Rabbit's Diary (1)

Monday 1 June 2020 I am angry, really really angry. So frustrated that I feel hot, around my neck and my ears. I can't concentrate because fury is fizzing in my chest and fluttering through my thoughts. I should work this off with a walk or something physical. I will clean the bathroom. I yank on the gloves, enjoying the sharp snap of pink rubber. Their draggy texture and smell remind me of being examined by Sir. * His fingers grasping my nipples to rub them in his latex covered fingertips, how I catch my breath as he pulls away from my body, distending them. They spring back, darker and more swollen than before, sending a message which makes me clench down south.* My heat and dampness starts to build. Argh! I don’t want to think about last night. My fury bubbles up once more. As a distraction I squeeze cleaning product on a sponge and scrub at the tub, around the taps and plug hole. I will do a fantastic job of making the bathroom clean. It will shine like new, Sir will call me his good girl and … *he called me his good girl that night too. I lay still with my legs spread while Sir examined between my legs to see if I’d done a thorough job of shaving. I waited patiently, eyes on the ceiling, the sensation of Sir’s breath tickling the tops of my thighs and brushing my pubis as he leaned in with a magnifying glass. I felt squirmy knowing that he could see my pussy in such detail, the darker more blush skin of my intimate folds and a glimpse of my eager clitoris, which always protrudes a little. It was arousing to be inspected in such a detached way, waiting for a ‘pass’ or ‘fail’ on this test. The tell tale tickle began and I knew moisture was seeping from inside me. I bit my lip, wondering if it showed like dew on pink petals.* No, no, I definitely do not want to think about that night. I am angry, furious, frustrated, no need to make it worse. Sir was mean and I won’t forgive him. Having rubbed the sponge around the hand-held shower head, I now rinse the soapy lather away from the sides of the bath. But when I lean over the rim of the bath my nipples graze against the hard surface. I try not to groan. The tender skin there is still sensitive and sore. *After pulling and pinching my nipples to engorge them with blood, Sir used clamps. The bite of the clamps was sharp at first, so sharp I imagined burning needles. But thankfully it did not worsen, instead the message sent by the fastened clamps became a dull throbbing ache. It would only flare out as pain when my breasts swung or the clamps were pulled, so for the first part of the examination process, while I was on my back, it was low level torture.* I lean over the bath to scrub again, yet my reminiscences work their magic on me, dampening my panties while my tits, which are straining against my dress, find the cool surface of the bath’s edge both a pleasure and a torment. Biting my lip I explore the sensations, current mingling with recalled, my cleaning task forgotten as I bask in the flashback. *My Sir had a range of our toys set out beside him, for the purpose of his examinations. I didn’t know what was coming next but I heard a clink and drips so I began to guess. Something very cold and hard nudged my labia apart, it barely grazed my straining clit before he began to insert it, slowly, steadily. My inner warmth warred with it’s chill, my softness was almost horrified by its unforgiving rigid construction. It was the glass dildo, which I knew to be girthy and long. My insides almost cringed away from its cold progress, so I guessed he’d kept it in a bowl of ice cubes. I panted as he kept pushing, stretching and testing my limits until his knuckles grazed my pussy lips, I knew then I’d accommodated it fully. “Good girl,” his voice was soothing. I took a deep, shaky breath to acclimatise. The clamps were making their presence felt. I tried to process the assault of sensations by imagining what I looked like from above. I had worn a tartan kilt, because it makes me feel girlish, but removed it before lying on the table. Yesterday was a day on which I wasn’t allowed to wear knickers, but I still had on my little white ankle socks with a frill and a bow. My legs were smooth, having shaved myself that morning. My black sleeveless blouse with a polka dot pattern was undone and open, revealing my favourite push-up bra. To fit my girlish mood, my hair was in 2 plaits, which lay either side of my head. Sir grasped the chain linking the nipple clamps, pulling upwards it dragged unrelentingly on my nipples. This made me groan and curse. “Now rabbit, none of that,” Sir chided me, while guiding the chain to my lips. “Bite,” he instructed. The chain to each clamp was now held taut. I was in charge of my own pain.* In an effort to throw off these memories, I shake my head now. The only thing they achieve is making me wet and horny, stoking my need for release. To prevent my knickers getting sticky I hook my thumbs in the sides and slide them off my hips. I hang them on the bathroom door handle then turn my attention to cleaning the basin. With another squirt of cleaning goo on the sponge, I begin rubbing vigorously around the taps and the curved porcelain. My mind wanders. I rub and scrub, the frisson between my swollen labia which my exertions bring on, takes me back to yesterday’s scene once more. *My Sir’s next tricky move was to introduce the Doxy. With such powerful vibrations, it is impossible to resist. When he nuzzled its soft domed tip against my naked pussy I wanted to cry out. But I am Sir’s submissive, his plaything. It follows that doing what he asks or instructs gives me pleasure. I closed my eyes and braced myself; the buzz began. I was on fire in an instant. The glass dildo filled my hole, the clamps pulled my nipples and now my clitoris became the focus of constant vibration, it was stimulation overload. My back arched off the bed. I bit