Hot and Cold.

“Please, Sir,” I begged, knowing it was useless. I’d agreed to play Winter Games and then went back on my word. I totally deserved this.

Nonetheless, I cringed as Sir, once again, inserted the icicle – yes, a real icicle – into my vagina. He left it there for only seconds but it felt like hours. Hot and Cold. That’s my punishment. Sir will subject my body to first hot. Then Cold. Until he feels I understand the importance of keeping my word. Of not running hot and cold.

“PLEASE!” I screech. I try to control myself, but I can’t. He doesn’t mind, he just ignores me.

I’m cuffed, my wrists locked to each other and held over my head by the hidden carabiner attached to the underside of our headboard. Beneath me are multiple towels atop our plastic covered mattress.

The switch comes down across my belly. I scream. Here’s the Hot. Four times in very quick succession, raising welts on my tender skin.

Out comes the icicle. He shows it to me and I see it still has a substantial girth. I’m panting now. sobbing. Wailing. The front of my body covered in welts from the switch. My nipples enormous from the suction cups he’s had on them.

“Let’s turn you over, my dear. Plenty of life left in the icicle and your whole backside ready for the heat.”

He spins me over (the carabiner is attached to a spinning clip) as I say, “Please, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“You are, yes. But I’m not yet satisfied. I told you. This will continue until my little cicle has melted away. Hot and cold.”

“Hot” His belt comes down on my sit spot.

“Cold” the ice is wedged between my cheeks.

An hour later, the icicle has finally melted away but the memory of this lesson will last a lifetime.

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