Screw The Roses; Send Me The Thorns (Part Two)

Screw The Roses; Send Me The Thorns (Part Two) [part 2 of 3]
By: Cum Girl (cumgirl664807035@talktalk.net)

Screw The Roses; Send Me The Thorns (Part Two)

"Good evening, Master."

"Good evening, Cum Girl."

Tonight the conversation is by MSN. Tonight instruction will be delivered by MSN.

"Thank you for my thorns, Master, they are lovely."

"What have you done with them, Cum Girl?"

"I have put them in a vase beside my bed, Master. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, Cum Girl, that is an appropriate place as you will need them come bedtime."

"Will I, Master?"

"Yes, Cum Girl, you will. Have you inspected them?"

"Yes, Master."

"What did you do, Cum Girl?"

"I ran my finger along each stem, Master. I found and tested each thorn. Some of the stems have lots of thorns but quite a lot of them are soft to the touch. They are lovely, Master, but I was a bit disappointed that there weren't more hard woody thorns on which I could prick my finger."

"Have you pricked your finger, Cum Girl?"

"Only by accident, Master; it did not draw blood ... please, Master, what am I to do with the thorns?"

"You are impatient, Cum Girl ... okay, tonight at bedtime you will strip, you will stand in front of your mirror, and you will take your thorns and run them across your body. Is that understood, Cum Girl?"

"Yes, Master."

"You will abuse your body with your thorns from your breasts to the top of your thighs."

"Yes, Master."

"You will abrade your skin with the thorns till your whole body is marked. You will need to show determination, Cum Girl. I expect your body to show the scars of your self-abuse."

"Yes, Master."

"I am going to inspect your body tomorrow evening and I expect to be impressed by your obedience. Is that clear, Cum Girl?"

"Yes, Master. I will do my best, Master."

"And, Cum Girl, when you have completed your instruction this evening you will call me."

"It might be late, Master."

"Don't worry; I will wait up for your call, Cum Girl."

"I understand, Master."

So there I am a couple of hours later, naked bar nipple jewellery and clutching a single rose stem in my right hand, the dazzling whiteness of my alabaster skin reflected back at me in my floor to ceiling wardrobe mirrors, the single light burning brightly overhead.

Self-abuse is difficult. Hurting myself is difficult. It is not something that plays a large part in Master and Cum Girl's relationship; in fact I could count the number of times I've been instructed to do such things on one hand and still have fingers spare. Cum Girl's body belongs to Master and she much prefers it if it is Master who is inflicting pain on it.

I take a deep breath and begin. Holding the stem by its base, I run it ever so gently across my stomach. Its caress is delightful; petals and leaves lightly stroking my skin. I pull the stem away and inspect my handiwork; nothing, no marks. I do it again, a little harder this time; convince myself that I feel thorns ripping through my skin, but when I pull the stem away my unmarked flesh mocks my efforts. I try again; harder and harder and harder, again and again and again. No let up, no inspection, no stopping to view the effect of my labours. My mind imagining thorns repeatedly ripping at my flesh, tearing through the epidermis, rivulets of blood seeping out of open wounds and trickling down my poor lacerated body to drip from between my parted thighs and pool on the floor at my feet.

I stop; panting heavily. Slowly, I pull the stem aside and look down at my heaving stomach. It is reddened from my efforts but otherwise seems unmarked. I look questioningly at my thorny stem. What are you doing? Why won't you fulfil your purpose? Do you not understand that Master requires this of me? I run my finger along its length, only to find thorn after thorn bent, broken, and useless. I drop it to the bed; probe my stomach with my fingers and pull the flesh taut. There, just there, a sliver of an abrasion.

My technique was wrong. Too much blind thrashing, not enough care. I know what to do now. I turn to the vase and inspect the remaining stems. Last time I selected on quantity, now I know that I need quality; just one thorn; hard, firm and woody. I make my choice, take the stem, return to stand in front of the mirror, bring the thorn to the underside of my breast. I press with my fingers on the stem directly behind the thorn and then slowly drag it diagonally down across my ribcage.

The pain is instant. Clear, sharp, spiky pain followed by a dull aching throb and the sense of heat spreading out from the line my thorn has just travelled. Imagine running a sharpened, slightly jagged nail along your skin; that is how it feels. There is a knowledge of abrasion, a slight tickling, a modicum of heat and a tiny slither of pain; there is nothing to fear, it is not unpleasurable. I pull the stem away and there is a thin red welt running across my body. I place the thorn back at the beginning and slowly, deliberately pull it firmly along the same track. Another sliver of pain pulses through me.

I want to stop. I don't want to do this. I have never been good with pain; have always had a low threshold and a deep seated fear of being hurt. But I want to do this. I want to do this for Master. I want to show Him what a good Cum Girl I am. I want to show Him how obedient I am and what a pleasure I can be. I want to be Cum Girl, marked by her Master's command; His ownership stamped across her welt covered body. I want my body to scream of my submissiveness to Him.

