A filthy desire, vocalized.
All parts of this story can be found here.
My eyes shot wide open. I knew what happened when I lied to him. Memories of welts and bruises and sobbing swam through my mind. I couldn’t do that again. “No! Please, Sir. I didn’t mean… ” I began to cry. “Please, I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to do what you … wanted.”
He gathered me into arms and sat me onto his lap. “But you asked me something very specific today. What was it that you wanted?”
I blushed, and my tears felt cool on my face.
“Surely you’re not embarrassed by what you want me to do to you?” His tone was so patronizing, it hurt.
My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t look at him. I nodded, slowly.
“You are?” He tipped my chin up. “Now, why is that?”
I felt as if a hot knife were carving out my guts. “Sir, please… Please, it’s so weird. I’m sorry. I just don’t know… I just don’t know why I want you to … do it to me.”
“Do what, little slut?”
Fuck.
I sighed, my breath quivering. “Wash… my mouth out. With soap.” New tears began to fall, but whether they were from desire, humiliation, or need, I could not say.
Some little piece of my mind cracked a bit under the swirl of emotions, and I let out a slow breath. I needed it. I needed it so badly. “Please, Sir. Please wash my dirty mouth out.” My arousal was drowning my embarrassment.
I needed it.
He smiled. “I’d be happy to. But first I think I need to remind you to always tell me the truth.” In one smooth motion he flipped me over, so I lay across his lap, ass exposed and vulnerable.
His slaps started out feeling lovely and perfect, and I moaned as he warmed me up.
Soon enough, though, the continued assault became increasingly painful, and I was squirming and crying to try to dodge the blows. My efforts were in vain, as they always were with him; he didn’t stop until my ass felt blistered and true tears were running down my face.
He stood me up again, and my hands flew around my back to rub my butt cheeks.
“Now what do you say, slut?”
“I’m sorry… Sir,” I choked out between errant sobs. “…For lying to you.” I met his eyes. “Thank you for… punishing me.” My breathing was heavy.
He drew me between his legs again, and I winced as his hands brushed over my battered skin on the way to cradle the sides of my face. His lips were soft, but firm, as he bent my head to kiss my forehead. “Of course, darling. You know lying doesn’t help anyone. You should always tell me the truth. Always.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And it had better be all of the truth.” There was the threat of continued violence in his voice.
I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now let’s do something about that dirty little mouth of yours, shall we?” A grin spread across his face.
I gasped, I couldn’t help it.
“Yes, please, Sir.” I bit my lip to keep myself from grinning back at him. I was only half successful, tears beginning to dry on my cheeks.
He motioned me to the bathroom, and I padded lightly into the gleaming white room. The rush of cool air on my butt made my pussy clench. The two of us stood in front of the big mirror, his tall body dwarfing me. I saw he had set out a brand new bar of soap in a small dish of water. Suddenly I was very nervous, and not sure at all that this was what I really wanted to do.
I looked up at his reflection, eyes wide. “Sir, I’m scared.”
He reached a hand around me to cup one of my tiny breasts, gently rubbing across my sensitive nipple. “Why is that, darling?”
I moaned under his ministrations, nearly forgetting what was sitting in front of us. “I’m scared it’ll taste bad.”
He made an expression of theatrical consideration, as he continued to play idly with my body. “I imagine it will, yes.”
My breathing got heavier. “I’m still scared.”
He pinched my nipple, not enough to hurt, but enough to send bolts of energy directly to my clit. I closed my eyes as I felt the pleasure build. “Do you want to stop?” he asked. And, as if to punctuate his point, he let go of my breast.
“No…” I whined, unsure of what I was responding to — his question or the sudden absence of his hand.
“Hmm,” he said, reaching across to play with my other nipple.
I watched him in the mirror, expertly working the small bud.
His other hand snaked between my legs to rub gently between my pussy lips. My breath got short as my body was reminded of my earlier edging. My nervousness began to dissipate as renewed arousal flooded my mind.
