Ghost

The story below is fiction. It is about a nightmare… sort of, and there is an act of self harm, so if you are sensitive about that subject, or don’t like horror, I would not recommend reading this piece.

She stumbles through the entrance into her favorite room… or at least it used to be. It was once vibrant and beautiful with soft, flowing fabrics, shiny espresso surfaces and elegant black and white prints on the walls.

Everything is faded now. Dingy, scuffed and marred by some catastrophic event that tarnished her lovely home and made it frightening and ugly. The floor is uneven, the pillows are gone, and all of her gorgeous art is ripped and broken, but still hanging on each wall as if paying tribute to the way things used to be.

She begins to panic, feeling an odd sense of deja vu, and moves to search the other rooms. But each empty space offers no relief, no company, no joy…

When she tries to open the front door, she is unable to twist the knob. It seems frozen, like concrete, and immoveable. Each door offers the same, locking her into this bitterly cold space which she once loved so passionately.

The large french doors in the back of the kitchen will not budge either, and the glass is completely opaque with grime, so that she cannot see outside. The windows are all the same. She pulls and yanks on the handles of those gorgeous doors until she is breathless with tears sliding down her cheeks. But still, she is trapped.

Leaning into the back of one of her kitchen chairs, she screams, trying to unleash the frustration she feels, but instead of the sound she expects to hear, her voice is but a bare echo. No life and no tone, just an almost whisper of sound, and the silence startles her from her tears.

This must be a nightmare… I can’t remember what I’ve woken from… I can’t remember the last thing I did.

Her thoughts spin and turn over in her mind, and she decides to try to pinch herself awake, but as her fingernails grip the sensitive skin inside her elbow, she winces and tries to groan, but still, she makes no noise and doesn’t wake.

Maybe I can break out. Resigning herself to throw one of the heavy metal chairs into the glass door, she grips the sides to pick it up but finds it also is immobile. It will not lift from the floor, no matter how much strength she puts into it, it doesn’t rise, almost as if it is magnetized to the wood beneath it.

The tears return, and she slumps against the glass, sliding down to the floor staring at her hands. Hands that have always been strong and capable. They had done so much throughout her lifetime, there is no reason they shouldn’t be able to perform this simple task.

And as her anger rises in her throat, she attempts once more to scream. Pushing air as forcefully as she can manage through her vocal chords over and over until she is winded and shaking, but still, no noise is heard beyond the faint idea of sound bouncing off the glass behind her back.

This must be a nightmare, you can never scream in dreams… I have to figure out how to wake myself.

Pulling herself to stand using the back of the chair she tried to lift earlier, it shifts, but only slightly. Once on her feet, she tries to pull it away from the table, but it remains fixed to the ground, as if she can only manipulate her space if she isn’t thinking about it.

She walks around the table to the other side, slides a chair out to sit down in it, and this time, it slides easily. She sits down and scoots it in, again, with the ease of reality.

Reality… I must wake myself…

Putting her face in her hands, she struggles not to cry once again, and instead thinks about achieving this goal. The pinch hadn’t worked, perhaps a loud noise would, but she can’t scream. Suddenly realizing that the chair had made it’s familiar scuffing sound when she scooted it into the table, she moves to push it back again. Clear as anything, it creates the same sound, so she stands to knock the chair over, but as soon as she is no longer using it, the chair seems to affix itself to the ground once more.

That’s it. I have to be in it!

Sitting back on the seat, she begins to tip the chair back. She recognizes that she will fall with the chair, but perhaps the impact will only assist in waking her. Her heart races as she teeters on the two small back feet of the heavy chair, and as it falls backward, time seems to slow down until the back of her head smacks with a thud against the hard wood plank beneath her. The sound is thick and heavy, but as she opens her eyes, swimming in the pain from the back of her skull, she realizes that neither sound nor pain is going to work.

She gathers herself up, and lifts the chair easily upright, but then, attempting to lift it further, it snaps back into it’s locked to the floor position, as if it can read her mind.

An eery feeling overtakes her. I have done this before… But she dismisses it as quickly as it came and returns to sit at the table, with her head in her hands, feeling defeated and helpless.

After crying for a while, she resolves not to give up. She can’t simply wait for morning to arrive.

This is torture… and what if it never does? I can’t remember going to sleep…

Wandering into the powder room, she stares at her reflection in the age-crackled mirror above the once expensive, antique pedestal sink she had chosen to decorate the entire room around. Her normally smooth, peach complexion looks grayed and tired. Her dark eyes seem to have sunken into her face and her lips look thin and unable to smile. Closing her eyes, she tries to clear her head of the ugly woman she just saw, instead remembering her true face.

Soft, pert cheeks which held an easy blush. Slate blue eyes which easily reflected her mood beneath thick, curled lashes and perfectly arched brows. A heart shaped mouth that rarely needed gloss or color, for her lips were naturally a beautiful, ruddy pink. A slightly upturned nose, which she’d always hated. And soft black wavy tresses which tumbled down her back and over her shoulders in relatively easy style.

She lifts her fingers to touch her lovely hair and wonders what might happen if she were to change her mood in the dream. Opening her eyes, she stares into the mirror as she slowly unbuttons the dingy blouse she doesn’t remember putting on, before letting her fingers wander inside the gray cups of her bra then down into the waistband of her skirt. Leaning back, against the wall, she begins stroking herself softly, over her panties, but quickly snakes her way inside of them, relishing the warmth and wetness of her most secret place.

She wishes for the strong hands of her husband to grip her and remind her that she isn’t to do that… not without him. And she smiles and sighs, imagining his fingers slipping inside her, instead of her own, and working her in all those perfect ways which only he knows how.

But you don’t have a husband. Not anymore…

This foreign thought sounds off loudly in her head, almost like a chant, and she bolts upright and out of the room, as if she is trying to escape it. Refastening the buttons of her shirt while trying to make sense of the words that just burrowed into her mind, the deja vu returns and her whole body reacts to the fear.

No. No, this is just a bad dream. She scurries again, from room to room, frantically trying to figure out how to escape, how to free herself from this Hell she seems to be locked inside.

Kill yourself.

The eery feeling of unwanted thoughts tumbling around her brain makes her shake her head. Surely that can not be the answer, but the phrase sounds off repeatedly as if it is the ONLY answer.

Would she be able to do that? And if so, would she wake? If you die in a dream… you never wake up.

No. That must be the answer. She assures herself that it’s only a myth. How could anyone know for sure? She’d had some pretty awful nightmares in her time, and had always woken from them. This would be no different.

Stepping into the kitchen, she makes her way to the knife block, holding her expensive, perfect blades, but as she pulls one free, she sees that it has been eaten away by the dream, and the edge is now dull and rusty.

It doesn’t matter, the point is still there, it will still work.

Out of some bizarre sense of habit, she steps over to the sink, as if the mess were really going to matter. She sets the knife inside and rolls up the sleeves of her blouse, then leaning into counter slightly, she begins to cry again. This feels so real… Too real.

Fear and bile rise in her throat, but it seems the only answer. It feels as though hours and hours have past, and, even though she cannot see it, she imagines the sun setting inside her dream. The panicked notion that it soon would be completely dark and she might never wake from this nightmare sets her decision. She picks up the knife and holds the tip to the large vein in her left wrist.

Set to puncture and slice through the skin, for some reason she waits for something to happen, for someone to stop her. Who is going to save you in a dream? She questions, after several moments. Then resigns herself and pushes with some force until she feels the skin snap.

Watching, almost as if she were simply viewing a film, the knife slides through the vein several inches and slips in too deep, obviously slicing through to the other side. She stares, fascinated by the amount of blood, before the searing pain finally hits her in the stomach. The blood continues pouring freely from it, spilling over her skin and dribbling down the drain, while her insides twist with nausea.

This is too real.

Shifting her weight, she cannot tear her eyes away as her pulse pumps her blood through the slit and she thinks she can almost hear the gurgling of the wound. It feels so real because this has happened before… You have lived this before.

Her mind spins and she begins to feel faint. How many times has she experienced this moment. And she turns before she hears the front door open, knowing exactly what she is about to see.

The world has come alive again as her beautiful husband walks into her kitchen and stops abruptly, open-mouthed, staring at her bloody hands.

The color and life all around her feels absolutely heavenly, before his shocked and angry screams pierce the air. “What have you done?!”

I should have fought the voice… The voice in her mind, which wasn’t truly her own.

In slow motion, he makes his way to her, but she feels herself falling… dropping… losing a battle she was not aware she was fighting. “Why? Baby doll, WHY?!”

She stares into his crystal blue eyes when he catches her just above her perfectly chosen wood floor and tries to reach out to touch his face, but his eyes tell her a story of the pain she has just inflicted upon him, and she struggles to make sense of what is happening.

The knowledge that this wasn’t a dream makes her close her eyes, trying to figure out if she has just ended her own life, or if, perhaps, it had already ended… and this is just a memory. A memory?

She chants in her mind to remember, remember, remember… But she doesn’t know why.

She opens her eyes, but can no longer see his face, only black.

Everything fades. The sound… the pain… her life… her death.

But then, in a rush of cold and a blast of fright, she stumbles through the entrance into her favorite room… or at least it used to be. It was once vibrant and beautiful with soft, flowing fabrics, shiny espresso surfaces and elegant black and white prints on the walls.

Everything is faded now…

Everything is faded…

…Remember…

Screams of Eternity

In honor of Hasty’s 31 days of Horror and Halloween.

Strangled whimpers wafted through the tiny space, while his heavy breath puffed out into the chilled October air, a visible cloud of evil with each decisive movement. Each winding of his rope, each tie of a knot, each jerk of her body to position it perfectly… painfully, but perfectly.

As he completed the task, he admired his work. The tight bindings had her naked body twisted and secured in such a way that she looked as though something might break at any moment. The shape created by her stretched and twisted limbs was truly satisfying. His sadistic chuckle brought about another muffled whimper, as she couldn’t quite make any other sound.

Sorting through his tool bag, he glanced at her from time to time, soaking in the fear from her eyes. He turned toward her with a knife, a simple switch blade, but sharp and perfect for poking and prodding the other, lovely sounds of despair that he was desperate to enjoy, from his deliciously beautiful, new victim.

Her sweet eyes grew wide when she saw the blade, and her whimpers turned to attempts at muffled screams, strained by the belt around her neck. As he stepped against her, he pulled at her shoulder twisting her frame further to tighten the stranglehold, halting her pleas. Not that she could be understood anyway, through the old work rag he’d stuffed in her mouth while she was unconscious.

It was clear she would be a screamer, and his mind burned with anticipation. Hearing her cries when he captured her, was enough to set his body ablaze, and he almost hated silencing her when he knocked her out so he could strip and gag her without a fight. But the thought of her tormented shouts filling the small confines of his camper as he marked up her flawless body was nearly pure ecstasy.

