He picked up the roll of red bondage tape from the kitchen counter, stretching out a long piece. “Hands behind your back.”
I looked up at him, at those glittering, icy eyes, at the ghost of a smile that quirked his lips. He was really more attractive than was reasonable. I allowed my eyes to follow the line of his jaw, down the buttons of his dress shirt, to his jeans that hung so tantalizingly on his hips. This man looked like sex, and I swallowed reflexively.
I turned around and put my hands behind my back.
“So compliant,” he said, in that way that sounded like music. Lyrical and patronizing.
I shivered and felt my pussy pulse.
He wrapped the tape around my wrists, and I struggled, half-heartedly. The tape had some give to it, but not much; the PVC squeaked and whined as I moved. When he was finished wrapping, he spun me back around. “Now get on your knees.”
I bit my lip. I wanted to be on my knees in front of him, desperately. But those two words kept arcing through my mind: so compliant. I blushed, because he was right. The very thought of obeying turned my insides liquid. Slick and needy.
But still.
“Make me,” I said.
He smiled at me, at once innocent and very, very not. He tipped my chin up and held me there, so I was forced to look him in the eye.
So fucking beautiful. And so not fucking fair.
“You’re not going to be a good girl for me?”
A tiny, needy noise escaped my mouth.
I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. “No,” I lied.
His grip on my jaw tightened. “Mmm, I see.” He traced up my lips and pushed his fingers inside my mouth, pressing down against the softness of my tongue.
My eyes watered as he pushed further and further down, until he tickled the back of my throat. I closed my eyes, trying to convince my brain that this violation was normal and expected. Still, my stomach lurched.
“No. Look at me.” That voice. That voice drove me to distraction.
I opened my eyes again, feeling my tears spill. So helplessly compliant.
His fingers invaded my throat, and I gagged.
“That’s it,” he said, pulling them back an inch before finger fucking my throat, hard and fast. When I tried to pull back, he wrapped his hand through my ponytail, holding me still. His fingers worked over my gag reflex, teasing me with the promise of my own degradation.
The inevitability of it was its own special pleasure; the inevitability of him winning this game was its own prize. I wanted it. I wanted him to force me to my knees and make me obey.
His fingers continued their assault on my throat, and my body spasmed, sending a gush of slippery throat slime around his hand, down my chin, and sliding between my tits. The fabric of my t-shirt turned dark where the trail oozed down the front of my body.
“Good girl,” he cooed, “You’re doing great.”
My chest crumpled and my pussy dripped.
Another heave wracked my body, and he took the opportunity to cover my face with the latest wave of slickness. I moaned, feeling weak and defiled. Filthy and dirty.
I watched as threads of my saliva yawned and broke from his palm, as he clamped onto my shoulder and pushed me to the floor.
It felt so good to be on my knees.
He wiped his hand clean on my hair, and went to work on his belt buckle.
My breaths turned shallow and ragged. I wanted to beg; I wanted to beg for his cock in my mouth.
The belt zipped through the loops of his jeans. I watched him loop it back on itself, and I shook my head, as soon as I realized his intention. “No, please.”
His smile turned into a grin. “Show me that ass.”
“No,” I whined.
That grin turned dark and dangerous. “You’re not really in a position to argue. Don’t make me tell you again.”
I shivered as the caked-on slime cooled on my face. Drops of it slithered into the corners of my eyes, and I tried to blink the sting away. I could feel my hips rocking, a delicately obscene movement, and I thought about his belt, and his cock down my throat.
Make me. Force me. My traitorous thoughts teased me.
“Please, no,” I begged.
He murmured his assent and lifted up my wrists, dropping my shoulders to the floor. My face slid across the tile in a puddle of my own slime, and I moaned and arched my back for him.
“Good girl. See, I know you want this.”
The first swing of his belt hit me on the back of my thigh, the sting dulled by my denim shorts. Six more came in rapid succession, each harder than the last. I squealed as the last one snapped around my hip to hit my bare skin. That hurt, and I curled myself into a ball, trying not to cry.
“Kneel back up,” he said.
“Please, no. It hurts, please.” I could hear the tremble in my voice. “Please.” I heard another piece of the bondage tape screech a second before it was wrapped around my ankles. Panic swelled through my limbs. “No, no, no. Please no, I’ll be good. I promise. Please.”
“Hmm,” he replied. His tone said he didn’t believe me. He dug his fingers under the waistband of my shorts and dragged them down my thighs.
I tried to pull away, but he grabbed me under my torso and pulled me back into position; the way he moved me, the way I couldn’t escape his hands, reminded me that it wouldn’t matter if I was compliant or not. And that thought made my pussy go molton. My panties followed the shorts, and the air felt cool against my overheated sex.
He dragged one of his fingers up through my slit, and I clenched. “You’re soaked. You love this.” He teased me with just the tip of his finger. “Bet you’d love if I fucked this messy little hole here, wouldn’t you?” His finger traced up to circle my asshole. “Or maybe this one?”
I bowed my spine, and he laughed.
“Maybe, if you’re good. Now show me your ass, and you might get fucked like you want.”
I took a great heaving breath, steeling myself for more punishment.
The strokes came fast and hard. The sting of one bled into the crash of the next, until all I felt was the delicious building heat of my dripping pussy and hot tears. My thoughts fuzzed out, a slow staticky drone becoming quieter and quieter under the whizz and snap and torment of his belt.
“Beautiful,” he said, tracing his hand over my punished skin. “You mark so beautifully.”
I winced. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
I heard the sound of his zipper, and then his jeans pooling on the floor.
My breath caught, I couldn’t help it; I wanted him inside me. He wound my need so tight, until I was eager, willing – desperate.
