Instigator

"What the fuck, Todd?" she sniped. "You know I was looking forward to today!" She slammed her spoon down defiantly. "We had plans today! And now you're just spring this on me?" Her lip curled in a grimace. "Gonna go play golf all day with your douchebag golf buddies?" she sneered derisively. "Spend the day looking for your ball in the weeds and telling each other lies about how big your dick is and making up stories about sex you wish you could have? While I sit around the house and twiddle my thumbs?"

I put my coffee down with a calmness I didn't feel. "Oh, it's gonna be like that, huh?" I barked back. I looked at her sidelong over the breakfast table. My tone made her cower, but only for a second. She straightened her spine and stuck out her chin defiantly.

"Fuck you," she snarled. "Yeah, so what? What are you gonna do about it?"

My chin jutted out and I fixed her with a steady glare. I narrowed my eyes. "Fine," I told her. "That's how you want it. You got it, bitch." I slowly pushed my chair back from the table and stood. She kept her erect posture, but the steel was slipping from her already; I could see the tremble in her hands, and her expression had flashed a moment of fear. Now it stood with a layer of determination poorly covering her anticipation. I turned and left the kitchen, headed for the bedroom.

Breakfast unfinished and forgotten, I went to the closet and removed a belt, then to the dresser for the Velcro restraints. She wanted it, she'd get it. I headed for the door, stopped, and returned to the closet. I fished out a few more things, stuffed them quickly into a small tote bag and made my way to the kitchen.

She had cleared the dishes and was turning around when I re-entered the room. She wore only her cotton sleep tee and loose cotton pajama shorts. I stopped a few steps from her and fixed her with a glare. Her breasts wobbled a little under her shirt. I hoped she didn't love those pajamas.

She forced herself erect and screwed up her courage. "Oh, big man," she sneered, looking at the bag in my hands. "You need all that to prove what a man you are?"

I grimaced and placed the bag on a chair. "Last and only chance, bitch. Say it."

"Fuck you," she spat. "You think you fucking scare me?"

I closed the gap and slapped her sharply across the face, careful to hit her cheek and not her ear. Her head snapped to the side. My other hand grabbed the neck of her sleep tee and pulled her forward. The hand that had slapped her twined in her hair and I held her head as I pulled down hard on the tee shirt, tearing it open halfway down the front. I let go of her hair and grabbed a nipple, hard and tight. I dragged her to the table and pulled her by her nipple, face down, bent at the waist.

"That's all you got?" she jibed, but her voice barely hid a small tremble. "Big strong man can't control his woman? Huh?"

With a hand behind her neck I held her face down on the table; she squirmed and slapped at the table with her arms, trying to force her body upright. With my other hand I pulled her shorts down off her tiny ass. Her flesh shone white and she tried to separate her legs to keep the shorts up. I kicked her legs and pushed them to her knees.

"You fucking anim-" she began, and then screeched. I was raining slaps on her ass, hard, full swings. After her initial cry she grunted with each blow. Her flesh turned pink, then red, then hot red. I concentrated on one cheek at a time, blazing ten or more swats before switching. Still she struggled, and several times I had to stop and jam her face into the table.

"The more you struggle," I said as I spanked her furiously, "the worse it will be." I took another five, hitting the top of the backs of her thighs now. "Take it, bitch. You earned it, so take it!" The other thigh now, and I heard her begin to sob; muffled, trying to hide it from me. I stopped and lowered my mouth to her ear.

"Had enough already?" I hissed. "You know how to make it stop." I bit her earlobe, and she cried out, tried to pull away, but my hand held her neck firmly. There might be some bruising tomorrow. She owns turtlenecks. "Say it, and it stops now."

"Fuck you, pussy!" she hissed. "You think that hurts? I can take-"

Her words were cut off by another series of blows on her ass, attacking the reddest spots, inflaming the already seared flesh. "You're mine, bitch. I will put you in line, and keep you in line! You hear me? Mine! You insolent, disobedient slut!" I rained the slaps on her until my arm was sore and my hand ached.

I stopped, then. I didn't want her to feel the blows getting weaker. She was sobbing uncontrollably, which covered my deep breaths from my exertions. I did, however, loosen my grip on the back of her neck, to test her desire to escape, but she seemed so deep into her suffering that she didn't move.

Good.

