For Sir The Angry Fuck

My key fumbles around the lock three times before I manage to get it in place and turn the deadbolt on the front door.

Sir's truck is in the driveway. He's home, and he hasn't messaged or called.

I'm angry.

I slam the front door behind me and kick my shoes into the closet with far more force than necessary. I shoulder the closet door shut roughly, throw my keys down on the table and watch as they skitter loudly across the top. I toss my bag carelessly into the corner on the floor, knocking a potted fig plant over in the process and then staring at it in rage for a moment before turning away and making my way into the house without touching it

Hurricane Pumpkin, coming through.

The little girl inside me is having a melt down I've long since given up trying to contain. The mask of passive happiness I put on to get through the day can come off now. I'm home, and everything I've bottled up inside comes pouring out.

Frustration and anger wash over me, sending waves of unpleasant heat through my stomach and chest. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I've had a long day of fixing other people's mistakes, playing bad cop with my crew, and being frustrated with my Sir's attention being elsewhere.

I am in a foul mood.

I'm mad at the world

I'm mad at my Sir.

I want to slam things and smash things and cry.

And I don't care if it's unreasonable.

I stomp my way to the bathroom for a shower, and my Sir stands in the doorway to the living room as I approach.

"What in the world is that racket?" He asks, but I don't answer him. I don't even look at him.

Sir's hand snakes out to catch my arm when I attempt to pass him.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he asks. His voice is calm and concerned, and that only fuels my anger more.

"You'd know if you'd bother to check your texts," I hiss. I pull my arm roughly from his grasp and glare at him.

I know that I'm not really that angry with him, but I can't contain my building fury.

"I'm sorry, pumpkin. I was busy today. I knew you'd be home soon, so I thought I'd wait til you got here and we could talk. Go take your shower and then we can sit down."

I turn my back to him and mutter, "whatever," under my breath.

I haven't even taken my first step when he demands, "Pardon me?" in a quiet, forceful voice.

Shit.

I turn and meet his gaze, but I say nothing.

He studies my face for a moment in silence and I wonder what he sees. Tensions licks over my entire body. I'm practically shaking with it.

He takes a step back from me and moves into the living room, instructing me to follow him with a crook of his fingers.

I begin to argue that I want to shower, but he ignores me.

My anger climbs another notch.

Ignoring me. Again.

I don't leave, but I don't follow him either. I'm pushing my luck and I know it, but I can't seem to make myself care.

When he reaches the couch he turns back toward me.

"Come here," he quietly says.

I hesitate just long enough for him to raise an eyebrow, then move toward him.

With each passing step my tension increases. I'm buzzing with it. My heart pounds in my ears and my hands shake.

I clench them into fists at my side.

I want to yell at Sir.

To demand to know what was so important that it took him away from me when I needed him.

To rage that everything is terrible and it's all his fault, whether it is or not.

I want to fight with him.

I want him to hold me.

I don't know what I want.

I stand in front of him finally, my eyes bouncing around in an attempt to avoid his scrutiny.

My nails dig into my palms while I fight to maintain my silence. I'm afraid that once I open my mouth, my unchecked emotions will pour out. Sir's eyes zeroing in on my mouth make me realize I have my bottom lip clamped so tightly between my teeth that I taste blood.

"Are you angry with me, pumpkin?" Sir asks.

I blink furiously as tears prick the corners of my eyes. I lower my face and breathe shallowly through my open mouth, fighting to keep my emotions in check.

"No," I mutter.

"No, what?" he asks. But I don't offer him "Sir."

I'm being disrespectful. I don't care.

"Look at me."

But I don't. I can't. And when he reaches his hand out to tip my chin up, I jerk back violently.

If he touches me, I know I'll start to cry.

"Pumpkin," he says in warning.

"What?" I spit out, petulantly.

He is a picture of calm, completely in control, and it only frustrates me more.

He steps nearer to me - a predator sizing up his prey, and my heart beats faster.

"Are you sure you want to do this, pumpkin?" he asks quietly.

He stands so close to me that our breath mingles. I know he can see the defiance in my eyes as I boldly meet his gaze.

I can see I've crossed the line.

I don't care.

I want to fight.

I need to release it.

My Sir can take it.

"Yes."

His voice is calm and quiet as he asks, "what is your safe word?"

For a moment, I'm confused, "you know what-"

He cuts me off, his voice only a fraction louder than last time, "What. Is. Your. Safe. Word?"

"Red," I say, my tone snotty even to my own ears.

"Good girl," he says, and then he's on me.

His fist snakes into my hair before I can do more than gasp, and he uses a handful at the base of my skull to guide my head as his mouth crashes into mine in a possessive kiss.

I try to pull away. My brows furrowed and anger seething, but he holds me fast, dragging me forward to the couch and tumbling us into it so I lay across his lap.

He yanks my pants hard and I push to get off him, practically screeching, "what are you doing!?"

But he says only, "take off your pants or lose them."

I kick out my legs, scrambling for purchase, but my angle across his lap and his arm pinned over my back and in my hair controls my upper body.