However, the screams would have to wait until he tired of her aching whimpers. He contemplated cutting her free and letting her run, so he could capture her once again. Watching her run naked through the trees, scraping herself into a bloody mess would be awfully exciting. Chasing her down again and dragging her back to his torture chamber after that… Well, that would be exquisite.

As he pressed the blade against the sensitive skin above her collarbone, her tears began to fall, sliding over her cheeks and spilling onto her heaving chest where they collected into rivers that turned upside down as they dribbled from the points of her perfect nipples to the filthy floor below.

Wasted tears, he smirked. Beautiful wasted tears. And as he drew the blade across the ropes he’d just tied, the hope that sprung to her eyes was precious. Yes, he would set her free to be captured once again, because the defeat in her expression later would be perfection.

As he sliced through the bondage, she began to fight again, and he loved her for it. Her will and her strength fed something deep within. His ability to overpower her had made him high and he wanted to feel it, again and again.

He almost told her to be still. He almost explained his intentions, but he knew that his silence would be far more frightening than anything else. As her arm was freed, she clawed and struck him, before pulling at the belt around her neck and grabbing the cloth from her pretty mouth. She gasped, deeply to fill her lungs with oxygen, but the stale air inside the camper provided little relief.

She got in a couple good hits and scratches before he slapped her across the face to settle her. She stared, stunned, as he continued to cut loose the ropes that had held her in such exquisite chaos. When he removed the last rope from her ankle, she kicked him and ran, tumbling over herself down the steps beyond the door and screaming wildly.

He laughed, watching her stagger back to her feet and attempt to run through the leaves and fallen branches that surrounded the RV. She tripped several times, and he realized she would not be difficult to track, so he took his time coiling his leftover rope, and donning his backpack of tools.

Setting out after her, he picked up her trail quickly, she had left plenty of evidence of her trajectory. He quickly gained on her and could hear her pained steps and broken breaths. When he realized she’d gone in a circle, he nearly couldn’t stop himself from shouting at her for making it too easy.

But then, just before the clearing that housed his camper, he lost her trail. He searched the tree line to see where she’d re-entered the woods, but found no trace at all. The sun was setting though, and he thought about his night vision camera and his knowledge of his beloved woods. So he relaxed, realizing she just might be easier to track at night.

As he made his way back up the clearing to the rusted and neglected old vehicle, he smiled smugly at himself. This hunt had been incredible. This girl had been even more exciting than the last. This would be a kill he would watch again and again, bringing himself to ecstasy.

And he laughed again as he climbed the steps, planning the hours of blissful torture ahead of him.

When he opened the door, he was startled by her standing there. Oh, she thought she was smart, seeking shelter in the place he shouldn’t have thought to look.

But then, her own smug smile eroded her beautiful face. And he saw it, just before she plunged a massive old kitchen knife deep into his chest.

He stared at it, and the blood that oozed from his shirt. He could taste it, in his mouth and smell the acrid stench of his life essence pouring out of him. Suddenly, the pain was excruciating. He’d never expected this, which made it hurt so much worse.

He looked up and her eyes were wild, there was no longer any fear, just hatred and venom. She pulled the knife out with some force causing the pain to surge, and he lunged for her. She thrust the knife into his abdomen this time, and he felt it tear into his organs and slice down as she held it firmly. He screamed and wretched and gazed, pleadingly at his would be prey turned skilled hunter.

As he fell to the floor, tears searing his eyes, he heard HER laughing. He writhed with the agony he’d wished to inflict on her and felt his life beginning to fade. He looked up at her again and she became quiet.

“You never anticipated that I’d be stronger than you.” Her voice was beautiful, which he hadn’t expected, and he wished he’d given her the chance to plead for her life earlier. Perhaps things would’ve ended differently.

“Who can say?” She whispered, as if reading his mind. As he stared up into the face of this damsel who he had misjudged, he suddenly became aware of the presence of others. Spirits of those who’d gone before her surrounded him as his life gurgled away, drowning in his own blood.

He realized what was about to happen. He clumsily reached out for her ankle, clinging to this little girl who had somehow ended him. “Help me…”

But all he heard in response were the screams of his own tortured soul as his victims enjoyed their just spoils.

Screams that can sometimes still be heard, in that clearing, deep in his beloved woods.

Screams that will last for all of eternity.

Let Go

He stands behind her, reaching out to drag long, daring fingers through her silky tresses. Down the velvet arch of her back then up again, into her locks, tugging her sharply against him.

“Five,” he growls against her ear, before pressing her forward, bent over the mattress, molding her to his will.

His belt is folded and she hears the wicked snap of him pulling it tight in his grasp. His fingers glide over the soft, round curve of her bottom before he steps back to his task.

The first strike lands and the heat is immediate and intense. A sensation she’d dreamed of, a pain she’d longed for, and despite the whimper which escapes her throat, she instantly wants more.

The second blow is lower and even harder than the first, but the groan which bubbles from her chest is filled with the depth of her desire, not to quit, but to endure all that he might offer.

The discomfort of the third causes her to cry out, softly. He wonders at her desire for this pain, and what it does to her. A question that would have to be answered, eventually. She would have to make him understand.

The fourth stings and sends jolts through her core. How could she ever explain? The little girl in her has no words to describe her need for this. And the masochist within is mute from a lifetime of hiding.

The final hit is fast, biting her skin with enough intensity to leave a mark, and she exhales in pants, wishing for more but knowing that it would be too much.

His hands smooth over her hot flesh before guiding her to stand and back into him. He strokes her hair and nuzzles her neck as she catches her breath.

When he turns her in his arms and kisses her deeply, she feels his arousal against her belly and loses herself in him.

As his kiss turns wild and animalistic, it is all she can do to remain upright, her knees threaten to fail, her mind threatens to part.

His fingers search and explore her body expertly. He knows each and every tiny place that is secretly and amazingly linked to her core. And tortures her in the most delicious, teasing game, before they find their home deep within her.

“Please…,” she whimpers as he pulls his lips from hers.

He slips his fingers from her and traces her lips with her own liquid lust. “You got what you wanted, what are you begging for?”

She looks deep in his pale eyes and is frozen within his gaze. She did get what she wanted…

She’d begged and pleaded for that which she believed she needed. She’d forced her thoughts on him, she’d pushed him to conform to her needs.

Sinking to her knees before him, she gazes up at him. “Please, accept my submission.

“Use me, as I have used you. To fulfill your deepest desires. To satiate whatever craving lies buried beyond your limits. To satisfy the beast you keep hidden so extraordinarily well that most don’t even recognize he’s there.”

His eyes are unreadable, his expression giving no insight into his thoughts. Only after staring at her for far too long does he sit on the bed and pull her up into his lap.

Wrapping himself around her and burying his face in her hair, he sighs. “Let go. Submit to my love, wife. I need you like I need air. But I could never do this to you without you asking me for it explicitly. I will play the part, at your direction, but I will not… cannot… bend you to my will. Let go of the picture of who you want me to be and accept me for who I am. Submit to my love, not to my will.”

His refusal hangs in the air. But she clings to him and he to her. The heat he’d burned into her cheeks is fading, and her heart races against his as she absorbs the desperation of his grip.

She tries to pull away, but he doesn’t let her. And as she replays his words in her mind, over and over, she does let go.

She allows those five blows to clean the slate. To wipe away all of her expectations. To create a new plan and path.

One which she will forge and guide them on… quietly… by a leash around her throat.

She will submit. To his love.

And to his ever-present desire for her to lead.

She takes his hand, pushing it across her body then up to wrap his fingers around her neck.

“I’ll let go… if you don’t.”

To be owned… Part 2

Day Two – Morning (continued from Day One)

She wakes suddenly. Oh, his kiss, his body, his hands…

She stretches out on the cold vinyl, feeling weak and brittle, despite the hot, wet desire between her thighs. As she blinks in the very pale early morning light, she ponders the sweetness of her dream. A vivid and lovely dream.

It never ceases to amaze her that her subconscious always seems to long for the other side of the coin. Yesterday was brutal, there was none of the tenderness that she knows from him. And so she dreamt of it. When he has been sweet and loving, spending hours caressing and adoring her body, she dreams of his ropes, cuffs, paddles, floggers, crops and canes.

He always loves hearing about her dreams. She smiles, wishing she could tell him about this one.

The pain in her limbs has improved with sleep, but her body still feels weak and worn. She rubs her bruised wrists, almost missing the wicked shackles that imprisoned her for hours. His shackles. Her complete submission is more than worth it.

This is mine. She melts, imagining the pleasure he will derive from owning her… Body, mind, heart and spirit.

It’s too early to start cooking. The house is completely silent, and there is a definite chill in the air. She longs to be in his warm bed, in his strong arms. But she thinks she understand why she isn’t. He needs her to feel the depth of giving herself to him. The pleasure and tenderness of his love makes it an exchange. But to be owned, she must give of herself freely. Every action must be about pleasing him.

Standing to stretch some more, she decides to busy herself despite her exhaustion. As she cautiously fills a cleaning bucket, she longs to soak in the hot water, but dismisses the thought. It is his body to bathe.

An hour passes, and the small kitchen shines from her work. She ignores her hunger and thirst as she begins cooking his favorite breakfast. She smiles remembering the first pancakes she’d made him, at her apartment. He ate every, single one. Then told her he’d never liked pancakes before. The memory pinks her cheeks as she pulls her hair back and braids it quickly to get it out of her way. She sees one of her hairbands on the windowsill that she doesn’t remember leaving there. She wonders if he had put it there for her last night…

As she cooks, she hums a little. When she feels him watching her, she glances toward the doorway, smiling, but immediately turns away, feeling contrite. She is so unsure of herself all of a sudden.

He walks to her, still in just his boxers, steps behind her and grabs her bruised wrists. She drops the pan she was carrying into the sink, and winces at the pressure of his fingertips, but almost sighs in relief at his touch.

“Are you afraid to smile at me now?”

His growl and breath is at her ear as he glides her palms along the countertop to grip the edge before backing up and pulling her hips with him. She can feel his erection against her cheeks and longs for it to soothe the ache in her belly from her morning dream, but she knows this is sure to be quick and hard. For his pleasure only.

As he presses into her, she moans involuntarily.

“Thinking of me, were you? I’m sure you’re not expecting me to be gentle.”

Without pause, he begins pounding into her causing her to cry out. She bites her lip to stifle any more yelps as his fingers dig into her already burning hips. Lifting his right hand to the front of her neck, he pulls so that her back is arched as far as it can, and her breath is caught in her throat.

She loves it rough and can’t help it when her body responds. But she knows she cannot release. If she has an orgasm without permission, she is sure he will be furious. He’d told her from the very first time they had sex that her pleasure belonged to him. It wasn’t hers to squander.

She is starting to see stars when she recognizes the signs that he is about to climax. She squeezes her inner muscles, trying to make it as pleasurable as possible for him. His satisfying groans are more than enough reward. He curses as he pours himself deep inside her, and then leans into her, letting go of her throat.

Gasping and panting, she holds the counter firmly. Glancing at the stove, relieved she had turned everything off.

