slipping two curling fingers inside instead. Catching the creamy gift each stroke produced, he focused on their throbbing clip. Suckling softly, violently, he hummed in encouraging response to their moans and cries. They came hard again, a third time and each time his consumed their pleasure.

Only when their knees gave out did he stop, laughing a little between words of comfort and pray. He released their ankles and helped them scootch their stiff legs closed. He wanted to cradle his pet in his arms but know getting back up would be a challenge. Instead, he helped them both to the bed where he delivered the promised massage. After the shared bath, an application of what they jokingly called the butt balm (for briising), they returned the favor and massed his back and shoulders. He was always a little sore after a thorough flogging. Contentment and happiness fully replaced their respective beasts.