The Aerial Feminist

I first wrote this a couple of years ago for my old blog, but I rediscovered it recently when going through some old documents. I still really like it, so I decided to polish it a bit and post it again. Enjoy. ❤

“So…wanna play?”

“God, yes.”

They’d had this exchange countless times, but she never tired of it. The flirty negotiation of what was and wasn’t on the table that day, the vanilla lead-up of kissing and touching, the hungry look in his eyes, the way his demeanor shifted the moment she consented and the scene truly began – it was intoxicating. They were just like any other couple…until they weren’t.

“Yes what?” His voice was stern but not unkind, the Dominant within emerging but not fully awake.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” a faint smile playing at his lips, knowing what that phrase did to his sub.

Her cheeks flushed at the words, and she knew that if she reached into her thong, her fingers would come back slick. She began to sink into her submissive headspace. She was his, only his; her body and mind were his to command and use as he saw fit. She didn’t have to think about anything but him: how to please him, what he made her feel. As her mind relaxed, her body became more aroused.

He kissed her roughly, then pulled away. “You know what to do.”

She did. She stood up from the couch, undressed slowly, and then stood in front of him: naked, hands behind her back, eyes cast demurely toward the floor. He studied her for a few moments before rising to his feet. He walked behind her, grabbed a handful of her hair, and growled in her ear, “Who do you belong to, slut?”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed a soft, “You, Sir.”

“I couldn’t hear you. Whose slut are you?”

“I’m yours, Sir.”

“Good girl. Bend over the arm of the couch.”

She did as she was told, but before she’d even had a chance to settle into a comfortable position, she felt a stinging smack on her ass. She let out a gasp of surprise, which turned into a moan of pleasure. His hand was immediately in her hair again. “Not a word out of you, understand?”

She nodded. Of course, in reality she could use their safe word at any time, and he would instantly stop – but she didn’t want to stop. She wanted more, so much more. So she bit her lip and kept quiet as he spanked her again and again. Soon, her normally pale cheeks were bright red and burning with delicious pain.

He stopped, momentarily admiring his handiwork. “You may speak now, but only when spoken to. Do you think you’ve had enough?”

“No, Sir,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the couch cushion. She knew that the answer didn’t really matter, of course – it wasn’t up to her to decide what she deserved – but it was an honest answer. She still craved the pain, despite her already stinging backside.

“Good girl. Now, I want you to crawl to the bedroom and retrieve your collar and the riding crop. Bring them back to me with them in your mouth.”

She obeyed, another wave of arousal hitting her. She knew she looked quite the wanton sight, crawling on all fours with her bright red ass in the air. She reached the bedroom, retrieved her collar, the attached leash, and the leather riding crop from their drawers of toys and other play accessories and held them between her teeth, then crawled back through the hallway into the living room. She saw him watching her with a mix of hunger and pride, and her desire deepened.

She arrived at his feet, kneeling expectantly. He took the collar and crop from her and fastened the collar around her neck with a surprising tenderness. Her heart leapt as it always did; the thrill of being collared never faded. The metal of the leash was cold against her skin, hardening her nipples as it fell across her breasts.

He gripped the leash in one hand and the crop in the other. “Crawl back to the bedroom.”

She crawled ahead of him as he smacked her ass with the crop. Twice, he pulled on the leash to get her to pause so he could better admire the view of his slutty plaything, before giving her an extra hearty smack. As they reached the bedroom, he could already see a few bruises beginning to form. Good. They both loved it when he left marks behind.

When they reached the foot of the bed, he detached the leash from her collar. “Lay on your back on the bed, with your head up by the pillows,” he commanded.

“Yes, Sir.” She did as she was told, while he went to the toy drawers. He pulled out a set of nipple clamps and her favorite heavy-duty wand vibrator. Suddenly she had an idea of what was in store for her, and she knew her pussy was practically dripping with anticipatory arousal.

He attached the clamps to her erect nipples and restrained her wrists in the cuffs that were fastened to the bed. “Look at me,” he commanded. She met his eyes, and he slipped his fingers inside her wet cunt for a few moments before removing them and simply saying, “You’re all mine. Never forget that.”

Then he turned on the vibrator and placed it against her engorged clitoris. Her entire body suddenly felt like one giant nerve ending. She immediately felt the orgasm beginning to build inside her; her breathing changed, and her hands began to grip the bedding.

“Oh no, you don’t get to come that easily,” he said, holding the chain of the clamps taut. The pain took the edge off her climax, distracting her enough to pull her away from the brink. He released the chain, and immediately the pleasure mounted again. He let it build, and just as she reached the edge, he pulled the chain again. “Beg for it, slut.”

“Please, Sir. Please let me come.”

He let go of the chain. “Whose are you?”

“I’m yours, Sir.” Her orgasm was building quickly; she was so close to the edge. “I’m your slut, your little fucktoy. Please, please, please.”

“Come for me.”

And that was all it took. She burst over the precipice of her climax, her mind and body doing nothing but riding the waves of pleasure. She barely registered when he turned off the vibrator, though she winced slightly when he removed the clamps.

“Good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

After allowing her a few moments to catch her breath, he stood, quickly undressed, and commanded her to kneel in front of him.

“Do you want my cock, slut?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Show me how much you want it and maybe you’ll earn the privilege of me fucking you.”

She immediately took his cock deep inside her mouth. She wanted to show her devotion to it, worshiping every inch. His hands had a firm grip on her hair, pulling it when he was especially pleased. This spurred her on, swirling her tongue around the head before taking his entire length deep down her throat, and he let out a noise almost like a growl.

“That’s it.” He lifted her up by the hair, spun her around, and bent her over the bed. She barely had time to register what was happening before he was sliding easily inside her. She moaned loudly – her pussy was still so sensitive from her intense orgasm – which earned her a smack on the ass. He fucked her roughly, one hand on her neck and the other in her hair, pushing her face into the mattress. They both loved when he fucked her like this; the pure carnality of it was both brutal and beautiful.

Suddenly, he withdrew, and she whimpered at the emptiness she felt. He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled. “Are you my filthy slut?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Louder.”

“Yes, Sir!” she screamed, and he plunged into her again.

His thrusts were deep and fast, and she lost herself in the sensations, reveling in being so thoroughly used. She had no idea how much time passed – it somehow felt like both seconds and days – before his breathing began to change. It became shallower and shallower until his body tensed and he climaxed, erupting into her. He had marked her as his, both inside and out.

They collapsed together on the bed, breathing hard. He pulled her close, waiting for her to come to her senses. Once she was back in her own mind, he whispered in her ear, “That’s my good girl. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back, tears of joy at the corners of her eyes, and nestled deeper into his arms, letting the bliss wash over her.

Their aftercare rituals were extremely important to both of them, just as much as the scene itself. She needed the closeness, the comfort; he needed to be the one to look after her. They remained entwined together on the bed for several minutes, and once he saw she was ready for him to temporarily leave her side, he stood. He put on his shirt and boxers, removed her play collar, helped her into her favorite comfortable clothes – sweatpants and oversized t-shirt – and carried her out into the living room. He gently placed her on the couch, covered her with a blanket, and kissed her forehead before heading into the kitchen to make dinner.

“Perhaps later, if you’re especially good,” he called over the sound of running water and clanging pots, “I’ll find a use for the metal spatula.”

She smiled, feeling the renewed arousal flood her body. She didn’t cook, but she loved that spatula; it left the prettiest bruises.

“I’d like that very much, Sir.”