My Sir rightly interprets my struggle as unwillingness to comply, and I yelp when he yanks at my pants hard enough to pop the button open. Before I can react, he has them down over my ass and lands a biting slap across my right ass cheek. Embarrassment combines with my anger to set me reeling, and I redouble my struggles, but Sir is so strong that I can't get free. He slaps my ass hard in three rapid strikes, until my right cheek is smarting and glowing, then he switches to the left. Three more rapid strikes, and I'm squirming.

My core tightens in desire even as I shriek in fury, and my cheeks flame with humiliation when Sir runs his finger along my slit, searching for wetness. I know he'll find it.

He lands another slap to my ass, and my legs jerk. I clench my teeth, but stop struggling. Sir's grip on my hair controls my entire upper body anyway.

The pain is sharp and radiating. Focused with each strike, and then spreading from that centre in waves. I focus on it. Focus on breathing through each hit.

The fight has gone out of me, and I cry out and shudder with each slap.

It hurts. Badly. But as the warmth spreads out from each strike I feel some of my frustration ease.

It feels like an eternity before Sir has finished with my warm and stinging ass.

He roughly tugs up on my hair, and I push up with my arms, following as he leads me off the couch. I kick my pants the rest of the way off and crawl on all fours while he guides me to the center of the room and stops with me kneeling in front of him.

"Stay," he commands while reaching down and tugging my shirt and bra over my head in one smooth motion.

Next, his hands are at his belt, pulling it loose from his pants with one hand and deftly pulling his rigid dick out with the other.

His free hand wraps into my hair again and tugs my head toward his crotch. I know better than to resist at this point - not that I want to.

My mouth opens compliantly and he shoves deep, gagging me.

He pulls back and I gasp, sucking in air before he pushes back into my mouth. He edges along my tongue, touching the back of my throat. I fight to stay relaxed, keeping my gag reflex in check, but my temper spikes again and I dig my nails lightly into his thighs.

Sir exhales heavily when I lock my lips around him and suck as he pulls out of my mouth.

It's all the encouragement I need. This is how I fight back.

I brace my hands on his thighs, spreading my stance on my knees for better balance. Tears stream down my cheeks from my gag reflex as Sir thrusts deep into my mouth over and over. I keep my lips locked tightly as much as I can, and suck in deep gulps of air when Sir pulls out.

Sir weaves both his hands deeper into my hair, until he's gripping my entire head, and uses his hold to keep me steady while he pumps his hips swiftly, fucking my face just as easily as he would fuck my dripping pussy. He alternates between deep, gagging thrusts and shallow, rapid pulses, never relenting his grip.

His dick feels rock solid and extra thick as it slides as deep into my throat as he can manage to get without me gagging. My tongue strokes the underside, relishing his hardness for me.

Sir groans deeply, and I suck hard again. He jerks and thrusts into my throat, making me wonder who is punishing who.

He thrusts hard and deep, completely blocking my air supply. His thick cock sits well into my throat. Deeper than I've ever taken him before. Tears stream down my face from gagging and asphyxiation.

He moans and pushes just a touch harder on the back of my head, holding himself in my throat until I think my lungs will explode.

When he pulls out, I suck in huge gulps of air, greedily refilling my lungs.

He leaves the tip of his cock against my lips while he allows me to catch my breath, and I take the opportunity to dig my nails into his thighs harder.

He hisses and pulls roughly at my hair while he shoves his cock back into my mouth, but I don't relent.

I boldly look up and meet his gaze, despite the tears streaming down my cheeks. His own gaze is filled with lust.

My emotions are still running high, and Sir is fucking my mouth with such force I'm unable to think passed surviving the onslaught.

I take my nails down the back of his thighs and he pulls back. I take the opportunity to give him a hard shove in the hips. He braces himself back on one leg, and I turn and scramble on all fours away from him.

In seconds his hand is back in my hair and his weight is across my back.

He yanks my head back against chest, pulling me up onto my knees with my back to his warm chest and his mouth finds my neck. His left hand cups my breast and squeezes until I groan from the sweet pain. I reach my hand behind me and wrap my fingers around his hard length. He hisses a breath in my ear, and it only encourages me more.

I'm dizzy from arousal and adrenaline.

Sir thrusts his hips in my grip.

He releases my hair and moves both hands to my breasts. He pinches and squeezes my nippes, and I arch my back into his grasp while my hands find their way to the back of his neck. My wetness is pressed to his crotch, and he nips at my neck while he glides his cock along my slick folds.

Just as I'm losing myself in the eroticism of our position, Sir grabs my hair again, hard enough to make me yelp, and forces my face into the carpet.

His grip is relentless, and he roughly wedges my thighs apart with his knees. He uses his arm across my back and his grip on my hair to hold me down, and shoves his cock into my waiting slit.

The instantaneous invasion makes me gasp.

I'm grateful for the moment he gives my body to adjust.

Sir shifts his weight, releasing my hair and pushing both his hands down into the centre of my back, pinning me to the floor.

