Anger Management

A slam on the front door wakes me up. I nearly jump off the bed and glance at the clock. It's only eight o'clock; he's home early, and that slam tells me he's mad. I check my hair and bra and underwear in the mirror and run out to pour him a drink.

I barely get into the front room before he hauls off and backhands me across the face.

I fall into the couch, seeing stars. He gets an inch from my face, his eyes slightly calmer, looking into mine. "It's not you," he mutters. "You didn't do anything wrong, understand?"

I nod through a few tears, and brace myself. Someone seriously pissed my master off today, and for whatever reason, he couldn't take it out on them. But that's okay; he has me.

He slaps the opposite side of my face, and I almost fall to my left. I right myself quickly and keep my eyes down-I don't want to see his face, I know it's angry, even if it's not really with me. Instead I watch his body, the one I've always loved so much.

He paces up and down the room, short strides and graceful movements, even when he's mad. My master has always been athletic- the way he moves makes me think of something like a lion.

With anger to match.

He turns on his heel and comes to me once more, a slap to the upper left side of my face, almost across my eye. He catches my hands, and pulls them up above my head. He holds both my wrists in one hand, and the other cracks across my body. Red marks appear over my chest, my stomach, my thighs. At this point I look up at him, no words, no begging him to stop-that won't help my case.

He looks down at me, and he knows he needs to stop. But he still needs to displace this energy he has built up. One hand rubs his face and the other twirls a finger, telling me to turn onto my stomach.

I close my eyes and get on all fours. Master pulls his cock out and brings it to my face, and I guide it into my mouth. I use my tongue a lot and take it back into my throat; I want to get it hard and wet before he fucks me- I have a feeling he won't be gentle.

Master grabs onto the sofa back and uses it to push himself into my mouth- I just hold my lips open while he fucks my face, his balls slapping at my chin, my spit and his precum starting to cover my face.

He pulls out and moves behind me, and pushes my little thong aside. Master pushes the tip of his cock against my ass, and I close my eyes and try to relax.

Master doesn't waste time, and fucks me hard. He doesn't hit as deep as he wants, and pulls up on my hips to allow him better access.

He slaps the top of my ass, and I arch my back in response. He smacks the other side once, and his other hand wraps up in my hair and yanks my head back.

His energy goes to his hips, and for a minute he fucks my ass as angrily as he just hit me- I'm sure I'm being torn apart, but I don't dare scream.

He pulls my head further back and punctuates one last fuck, his hips touching mine, and his cum spills into my ass.

He pulls out and rubs his face again, and walks off to go shower as I collapse onto the couch, exhausted.

I wake up a few hours later. My master's kneeling beside me, holding a cool wet washcloth to my burning face. "You don't have to do that," I mutter, and take the rag from his hands.

Master smiles a little bit, and starts tracing my veins. My blue blood is really apparent under my skin, and my vein paths are almost always evident. When he's calm and happy with me, it amuses him to follow them with his fingertips, or if I'm lucky, his lips and tongue.

He kisses all the places he smacked, from my face to my chest to my stomach to my upper legs, and I watch him as I soothe my red skin.

Many would consider what master and I have a horrible abusive relationship, but I know better. When I consented to being Master's little whore, I consented to all of it. I am his to do with as he pleases, and that's the way I prefer it.

Especially when he gets back on his feet, gets into my ear, and whispers the words I've been waiting for all night: "Good girl."