After pulling out of her, he spins her around and grips her arms firmly. His lips are inches from hers and she can’t help but look him in the eyes. Should she look away? What now?

“Serve my breakfast. Make two plates. You can tell me what you’ve been up to, little slut, then I’ll feed you.

Commands. Good. She exhales, knowing she’s pleased him and delighting in the chance to actually talk to him.

After making two plates, and filling two glasses with orange juice, she places them on the table. But feeling the sticky remains of their connection dripping down the inside of her thigh and pressure in her belly, she pauses before she kneels, and stares down at her fingers blushing. God, she needs to get over this.

“Sir? I need… Could you please take me to the bathroom?”

His lips twitch in a half-smile, and she blushes again. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck and walks her down the hall. She scurries to the toilet and sits, and her full bladder releases quickly. Sighing in relief, she looks up at him, and watches him pull paper again from the roll.

He kneels in front of her, though it feels different from last night. He wipes her gently then holds a finger up for her to wait. He wets a cloth under the faucet and returns to his knees in front of her. Wiping under her eyes and over her face, then down her neck and chest. She can’t help it when her pulse quickens and her lips part. He lifts her arms, bathing under them, then under her breasts. Down her stomach, he runs the cloth over the insides of her thighs then back, along her slit, cleaning her in the most intimate way.

He slips his fingers inside, the pleasure of feeling her obvious in his expression, before gripping her pussy firmly.

“This is mine. You are mine. Just tell me what you need. No more modesty. Do you understand?”

Her breath is ragged, his fingers inside her make her feel like she might burst into flames.

“Yes, Sir.”

She feels like she needs an orgasm, but wants vs. needs had been a big topic before they both decided on this step. She wants to please him, above all else. And these three days are to prove that.

He pulls her to stand, flushing the toilet behind her then shifting her toward the sink. He washes their hands together, pressed against her naked back and staring at her in the mirror. After drying their hands, he unties her hair so that the braid falls away and grabs her hairbrush from the counter. Gliding it from front the back, through her satin locks several times, she closed her eyes to revel in his touch. He’d told her she wouldn’t see this side of him unless she did things to warrant reward.

She has no idea what he could be rewarding her for in this moment.

When he stops, he wraps his arms around her and whispers in her ear.

“After breakfast, the rest of the morning is going to be rough. I need things from you and need to see that you can handle them. But I want you to remember why you’re here. To remember that I am this man too. To remember how grateful I am to have your submission. …And that I love you, sweetness.”

She stares into his reflection, feeling the precise combination of emotions he undoubtedly means her to feel. But he doesn’t give her the opportunity to respond, as he guides her back into the kitchen quickly.

As they eat, he explains to her that mealtime will always be her time to talk. A regular interval to communicate openly and to allow both of them to relax and enjoy each other. He will continue to feed her, for now, because it gives him the control he desires. And it will remind her of her submission.

She chooses to use the time this morning to tell him about her dream. When she finishes, he has a somewhat bewildered expression.

“What’s the matter?”
“I’m surprised that’s the topic you chose today..”
“I thought you liked to hear my dreams, Sir?”
“I do… indeed. I just thought you might have concerns… about today.”

Perhaps she should ask questions about his plans, though she doubts he’s going to provide details. She was very nervous yesterday, expecting a beating to rival anything he’d ever given her before, but yesterday taught her a lot about herself.

She is a masochist, and having offered her complete submission, she’d told him she didn’t want a safeword, any longer. He’d told her then that he was indeed a sadist, and wanted her to be sure before she gave up such an important protocol. Others in the community had talked to her about this too. But in all their scenes together, she’d never had to use her safeword. He’d always known when to stop, he’d never hurt her beyond her ability to absorb and process.

After that admission, she worried about being wrong. She feared what would happen if he did take it too far. However, the memory of his eyes lit up from her willingness to forego it… She wanted him to feel that kind of power and control, because it was obviously his dream come true.

But the concern that it was a mistake remained… Until last night. She realized that he knew her in a way that she hadn’t even known herself.

“I think what you are going to do to me today is teach me more about myself, Sir. I have a feeling you are going to break through more of my fears and defenses so that I can truly and successfully surrender myself to you. …Completely.”

She smiles, wondering how he would react to her touching him. She shyly decides to whisper her request.

“Sir, am I allowed to touch you during mealtime?”

His lips curl at the edges and he nods. She takes his hand and places it on her chest. Just holding it there, over her heart, so that he can feel the most important possession she’s already given him.

He finishes feeding her in silence, and after draining the last of her juice, she whispers that she is still thirsty. He rises to fill another glass with water and returns. After she drains the glass, he chuckles.

“I never noticed how much you drink. Are you always this thirsty?”

She blushes and looks down at the tile between her thighs, and remembering that she is naked, her cheeks redden further.

“Yes, Sir. But perhaps more so this morning.”
“After scrubbing down my kitchen… I watched you for a while earlier…”

She glances up at him, surprised. She hadn’t noticed him…

“I’m sure that was a sight.”
“Indeed, sweetness. Indeed.”

He sits and stares at her for several more minutes. She always wonders what he’s thinking about, he’s so taciturn. After another glass of water, he tells her to clean up, and disappears down the hall.

She does so quickly, even wiping down the kitchen chairs, then kneels in the same spot. Next to the head of the table.

When he returns, he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but no shoes.

He orders her to crawl into the garage, once more. And as she makes her way down the hall and over the threshold, she imagines him watching her ass the whole time.

In the garage, he pulls her to stand then cuffs her wrists to a spreader bar hanging from the ceiling which raises on a pulley. Then he attaches another to her ankles. His fingers skim over the bruises from his shackles, but his face gives nothing away.

Once her legs are spread, he raises the pulley more until she is stretched and on her toes. Stepping behind her, he twists her hair into a knot and secures it with one of her hairbands. He then steps over to the large table and holds up the gag, watching her. Her jaw aches from yesterday, and she prays he doesn’t make her wear it this morning.

He carries it over to her and stands directly in front her. The heat radiating off his body in the chilly garage feels wonderful… or perhaps it’s simply his proximity.

His face is inches from hers, and her heart races. He hasn’t kissed her in days. He told her the next time he did, it would be because he needed it. Oh, please need it now.

“I want to put this on you, badly, just to prove I own you. But I also know what kind of torture it must’ve been yesterday on your jaw… Instead, you are going to hold it, by the strap, in your teeth, until I take it away. If you drop it, you will wear it for the remainder of our session. You understand?”

Breathing in his scent, she literally drips onto the concrete floor below. I’ll do anything for you.

“Yes, Sir.”

He bends his knees so that his lips are fractions of an inch from hers. She closes her eyes, willing herself to expect nothing. Trust him. His breath mingled with hers is almost too much.

She feels him change positions and opens her eyes as he lifts the strap for the gag to her open mouth, positioning it between her teeth, and pressing her jaw closed with one finger. His expression is untelling, but not at all the sadistic smirk she expects.

She exhales deeply as he steps back and stares at her. No modesty. Standing before him, nude and spread open, completely vulnerable, she wonders how she might NOT feel modest.

He steps towards her again, but off slightly to her side and pinches her left nipple before twisting and pulling. She tries hard not to make noise, but it’s impossible not to whine when he produces a set of brutal clamps from his pocket and attaches the first. He follows suit on the other side and smacks both of her breasts, causing her to nearly open her mouth to cry out. She must concentrate on keeping her teeth clenched.

His hand skims down her belly and he smacks her sex with the back of his fingers. She closes her eyes with the second blow, and starts to focus on the feeling of clenching her aching jaw, in an effort to keep herself from writhing beneath his touch.

The blows grow more intense, then he produces a heavy flogger from somewhere. He spins her and begins swinging it in a back and forth motion across her buttocks and thighs, then up her back before travelling back down her legs.

The strikes begin to really burn as the strands bite her flesh. She cannot hold back the noise that escapes her throat with each searing hit. But she can process pain. And this is nothing she hasn’t experienced already.

Suddenly, he increases his speed and starts circling around her, hitting nearly every part of her body. When the flogger’s strands catch in the nipple clamps chain, the pull of her flesh is frightfully painful and she screams, but somehow manages to hold the strap in her teeth. He does it again and again, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she counts the blows.

Tears fill her eyes at 9, and start to fall at 12. But she goes silent, only grunting at each strike. Trust him. She’s nowhere near her limit. And she begins to feel the drift… That chemical reaction that changes the pain, turns it into something else.

“Not yet.”

His breathless growl makes her eyes flash open. He stares at her as he steps back to the table to drop the flogger and picks up a cane. God, no. She hates the cane, despises it.

Again, the look on his face is unreadable. Somewhere between dark desire and… uneasy anticipation?

When he steps back toward her, she stares at the thin wood rod. Her heart hammers so hard. He really does mean to push her. She’s only ever been beaten with a cane once, and it was a wicked experience. But when she told him about it, he believed it was the total experience that wrecked her. Not the implement.

He steps absolutely flush against her, tugging the strap from her mouth..

“I knew you could do it.”

Suddenly, he tosses the gag and wraps his fingers around her throat. He pulls her lips to meet his and scorches her with an intense kiss. She’s breathless and spinning when he releases her. He is also visibly affected.

“I know you’re scared. I know you have this built up in your mind as some sort of hellish experience, but I promise you, sweetness, I’ve dealt you far more pain with other things than I will with this. …I need you to trust me. …Do you trust me?”

His fingers have moved around her throat and are woven into the bun at the back of her neck. He pulls her head back again, and as her body arches against him, she reminds herself what he said earlier. And why she’s here.

“…Yes. Yes, Sir. Implicitly. …No safeword.”
“No safeword.”

Staring into his eyes, all she can do is pray she isn’t making a mistake. Remembering her thoughts from yesterday, she tells herself the same thing, repeatedly. Trust him. I must trust him.

He strokes her cheek and steps away, the expression from earlier returning. She wishes she could figure out what he is feeling.

He walks behind her and begins rubbing her bottom. Down her thighs, then back up. He raises the pulley again so that she’s barely touching the floor, her weight is distributed between her toes and wrists. As his hand returns, but this time, slips between her thighs, she exhales deeply.

He had said long ago that he enjoyed watching her in that state of pure pleasure, then nearly overcome by pain, followed by that serenity that takes over when she’s able to change the pain or transcend it. But that there was something very satisfying about holding her between the levels.

His fingers weave their magic until she is panting and whimpering loudly. She wants to cum so badly, days without release has her completely on edge. She aches and drips and almost begs, but resolves not to speak, as that wouldn’t get her what she wanted anyway.

Then, the first blow hits her thighs. The second, across her ass. It stings just as badly as she remembered. Tears spring into her eyes, but somehow she manages not to cry out. Her almost orgasm is completely forgotten by the time he’s struck her six times. Then, suddenly, his hand slips around her front. One finger circling her clit, barely touching her, before two more strikes, hard and in succession cause her to scream.