He sets a steady pace, but thrusts hard and deep. I grit my teeth at the slight pain it causes as his cock hits bottom at the end of each thrust.

Steadily his pace increases, until he's pounding into me, my breath whooshing out of me with every thrust.

His balls slap against my clit, heightening my arousal until I'm twitching under my Dominant, feeling the need to cum building tension low in my belly.

Just as my body is about to explode, my Sir pulls out of me and lands three quick, firm slaps to my pussy lips. The shock is enough to bring me back from the edge.

A strangled, frustrated cry leaves my throat and Sir stands and tugs me to my feet.

I yank my arm out of his grasp, but that only causes Sir to swiftly bring his hand up to grip my throat. He forces my back against the wall and his mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is passionate and rough. Fueled by our mutual frustration. I nip at his lower lip, and he growls back into my mouth and increases the pressure at my neck. He uses his thumb at my jawline to force my head back, and trails light bites and hot kisses along my neck and shoulder.

Although the fire inside me still burns, I am helpless against my Dominants sensual touches. He uses hardly any force at all to encourage me toward our bedroom, and then bends me over the foot of the bed. I don't resist when he pulls my hands together and loops a cuff knotted rope around my wrists, tying it to the headboard and forcing me to remain bent over with my arms extended in front of me. Nor do I resist when he ties each of my ankles to a corner of the bed, keeping my thighs parted and my pussy exposed to his view. Arousal has drowned out my frustration. I want him inside me.

But instead of sliding his cock back into me like I want, Sir slams his open palm against my sore ass.

I almost scream.

I try to throw myself up on the bed away from him, forgetting momentarily that my ankles are bound. Sir steadies me with a hand in the center of my back, and slaps again, and again, once more alternating between cheeks. But this time, every few strikes, he rubs the area soothingly. Just enough to take the worst of the sting away before landing another punishing blow.

My ass must be purple. Tears stream down my cheeks, but the undercurrent of sexual tension has me gritting my teeth through it all.

Sir slides his fingers down to explore my pussy, gliding through my slit until his fingers expertly find my little, swollen clit.

He strokes it in firm circles, and I throw my head back and moan low. The combination of pleasure from his fingers and pain from my glowing ass is a heady combination. I feel drugged by the mixture.

His thumb slides into my heat, pushing down on the front wall of my pelvis while he massages my clit.

I'm panting. The pleasure is intense.

And then it stops, replaced by another series of sharp smacks to my ass.

I count ten per cheek. And I cry out after every hit until Sir stops again, once more stroking my clit and fingering my pussy.

I clench and flex around his thumb with each stroke.

And then I feel the heat and thickness of his dick against my opening. He thrusts slow and deep, filling me in one go. I'm so wet that there's no resistance.

Sir fucks me for only a few moments, just long enough to have me riding the edge of another elusive orgasm before he pulls out and tugs on my hair, turning my head to the side.

Once more, he shoves his shaft into my mouth. Our combined flavours and my quivering pussy have me bobbing my head on the tip of his cock enthusiastically. I use my tongue to slide along the underside of his shaft with every stroke of my mouth.

"Who do you belong to?" Sir demands while I suck greedily.

When I try to move my head back to answer, Sir grips the back of my neck, keeping his cock firmly planted between my lips.

"Who do you belong to?" He demands again.

I tug my head back again. How can I answer if he won't let me move? And then I understand...

I try my best to utter, "You, Sir," around his thickness. It's completely unintelligible.

"Who do you belong to?" He says once more.

"You, Sir," I garble again.

"Master," he corrects.

"You, Master."

"Who do you serve?"

"You, Master"

"You have been disrespectful"

"I'm sorry, Master," is my muffled reply.

And I finally am. The anger and frustration have drained out of me, replaced only by the quivering, clenching fire in my pussy. I don't know if I've ever been so aroused. I need him.

Sir pulls from my mouth, and runs his hand sensually along my back and over my ass. I brace for another hit, but it doesn't come.

I hear him humm in appreciation of the marks he's left on me.

I whimper. It's so erotic.

Finally. Finally, he slowly feeds his cock back into my pussy.

The sensation is all it takes to throw me over the edge into orgasm. It's deep and powerful, and Sir moans deeply as my sheath milks him.

He waits until the strongest of my spasms have passed before setting a steady, deep pace.

His grip on my hips is proprietary; Master taking ownership of his property, and I gasp with each thrust until he cums deep inside me, marking me from the inside.

I am his.

My anger has finally faded, replaced by the sated, floating sensation of pleasure and pain. Sir unties me and helps me slide under the covers of our bed. He tucks me in, taking care to settle the covers gently over my heated, glowing behind, and kisses my head before climbing in beside me and pulling me into him.

"Better, pumpkin?" He asks, the slightest hint of a smile in his tone.

I'm playfully petulant when I say, "no" in the sulkiest tone I can manage.

His deep, rumbling laugh sends tingles to my toes, and I wince slightly when he grabs a handful of my bruised backside.

"Should I keep going?"

"No, Master."

"Good girl," he chuckles softly, and I snuggle in and drift off to sleep.