I reached for the bag and took out the scrub brush. A vile instrument, especially on wounded, swollen flesh. Placing one palm firmly in the small of her back, I scraped the scrub brush over her welts, slowly, eliciting screams of pain from her. I concentrated on the sensitive parts; inside her crack, under her cheeks, avoiding the fleshy globes. When I was satisfied that she was scraped and raw, I went back to the bag.

I pulled out a large butt plug, a big bottle of lube, and some rubbing alcohol, grinning as I admired the wounded, swollen flesh and irritated skin. Pulling her cheeks apart, I lubed her crinkled hole, pushing the lube inside with one finger, then a second. I lubed the plug, then I replaced my hand on her lower back and began twisting the tip at her tiny, tight hole. When it began to open, I pressed. It was big, bigger than the one we used just for fun. This was serious. It was long, and fat, designed to stretch and fill and hurt. She groaned as her flesh stretched and I didn't wait; I twisted and pushed, pressing hard until she screamed. I knew it hurt, but she'd asked for it. I could imagine the way her muscles burned as the wide expanse was forced inside her. She grunted with me as I pushed, and the ring gave way as she cried out in pain, and the fat plug nestled inside her, stretching her tight back door, filling her ass.

"Feel the burn?" I asked, and she murmured through her sobs. I snorted. "Just wait," I added, and reached for the alcohol. I unscrewed the cap before I returned my hand to her neck to hold her down, with the bottle near her nose, so she could smell it. She instantly protested, squiggling. Sometimes the anticipation is greater than the event; she knew what was coming. I poured the alcohol over her ass. It took a few seconds before she launched an ear-splitting scream. I released her neck, and she leaped off the table, her scraped ass on fire as the alcohol irritated the wounded flesh. She howled like a banshee, dancing around the room, eyes wide with pain and fear, glaring at me as she danced.

I reached into the bag and took the belt, doubled it over, and grabbed her by the hair. She fought me as I dragged her into the den and threw her on the couch, on her back. She was still twitching and wriggling from the fire on her ass, and I grabbed her legs and folded her back on herself, her shorts tangled on one ankle, legs open and pressed to her chest. I kneeled across the backs of her thighs, keeping her pussy exposed and open, and held the belt in her face.

"Say it!" I insisted.

Her face was a mask of terror and pain, snot bubbles blowing from her nose, last night's mascara streaked down her face. She breathed heavily, and took a shuddering breath. She glared at me. Her head jerked a few times.

"Go fuck yourself," she managed.

I hissed at her, and raised my arm. I felt her tense beneath me, then brought the leather belt down onto her open pussy. She howled and fought as I rained the blows down on her bare shaved lips, eliciting screeches of pain with each blow. I gave her about twenty, not holding back, until the wetness from her swollen red labia was splashing out on every strike. My vision turned red with anger, but I noticed her clit standing at attention at the top of her wonderland, and I rained the last few directly on it.

Of course, I hadn't told her those things she'd claimed. We'd actually been sitting silently, eating breakfast. It was her way of letting me know her mood, and what she wanted. She was a pain slut, and I was the tool she used to get what she occasionally needed. Whatever. I was up for it. But she was really taking it today. I would have to pull out all the stops.

I took my leg off her and laid her straight across the couch. "Stay," I told her, then returned to the kitchen for the bag. There wasn't much chance she would go anywhere; the whipping so far had drained the majority of her energy; she was slipping into the zone. I came back in and she hadn't moved. "Good girl, slut," I told her. Her eyelids flickered in recognition. I pulled her off and knelt her on the floor.

From the bag I pulled the alligator nipple clamps with the sharp teeth, and the nylon rope. She likes these, but I planned on adding a variation to their use today. First I bound her tits tightly, admiring the way they swelled and reddened. Her nipples were stiff and erect, and I put the clamps on the first one, pointing it down. I tightened it until she winced, then tightened more. I affixed the other similarly, then fastened the chains behind her head. I pulled the chains tight, so the clamps twisted her pinched nipples and pulled them up, the weight of her breasts fighting the tension of the chain, and clamped it with a hair clip to a clump of hair at the back of her head.