I set to it properly now; fingers pressing the thorn as hard into my flesh as I can bear. I drag it across the top of my left breast, my right breast, my sternum. My skin is alive; tingling, throbbing, and aching; crisscrossed with fine red lines, the marks of my obedience. I can feel the heat building beneath the surface; feel the nerve endings responding to this new sensation. It is pain, but manageable, wonderful pain. It is the pain that leads to pleasure.

My stomach is more sensitive. Is the epidermis thinner there? The first touch of the thorn has me wriggling nervously. I pull it across, but I am too careful and the thorn comes away leaving the skin unblemished. I try again; determination set about my mouth, my fingers pressed hard against the smooth green skin of my tormentor. Done; see Cum Girl that wasn't too bad. You can do this Cum Girl. You will do this Cum Girl. You will do this for Master.

Gradually I work the thorn down my body moving ever closer to that centre of all sensation; that centre of pleasure. My breathing is changing; shallowing, my mouth permanently agape, my eyes closed as I run the thorn repeatedly across my lower stomach and the top of my pubic mound; my nostrils alive to the musk of me.

The thighs are the worst; such wonderfully sensitive flesh. The thorn runs steadily upward; enlivening every inch of skin as it travels. Its progress is slow, deliberate, erotic, and my flesh quivers with pleasure at its passing. I want it to stop. I don't want it to stop. Enough pain, more pleasure.

I pull the stem away and inspect my finely marked self in the mirror. Whereas before I was all smooth pale skin, now I am an intricate pattern of thin red lines. Cum Girl has shown her obedience. Cum Girl has performed as Master requires and her body screams testament to His ownership of her.

Owned; totally, completely and utterly.

I am proud to be Cum Girl. I am proud to have done this for Him.

I pick up the phone and dial Master's number.

"Hello, Cum Girl."

"Hello, Master, I have done as you instructed."

"How does it look, Cum Girl?"

My eyes flick back to my reflection in the mirror.

"It looks beautiful, Master."

"I hope so, Cum Girl, I am looking forward to inspecting you tomorrow. Did you enjoy doing it?"

"Cum Girl would have been happier if it had been Master marking her. It was quite difficult at first. I was scared of hurting myself."

"Did it hurt, Cum Girl?"

"Some, Master."

"Was it pleasurable, Cum Girl?"

"Maybe, Master."

"Are you aroused, Cum Girl?"

"I'm not sure, Master."

"Check, Cum Girl."

"Yes, Master."

I switch the phone to my left hand; reach down with my right, my fingertips travelling steadily across my finely welted flesh. Down, down, down; across breasts, ribs, stomach, pubis, each abrasion a new sensation, a new pleasure, my cum slick thighs part eagerly, expectantly, achingly to meet my fingers. "I'm not sure, Master;" cum slick thighs, heaving bosom, quivering pubis; maybe, just maybe I am a little aroused. Then I am there, fingers nestled between the folds of my flesh, fingers drenched in my soaking wetness.

"Cum Girl."

"Yes, Master."

"Are you aroused, Cum Girl?"

"A little, Master."

"Are you wet, Cum Girl?"

No, Master, I am soaked, my thighs are slick, my pubis glistening, and my hand drenched already; the fleshy folds of my pussy have turned to liquid.

"Yes, Master."

"Do you wish for permission to cum, Cum Girl?"

A heartbeats pause.

"Yes please, Master."

"Call me back when you need to cum, Cum Girl."

The phone goes dead.

Now, Master! I need to cum now! I fall back on my bed, drop the silent phone next to my head, feel my rose stem beneath me, reach for it, and clutch it hard against my breasts; thorns in breasts, fingers in pussy, slithering, probing, stroking, reaching, fucking, fucking, fucking.

I push my head back deep into my crisp white bedding, bury my nostrils in the smell of detergent and fabric conditioner, pant my desire into cotton sheeting, saliva pooling at the edge of my mouth, hair strewn across my face, rose petals caressing my chin, leaves stroking my chest, a solitary thorn digging deep into my breast, fingers digging even deeper into my pulsating, quivering pussy. I pull my legs wide, dig the heels of my feet into the soft mattress, and feel my arse rise off the bedding as I push my fingers still further into the core of my being. I hold them there deep inside me pushed up against the depths of my pussy walls and beneath my fingertips I can feel my orgasm waiting, pulsing, constrained and eager for release. I feel for my phone, focus my eyes on it, press redial, pant my pleasure into the mouthpiece as I wait for Him to answer; dribbling from my mouth, dribbling from my pussy, soaking pillows, soaking bedding, soaking everything.

"Please, Master."

"Please what, Cum Girl?"

"Please may I cum, Master?"

"Yes, Cum Girl, you may."

Screw the Roses; Send me the Thorns.

Screw the Roses: Screw me with Thorns.

Cum Girl x