Free Story - Figging The Brat

I always stay out too late.

Image licensed by Depositphotos

Hi reader,

This sexy BDSM story has been rewritten from 1,702 words to 2,670. I hope you enjoy.

I was mildly stimulated about going home.

My husband was annoyed with me. I wouldn’t get away with a simple spanking for my infraction of our agreed-upon rules. When I stepped off the elevator to our Penthouse apartment, he stood waiting, tall, gorgeous, a day’s stubble adding to his ruggedness.

Mason hugged and kissed me nicely, and I felt his relief that I was home safely, but even though he smiled lovingly, his eyes wide and sparkling, I knew I was in trouble. I shivered, knowing what was to come, relishing my situation, hoping for more than a sound spanking.

That thought, and the knowledge that punishment would follow always thrilled me.

My panties were soaked through, and my thighs felt sticky because I had danced with friends all night at a local club, only ever thinking about my husband, who would make love to me on my return home. Mason aroused me not purely because I loved him, nor was it his exceptional good looks - he mastered me.

My husband took my submissive nature and played with it expertly

But it was undeniable that I had messed up, and I knew that once his relief subsided, I would be punished.

Mason stared deeply into my eyes, and I saw his concern for me mixed with love.

“I’m tired of you coming home late, Samantha.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I get carried away when I’m dancing, but I was well behaved. You can check inside my panties if you wish.”

“In that regard, I trust you absolutely, honey.”

I gave Mason my best bratty, sorrowful face, curling my lips downwards, pretending to seek mercy. My innocent, burning eyes told my husband how dearly I loved him, and in return, I got the same look as always - utter devotion.

Our game of punishment and atonement had begun. I wasn’t sure if my rule-breaking was deliberate on my part to give meaning to my punishment or not, but right now, my pussy lips trembled wildly, and I leaked more sticky honey into my gusset than any saintly girl ought to.

Mason easily lifted me with powerful arms, his hands gently cupping me. He carried me to our bedroom with my arms wrapped around his neck. I planted soft, loving kisses on his lips, cheeks, and neck, then gasped when I saw ropes dangling from the ceiling.

“No spanking tonight, Mason?”

“I’m afraid not, honey. You’ve broken our rules too often.”

“I know… I am sorry.”

I frowned and winced, thinking of the delicious aching yet to come. My breathing quickened as my heart thumped harder, louder, almost cracking my ribs to escape. My entire body was in tune with nature, my senses were heightened, touch, taste, sight, sound, and even the aroma of my arousal that twisted alluringly through my twitching nostrils, fueling my desire.

The rope configuration dangling from our bedroom ceiling meant only one thing.

“Are you figging me tonight, Mason?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Oh my… a special treat for an especially naughty girl.”

“You must learn to behave, Samantha. We discussed your safety during these nights out, and you keep compromising it by staying out late.”

“I know.”

I bowed my head in shameful apology. It was sincere, as was most of our playbook. Figging would hurt in the moment and ache for a day, but my differentiation between pain and pleasure had a bandwidth within which I experienced joy and contrition. It was the way I was built, and Mason was the only man or woman who understood precisely how much pain became pleasure for me.

I would learn a lesson and cum hard while doing so. My skin burned like that of a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl whose hormones were out of control. I was well past that age, but still, the thought of punishment, especially a burning ginger root inserted in my back passage, drove me wild.

Mason was right; I was wrong, and when he unzipped my dress, allowing it to fall into a silken puddle on the floor, then thumbed my French lace panties down, I knew what was coming.

The brat would be vigorously figged as she deserved and desired. Mason pointed at our bed, upon which the moonlight splashed like it did on the lake outside our home, mysteriously, beckoning me to its dark secrets.

“I’m rubbing cream on your ankles and wrists to protect them. Get into a relaxed doggy position on our bed.”

I did as Mason told me while he massaged my ankles. I shivered, and more sticky cream leaked into my panties. Without my dress, the aroma of shame encircled me like a bubble with my husband inside it. I craned my neck, stared at his crotch, and saw my arousal had become contagious. After a damn good figging, Mason would fill me with his cock and seed.

My husband, a shibari expert who had been taught by a master in Japan, secured the first rope around my arms, which he crossed over behind my back. Mason was creating a butterfly, a position from which I would be reborn while suspended from the ceiling by ropes around my mid-thighs and upper back.

The rope structure that encased me ensured the hoist points were safe to bear my weight.