shard on the chain and was rewarded with a tang of iron on my lips. A clenching had already begun inside me and I was yearning to come. I knew Sir would not allow that so soon. My abs began to spasm and my hips undulate, the thrust they wanted to perform was a subconscious need. It felt so damn good to press and rub myself against the Doxy, that I groaned in abject despair. I wanted to come. My need was all consuming. My body seemed to be racing towards the finish line no matter how firmly my head told it to stop or slow down. I pulled on the chain, hoping that the biting pain from my trapped nipples would distract me. Yet this far into my arousal, the resultant pressure sent sparks of hot sensation into my groin further fanning the flames of my desire. I was literally burning up with desperation for climatic release. Fighting it, a sheen of sweat had broken out over my chest and torso. That’s when the dildo began to thrust. Amidst all the other sensations, the glass dildo, now warmed to body temperature was slowly, steadily pumping into me. In Sir’s grip, it dragged with dizzying results against my pussy walls on its way out, it parted my flesh with delicious savagery on its return journey. He ensured it grazed my g-spot. I saw starbursts of colour, yet still - was without permission to climax. My head thrashed from side to side, I was desperation personified. Tears rolled from my squeezed shut eyes, while convulsions in my body threatened to overwhelm my self control. “Pleeease!” I pleaded, “ Sir, I need to come!” As I cried out, I released my mouth’s grasp on the chain. Then everything stopped. The glass dildo ceased thrusting, the switch was flicked so the hum of the Doxy died instantly. I opened my eyes, blinking away tears, Sir was watching me intently, his expression inscrutable. Curling up inside I knew instantly the mis-step was mine, I had let go of the chain. No matter how frustrated I had been as my body fought back that final crest of the wave which promised to tip me into the balmy depths of a mind-blowing orgasm. That was nothing in comparison with the skin clawing frustration I felt now, knowing my climax was denied. Until another time. Until ever. Sir offered his hand to pull me up to a sitting position so I could rearrange my clothes. He ignored my pouting bottom lip, my sulky silence. He resolutely put all the toys back in cupboards and drawers, cleaning my fluids off the dildo and wand. He left me to remove the nipple clamps. I yowled with pain as the blood rushed back to my tender buds. No ice was offered to soothe them. I sucked up that sharp ache, hugging it to myself as if it was some kind of comfort. I vowed to revel in this pain as my self-punishment. I was morose and moody that afternoon and evening. I had stomach cramps, like I always do from orgasm denial. I wanted to shout and scream, but that’s not our dynamic. I had nobody to blame but myself.* So here I am the next day, furiously scrubbing and cleaning to vent my frustrations. As I polish the shower dial I notice the strangeness of my distorted reflection in its shiny chrome surface. My upper torso looks to have normal dimensions, but my body splays wide at the hips. Rabbit is reflected back - huge and swollen around the pelvis, which’s exactly how I feel. All that unfulfilled teasing yesterday has left my pussy and buttocks highly sensitised to stimulation, like a radar dish oscillating to capture any sensation which might bring arousal. Hadn’t I just got horny and wet from the motion of rubbing and scrubbing this bathroom clean? I’d even dragged my nipples back and forth on the side of the bath simply to feel starbursts of pleasure pain in their tortured tissue. But I could not forgive Sir for leaving me so horny. The bathroom door swung open and Sir stands there, observing me as I polish the last smears from the shower screen. “Good rabbit, this room looks very clean.” I smile. Traitorous, my pussy flutters at his praise. Damn, it’s hard to stay angry with my man. “I think you should come downstairs. We have time for your punishment before you make our supper.” A swoop of excitement rises within me at his words, simultaneously trepidation at what penance might mean settles like cold porridge in my stomach. I know punishment is due for my bratty behaviour, I can’t fool myself that Sir is in the wrong, no matter how I want to. I forgive him for denying me yesterday, it has simply served to make me more greedy today. Serving Sir is what pleases me, he gives me instructions and I follow them, if I fail there are consequences, it's how we play. I hurry to stow away the products under the sink. As I bend to my task, my dress rides up, pulling taut over my backside. We both suck in a breath at the same time! I remember that I’ve removed my panties, and Sir is enjoying the vista I present. I bite my lip and turn to explain. Unhooking my gingham panties from the door handle he holds them to his nose. Sir’s eyes take on that dark, lustful expression, but he tucks them into his shirt pocket. “We’ll need to discuss this later little rabbit, but for now it’s time to use the crop, and for you to consider how your sulky, pouty behaviour was a disappointment to me.” I feel sorry now, and I hang my head as we descend the stairs, but I suspect Sir of going easy on me. He knows I prefer the crop to the flogger, and my behaviour could so easily have earned me stripes with the cane. “After that you will write out 100 times: Bratty behaviour will not be tolerated.” I manage not to roll my eyes, I hate writing lines, but they drive the message home. “Please Sir may I use my sparkly pen with the unicorn horn?” He looks back at me over his shoulder. “Yes you may use your sparkly pen, but it will be uncomfortable to sit down after 20 strokes of the crop on your bottom.” “I know,” I smile at him, my expression genuine, “but my pretty pen will help distract me.”