He rubs her hard, the pleasure and pain breaking into her mind and scattering her thoughts. Three more blows make her scream again, then groan as his fingers slip inside her.

“Oh, Sir… Sir… please.”
“Who do you belong to, slut?”
“You, Sir. But please.”

Pulling free, he swings the cane back and it hits a new spot at the top of her cheeks. Oddly, she barely makes a sound, and is more desperate for the return of his fingers than for the caning to stop.

“Please, please, please.”
“No.”

When his hand returns, he starts all over again. Oh, it was a test. She bites her lips and absorbs the infuriating teasing, waiting for more. Of what, she is unsure.

He reaches for the chain attached to her nipples and pulls while simultaneously increasing pressure on her clit with his thumb and slipping two fingers into her sopping wet pussy. The pain is so intense, her nipples feel like they are hardwired to the nerves behind her eyes. But the pleasure is equally intense. Her body begins to send her mixed signals, and the pain in her breasts feels good.

This is the moment she loves. It hurts… so good. Every nerve ending in her body is alive and when he blows on her neck, she convulses but holds back, not allowing her body to defy him..

He lets go of the chain and turns her to smack her again with the cane. Four more blows that completely wreck her mind. She is lost in the synergy and doesn’t even make a sound. Five additional strikes only seem to deepen her stupor.

“Good Girl,” he breathes against her lips, but she still can’t open her eyes. “How much do you want to cum right now?”

As she tries to focus her mind, his fingers tease her further, while his other hand grips her burning ass painfully. She wants to, so badly. The ache of need courses through her whole body.

As his fingers push deeper inside, her eyes fly open. He lifts his other hand from her backside to her throat, wrapping his fingers around her and squeezing tightly, “You won’t though, will you sweetness? You won’t defy me.”

She can’t help but stare into his eyes. She focuses every ounce of her being on his fingers around her neck instead the ones pushing her towards the sun. She’s not sure if he expects an answer, but before she can decide, he pulls away completely, hissing, “Yes. My good fucking girl.”

Stepping behind her again, he picks up the cane and delivers several more blows. Then spins her around and bends to remove the cuffs at her ankles. As he stands, he unzips his pants and pushes them down, releasing his iron cock before grabbing her thighs and wrapping them around his waist.

Pushing into her slowly, he groans with pleasure before reaching up and grasping her throat tightly, pulling her lips his. Before he kisses her, he growls into her mouth, “Who’s slut are you?”

She exhales quickly, “Yours, Master,” trying to steel herself against expectations, but so hungry for more of his approval.

As he thrusts into her, again, he bites her lower lip and grips her ravaged ass tightly. She yelps, but then moans as his tongue slides against her own.

His hips buck into hers wildly, and she wonders how she can hold back. She clenches tightly around his shaft, causing him groan again as his mouth threatens to devour her from within.

Pushing and pulsing, he finally pulls his lips away, grunting and cursing as she writhes wildly against him. He still has not given her permission to climax, but she has transcended the need. Her only desire is to make him cum. Her only need is to feel his complete satisfaction.

“Fuck!” He shouts as he pours himself into her. She wills her body to still, somehow, but can’t open her eyes out of fear that she will climax at just the sight him.

He pulls out of her and holds her against his chest while unbuckling the cuffs around her wrists. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he walks over to a bench where he sits.

He holds her tightly, releasing her hair and combing through it with his fingers. His breath is still labored, but she thinks she hears him whisper, “Good Girl,” a few more times. He uncaps a bottle of water and holds it against her lips. “Drink baby.”

When she opens her eyes, and draws the liquid into her mouth, she wonders how it is possible that she isn’t feeling frustrated or pouty. All she feels is pride in herself. And a freedom she hadn’t expected. She closes her eyes again, bathing in the bliss of being his fuck toy.

“How are you, sweetness?” His gravelly voice wakes her from her revelry. “Are you in pain?”

She swallows and licks her lips, looking up again into his eyes, not caring if she’s supposed to or not. “Not much, Sir. But can I have some more water?”

One corner of his mouth curls as he presses the bottle to her mouth again. “Not too fast,” he whispers.

After she finishes, he strokes her hair as she rests her head against his shoulder. “Wasn’t as bad as you were expecting?”

“No, Sir. I am surprised that I’m not hurting worse.” Closing her eyes, she tries to absorb as much of this as she can, not knowing what the rest of the day holds.

She thinks he must realize this, because he simply strokes his fingers up and down her back, occasionally pressing his lips against her forehead. He says nothing, but his touch is the most soothing thing in the world.

When he tilts her chin up so that she will look into his eyes again, he bends to kiss her lips softly. “This is what you were missing the first time you were caned. You weren’t cared for. You were beaten and discarded. I will never do that to you… I love you, little girl… Seeing you surrender yourself completely to your worst fear…”

The emotion in his voice causes her to lift her fingers to his jaw. “I will do anything for you, Master. I am yours.”

His grin grows and his eyelids lower as he squeezes her against his chest, causing her to squirm. When he looks at her alarmed, she blushes and whispers, “I need… I need to pee, Sir.”

His smile changes, and the thrill he feels from his control over her is obvious. As he stands, carrying her across the garage, he chuckles and whispers, “Of course, sweetness. Then perhaps a bath, before the next part of your training.”

…to be continued.

To be owned…

Warning – This fictional story is about the breaking of a slave by a sadist via brutal bondage, sensory isolation, bodily function control, humiliation and kinky, rough sex. I’m really Pushing Limits with this one. Read it anyway… Let me know if you think I should continue it.

Day One

Her anxiety pulses through her body like ice water. Her trembling limbs are stretched in all directions by unforgivingly cold, iron shackles. Her eyes water beneath the weight of a heavy, wool hood strapped in place by a gag which presses her jaw open, just to the point of discomfort. She struggles to swallow behind the large ball held firmly between her teeth. She had consented, even begged for this experience, but her mind now bubbles with concern.

She hears nothing, the silence is intense. She knows he must still be there, as he promised not to leave her in bondage, ever. And she believed him. She trusts him.

Slowly, she tries to calm her breathing with that thought. I trust him.

It does not soothe the fear that now erodes her sense of self, though. If this is a mistake, she’ll never know. Because in the end, she will be forever changed. She knows that, and exhales a long, cathartic breath.

Suddenly, she feels his presence, and closes her eyes blindly as it washes over her like warm bathwater. Odd that she would feel relief in his proximity, knowing that he may do unspeakable things to her today. He hadn’t told her his plans, so the anxiety remained, only diluted by the hope of his tenderness. Though, she is sure what she will experience in the beginning will lack any tenderness.

Lying beneath his open gaze, she wonders if he will speak. What he might say. What his voice will sound like. What he will expect. Her heart races as her patience begins to wither. Will he simply keep her like this and watch her all day? Will it be like this every day?

The time spreads out through her. She twitches at every change in the air pressure. She flinches at every tiny sound. Is he still here? Perhaps her sense of his presence is incorrect. But that would mean he’s broken his promise…

In the cold darkness, she pulls at her restraints to hear some sort of sound. She can’t seem to fill her lungs fast enough. The hood feels like it weighs a hundred pounds but she shakes her head to see if it will shift so that she might see even a fraction of light. It won’t, the strap pressing the wet, rubber ball against her tongue holds it securely in place. The lump in her throat grows as her mind furiously spirals into a state of panic.

What if he has left? What if he’s driven away and gotten into a car accident? What if he’s had a heart attack and is dying in the corner of this garage as she lies here completely immobile and helpless? What if she dies like this?

Her sobs begin to echo through the dead silence. She tries to call out for him, desperate for any change in the stillness. She chokes on her efforts, pulling at her restraints and retching, almost screaming, until she exhausts herself completely. She knows none of these actions will change anything, and finally resigns herself to be still. I must trust him.

Time passes. The air seems to get colder for a fraction of an instant. But maybe it’s her imagination. She senses him again, though she doesn’t hear or feel anything. Her heart begins to race as his presence draws nearer. Chills break out across her naked flesh and she is oddly, very suddenly aware of her undress.

She hears a click, like that of a light switch, and then feels warmth wash over her skin. Her mind prickles with a different fear. Is it just him? Would he invite others to join him? She’d never asked. She should have asked. What if a stranger is watching her? No, I trust him. That trust is all she has.

“You need water. Do not speak.”

His voice is low and cool as his fingers lift her head and unbuckle the strap quickly. He holds a bottle to her lips and she tries to swallow as quickly as possible. It feels as though she’s been like this all day, and as she drinks, she realizes how thirsty she was. She desperately wants to ask him how long it has been and if he left her alone. But after pulling the empty bottle away, his fingers wrap around her throat.

“Your little fit earned you nothing. You’d be smart to remember that.”

Before she can even process his words, he presses the ball of the gag back into her mouth and buckles the tight leather strap. She feels the lump rise in her throat, the familiar feeling of unbidden tears burning her eyes. She remembers him telling her that crying is part of the process, but if she indeed, truly wants to submit, she would not struggle. Even in her fear.

Letting her tears fall, her breath exits in tiny sobs. But she doesn’t fight, she simply allows herself to feel his disappointment. Her fit was out of concern for herself, not for him. She is there to please him.

After some time, she realizes that he is still there. She isn’t sure how she knows, but she feels him. Especially when he is near her. Is he just watching her?

She has reached a state of true discomfort. Her arms and legs are pulled so tight. Her ankles and wrists feel chafed from the hard metal they are wrapped with. Her jaw aches and burns from the stress of the gag. Her eyes and nose itch beneath the hot wool that covers two thirds of her face. Her stomach is empty and she’s sure it’s angry requests for food can be heard.

And, she needs to pee. Making her bondage even more uncomfortable.

She hadn’t thought about this very human, basic need. She knew she could go only hours without water and maybe a day without food. She’d voiced these concerns ahead of time. Though, the only promise she asked him to make was not to leave her alone. What if he expected her to hold it? Or worse, relieve herself right there on his cold, wooden table?

She began flexing her toes in an effort to take her mind off it. It only helped a little.

“I’m guessing you are in desperate need of a restroom. The fact that you’ve been lying there suffering, trusting that I will take care of you is very pleasing.”

His fingers work the locks at her wrists as he speaks. During his languid trip to her ankles, his hand tweaks a nipple and slaps the other. The pain nearly makes her wet herself, but she remains silent. Scratching his fingers down her thighs, he finally releases her ankles then grabs her hand to help her rise.

She is unsteady on her feet and he uses his body to press her belly against the table edge. Directly against her bladder.

“I wonder if you can hold it while I fuck your ass.”

She begins to shake her head, but stops quickly, thinking that would be a huge mistake. She closes her eyes praying he did not notice. But of course he did.

Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he pushes her forward onto the table so her toes lift off the ground. Lying on her full bladder, she is sure her body is going to fail, and begins to cry. Determination, however, pulls her hands from beneath her to her backside, spreading her cheeks for him.

“Good. Girl.”

He rubs the tip of his erection up and down her slit. She had surpassed discomfort. Her belly aches from the pressure, and every muscle is strained. Her tears continue when she realizes she won’t be able to relax.

