#DungeonCrawl ... Massage chair beating

This is a sub being nasty and whiny and unhappy- no, I won't be tagging my Master on Facebook as I did last week :D

Thanks again to Romancing the Kink for hosting- http://rtkdungeoncrawl.com/

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She climbed into her car and started to back out, thinking about the mall. Her car? When had she sloppily allowed such possessives to enter her language? It wasn't her car, but the one He allowed her to use.

Brilliantly emblazoned "gag" shirt. Yeah, a gag all right. "Spank me." She's bought it from the adult novelty store at the mall, the one that people looked around in, far more often than they bought. She wandered into the store, looked at the shirts. She wouldn't be buying one today; she'd come to the mall with a $5 bill in her pocket for a singular purpose... those new massage chairs that felt like the closest she got to a beating anymore- He was too tired, too stressed, too something.

She continued to the display of sex and BDSM toys. Today she didn't hold in her laughter. Faux leather? Starter kits? Things she maybe would have enjoyed as a teen; the mostly black boxes gleamed back at a submissive far too jaded to respond to a little whippy "crop" with a heart-shaped spanking end. She sighed; even that would feel better on her ass than the lack.

She put on a fake smile to be polite at the cashier before she exited the store. Left turn out of the store and she'd be at the massage chair.

If only the mall wasn't so busy. In the conservative little hellhole of a town, the mall was the only place to go, unless you wanted to go to the Wal-mart.

She sat in a massage chair. She had to shimmy into place; these newer massage chairs with their massaging clamps for the legs reminded her of how short she was. She slid the $5 into its spot and watched the digital screen jump in minutes up to 15. It seemed fair- $5 for 15 minutes of pounding, squeezing, pinching from the back of her head down to the small of her back. The clamping, restraining massage of her calves, ankles. The movement of the seat, massaging at her thighs just before that one probing element pressed at her ass, pressed at her crack as if to anally penetrate her, if only she wasn't clothed and this wasn't really a massage chair, but the sex toy her mind imagined.

The knobs in the back part of the chair started their work. The thudding massage pulled her eyes closed for a moment as she imagined it was his fingers pushing into her, preparing her for an even heavier beating. They pushed up, along her spine, up to her neck. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, lest a moan escape and startle one of the conservative matrons walking by the chair. The seat started to squeeze; he was pushing her legs together between his, preparing to take her in the reverse missionary position they both so loved.

The probe pushed up into her ass as the leg restraints- no, massagers, this isn't a bondage toy no matter how amusing the leg clamps are- tightened. Her nipples hardened under the shirt, the jacket, hiding her.

The beating continued. How good it felt, the pushing, pulling, prying. The massaging heads worked on the backs of her thighs, not as sensitive as they would be in the past, not having tasted a flogger, a paddle, His belt, His hand, anything but clothes, in awhile.

She imagined it was his hands, rather than knobby bits in an electronic massage chair.

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"On your stomach on the bed," He commanded as He worked the dimmer switch.

Her next ride in the chair would be different. Thankfully.

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BLOG TOUR

For the "Out of the Night: Book One" blog tour, I'm at Angelica French's blog talking about the uniform that my slaves where during their official training period.

An InLinkz Link-up