When Mason was happy with my roping, he attached the anchor point ropes to a pulley above. Then, slowly and somewhat joyfully for me, he took up the strain, easing me gently upwards without my knees leaving the bed.

I gasped as the ropes bit into my skin, warming, not tearing. As I settled, I arched my back like a dolphin rising above the ocean. Mason stared into my eyes, looking for pain and pleasure, judging whether he’d met my needs for both.

“Does that hurt, Samantha?”

“It’s tolerable, sweetheart.”

Mason never fucked around with my safety, regardless of safe words. Ironically, mine was porpoise. He tied ropes to each ankle, joining them to the pulley above, less for load-bearing, more to complete my restraint. I had lost control, not lost perhaps, but yielded to a man who cared deeply for me.

My trust in Mason was absolute, as was my need to relinquish all control. I felt calm, secure, and relaxed, and my mind drifted aimlessly yet with purpose to rejuvenate, as it did when I practiced breathing exercises as part of my meditation.

“I’m going to lift you higher, Samantha.”

Cold air delightfully licked my lewd, damp exposure when I felt my ass crack and pussy lips splay wide open. Mason lifted me higher until my knees were an inch off the bed. I was entirely suspended, finally free from all evils, held in a suspended bubble by my beloved.

Mason had trapped me. My pussy was splayed wide open, and my anal whorl was perfectly accessible for a vigorous figging. Mason had suspended me for his delight and my shame - something I thoroughly enjoyed.

Mason brought a bean bag around to my front, settling into a perfect position where I could suck his long, thick cock. He dragged my head forward until I could bob my head up and down his shaft. I clenched my lips around his circumcised helmet, enjoying the instant burning of his precum as it seared my taste buds.

When my husband cupped the back of my head, he had complete control over my movement. He dragged me slowly, driving my tightly clenched lips along his thick, solid, and veiny shaft, pausing when I choked when he bottomed out deep inside my throat.

I tasted pre-cum on my tonsils as his cock passed them, then more burned the soft tissue linings in my throat. As I gagged vigorously, my body starved of oxygen, I was whisked to my heavenly place where nothing and nobody could harm me.

A salty, burning sensation ran through my throat, across my tonsils, and on my tongue and taste buds, spurring me, igniting my primal desires.

Mason relented and I gasped for breath with the rim of his sticky, delicious cock clinging to my lips. He repeatedly forced my head up and down his stiff, long, thick cock until my lips kissed his bristling pubic bush, and my throat struggled to accommodate his throbbing shaft.

I clenched my neck muscles, determined to fuck my Master’s cock as he desired, to milk every drop of his seed.

“Work on my cock and your attitude while I carve out your ginger dildo.”

I always did as Mason commanded and considered my poor behavior while sucking his delightful eight-inch meaty feast. After twenty or so seconds, my husband allowed me to breathe, and so it was that we got into a rhythm.

My husband knew what was best for me, being twice my age, more experienced in life, and deeply in love - he had never harmed me, nor would he.

My submission was my power, not Mason’s. He was a vehicle to my joy, as a lover and a husband.

When Mason thought I’d sucked his cock enough, he paused, allowing me time to compose myself. I watched when he removed a massive piece of ginger from a ziplock bag. He set a stainless steel bowl between where he sat and my face, took a sharp knife, and began carving my ginger, fashioning the root into a punishment dildo that would sear deep inside my back passage.

Figging was a technique used to force horses to raise their tail, typically in dressage competitions. It had also been a punishment, co-opted into BDSM for its delicious fun. After he skinned the root, Mason let me smell the harsh aromatic juices that would torture my rectum and the soft tissue walls inside my anus.

My pussy warmed, trembled, and leaked more tawdry, musky cream, something Mason noticed, flaring his nostrils. He rounded me, and every muscle stiffened, my skin grating against the sisals where they tightened.

I groaned when Mason licked my soaking wet slit from the bulging, sticky clitoris that was fully exposed through a creamy, trembling furrow, past my leaking pink hole to my anal whorl, where he teased the ridges around the hole he would soon defile with a well fashioned ginger root dildo.

I strained against the ropes while Mason gave me head, licking and sucking my clitoris and swollen labia, teasing and tormenting my fuck hole until I was edged onto a precipice of bliss, dangling above an ocean of ecstasy that yearned to engulf me.

When his rooty plug was ready to fuck me, Mason made me lick it, lubricating my torture stick with copious saliva. I was ready, my husband was too, and so was the root of punishment. When I saw the tiny bottle removed from his pocket, I panicked.

“Argh! Please, no, Mason, please.”

But I didn’t squeal my safe word, nor would I because despite my protestations, I wanted this figging so badly it almost hurt more than if he slathered the roasting tincture onto my ginger sex toy.

Mason was going all in, slathering his natural, yet unnatural, carved creation with molten, deep-heat liquid. He made sure the bare ginger root was fully covered in the liniment oil, except for the knobbly bit that would stop my back passage from swallowing everything.

“I’m going deep inside your rectum, Samantha. When it burns, I want you to think about your poor behavior. The hotter you feel inside, the more I want you to remember, brat.”

“Yes, master.”

I felt ecstatic when, at first, the ginger squeezed past my tight anus, breaking into the sanctity of my rectum. The heat was stinging; its sensation tantalizingly seared me, massaging my soul, delivering a perfect balance between pleasure and pain. The pain spread quickly, affecting deep into my tissues, exuding pain at the source, pleasure everywhere else.

Within ten seconds, I bucked violently and cried out, spluttering saliva everywhere, but Mason kept going despite my screams. He wouldn’t stop unless I yelled Porpoise, which I had no intention of doing.

You see, I was in the place I wished to be, feeling all the joy I wanted.

Mason lay underneath me in a 69 position, gently fucking my back passage with a ginger dildo. He lifted his head until he clenched my clitoris between his lips, cleaning off the sticky, creamy coating with a flattened tongue before he sucked hard.

“The ginger is fully inserted, and I’m twisting it while fucking you.”

I squeezed back hard against the ginger root, trying to milk and release its burning oils. Mason kept twisting, then fucking my anus with his torturous searing hot plug. He sped up, reaming my anal hole, which burned wildly as the oils spread into my tissues like a pleasure explosion.

I was on fire, desperately swinging in my harness, my mind no longer imprisoned by my body or even contained by the same room. I wanted more anal fucking and clitoris licking, everything to be harder, faster, and Mason gave it to me because I wasn’t allowed to beg - but he knew what to do.

“Quit the bratty behavior, Samantha.”

“Argh, argh! Ooof! f-fucking hell.”

“Be home on time, darling.”

“Yes, Mason… yes.”

Mason fucked my anus rhythmically with his ginger cock, and my body absorbed the essential oils baking inside me. When I reached the edge of an orgasm, he left my dildo fully inserted and tickled my labia with his fingers, keeping me on that immense, intense precipice of joy. I heard him suck and felt his lips sealing around my pee hole, harvesting more cream. He sucked again before plunging two fingers deep inside my pussy hole.

While sucking my swollen, throbbing clitoris, Mason hooked his fingers around inside my pussy to find my G-Spot. He started pounding my back passage with the searing butt plug again almost to the point I orgasmed, but not quite. I felt overwhelmed, with my entire midriff ablaze, knowing full well a very messy orgasm was coming.

I rejoiced and soared like a bird trying to free myself from all earthly restraint, praying that I wouldn’t escape my bindings. I bucked in my restraints and screamed joyously when I hit my first orgasm and felt Mason’s lip sucking vacuum sealed on my urethra, drawing my unicorn pee from a full bladder and sex hormone glands.

I felt my husband’s tongue and lips against and inside my swollen pussy hole while I cooked inside from my back passage out, shuddering as my orgasm reached an ecstatic peak. Mason sucked my engorged pussy hole as I squirted hard, screaming it’s coming every time a jet of my nectar shot into his mouth.

I collapsed in my restraints, a last act of total submission before I tensed, rose again ferociously, and squirted a long, hot burst of my orgasm in his mouth, shedding the bounty I knew he loved.

While I climaxed, Mason fucked my asshole with the ginger root dildo like a siege engine, taking down Camelot castle’s front doors. I slumped when my muscles cramped, tensed again when the pain subsided, then slumped a final time in absolute delight, filling my husband’s mouth, owning him while he owned me.

When Mason knew I was descending from my orgasm, returning to earth, he removed the ginger dildo from my back passage and loosened my restraints. I rubbed my arms, legs, and sides, where the ropes had dug in, noticing no severe damage.

He lifted my limp, satisfied body, holding me close before kissing me gently and pulling the duvet over both of us. I felt warm and more relaxed than I had in months, with a clear, fresh mind and a pure intent to obey my husband in every regard.

I stared into my husband’s loving eyes, feeling the same desire I had always felt and would always feel.

“God, I fucking love you, Mason.”

“Rest now, sweetheart.”

“I won’t rest easy until you fill me with your seed, honey.”

“That will be my pleasure, Samantha.”

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