The belt connected with the girl what felt to her to be a hundred times. Truthfully, though, it was only around 30. It was the time spanning between the stokes that made it seem to last forever. The pregnant pauses, the smirk of triumph on his face as he waited for the perfect time to strike again, the way that each tiny welt seemed to hold a world of pain in its miniscule grasp... these things drew the time out so far that the clock on the wall wouldn't have moved even if she willed it so. And she had been trying to will it for minutes now.
The interesting thing was that the pain had suddenly become duller. Each stroke not only hurt less than the first, it also seemed to heighten her sensual awareness and translate into pleasure. With each slap, her pussy grew wetter. In time, she had soaked a large circle of fluid onto his jeans. It was too late to go back now, and she threw abandon to the wind.
"Oh please, fuck me. Hurt me. Love me," she moaned.
He grinned; it was just what he was waiting to hear. If there were such things as angels, they would have been singing a chorus of "hallelujahs." He paused for a few minutes, appraising the situation and thinking of what the most satisfactory way to take his slut would be. She could feel his eyes on her body, still cold and calculating.
He slid out from under her and draped her over the bed, her tip toes barely touching the floor as her arms laid bound and straight above her head. He nipped at her again - ears, neck, back, insides of her thighs. As he nipped her clitoris, she tried to squirm away from him. His hand fell quickly on her welted ass and she screamed into the bed.
"Don't do that. Don't fight me."
He was so hard that she could feel him without even having him touch her skin. It was the scent of a man, so masculine and intoxicating, the slight scent of arousal and the prehistoric drive to fuck and conquer. She shivered as he touched the head of his cock to her pussy; she could feel it trying to pull him in by sheer desire. He paused there, touching her lightly but not going any further.
He growled out, "Say it."
She bit her bottom lip hard enough to make it swell against her front teeth and fought back the urge to say anything. Her submission had always been hard won, and this was no exception.
He wound her hair into his fist and pulled her head back to him. He looked her in the eyes.
"Say it, cunt. We're going no farther until you say it."
Everything was conflicted then. To say it meant to accept defeat, but to not say it meant to continue the fight and forestall the pleasure. Her head and her pussy were urging her to do opposite things, but her pussy always won out. For better or worse, that's where her loyalties always lied.
"I'm yours," she whispered into the bed.
"I'm sorry? I didn't hear you. "
He yanked on her hair again, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
Again came the quivery voice, "I'm yours."
"Was that a question?" he replied. "I'm not sure you meant that."
He slid his cock into her a few millimeters, enough to remind her what was at stake. She tried to wiggle back against him, but his hand held the back of her head to the bed.
"I'm yours. I've always been yours and I'll always be yours."
"That's right, slut. You're mine."
With that, he shoved his cock into her with as much force as he could muster. She could dully feel the tip trying to push through her cervix as she floated somewhere above the bed, looking down and watching. The girl enjoyed subspace, but sometimes she wished that she could be wholly present in her body for at least a moment. She wanted to savor the pain and the pleasure. In that moment, there was both.
The interesting thing was that the pain had suddenly become duller. Each stroke not only hurt less than the first, it also seemed to heighten her sensual awareness and translate into pleasure. With each slap, her pussy grew wetter. In time, she had soaked a large circle of fluid onto his jeans. It was too late to go back now, and she threw abandon to the wind.
"Oh please, fuck me. Hurt me. Love me," she moaned.
He grinned; it was just what he was waiting to hear. If there were such things as angels, they would have been singing a chorus of "hallelujahs." He paused for a few minutes, appraising the situation and thinking of what the most satisfactory way to take his slut would be. She could feel his eyes on her body, still cold and calculating.
He slid out from under her and draped her over the bed, her tip toes barely touching the floor as her arms laid bound and straight above her head. He nipped at her again - ears, neck, back, insides of her thighs. As he nipped her clitoris, she tried to squirm away from him. His hand fell quickly on her welted ass and she screamed into the bed.
"Don't do that. Don't fight me."
He was so hard that she could feel him without even having him touch her skin. It was the scent of a man, so masculine and intoxicating, the slight scent of arousal and the prehistoric drive to fuck and conquer. She shivered as he touched the head of his cock to her pussy; she could feel it trying to pull him in by sheer desire. He paused there, touching her lightly but not going any further.
He growled out, "Say it."
She bit her bottom lip hard enough to make it swell against her front teeth and fought back the urge to say anything. Her submission had always been hard won, and this was no exception.
He wound her hair into his fist and pulled her head back to him. He looked her in the eyes.
"Say it, cunt. We're going no farther until you say it."
Everything was conflicted then. To say it meant to accept defeat, but to not say it meant to continue the fight and forestall the pleasure. Her head and her pussy were urging her to do opposite things, but her pussy always won out. For better or worse, that's where her loyalties always lied.
"I'm yours," she whispered into the bed.
"I'm sorry? I didn't hear you. "
He yanked on her hair again, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
Again came the quivery voice, "I'm yours."
"Was that a question?" he replied. "I'm not sure you meant that."
He slid his cock into her a few millimeters, enough to remind her what was at stake. She tried to wiggle back against him, but his hand held the back of her head to the bed.
"I'm yours. I've always been yours and I'll always be yours."
"That's right, slut. You're mine."
With that, he shoved his cock into her with as much force as he could muster. She could dully feel the tip trying to push through her cervix as she floated somewhere above the bed, looking down and watching. The girl enjoyed subspace, but sometimes she wished that she could be wholly present in her body for at least a moment. She wanted to savor the pain and the pleasure. In that moment, there was both.
This entry was posted by Mellie, on
Thursday, March 02, 2006.