She was breathing heavily, panting. "Anything to say?" I teased. She glared at me, mouth tight, chin defiant. "Unruly slut," I added, "I didn't think so." I pulled my sweats down and stepped out of them, unleashing my semi-hard cock, and grabbed her face between thumb and fingers, squeezing her mouth open. She was almost fully in the zone now; despite her pretense at resistance, she opened. I stepped forward and shoved my cock in her mouth.

"Hold still," I warned as I began thrusting into her mouth. "The more your head moves, the more it will hurt." And with those words I pushed into her throat and held myself deep inside her, pushing my root against her lips, forcing her head back, making the chain tug her already strained nipples. Her eyes opened wider as I held my length inside her, watching her struggle against her blocked airway, gagging and choking, her throat muscles massaging my cock. She tried to pull back and she choked from the pain in her nipples. They'd be sore for days.

I pulled back and let her take a breath, then began fucking her face, each pulse of my hips tugging the chain. She grunted back at me, forcing her head forward onto my length, trying to ease the tension on the chain, hunching forward. I would have none of that, and forced myself into her face, over and over, pushing her head back with each stroke. Gagging sounds mingled with muffled squeals of pain, tears spilled from her eyes and saliva poured from her mouth in thick ropy strands, spilling onto her bound and tight breasts. Air forced its way through the snot leaking from her nose. She looked a slutty mess, and I felt my climax approaching. I pushed into her until the last second, then pressed my hands on her forehead, pushing her head back, my cock resting on her tongue in her open mouth.

My thumbs went to her eyes and I pulled the lids wide open. "Take it, slut," I told her, and pulled my hips back and angled myself, aiming the head of my cock to her open right eye. The first blast shot directly in as I groaned, and shifted to the other, shooting her reward into the left eye, then spilling the rest across her nose. When I was done, I released her head. She'd have pinkeye for days, and every time she blinked she'd remember that.

I pushed her to the ground. Her swollen breasts bounced against her chest as she fell sideways, and one of the clamps tore free, causing her to scream. One hand rubbed the torn nipple while the other scrubbed cum from her eyes.

"Say it, and it stops," I said down to her. One eye opened and looked up at me.

"Not fucking likely," she hissed, but the fire had gone from her.

"Have it your way," I told her. I reached down and released the other clamp but left the binding on her swollen breasts. The blood rushed into the nipple with searing pain and she almost squirmed away. I grabbed a handful of hair.

"Come," I told her unnecessarily, grabbing the bag with my other hand and dragging her to the bedroom. As I passed the bathroom my mind flashed on the two-liter enema bag and I paused a second, but then decided against it. I didn't have the time to wait for it to be painful, and making her evacuate on herself in the tub and rinsing her in piss was humiliating, but not what we were after today.

Another time.

She was scrabbling on all fours, scraping her knees in the floor, banging into doorways as I dragged her by the hair, holding her head down low so she couldn't straighten up. I pulled her into the room and pushed her unceremoniously onto the bed, turning her onto her back. I pulled the ties from the headboard and secured her hands, then use the overhead straps to secure her ankles. I pulled them taught, spreading her legs in an upraised 'V', her hips lifted so her pussy pointed at the ceiling. She was recovering a little, snarling invectives to taunt me, letting me know she hadn't had enough in her challenging manner.

Returning to the closet, I selected the inflatable dildo, the electric wand and a candle, and returned to the bed. I lit the candle and waited. As the quick-melting wax turned to hot liquid, I climbed onto the bed and forced the base into her pussy. I didn't need any lube; she was wet and ready. I pushed it down, watched until the top filled with hot wax, and plugged in the wand.

The first touch was to her taint, exposed by her position, and she jerked predictably as the shock hit her, spilling the wax onto her labia. She hissed at the combination of electricity and searing heat. I touched her again, then again quickly, not allowing her time to recover between shocks. I did her asshole next, poking the wand around the butt plug, shocking her strained ring of sensitive flesh. I travelled up her sides, touching lightly, until I got to her swollen bound breasts. I did each nipple several times, alternating between them, back and forth, until she was twisting in her bonds, trying unsuccessfully to evade me.

But it wasn't enough. Grimacing, I unplugged the wand and blew out the candle and extracted it, dripping the remaining wax on her tits. Her cunt and clit were coated. I set the wand aside and took up the inflatable. I slipped it inside, already tight from the giant plug in her ass, and began pumping. I pumped until she groaned, then waited, and pumped a few more as she groaned louder. A few more and she cried out, her pussy stretching to accommodate the swelling toy. I watched her face, listened for the words, but they didn't come. A few more. She writhed in agony as her flesh stretched. A few more, and she screamed.