As he kicks apart her feet, she is able to shift her weight so the table hits above her navel. The pressure eases just enough to be tolerable but as he pushes into her, she is overwhelmed by different pain.

“Don’t piss on me. You will not like the punishment.”

She sobs as he begins thrusting into her ass. His grunts echo off the walls. She reminds herself how pleased he’ll be if she can bear this punishing fuck. Remembering his disappointment earlier fuels her eagerness. I will not fail.

As he nears climax, she chants that thought in her mind, no longer sobbing. Instead, she focuses on his thrusts and the pain they cause, to tak
e her focus off the other pain.

Upon his completion, he pulls her up with his cock still in her ass and reaches down her front to feel her pussy. To confirm she hadn’t let go.

“I didn’t think you could do it, slut…”

Pushing her back down, he pulls out of her quickly. She hears his zipper before he grabs her neck once again.

As he pushes her through a door then down onto a freezing toilet seat, she exhales waiting to hear a door close. Instead, she feels his fingers releasing the buckle of her gag.

This time, he pulls off the hood as well, and she squints until her eyes adjust to the light. He is holding a bottle of water to her lips. How is she supposed to pee while he stands there watching her, expecting her to drink.

Trust him.

She closes her eyes and tilts her chin back while forcing her pelvic muscles to relax. After several swallows, he pulls the bottle away but remains. She realizes he’s waiting for her to finish relieving herself, and her face heats with humiliation.

Forcing herself to empty her bladder as quickly as possible, she tries to cover her face with her hands. He yanks them away quickly.

“Don’t make me tie you. You will have no privacy from me. Ever.”

Tears prick her eyes again as she frowns at the notion. He had warned her several times that slaves do not have privacy. He’d even made her repeat it. How could she not realize that meant no bathroom privacy? As she realizes this means she’d also have to do other toilet related things in front of him, her cheeks flame red hot again. But she successfully fights the urge to cover her face this time.

When she finishes, he doesn’t even allow her toilet paper before pulling her up and pushing her into a tiny shower stall. Turning the faucet and pulling a small hand sprayer off the wall, she knows immediately that this too is going to be uncomfortable.

The water is so cold that it stings. She squeals before clapping her hands over her mouth to silence herself. She’s not supposed to look at him, but her eyes involuntarily shift to his mouth when she hears him chuckle, lightly. His lips are curled in a sadistic grin, but she drops her gaze before risking allowing herself to look into his eyes.

Closing her eyes and dropping her hands, she tries again to prove her submission. He turns and shifts her, spraying every inch of her body until she is shaking from the cold that has now seeped into her bones.

When he turns the water off, she stands shivering for several moments before she opens her eyes, staring at the floor.

He steps toward her, holding the water bottle to her lips again. She’s so hungry, but has no inclination that he might feed her today. She can see a few inches of night sky through the closed blind on the tiny bathroom window. And as she drains the bottle dry, her stomach rumbles once more.

She continues to shiver as she watches him twist the plastic cap back onto the empty bottle. Her tears begin anew, sparked by the complete bewilderment of what he plans to do with her at night. She was growing more and more sure that he wouldn’t allow her into his bed this night.

“I wasn’t going to feed you tonight. But I hadn’t expected you to do this well…”

His voice was hard and cool. She is so tired. Her entire body aches as she stands trembling and softly crying in front of him. He grabs a rough towel from behind her and dries her, almost harshly, showing no mercy to her over-sensitized skin.

“Maybe I should just feed you my ass coated cock.”

His growled words make her wince. But she thinks to herself, Please him.

She slowly sinks to her knees, her muscles and tendons screaming, increasing her tears. But when she reaches the floor, she spreads her legs open sitting back on her heels and opens her mouth wide. To be used.

She closes her eyes, trying to avoid his. She hears no reaction from him, but knows he’s still there. She hears the faucet flip on then off, then his fingers on the top of her head, sliding through her soaked hair before gripping her tightly.

As the tip of his cock touches her tongue, she nearly gags with the thought of what he did earlier with it. She didn’t have time to think about it too much because he was almost instantly fucking her face with such force that she was gagging, gasping and sobbing within seconds.

When his cum shoots down the back of her throat, unceremoniously, he holds her face still with both hands. She can’t breath but she can’t even lift her hands to try to push him away.

He finally pulls back and chuckles, tapping her lips

“Good girl. I’m happy you know what this is really for.”

His fingers dig into her jaw lifting her face. It hurts and her eyes flash open. She doesn’t understand the look in his eyes. But she now truly believes what she hadn’t several days before. He is indeed a sadist.

“Stand up. You deserve some food for that.”

As she tries, excited that she’s been able to please him enough to deserve a reward, her body fails her. As she falls backward onto her ass, he laughs and her face reddens once more.

She gathers all of her strength and pushes herself up to stand. She suddenly finds his arm around her waist, guiding her through the door. Her knees are so weak, as they step into the kitchen and he lets go, they fail and she’s on all fours.

“Crawl over to the table then, weakling.”

She follows his command, wondering why she is so weak. All she did was lie on a table all day. She’d expected to have been beaten, mercilessly. But it occurs to her that being beaten wouldn’t have had the same effect on her. That kind of pain she can absorb and process. What he put her through today tore at her natural defenses. That was the point.

Kneeling next to the table, she can barely open her eyes, but glances at the clock above the sink. It is only 8:40.

She lets her eyes close as she listens to him moving around. The room is filled with a delicious smell… soup or stew? When she hears him in front of her, she opens her eyes. He pulls out a chair and sits, completely naked before her. Had he undressed before.

Popping a spoonful of his meal into his mouth, he reaches down with his left hand and pinches her nipple. She looks up at him, but quickly looks back down. His legs are spread before her and his cock is beginning to harden again. From looking at her? From that one fractional second of touch?

He takes another bite then reaches for both nipples, pinching and pulling. She winces and whines quietly, but thrusts her chest into his demanding touch.

She senses his smile but the only thought swirling in her brain is, Please give me food…

He pulls her closer, tips her chin back and brings the spoon to her lips.

“You can look at me while I feed you. When you are like this, accepting and trusting, I will reward you. When you lose trust and faith in me, like you did earlier today, you’ll be treated with the same lack of respect.”

His words and voice are measured as he slowly empties several spoonfuls into her waiting, starving mouth. She watches his eyes, strangely feeling devoid of any thought other than thanking him for the meal. How could she thank him without words?

After emptying the first bowl, he pulls a glass to his lips and takes several deep draws of the Amber, iced liquid. He holds it to her lips, and she recognizes it as iced tea. After several gulps he pulls it away.

She looks down at his erection marveling at his body and it’s ability to recover so quickly. He chuckles at her wide eyes.

“Oh, you want dessert! You think you deserve it?”

Pushing a spoonful from the second bowl of stew into her mouth, his eyes are dark and possessed. Her brow creases and she lowers her eyes, shaking her head slightly.

He grunts before taking several more bites then pushing the bowl away. Staring down at her, he swallows the rest of the tea and sets the glass down slowly.

Then, in a flash, he turns her and pushes her face to fl
oor. Her arms spiral out to try to keep her steady, still on her knees, and before she even knows what’s happening, his cock is buried deep in her pussy.

With his fingers wrapped tightly around the back of her neck and digging into the flesh of her already aching hip, he drills into her, viciously, but her tears do not return.

This is what she wants. To be used… To be owned…

When he collapses on top of her, he whispers against her hair, exhausted and drained.

“Good girl.”

And the pleasure of hearing those words is beyond any other.

When he rises up off of her, she shifts back into a kneeling position.

“You can sleep right here, instead of the garage. Clean up the kitchen tonight and have breakfast ready for me by 7am. There’s bacon and eggs, I want pancakes. Understood?”

Glancing up at him, she doesn’t know how to respond. She has questions. Was she just to sleep on the floor? Couldn’t she sleep on the carpet in his bedroom, at least? What if she had to use the toilet?

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, glaring down at her, and she realizes that the last question is the only important one.

“…Sir?”

“Go on, but remember why you’re here.”

“I’m sorry, Yes, Sir. I just wondered if I’m permitted to use the bathroom…”

“If you NEED something, you may come into my room and wake me. No. You are not permitted to use the bathroom without me. But remember what we discussed about needs. And remember that I like my sleep uninterrupted.”

She almost smiles at the memory of some of their conversations in the weeks leading up to this. But finds the idea of waking him for permission to pee completely embarrassing. Better get it over with now.

“I… Sir, could you take me now?”

He arches an eyebrow and she realizes, again, she isn’t supposed to be looking at him. She drops her gaze and waits patiently for his response.

“Yes. Crawl, though. I don’t feel like watching you fumble to stand, again.”

Bending forward onto her palms, she follows him down the hall to the small bathroom. Once inside, she pulls herself quickly onto the toilet seat, her face burning with humiliation. She sits, staring at the floor, begging her body to just let go, this isn’t a big deal, everyone pees. But she’s always had a timid bladder.

He stands there, staring at her, and she can feel his frustration building. Finally, she forces the stream to start and exhales quietly in relief. Once finished, she looks around for the toilet paper, but it isn’t in the holder. She glances up at him, and watches him pull off a section from the tube in his hand. She lifts her hand to accept it, but he pushes it away and lowers to squat in front of her.

Pushing the paper between her thighs, he wipes her, drops the wad and slides two fingers inside of her, gripping her, roughly.

“This is mine. Everything it does is mine. Everything it is used for is mine. You get over this modesty and remember that.”

He pulls his fingers free and rises, leaving her achingly bereft. He washes his hands and waits. Her heart races as she lowers herself back to all fours and follows him back down the hall. When they arrive in the kitchen, he grabs another glass of tea, allowing her several swallows, before he leaves.

Watching him walk out, his words ring in her ears. This is mine.

She remembers their talks leading up to this. He’d told her that if she truly wanted to be his slave, she would no longer own her own body. Standing, shakily, she realizes how much better she feels since having something to eat. She’d love to have another bowl, or even finish the cold one sitting there on the table. But it wasn’t her stomach to fill…

Oh my… Her head was already changing. Fleeting questions pepper her mind, but she decides to concentrate on the job he’d given her.

After she finishes cleaning and prepares most of the ingredients she’ll need to make breakfast, she flips the light switch and lowers her achy, bruised body onto the spot he had told her to sleep. She curls up, trying to conserve body heat, and closes her eyes, praying she wakes at the proper time.

Sometime later, she feels him, his presence. She tries to keep her eyes closed, but she can’t help but investigate to see if her intuition is right.

He is leaning against the door frame in boxers, with his glass, staring at her. She looks up at him, jealous of the glass he’s holding, but unsure if she wishes she had the glass or if she wishes he was holding her. He pushes himself upright, strides over to her, and kneels down to press the glass against her lips.

She drinks nearly half before he pulls it away. Chill bumps sweep over her arms and legs as his thumb skims over her lips, wiping a drop of water from the bottom. And then he stands and leaves.

