It's late when we get home. The sun is down, the porch lit only by a nearby streetlight. It's spring, just the barest of chills left from winter, but I refuse to give up the Florida clothes. We have bags of groceries to bring in from the car. I run back outside for the last load of bags so we can settle in for the evening. As I come back inside, I turn to close the door.
Your arm wraps around my neck tightly and I drop the bags to grip your skin as I gasp. I close my eyes against the dark spots appearing in my vision, gasping and struggling as your arm forces me to stand straighter. I can hear your breath against my ear as I still against you. The chill of a blade held in the other hand grazes my face gently, causing me to shiver. You place the blade in your other hand and press it firmly against the skin beneath my ear. I whimper, feeling the edge biting against my skin.
You reach around me and unbutton my shorts, pushing them to the floor before pressing my body against the door in front of me. Your knee holds my legs apart and I hear the familiar jingle of the steel balls before you press them against my pussy, sliding the first one deep before pushing the second one in behind it. You cup your hand against the warmth of my body, feeling the wetness in response to the rough treatment.
"Such a whore... already so wet. Filthy slut." You whisper to me, lips pressed against my ear. I shudder in response, the buzzing filling my ears as my legs grow weak from the dizziness. I can barely form words, my lips moving without sound as I slip into the darkness.
I awaken confused and groggy. I'm tied to a bed, arms and legs spread, blindfolded. I shift a little, testing the bonds and finding them tight. I can smell your skin, I know you are close and it makes my belly tighten, my skin shudder. I feel your weight as you climb onto the bed, settling between my thighs. You run your hands up my legs, just grazing my body, the goose bumps following like a shadow. You pause over my breasts, skimming my neck and face. I twitch when you touch my face, flinching away before I can stop myself. A quick slap to one of my breasts causes a short cry and I hold very still, feeling that blade again, tracing the path your hands just made.