But she didn't say the words.

Time for The One.

I went back to the closet and retrieved it. A special flogger we had ordered online, the soft leather braided thongs were embedded with tiny sharp plastic shards that would score the surface of the flesh but not puncture or tear. Microscopic lancings of the top level of the flesh. I turned to look at her and she looked back at me, her eyes intense and hard. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling steadily, both from her exertions and anticipation. I held The One in front of me, letting her see it, letting her feel the pending punishment I would wield on her.

"You can say it now," I offered, stepping towards the bed. My eyes didn't leave hers, searching for a sign from her. Her mouth was open and she licked her lips, her mouth dry from the heavy breathing. Her eyes were half lidded, looking down her body at me, seeing me over her red, swollen breasts and between her raised pussy. I framed myself between her legs. "Say it, and it ends here." I reached into the bag and took out the alcohol; showed it to her. Her eyes widened in horror, and she gasped. Her breathing increased, though, short panting breaths now; I knew she wouldn't surrender before we'd gone too far.

I stepped to the side of the bed. I opened the alcohol, letting her smell the method of her destruction. With the other hand I trailed The One over her lips, down her neck, and gently traced the thongs over the tightly bound flesh of her breasts. I raised it, and dangled the edges over her nipples. She shuddered.

"What? I didn't hear you," I faked. I lowered my face to hers. "Something you want to tell me?"

She looked in my eyes and inhaled, and closed her mouth. I waited for the words. Then she spit in my face. It took me by surprise, and I jerked back. There wasn't a big glob, her mouth was too dry to work one up. But a spray of saliva coated the side of my face, and I scrubbed it away with the back of my hand.

"Have it your way, then," I said quietly, and I watched her body tense, bracing herself for the first blow as I raised my hand. I brought it down and stopped, allowing the ends to trail over her lovely left breast. Her body seemed to shimmer and relax at the touch, and she closed her eyes. And then I struck.

Her back arched with the first blow, lifting herself on her shoulders and pulling her hips up in the straps with a groan. I hit her again, then again and again, over and over, striping the taut, swollen, sensitive flesh of her breasts, imagining the smaller defined cuts inside the welts. I covered her breasts, then rested, and moved to the bottom of the bed. I only allowed a few seconds to pass before striking the space between her pussy and her leg, hitting her stretched and swollen labia and striping the tender skin inside her thigh. She wailed, and I did the other side, then switched back, repeating the alternating strokes over and over as the squirmed against her bonds, writhing and twisting herself into a pretzel. Careful to avoid the exposed end of the inflatable stretching her cunt, I struck her labia on each side, and then delivered ten or so sharp strikes to her clit. She howled.

I stopped and put down The One, and returned to the bedside to retrieve the alcohol from the nightstand where I'd left it. She was still struggling and squirming, eyes shut tightly, teeth clenched, bracing herself. Muscles rippled in her jaw, and her neck was corded and strained. I poured the alcohol over her breasts and she screamed, a piercing high-pitched wail of relief and torment. I knew it was burning her flesh, searing into all the tiny cuts and scrapes, and I didn't wait for her to settle or stop screaming. I upended the bottle over her wounded pussy and she spasmed wildly as the fire took her.

Her screaming had stopped, reduced to guttural sounds and barks and squeaks, gasping breaths through clenched jaws as she weakly struggled ineffectually in her bonds. The burn was inside her, as it had been on her ass, only worse now, the liquid irritating the tiny wounds in her most sensitive areas. Exhausted, she finally stopped writhing, and just twitched and spasmed on the bed, mumbling incoherently through gasps of air; exhausted and drained.

I lowered my ear to her face. "I didn't hear that," I whispered to her, my voice soft now, tender and loving. Indecipherable sounds hissed from her; struggling to form words.

"I can't understand you," I told her. She was trying to say it, I knew it; she knew I knew it. But the deal was she had to say it to stop it. She started it, she had to stop it. Those were the rules.

"Wuthlses," she gasped, incoherent and barely audible through heaving breaths, then inhaled and collected herself. "Worthless," came the whisper. "Worthless cunt, I'm a worthless cunt."