“Well, I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t enjoy you when you’re scared.” His voice was darker, filled with the promise of things hard and painful. “But I want to make sure that you’re okay, before we continue.”
I moaned as he continued teasing my sensitive bits.
“So tell me why you want this. Tell me why you want me to wash your mouth out.”
I stopped breathing for a moment, suddenly not wanting him privy to my personal depravities. Then, although I was sure it’d earn me some more punishment, I recognized the easy way out of his question. “Because I licked your asshole, Sir. And now my mouth is dirty.” I sucked on my top lip, as I tried to make my eyes as round as possible. Sometimes I couldn’t resist being a brat.
His fingers dropped my nipple and wrapped themselves painfully through my hair. He pulled my head to the side and kissed the side of my neck, making me shiver. “No,” he said, voice muffled by my skin. “But nice try, you disgusting little whore. Tell me what I want to hear. Now.”
He smiled when he said it, so his words came out beautifully condescending.
I was nearly overcome with that heady mix of pain and pleasure, between his lips on my neck and his fingers in my hair, and the menace in his voice. The struggle to form coherent sentences was compounded by the fluttering waves of humiliation rippling through my belly. What could I say that would satisfy him? My body was hot everywhere, and not just from his… attention.
I needed this. I needed to be broken open — I didn’t want to tell him, but I knew that I needed to. There was something deep inside me that craved to bask in every awful truth about myself.
Fuck.
My face, my torso, my pussy melted into resignation. I slumped in his arms, as far as his grip would let me go.
“That’s it,” he soothed. “Submit.” He pulled my head back, so I had no choice but to look at myself in the mirror. “Watch yourself surrender to me. Watch yourself admit to all the nasty things in your little brain.”
As I watched the tiny woman in the mirror take shallow breaths from her shoulders, her lips parted. I imagined long trails of bitter, soapy drool spilling out from between them. I shuddered.
How could I begin to explain? “Sir…” I started.
“Yes, slut?” His voice held an edge that made my cunt clench. It was not kind.
“Sir, I need…” I paused, and then gave in to him. “I need you to make me cry.”
He sucked in a breath. “I know that. And you know I love your tears.” His fingers resumed their assault on my pussy. “But why this? Tell me that. Tell me why you need this, in particular.” He motioned to the waiting bar of soap in the dish.
My mouth was dry, as my orgasm slowly built.
“Because… I want you to make it worse. Make me suffer for you. I want… to suffer for you.”
A small moan escaped his lips. “That’s it, slut. Now go on,” he pushed. “Tell me why you need this one particular part of you to suffer.”
I began to quiver. “Because I need… I need to allow… allow you to punish my mouth. I want to be… complicit.” My breathing was short and fast, now. I was very close to the edge of orgasm. “You can always tie me up… and spank me… but I need to open my mouth for this. I need to allow you in, to do it. I need to cooperate. To accept.” My words spilled out in an awkward heap.
As if on cue, his fingers slowed, keeping me on the precipice of my satisfaction.
I groaned. “Please, Sir…” I begged, although I knew not for what. “Please…”
“Please, what?”
My voice sounded like a shiver. “Please… oh gods. …Please make it worse.”
He picked up his pace again.
“Please…” I panted. “Please make me suffer for you. Please… help me submit. Let me help you make it worse for me. Please show me that you can hurt every part of me. I want to help you do it… Sir, I want to surrender… I want you to do awful things to me… Please hurt me. Please make me suffer for you.” The words flowed out and filled the space around us. If he hadn’t been holding me, I’m sure I would have collapsed.
I watched us, and I watched him, in the mirror. He worked his jaw silently, never breaking the rhythm of his fingers. Back and forth, over my increasingly slick lips. I became aware of his hardness against the small of my back.
The grip on my hair loosened, as a torrid smile cracked across his lips. His hand dropped to rest on the back of my neck, making me shiver for him. I loved when he held me there.
Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash