Unending gratitude to Murphy, who was so kind as to fix this memory for me. Thank You.
He moved across the makeshift stage, shifting between the lectern and the screen behind him, segmenting his explanation with a twirling red dot across pictures of geological strata. To be honest, I didn’t understand a word of what he was explaining.
I shifted in my seat, rubbing against the bruises and cuts he had given me last night. Every breath ached, and my pussy clenched, as I remembered his boots crashing into my ribs. I felt my eyes glaze over with the memory of it, the sound of my own screams, my own begging voice, echoing inside my head.
Still, he continued to defend his PhD thesis as if this had never happened. I knew he was nervous – he had been a wreck, earlier today – but none of those nerves showed now. He moved with the liquid grace of perfect confidence, his voice floating over the crowd of friends and professors who had all come to watch him defend. I looked at the shape of his body, how his button down shirt emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. I knew the feel of the muscles hidden underneath.
His words filled my ears, but the meaning escaped my mind. Listening to him was like listening to music; I didn’t need to understand it to recognize the beauty of it. The rhythm lulled me to thoughts of the previous night, as my breath rattled in my lungs. I couldn’t help but smile, and that movement opened up a tiny cut on my lip that he had left there.
There were so many more wounds that were hidden under my clothes. And I treasured each one of them.
I remembered that I had smelled his cigarette before I heard his voice. Last night had been warm, and I had waited, kneeling and naked, on his enclosed back porch. I don’t know how long he had let me wait there. Every minute felt like an eternity, waiting for him. I had arrived at the appointed time, stripped, and wrapped the lengths of rope around my wrist. He hadn’t told me what to do, past that, so I did nothing. The rope was deliciously constraining, and I placed the gag in my mouth and the blindfold over my eyes. I wondered if he was watching me from somewhere in the house.
Watching me prepare myself for him, watching me submit myself to whatever violence he would give me.
My nipples hardened at the thought, and I squirmed on the concrete floor.
The unmistakable scent of his cigarette was the only thing that let me know he had joined me, before I felt my wrists being lifted to connect with the carabiners attached to the rafters in the ceiling. As he pulled me to my feet, blind and mute, I felt a bead of sweat drip down the center of my torso. Arms stretched apart, completely open to him, I was helpless.
The moment dragged on, and I was both terrified and desperate for him to start.
My wait ended with a harsh slap across my face. The shock of it was worse than the pain itself, and I let out a breath as the prickling itch crawled across my cheek. Before it could dissipate completely, he laid another in the same spot, magnifying the pain. I groaned through the gag, as he slapped me again and again, until tears ran down my face. Each slap seemed harder than the last, each rocketing my face to either side. The pain scrambled my thoughts and clarified my headspace. As each brutal hit fell against my face, my body strained against my bonds as my mind quieted. I felt my breath come easier with each stroke of his palm.
I wanted it. And I wanted so much more.
The fire under my skin burned from ear to chin, as I hung there, crying, feeling the drool from my gagged lips drip down in a continuous stream onto my tits. He dragged his fingers along the ridge of my cheekbone, down the curve of my jaw, and over my lips. He flexed his knuckles, a silent promise of more to come. I knew that by the end of the night, there would be a lot more fluids pooling on the floor, than just what dripped from my mouth.
I leaned into his fist, held static against the swell of my bottom lip. Break me, I wanted to say. Please. Leave me broken and bruised. Empty your frustration, your desire, your feral, violent needs into my body.
A shadow of his dark laughter filled the space around us. “Eager little thing,” he said.
I nodded. He was right. I was eager. I was desperate to take everything he could give me.
His fingers fell almost lazily around my throat, squeezing against my windpipe and the two big arteries on either side of my neck. The sound of my heartbeat in my head got louder and louder as he squeezed, the minutes growing longer as the air in my lungs staled, and then burned. I began to struggle, but it was too late. There was no way for me to escape him, anyway. But the primal part of my brain fought anyway. I fought until I felt that sweet dizziness overtake me and my muscles lose their tension.
I would have smiled, if not for the gag. He didn’t let go. He held me there, until I slumped forward against him, held only by his grip around my throat and the ropes around my wrists. Even a s my shoulders strained to hold my bodyweight, even as the blindfold kept me in superficial darkness, a deeper, more insidious blackness crept across my inner vision.
My thoughts themselves were broken, fragmented, and I barely noticed his other fist until it slammed into the softness of my belly. He let go of my throat at the same second he hit me, and my desperate gasping breath was cruelly interrupted by my lungs refusing to inflate. Panic coiled through my body like a trapped animal, as every part of me screamed silently for air.
Time ceased to have meaning. My dizziness melted without his fingers holding my neck, the heat of my primal fear sending shards of adrenaline through my veins. Pain blossomed in splashes of vibrant colors inside my head, as a tiny, jagged breath worked its way into my body.
He allowed me this breath, heavy and caustic.
It felt solid and hard to swallow, but my body offered me no choice but to inhale. I choked and sobbed, as blood and air returned in tattered pieces to my brain.
His next punch to my belly would have made me scream, if I could have summoned the breath to do it. My body lurched backward with the force of it, arching gracelessly in the caress of the ropes. I could feel them digging into my skin, the sound of the fibers squeaking against metal seeming too loud against the pounding rush of blood in my ears.
He wrapped his hand around my throat again, but it was softer this time, almost tender. His other fingers trailed down between my breasts, following the wet line of my dripping saliva all the way down to my weeping pussy lips. He slid two fingers on either side of my clit, and the slickness was impossible to deny.
“You’re wet.” His voice was deep with his own need, breathing into my ear. “You really do like this, don’t you?” He tightened his grasp of my throat as he slipped those two fingers inside me.
I did my best to nod, held as I was. My cunt clenched around his fingers, and my hips moved as if on their own accord, trying to get more of him into me. The ache in my cheeks bled into the unrelenting grip around my neck, and down to the throbbing in my belly. My burning lungs only stoked the fire between my legs.
I really did like this, yes.
I felt my eyes roll back in my head, as he worked me closer and closer to that sweet precipice. He added another finger and every muscle inside me contracted, as tiny bits of eager breath escaped around his palm against my airway. My world narrowed to the feeling of his fingers, as the seconds dripped desperately into the future.
I was so close.
Closer, closer….
And then I was empty, the wet sound of his teasing fingers was gone. I would have whined at the cruelty of leaving me like that, but his hand connected squarely with my cheek, wrenching my head to the side again. A backhand followed, vicious and rough. I screamed as the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, and I could feel my lip start to swell.
“Gorgeous,” he said, in a tone that, in another lifetime, might be called worshipful. He reached behind my head to unbuckle the gag and ran his fingers over the slippery mixture of blood and spit. “I still can’t believe the fucked up shit you let me do to you.”
I smiled toward the sound of his voice, and it hurt. “Please make it worse.”
He slipped three of his fingers into my mouth, over my tongue and all the way into the back of my throat. “Masochistic little cunt.”
I gagged and nodded, sending a wash of throat slime over his fingers and down my chin.
I heard the zip of rope a second before the tension on my wrists evaporated into the night air.
He grabbed my hair at the same moment his fist crashed again into my soft, unprotected belly. The crushing pain brought me to my knees in front of him. My mouth gaped open, unable to take in a breath, trying to process the violence in which he bathed me. It was a new, delicious panic every time, and underneath the ache and fear was something else: joy.
Unfettered joy.
His cock pierced my swollen, bleeding lips as my body twitched and shuddered for lack of breath. “Now let’s see how you suck.”
The other chapters of this story can be found here.
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