His

I knelt at the end of the bed, nervous, afraid, anxious. My clitty, as he called it, uncaged for the first time in two months, but still soft, tucked against the crotch of my pantyhose. I heard him walking behind me, wanted to look, but knew better.

"Wider," he said, slapping the inside of each of my thighs with the riding crop he favored.

"Y...yes, Sir," I answered, spreading my legs wider, knowing the target I now offered, knowing what he wanted, helpless to resist.

"Better," he said. I heard the flick of his wrist, the moving of the air from the crop, hoped his target wasn't what I feared, then felt the sting between my legs.

"Ohhhh," I gasped as the crop landed on my trapped penis. He'd hit me hard enough to sting but not hard enough to cause real pain; sensations were on the border of pain and pleasure.

"You need to count," he ordered me.

"C...count?" I asked.

"To ten," he said. "That was one. You need to count."

"Hmmmffff," I whimpered, not sure I wanted, not sure I could take, nine more.

He flicked his wrist again and I felt the sting, felt my penis, my clitty swell as much as it could. "Count," he ordered me again, "start with one."

"One," I moaned, shaking. 

Nine more blows landed on me, with each one I swelled, never erect, just full. With the last one, I felt his hand on me, soft and tender now. "Good girl," he said, "still soft."

"Yes, Sir," I said, knowing an erection was forbidden, always forbidden. 

I felt his finger, felt him make a small hole in my hose, a hole for him to use, placed so the hose still trapped me. I felt the cold gel, the lubricant, then felt his hardness, the head, felt him slowly enter me.

"Oh, god," I groaned, "oh god." As soon as he entered me, I started leaking, heard him grunt in appreciation. 

"For someone who swore she'd never like it, you sure seem to like it," he said as he started fucking me.

I was lost now, ashamed, desperate, needy, thinking only of him inside me, of the way he made me feel, submissive, feminine, his.