Closing her eyes again, she slips back to sleep with no idea at all what to expect from Day Two.

Part 2

His Shirt

http://www.mymodernmet.com/profiles/blogs/lovers-shirts-photography-carla-richmond-hanne-steen?context=featured

Soft and faded from years of being beaten in the dryer, with holes around the arms and frayed edges, it is only ever worn during chores or dirty jobs.

It smells like him, this old blue t-shirt, even freshly laundered. Even if I’ve worn it the last dozen times. I hope it smells like him forever.

He looks at me sideways when I put it on. It’s His shirt. I just smirk because he never makes me to take it off.

I know he loves it. Maybe that is why I do, as well. It makes me feel close to him. It makes me feel like part of him. It makes me feel like His.

I’ve stopped wearing it but have it in my closet. I don’t know how much longer it has. It’s tattered and over worn. But it is perfect, and I don’t want it to disappear.

He asks about it, so I pull it out, not wanting to be deceitful, only wanting it to remain in tact.

He gazes at me with his pale, sad eyes, perplexed. I can’t explain it, it will sound morbid…

But he wants me to.

“It’s your favorite shirt. It has memories of you in every stitch. But it’s almost gone. And when you’re gone, I’ll need it… I don’t want it to disintegrate… before…”

He stares at me, steps close to me and reaches down for the hem of my short nightie, lifting it over my head. When he slides the old shirt down over my hair, I automatically pull my arms through the sleeves, gazing at him in wonder.

He takes my hand, then, pushing me towards the mirror, he wraps his arms around me from behind.

“You keep the shirt, sweet girl. When I’m gone, you will have it, but you won’t need it.”

He places his hand across my heart, over the super thin fabric that hangs from my breasts, unflatteringly. He whispers, low and sweet in my ear. “I’ll forever be inside here.”

He turns me to face him and grasps my head between his hands. “I’m in here too, in the deepest crevices of your mind. Our souls are mixed. Together or apart, we are linked. My absence will only, ever, be temporary. Because I could never stay away from you for long… You are precious to me, sweet one. Even death won’t keep me from you.”

He steps back, tugging the old rag off of me, then pulls me into his arms. His fingers tangle in my hair as he tips his forehead to mine. I stroke his lovely beard and breath him in, soaking his presence into every pore, and waiting for the kiss that makes us one.

His kiss doesn’t come, though, because he’s already gone. Memories of him haunt my dreams. My love for him haunts me, overflows my heart, and guides my life.

I feel the shredded edge of his shirt, too worn to even wear anymore. And I smile, because I know he was right, and we won’t be apart for long.

Well meet again tonight, in my dreams. And soon enough, in eternity…

—

I saw this photo and article weeks ago, and had a dream that inspired me to write this. It is fiction.

I’m not one to wear my husband’s shirts or old tattered clothes, because I love pretty things and prefer to wear flattering things.

But I long for this kind of closeness. I long to feel this attached. I think most women do.

The symbolism is intense.

His and hers

It’s a lazy afternoon, when she lies down on the sofa and puts her head in my lap. Looking up at me, she asks me to touch her, with those enchanting eyes and that sweet, lopsided smile. I grin down at her and stroke through her long, messy hair. I know she wants more, but that is all she gets for now.

In a little while, I will tell her to pull up her skirt, so that I can see what’s mine.

I will make her wait some more, because I know she’ll get wet thinking about what might come next.

She might ask me to touch her, and I’ll take her over my knee.
She might ask me to kiss her, and I’ll flip her around and devour her dripping slit violently.
She might beg me for anything, and I’ll lift her head and feed her my raging cock.

If she’s a good girl though, and she waits patiently, I’ll give her everything she could ever hope for. I’ll give all that I want and so much more. I’ll give her hours of mindless pleasure and bend her to my will.

I might pull up her silky shirt, exposing her overflowing lace.
I might stroke inside the cups, and pull her soft, full breasts free from their cage.
I might swirl my thumb over her hard, pink points, before pinching and pulling until she whimpers.
I might turn her and part her creamy thighs, so I can lean between them and feast on those heavenly orbs.
I might bite and suck on every inch of them, marking them as mine so she never forgets.
I might work my way down her belly and over her bunched up skirt until my nose finds her pretty panties, damp from her liquid desire.
I might inhale her decadent musk and growl my appreciation right against her swollen lips.
I might snake a finger inside those panties, to feel my pussy and the heat that I create.
I might tease her, tenderly, for a while, until I can no longer wait to taste her.

If she’s a good girl, and doesn’t try to pressure me, direct me or coerce me, I’ll give her more than she can imagine. I’ll strip off her clothes, clear her mind completely, and take her pleasure as my own.

She might wriggle and writhe, but I’ll be able to tell that she’s working to control those hips.
She might run her fingers through my hair and beard, but I’ll know that she only wishes to touch me.
She might moan and whine, but I won’t tell her to be silent because I love the way she sounds.

If she’s a good girl, and asks for permission, I’ll hold her climax at first. I’ll tell her not to cum until I know she can no longer contain it. Then I’ll rip orgasms from her repeatedly until she begs me stop. But I’ll still take a few more.

I might bathe her with my tongue until her little button is engorged beyond it’s hiding place.
I might rub it firmly with my lips while I slip a finger inside and she clenches and strains beneath me.
I might smack her folds firmly when she seems too out of control.
I might spank her repeatedly until her thighs attempt to close.
I might force two more fingers into her, thrusting them up roughly while she cries out and starts to beg.
I might growl my negative response against her, before sucking her sweet clit into my mouth.
I might torment her nipples further, with my free hand, as her mind begins to slip away.
I might continue my pleasure assault until I feel her beginning to fail.
I might demand her release with my voice and fingers, while I watch her sweet, beautiful face.

If she’s a good, patient little girl, I’ll take what’s mine and give her what’s hers. I’ll explore her and make her explode until she is nothing but a rag doll, limp limbed and mindless. Then I’ll bend her over and use her trembling body, in every way I desire, until she’s sprawled on the floor with my creamy seed sprayed across her tongue, lips, and breasts.

It’s a lazy afternoon, and we will spend the rest of it wrapped in each other, immersed in his and hers.

A dream of hope

It was an ordinary evening, a typical walk. But, for reasons I cannot explain, I wasn’t surprised when I was captured violently and pulled behind a fence on the dark, vacant path I love. I watched calmly and quietly as my attacker pressed me against the cold, damp wood and held a knife to my chest.

I had always had very little fear of death, as I have always believed that what lies on the other side could only be welcome relief from the pain that is living in this world. I’d clung to hope that someday life would provide me purpose. And in those seconds, I was completely at peace.

I knew that this was the moment for my magic to make a difference. This was my chance to infect someone else with kindness and hope. To pass on the light that made it impossible for me to let life’s hurt overwhelm me, even when it seemed to bury me.

I looked into the face of a young man whose desperation, hatred, lust and fear coated him like armor. But as his eyes bore into mine, I knew his weakness. For in them, I saw an unloved boy, a kid whose life had been infinitely harder than mine, a young man whose heart had been frozen and shattered repeatedly by the disappointments that drown so many.

I lifted my hand to his cheek and saw panic flash before me, but soothed his anxiety with the magic of my voice. “Shhhh, you have nothing to fear from me. I cannot hurt you. But if you allow me, I might help you… comfort you… heal you.”

His eyes grew wide as I spoke. Perhaps he’d never experienced kindness in his life. The idea made me sad and I lifted my other hand to his face to capture a single tear. That drop of saline need told me my magic was working.

As I stroked his unshaven face, his arms fell slack at his sides and I seized the opportunity to pull him into my embrace and plant the seeds that might grow into goodness and mercy. Hope.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and felt sadness roll off of him in waves that brought tears to my own eyes. My empathic heart absorbed it like a sponge, and I wished with everything in me that it truly worked that way. That I could relieve his woeful spirit by soaking up all the negative emotion that addled him.

Perhaps he could feel my thoughts, because the knife dropped from his grip and his arms circled me and held me as though he hadn’t ever felt the pleasure of a simple hug.

He took deep, choppy breaths against my hair, in an effort to evade the sobs that fought to bubble from within. He managed to keep himself from setting free the frightened boy who was never allowed the release of crying into the arms of someone who cared.

He whispered, “Why?” Barely audible, I tried to pull back to look at him, but he clung to me, almost as if I were a life preserver. But before I could answer, his thoughts grew dark and I felt the change course through his body. “You shoulda just said you wasn’t afraid of me…”

He lifted a hand to my throat as he pulled my arms from his neck and took a step back. His eyes were filled with hopelessness and rage. “I might’ve walked, but now, I wanna make you feel the pain you think I’m in.”

I should have felt fear with his words, but instead, I was excited by them. Curious about the level of rage he might muster after such an emotional response to my gift. I stood, fixed by his grip and stare, before my lips turned upward, unable to relinquish control to this lost boy.

“Do you think taking a piece of my body will fill the void? That release within me will give you something you are missing? Is that truly what you believe?”

His fingers tightened, his eyes were wide, and I could see the confusion my questions caused. I could feel his conscience fighting with his desire.

“Taking power will not make you feel more powerful.”

The crack my magic had made in his armor grew, but so did his rage. He leaned into me, as the fingers of his free hand reached between my thighs to grip me, intimately. “You’re wrong,” he growled. “Takin’ this will give me power.”

My smile faded, and I stared into the eyes of a possible rapist, but I didn’t feel the conviction of his words. I wished I could see inside his mind, inside his memories, and inside his lust.

In those wishes, my magic gripped me. Harder than he, and with enough force to choke me. An inch from my lips, I breathed him in and recognized his victimization.

A lifetime of attacks, a decade of cowering, and the inability to stand up against his abuser had left him broken and searching for that which might make him feel strong.

A tear rolled down my cheek as I gasped and struggled to keep from breaking. The weight of his shame crushed my heart and the hatred I felt for the person who created this hurt within him, a person he’d loved, emptied my mind of any self preservation. My desire to heal him forced my hands back to his scruffy jaw.

“Do your worst, sweet boy, if it will make you whole. Take refuge and release in me, but do so with the knowledge that what happened to you, to your heart and mind, will then happen to me. In taking my body, you will take away my hope.”

He stared into my eyes, realization clawing at him. He squeezed his eyelids shut trying desperately to understand what I was doing to him. As firmly as my power had gripped me, it was invading him. Penetrating the very center of what had brought him so many years of strife, and exploding with that one thing he’d been missing forever.

“Hope…” His lips were touching mine, his fingers still holding me, and my own twisting into the soft curls at the base of his neck.

“Yes. Let IT define you, instead of allowing your history to do that.” My whispered words filled his mouth, and I finally broke all the way through.

He released me, but remained planted to the spot, not wanting to disrupt the magic of my touch. Gazing into my eyes, his mind fell open, and I saw his goodness. He exhaled, and I felt his desire, not for power, but for love.

