The things we do to grow...

I am bent over, my tits pressed against the black vinyl. I can't tell if I'm breathing hard because I am afraid or I am letting the full weight of my upper body hang on this barely padded spanking bench. I can't tell because I am both. I can feel my body tingling with waves of fear. Everything is on edge.
My hands are bound behind my back, red plastic-y duct tape. My fingers try and find each other, but my wrists are crossed and I can only feel them wiggle in desperation. I'm sure he enjoys this look. I know he must like the fact that I am helpless, so purely in need of him.
My eyes are covered, my head wrapped countless times by the red tape. I fear it's going to rip out my eyelashes until I realize that the tears which have sprung so unwillingly from my eyes are protecting them. It pushes my hair slightly into my face, but mostly it crushes down on my nose and temples.
I can only hear my breath, feel it grow ragged. My ass is already red and sore from the power of his hands. His large hands, his long fingers are tender and merciless. I hate how much I ache for them. These hands which give both a relentless grooming into his strong, good girl. These hands which make me cum until I can't fathom being more spent.
But he does not use his hands right now. He picks up a wooden brush and begins to beat my ass. No matter how nervous, how warmed up, how desperate I am to gain his approval, there is nothing which can prepare me for this. The pain is white, blinding.
Every time the hard wood lands I cry out, my knees buckling at least slightly. I want to stand straight for him but every time I feel the brush my body insists on responding. My body wants to much to run, and I should crumple onto the floor and beg for mercy. Every instinct I have ever learned is screaming to make this blistering pain end. If I even whispered "stop" I know he would at least pause and I could get some sweet relief for my flesh. I can stop this at any moment, despite my palms damp with sweat as they squeeze tight enough to draw blood from my own nails. I can beg him for mercy and he would relent.
But despite my body's desperate pleas, the thought of asking for mercy never crosses my mind. It is not my call to make. I can take the pain and for his approval I would take much more.
And so they continue and I can only scream and cry and pray that he will be satisfied with this beating soon. Once he is satisfied with my performance, I will be sated in knowing that I have made him proud. I would not be able to live with myself if I failed him.
He finally places the brush down and I feel his hands on my skin. I can feel the pressure, but the feeling has not yet returned. Tears simply dampen my eyes and smear my makeup below the duct tape.
White heat replaces numbness and I can simply feel a deep aching. My breath is weak, ragged, and I know I'm shaking. He stands behind me, holding onto my hips and I struggle to touch him more. I want to feel his body against mine. I want nothing more.
I can feel his hard cock under his pants and this is my reward. I breath deeply for the first time. His pleasure makes me feel proud.
He nudges my legs outward, and I step wide, refusing to pull back from his touch. I need more. I would beg for more if I thought it would do anything more than annoy him. He will give me my reward when I deserve it.
I breathe once more, but it against goes ragged as pain begins to set in in new waves. His hand rests on my spine, and I can barely hear him through the duct tape and my own weeping.
"Focus, baby."
I nod in the slightest twitch. It is time to regroup, possibly for another beating.
I gladly resume my position, rigid and bent over. There is sometimes a moment where I wonder how I could take some much, where I question this.
I do not have this moment.
He reaches to my cunt and it is dripping. His fingers dip into my cunt and are quickly soaked with my cum. I moan, feeling my pussy tighten around him. I push down on his hand, wanting more and more of his hand.
"You're a horny little slut, aren't you baby?"
I nod eagerly.
"You're my whore, aren't you?"
I nod even harder as his fingers begin to move on my clit.
"You'll fuck anything I tell you, won't you?"
"Yes yes yes." I finally squeak out.
I feel him move away just slightly, and then I feel the hairbrush on my thighs again. It strokes over the skin, the wooden ridge tenderly grazing the soft flesh that would burst instantly under a powerful stroke with the wood.
But this is not on his mind.
I feel the handle of the brush push at my cunt. He does not hesitate. My cunt is soaked and swollen and ready for anything to slide inside and he takes full advantage of this. The brush slides up to the hilt with ease and he begins to fuck me.
My hips rock against the wood and I can feel the bristles roughly move against my pussy. His fingers move on my clit and I lean into his body for the first time. I gasp, whimpering, groan. There is nothing more I want than to be fucked for his entertainment.
He thrusts forcefully, the butt of the handle pounding into my tight cunt. I can feel it slamming into my cervix and I simply pump harder.
My cunt tightens around the awkwardly swollen end of the brush. It rubs me in ways I don't know how to process. I cry out with pure lust, shifting against his solid body. It anchors me as I rock my hips harder and harder. My juices are dripping down over the handle and his grip tightens.
I bend my knees to feel it deeper inside my pussy. My noises are growing louder as I still struggle for balance. My hands work against the duct tape and I wish to whatever God I still believe in that he would just touch me harder, more, longer, anything to get him inside me, even if I have to soak his touch through my skin.
He continues to fuck me with the brush. I wonder if he will be able to grip the handle again enough to beat me (if he likes) now that it's covered in my juices. I know they are soaking into the black, stiff bristles. This brush will never be free of the smell of my pussy.
I can feel my cunt awkwardly tightening. His fingers move on my clit and I begin to pant, tensing. I am focused now. The pain is gone, and now there is only want. Want to cum, want to collapse, want to explode and squirt all over this brush, the floor, my panties, his hand. I try and open my mouth to cry out, but the duct tape pressing on my nose makes it hard. I try my best.
"Fuck it, baby."
I do.
"Do you want to cum for me?"
I do.
"Then do it."
And I do.