He wrapped his hand through my hair and pulled me back up to kneeling. My pussy pulsed as he dragged his cock through the slimy mess on my face before settling it between my lips. His grip tightened on the back of my head, and I opened my mouth for him.
He pushed in as far as he could go, deep into the back of my throat. Buried, until I gagged and felt my pussy convulse. I could feel the liquid dripping down the inside of my thighs and onto the floor.
“Get it nice and wet for me slut,” he said.
I moaned around him, trying to relax and accept him. He sunk himself a little deeper, pulling my hair tighter and pressing my face against his torso. I began to struggle when I felt my air running out, my lungs panicking, but there was no way for me to push him off. And that thought alone – that I was so helpless against him, that he controlled my very breath – made me ache with desire.
I needed him inside me.
I felt my stomach revolt and a new mess of slime rose up my throat and over my tongue and around his cock. When it slid out of my mouth, from between my lips and onto the floor he finally let me go. I heaved in great big breaths, thankful to him for letting me breathe, and at the same time aching for him to do it again.
“Please,” I rasped, my throat sore. “Please do that again.”
I heard him chuckle and a shiver ran down my spine.
“Not yet,” he said.
I felt his body behind me, kneeling with his slimy cock lined up against my ass. As he pushed it in, I moaned, low and salacious. The stretch of him felt so delicious, so good. It felt so right to let him violate my tightest hole.
My breath came in needy, trembling gulps, panting as he filled and stretched me. His fingers dug into my bruised flesh, and those little jolts of pain made me clench and push up against him. I felt him bottom out against my ass, skin to skin, filling me as deep as he could.
I quivered as I thought about where I was, and what he was doing to me. Tied up, helpless against him, as he forced himself into me. As he took his pleasure from my eager, obedient body.
“Fucking slut,” he growled, the words paced to his punishing strokes. “Nasty fucking slut. You like this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I hissed, as he drew himself out and rammed himself in again, hard enough to make me cry out. “Yes, yes… fuck yes,” My voice shook, breathy. “Please use me. Please use my slutty ass, make me your nasty little slut.”
His laugh sent a prickling arousal crawling over my skin.
He picked up the pace of his strokes, and each was long and brutal. As he rubbed himself against the inside of me, I could feel my orgasm building. Closer and closer he brought me, with each agonizing stroke of his cock.
“Oh, fuck,” I heard myself say. “Oh, fuck… fuck, fuck…” The volume of my voice got progressively louder as I clenched and pulsed around him, a helpless little doll for him to use.
“Cum for me, you little fucking slut,” he murmured against my ear. “Show me what a nasty little squirting whore you are. Squirt for me, and you’ll be licking the floor clean when we’re done.”
I felt my eyes flutter closed as the last inhibition was obliterated and my orgasm crashed over me, sending a rush of liquid down my legs, on the floor, and all over him.
“Fuck!” I screamed, unable to form a more coherent thought. I trembled and bucked as wave after wave of pleasure owned my body.
“Fucking slut,” he growled as he pulled out of me.
Immediately my body missed him.
“Nasty slut. Such a messy little thing.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice still a whisper as tiny aftershocks of my orgasm rippled through my muscles.
I heard him stand up and walk back in front of me, and I dragged myself up so I was kneeling again, all pretense of contrived resistance evaporated.
Tiny starbursts splashed in front of my eyes and my lips felt swollen, still riding on the tails of my orgasm.
I looked up at him, and his eyes had gone from that icy blue to something darker, hungrier. “Please, please don’t stop,” I begged.
His smile was predatory. “Don’t worry, we’re not stopping.”
His cock bobbed in front of my face, and I had a momentary realization of where it had just been, and where he intended it to go. He must’ve seen the light of horrified recognition on my face because his grin lightened.
“Open your mouth,” he said, melodic and syrupy.
There was a part of my brain that protested, that told me this was dirty and nasty and wrong. But then there was another part that reminded me that I’m a dirty, nasty whore, and I deserve every bit of defilement I get.
I opened my mouth.
“Good girl.” He slid his cock in between my lips.
I ran my tongue along the underside of him, as the smell invaded my senses. The taste followed a half a second behind, and I tried – really, I tried – to conjure up some feeling of true horror. But as I dragged my tongue over and around him, licking off the taste of my own ass, all I could feel was a delicious, heated sense of degradation.
I dove into cleaning his cock, swallowing him deep. The thought of it, if I were honest, was worse than the reality. So I plunged into the thought, letting it worm its way through my brain, leaving its trail of lascivious disgrace.
I flattened my tongue against the base of him, pulling him deeper into my mouth.
He hissed in response. “Filthy cocksucking slut.”
My pussy convulsed at his words. And as I stroked him in and out of my mouth, getting every piece of the taste of my defilement, I felt my insides clench and liquify again.
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck…” he grunted, pushing my head as far as it would go against his body.
I felt his cock slide down my throat, deep and bulging. He held me there as I felt his cock throb and pulsate, sending his cum straight in my belly, along with all the filth that he had covered it with.
He pulled out of my mouth, and my tongue trailed after him, as if unwilling to let him go.
“Filthy little thing,” he said. He pushed a stray tendril of hair behind my ear, so it became unglued from the mess that was smeared all over my face. “Did you like that?”
I grinned and licked my lips. “Yes, Sir.”
A satisfied smile crept across his cheeks. “Are you ready to clean your mess off the floor?”
I blushed. “Yes, please.”
“Good,” he said, standing up and picking up his belt. “You lick that mess up,” he said, as he looped the belt back on itself. “And I’ll help you.”
Photo by Gioele Fazzeri on Unsplash