I allowed my lips to touch his briefly before pulling back and pouring all of the love I could muster into one look. He collapsed into my embrace and I breathed against his ear, “If you allow it to take hold, hope will crush fear. It will not take away the pain or struggle, but it will keep it from overwhelming you.

“Hope makes life bearable.”

With his hands on my waist and his face in my hair, he cried. The sobs he’d held in earlier broke free, and I felt the strength of that release. So much more powerful than a sexual one.

“Why? Why are you here?” He whispered, again.
“Fate.” I breathed.
“Are you an angel? …A witch?”
I giggled, “No. Just a silly girl who isn’t afraid. Just a broken girl who wishes she could heal the world. Just a backwards clairvoyant with far too much empathy.”
“A healer,” he sighed. “A magical, mystical healer, set on my path to save me… from myself.”
“Perhaps we were set on each other’s path. For you have saved me, as well. Given purpose to my gift.”

As I stood, comforting him, he held me and I too began to cry. Hearing me, he pulled back, concern changing his face and making him so beautiful.

“Why are you crying?” He touched my cheek, and I smiled at the transformation.

“They are your tears. I’m simply helping you release them faster.”

He held me again, tightly, and the healing truly began.

When I felt him grow stronger, I held him out from me and stared into the birth of my creation. He was suddenly a vividly attractive young man, and confidence seemed to blossom within him. I also recognized the emptiness that he might feel in my absence, like being torn from your mother or your protector.

I stroked his face and whispered, “When my touch is gone, my magic will remain. Use it carefully and wisely, and you will find great love. It won’t always be easy, but hope will see you through it.”

As he stepped back, he didn’t need to speak. We shared something stronger than apologies and more honest. Our spirits had touched. I believe he will always be a part of me.

And I hope that I will always be a part of him. And that he uses the magic I gave him to infect others.

With kindness. And mercy.

And hope.

The Drive

It’s late and we are only halfway through our drive. I’ve done my best to stay awake, but find my eyes simply won’t stay open.

I feel you look over at me before your hand slips lightly onto my bare knee. The hot humid air from outside is just barely made tolerable by the A/C and I’m grateful you told me to wear the shorter dress, even though I’m certain it wasn’t only for my comfort.

“I’m drowsy too, little girl. Stay awake and tell me a story.”

I force my eyes open and see the sleepiness in your eyes. But something else. That spark that makes me squeeze my thighs together and sigh. That expression that I simply cannot refuse.

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, straightening myself in my seat before turning toward you. I lay my temple against the headrest and watch you, thinking about the story I might tell.

I know the kind of story you want, and my mind spins with ideas, but when your sad eyes capture mine, your gaze is like an antenna. Your story rolls off my tongue as though it had been waiting for release.

A heady mix of lust and passion with a hint of suspense and a dash of mystique bubbles up from that place deep inside me that you seem to access so easily.

I’m excited by the words I’ve woven for you. Your raspy sighs hint at your own arousal as well, and soon, your fingers skim upward from my knee, slipping beneath the hem of my cotton dress. My legs part, in their own submission to you, and I wonder if my body will ever listen to me in your presence.

As you reach the sheer fabric between my thighs, the low rumble from your throat signals your awareness of my wetness.

“Take them off, little girl. Let me see what’s mine.”

My whole body responds to your voice. Your words. Your ownership. I slowly raise my skirt over my hips and watch you suck in a breath at the sight of my sweet, lace edged panties with the satin bow in front. I slip my thumbs beneath the strings on either side and lift my bottom so that I can slide them down my now quivering thighs.

I start to leave them around my knees, but you whisper for me to give them to you, eliciting another surge of arousal from deep within me.

I tug them down, pulling my bare feet through them and fold them before placing them in your waiting hand, blushing furiously. Lifting them to your nose and inhaling deeply, the heat in my cheeks increases and I drop my chin to hide my embarrassment.

After stuffing them into your pocket, you lift my chin and growl, “So sweet, baby doll. …Now show me.”

Again, my thighs part and I lift my hem. The interior lights in the car are barely enough to see by, but my skin is clearly damp. I watch you intently. Will you tell me to touch myself? Will you reach for me? Will you simply force me to remain like this, exposed, for the rest of the trip?

You look up at my face which must give away my thoughts, because you chuckle softly and pat my knee, turning to watch the road. I let out a soft sigh and grip the edge of my dress in frustration. I try closing my eyes to quell my thoughts of taking matters into my own hands.

I may enjoy discipline, sometimes, but I don’t relish willfully disobeying you.

When I feel the car slow and turn off the highway, I lift my eyelids to look at you, but not out the window. Are you too tired to continue? Too aroused? Are you stopping for a hotel? You grin at me and nod your head toward the windshield as we stop completely.

We are looking out over a small city, on the edge of a large hill. It’s a beautiful sight, the twinkling lights off the town below us, against the starlit evening sky. The clearing is small, but we aren’t far from the highway. I look back into your eyes, “Where are we, Sir?”

You do not answer. Instead, rolling down the windows and switching off the ignition before unlatching your seatbelt and turning toward me with clear motive written all over your face. Your fingers unlatch my own belt, sliding over my belly and leaning in closely so that I can feel your warm breath on my face.

I start to pant, your proximity turning me into a bubble of desire just waiting to be popped. The night breeze blows through the car and across my naked flesh making me open myself wider.

“My little slut…” You whisper before teasing my mouth with your own while your fingers slide up and down my wet slit. I moan and arch, still gripping my hem. Your beard tickles my chin and I sigh deeply as your lips glide over my jaw.

My ass is practically off the seat as my body invites you in, to explore, to invade, but your fingers still torment, barely skimming my slick folds. “Please, Sir… More?” I whimper.

“What do you want, little girl?” Your voice in my ear sends tremors through me, before you gently nibble down my neck, the fingers of your right hand tugging down the strap of my sundress.

“Oh, please, Daddy. I don’t know…”
“That’s right, sweet girl. But, I do.”

Your teeth sink into my shoulder just as you slide two fingers inside me. “No orgasms without permission,” you growl as my muscles clench around you. How do you know? How is it you understand my body better than I do?

As you grip my pussy, with two fingers inside and your palm grinding against my clit, your mouth seems to be everywhere but where I want it. On mine. I let go of my skirt and lift my hands to your cheeks, but you pull back and give me that look. The one that makes me say, “Yes, Sir,” even when you’ve given no command.

“Tilt your seat back, then sit on those impatient fingers of yours, baby girl.”

As I obey, you pull down the front of my dress, the ruched top giving you plenty of access. I’m already moaning when your lips find my nipple, digging my fingernails into the backs of my thighs to keep my hands from wandering again.

Just when I’m sure I can’t take anymore, your lips make their way back to mine and you grip the back of my neck tightly, kissing me hard and thrusting your tongue against mine.

I feel myself teetering on the edge of orgasm when your fingers wriggle inside me and your thumb presses against my clit before circling, slowly. “Oh, God…,” I groan into your mouth and you pull back watching me.

I stare into your eyes, trying to decide if I should beg or let go, and suffer the repercussions. You smirk at me and pull your hand away. I whine and lift my ass in the air again, trying to will your return.

You kiss me again, then lean back, licking my juices off your fingers. Settling back into your seat, you unzip your jeans and pull out your delicious cock. “You cum, when I cum,” you whisper, stroking yourself lightly.

I climb onto my knees, licking my lips, not caring if I climax at all, anymore. I only want to taste you. Forever, your cum slut.

I start to bend toward your lap, but you stop me, wrapping your fingers around my throat and pulling me to your lips one more time.

After a kiss that takes my breath away, you hold me there looking behind me. “You’re being watched, pretty girl.”

As you let go, I look behind me and see a couple of young men staring at us from the tree line. They are holding beer cans, and appear to be accustomed to it, but look too young to be drinking. Clearly, this is a teenage party spot, and I look back to you for instruction.

My cheeks are blazing, as I already know what you are going to say, “How about a performance, little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper. I’m not sure what you have in mind, but the humiliation I feel only serves to increase my arousal. I want you to show me off, even if it is in the most embarrassing way a girl could ever imagine.

“Good girl,” you breathe, and my body convulses with those words.

You step out of the car, walking around it slowly before opening my door and pulling me out with you. The clearing is grassy, which is a relief to my feet, and very quickly to my knees, as you push me down in front of you.

You don’t acknowledge the boys at all, who are now wide eyed with mouths agape. I look up at you, while sitting on my feet, and grin, my cheeks still burning. My breasts are still exposed, as is your cock, and I’m sure neither of those young men have seen much of either.

“May I suck your cock, please, Sir?”

I smile at your grin and nod, but want you to speak. I want them to hear your Dominance.

“May I use my hands, Sir?”

“On yourself, sweet girl. While I fuck your pretty mouth.”

I lift my skirt, so they can see me slide my fingers over my bare pussy and one of them drops his beer. I slide my middle finger deep inside and moan before opening my mouth and leaning forward to press my tongue against you.

I look up at you again, sucking and swirling your head before sliding onto you and pulling back slowly as a hiss escapes your lips. I open my thighs further and moan as I deliberately release your cock from my lips and glide my tongue down your length to the side of your sac.

“Yes, baby, lick my balls,” you groan, lifting your cock up your belly and stroking it while I lathe your underside and suck each side into my mouth, lightly swirling my tongue around them.

“Fuck,” I hear one of the boys mutter as he rubs himself over his shorts. When I glance over at them, they both look aroused, but there is something different about the boy in jeans.

Gazing back up at you, I rub myself lightly and open my mouth wide as you grab the sides of my head and push yourself into my mouth. Slowly at first, but I see that you are about to do exactly what you said, and pull my hands up to your thighs.

“Pinch those titties, little girl, like I would.” As you slowly push yourself deep into my throat, I cup my heavy breasts and squeeze my nipples tightly, groaning against your shaft.

After a few long strokes, you slam into my tonsils and hold me there. I swallow, trying not to gag or gasp, and you grunt at the sensation, before pulling back and fully fucking my mouth.

When you stop, I look up at you, expectantly, all but forgetting our audience. I want your cum, and feel disappointment fall over my face until you growl, “Up on the hood, I need to fuck you.”

Oh, yes! I’ve been aching to be filled by you all day. When I don’t stand fast enough for you, you grab my arm and yank me up, against you, and I rise to my tippy toes, hoping you’ll kiss me. Show those young men that tasting yourself on your girls lips is wonderful.

You do, and lift my dress to squeeze my bare ass cheeks. Your kiss is intoxicating. I wrap my arms around your neck and you lift my bottom, so I wrap my legs around you too. You slide your beard across my neck and whisper in my ear, “Being wrapped in you is the best part of this performance, baby doll… So far.”

I smile against your cheek, and sigh with pure bliss. When you set me on the hood, you unwrap yourself and step back. I feel so exposed, my face heats up again and I start to close my legs.

“Uh-uhhh, sweet girl. Open up,” you rumble, and when I do, you slap my pussy three times. I lean back thrusting myself forward, and you growl, low and deep, “You wanna show these boys what a pain slut you are, my bitch?”

I nod at you, panting and within moments, you have my arms folded behind me, pull my dress up over my head holding them in place, and are pushing me back to lie on them. You pull my hips toward you and lift my feet to the edge of the car, so that my pussy is spread, wide open, for anyone watching.

I look back at the boys, and the one in jeans has his dick in his hand, but is just holding it, staring at us intently. The other one is vigorously working his own erection, inside his shorts, and is sweating profusely.

The first couple swats land lightly and quickly on my lips, and I feel my arousal splatter on my thighs. “You are so wet, dirty girl. Just from sucking my cock!” You rub my clit for a moment and I start to writhe. “Such a little slut, you want more?”

“Yes, Daddy, please?!”

The boy with his hand inside his pants has pulled himself free, and is grunting hard. “Hit her again,” he says softly, and you smile broadly, still not acknowledging them fully, but you pull back and smack my clit hard, making me cry out, then moan loudly as you rub me, wildly. I could cum, and think I might, but will myself to hold it in.

“More?” I know you’re asking them, so I look at them and nod my head.

The kid in the jeans is still just staring, but the other shouts, “Yeah, fuck yeah. Then fuck her hard.”

You spank my pussy until my thighs threaten to close then you thrust your cock inside me. I almost can’t pay attention to the boys, anymore. My body is losing the battle to prevent climax. I look at the boy in the jeans, hoping to distract myself, and he sees me staring.

Are you ok? He mouths, and I gasp, “Yes! Please let me cum, Daddy, please?!?!”

You don’t answer, so I look back at you, you are shaking your head no, but whisper, “Cum, baby girl. Make it look good.”

My body convulses with pleasure that I’m sure these young men could not understand. I cry out and let my voice do what it will as wave after wave hits me and shoots through me. When they turn to after shocks, I look up at you and try to fill my face with apologetic concern. You’ve stopped and are watching me.

“I’m so sorry, Sir. I couldn’t stop it!”

“You are a bad little girl,” you smile, pulling out of me, “turn over.”

I do the best I can, with my arms bound behind me, you have to help me. You pull my legs down so that my toes touch the grass, and slide your fingers across my ass.

With my cheek pressed against the hood, I look back and see the concern in the one boy’s eyes, so I say, in my sweetest voice, “Spank me, Daddy. I deserve it, I want it.”

You chuckle, and I’m sure they hear it, and can tell it is an act now. As I stare at the boys, you begin, striking me hard enough to make me flinch, but not cry out. The boy in the shorts shoots his load, and I get a strange sense of satisfaction from that.

The boy in the jeans just glares at me, hard cock in hand.

Your fingers dip between my thighs, and the pleasure closes my eyes. I want your cock inside me, and I want that boy to see that. So I beg.

As you continue punishing my ass and teasing my dripping cunt, I beg and plead for your cock and your cum. When you finally slide into me, I think I might explode, but hold it together until your thumb pushes into my ass. I come apart, my juices dripping down my thighs, and the car, and I feel your hand come down on my ass again.

I think I hear one of the boys speak. I open my eyes to see the boy who blew his wad stroking himself again. Hard again so quickly, oh, sweet youth.

The boy in the jeans is stroking himself, now. And I watch him intently while you drive deep and hard into me. You lean down over me and whisper, “You like being watched, don’t you, little one?”

Before I can answer, you pull me up by my hair, sliding out of me and spinning us, so I’m facing the boys. Completely exposed, you wrap your hand around my throat and lift me so your cock presses between my cheeks. I feel you bend your knees while gripping my hip and pushing into my ass. Filling me painfully, but blissfully.

“Cum again, for them, sweet girl.”

I’m panting with some crazy blend of discomfort and pleasure. You pull my dress off my arms, lift my left hand around the back of your neck and then glide my right hand between my thighs.

My mind is spinning, my eyes are locked with the boy in the jeans, but I’m frozen.

Until he mouths, Touch yourself.

You whisper in my ear, “Do it,” and I swim in the exotic feelings coursing through me.

I stroke myself in rhythm with my young voyeur, and he quickly catches on. Speeding up and slowing down to see what he can do. I wonder if he will become addicted to the power of this moment, and perhaps that is how a dominant is born.

When your fingers find my nipples, my eyes close, and the young man says calmly, “Open your eyes. Look at me.” Again, I start to turn to you, unsure about accepting orders from another man, but you hold my head firmly and whisper, “Do it,” again.

You begin to move inside me, and the odd sensation makes me bleary eyed, but I blink rapidly to focus on this boy whom I suddenly, and desperately want to cum for. Because you will it.

“Push a finger inside.” I do.

“Two fingers.” I do.

He tells me how to touch myself, to fuck my pussy, to lick my fingers, to pinch my nipples… And as his confidence grows, he steps closer and closer, but never over reaches.

When he’s five feet from us, I feel you tensing and he sees it, taking a step back. He looks at you and whispers, “How do I make her cum?”

I feel you smile against my ear, before you push my fingers away and say softly, but loud enough for him to hear, “If you are in command, and she feels it… If you make her feel safe and protected… If you give her your heart and she gives you her body… And she’s in the right frame of mind, you just tell her to.”

You kiss my neck and press firmly against my clit before growling against my ear, “Cum for Daddy, baby doll!”

It takes no more than that, I’m on fire from watching him and listening to you, and that fire erupts. An orgasm rips through me as you grip my pussy while thrusting yourself in and out of my ass. At the height of my orgasm, you whisper in my ear to beg for his cum.

When I don’t immediately respond, you tighten your grip on my throat, and I open my eyes to see the young man standing only feet in front of us. He’s panting and watching me, but not your fingers continuing to work my pussy or my heaving chest. He’s starting at my face.

“Beg for it, precious,” he grunts as he squeezes the head of his dick, and I suck in a deep breath. He’s a natural.

“Please, Sir. Give me your cum.”

With those words, you pull out of me, whispering, “Good girl,” and push me to my knees.

With both of you in front of me, I close my eyes and stick out my tongue, waiting for the shower. I rub my clit, already on edge just from the thought of all that fluffy, white seed. You know I’m a cum slut, and I bet you planned this, though I’m not sure how.

As the first ropes hit my chest, another climax rocks through me. I feel your cum hit my tongue and then the head of your cock. I open my eyes and look up at you, sucking and licking every drop of your essence. When I pull back, the young Dom is looking down at me with a smile on his lips.

He reaches out and strokes my hair. “Good girl.”

I smile sweetly at him before remembering the other boy and looking around for him. I see him, passed out against a tree, dick still in hand. I giggle and you both chuckle at me.

After attempting to clean me up with napkins and tissues from the car, you help me slip my dress back on, but don’t give me back my panties. I smirk at you and consider asking for them, but decide to let you play your game, hoping it means more fun when we get home. And it’s so hot and sticky, I look forward to the cool, conditioned air in the car blowing up my flirty skirt.

The young Sir starts to walk away, but turns back towards me. “Do all girls like this stuff?”

“More than you’d think. I think you’ll know, you’re a natural Dominant, Sir,” my voice drops, as I suddenly feel embarrassed.

You sit me in the car and buckle my belt for me. “You are amazing, sweet girl. Close your eyes and rest for a minute…” Kissing me and slipping your fingers beneath my dress, you grip me firmly. “This is mine, and mine alone. But what you did for that kid tonight will change the next few years, if not the rest of his life.”

I smile and blush, thinking all I did was everything you said, …and then I understand.

After talking with him for a moment and checking on his friend, who’s starting to wake, you climb in beside me.

As we pull away to continue the drive, you reach for my knee again.

“Don’t fall asleep, little girl. It’s my turn to tell a story…”

Broken Diamond

The dark by EliseEnchanted via DeviantArt.com

She was as beautiful as a precious gem. She sparkled in the sun and glittered in the candlelight.

The warmth that shone from inside her was mesmerizing, but if you picked her up, she was cold and hard, with sharp edges that made her difficult to hold.

He didn’t mind. He polished and protected her, wrapping her up and keeping her out of sight of others who may admire her beauty and try to steal her away from him.

Had he paid attention, he would have noticed her inner glow diminish, each time he locked her away, blocking the sun from feeding her.

Had he looked closely, he may have seen the tiny cracks that grew, each day, as she was left to try to manufacture her own light, instead.

Had he witnessed them, he might have figured out that she wasn’t the stone he believed her to be at all.

But one day, as he sat polishing and admiring his prize, he did see one of those imperfections, and held her to the light to examine her closely.

The flaws he saw were startling and significant, causing him to drop her to the ground… where she cracked into pieces.

Nothing but a bit of glass. Not created to impress, but molded to fool, ensnare, and hold captive.

And HE was the fool who had kept her, trapped inside, for so long.

Once she was free of her shell, she soaked up the magic of the sun and grew more beautiful than you could ever imagine.

She took on the fiery attributes that fed her, dancing and swirling with such magnificence that all he could do was stare, and wonder at her extraordinary new form. Before looking away, baffled by what he couldn’t comprehend.

“I didn’t know,” he cried in despair.

“You didn’t try to know,” she said softly, watching him sadly for a while, before gliding out into the lovely light of day.

As she skipped and danced and revelled in her freedom, she found a different world around her.

People watched her, others joined her, many delighted in her in a way no one ever had, while she was trapped within that capsule.

She basked in the pleasure of an audience, enveloping herself in it at every turn.

But, when the sun set, the crowd disappeared. And the darkness pressed into her lightness with a fury.

Suddenly, drawn to the edges of the shadows, she was overtaken with need. Some mysterious presence magnetized her, as though the fire within her was molten steel.

Out of the blackness strode a new admirer. Strong and capable, with eyes that she knew could see everything, and a sadness that was almost enchanting, in it’s strange, taciturn way.

He leapt on her, like a beast of the night, drinking in her light and feeding off her power.

She did not fight him, but begged him to continue, to devour her, to reduce her to the quivering, mewling mess she’d never known that she always wanted to be.

When he had his fill, he lifted her and cradled her, whispering sweetness and love, and promising that his darkness would never overcome her lightness. Then he carried her into the sunrise, so that she might feed on it’s magic, forever.

“I am but a broken diamond, flawed and discarded,” she warned, longing to avoid the despair she had caused, once before.

“You are priceless, my precious gem, and I will guide you to see that truth, as you have guided me into the light.”

MelDouleur.com

poetry, fiction, and musings

Category: Fiction

Ghost

The story below is fiction. It is about a nightmare… sort of, and there is an act of self harm, so if you are sensitive about that subject, or don’t like horror, I would not recommend reading this piece.

Screams of Eternity

Let Go

To be owned… Part 2

To be owned…

His Shirt

His and hers

A dream of hope

The Drive

Broken Diamond

Menu

poetry, fiction, and musings

The story below is fiction. It is about a nightmare… sort of, and there is an act of self harm, so if you are sensitive about that subject, or don’t like horror, I would not recommend reading this piece.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Menu