In the beginning, Eli took special care to make me tremble. He knew the medical wrap bonding my wrists set alarms off inside me, scrambling my nerves and heightening my flight-or-fight response.
"What a strange little thing you are. The way this makes you shake all frightened." He unraveled the self-adhesive wrap around my wrists. "And my hand," He placed his palm against my cheek, "Striking your face makes you want."
"I'm not scared." I whispered, my voice betraying me to his delight. I felt the heat simmering from his desire, stoked by my anxiety.
"Good. Fear spoils the meat." His fingertips trailed my face as though trying to memorize the details. Touch traveled down my temple to the peaks of my cheekbones.
When Eli waxes poetic, he'll marvel at my helplessness beneath him.
"There is something so obscene about slapping a pretty face." He remarked once. It was meant to be a compliment. It wouldn't do to woo me without inciting a surge of fretfulness.
His touch learned the contour of my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lips. They parted for him as he probed into my mouth, letting a single syllable drop low in register from his throat.
"Suck."
His thumb pressed down on my tongue as he studied my face, bathed in amber tones from the candles I clustered thoughtfully on the bureau and nightstand in anticipation of his visit. I felt a prick of self consciousness about them- a silly gesture, as though the night would be filled with love making and romance.
I accepted his thumb like he's offering his cock to my mouth, teasing it the way I would if he was threatening to fuck my throat. The anchor of this thumb inside my mouth turned my face to profile. He watched my cheeks hollow out and his fingers grazed the skin of my neck, tracing down to my collar bone. He exhaled, as though he carried something heavy, a groan that implied suffering.
"Open your mouth" He encouraged, poking inside, hooking my canine in the pad of his thumb and wrenching my mouth open. He peered inside, studying the pristine bones with one exploratory digit and it invites a cagey feeling, like I was a large cat in a zoo having its teeth checked. I bit down on his thumb and he cursed, I expected him to pull his hands away but he looked down at me patiently, waiting for me to release him. I slowly relaxed my jaw. His handsome face held, more amusement than irritation. His cool demeanor set me reeling.
"I'm sorry." I offered for my temporary lapse of insanity.
"What are you sorry for?" He seemed delighted with that fact that beneath him I'm quailing.
"I bit you." I clarified, feeling silly. "I'm sorry I bit you."
"You don't like being on display? Don't like being inspected?" He asked, yanking the strap of my bra over my shoulder. He tore at the cup, pulling my breast out to the cool air. Pawing at the meat of my tit, my nipple hardened at his touch. His fingers lingered for a moment to pinch at it before making quick work of the other strap, pulling my bra beneath my breasts. I let out small yowls of protest at his roughness.
"You like being treated like a piece of meat." He stated, leaning down to take my left nipple between his teeth, reveling in my conciliatory mewlings. He trapped the small nub between his teeth and pulled back, letting the weight of my breast and gravity aid in my torture. My back arched, my body pushing closer to him, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Finally releasing, he pushed his fingers up against my panties, the last meager barrier of protection against him.
He whispered mockingly, "Sorry I bit you." as I caught my breath, his rhythmic rubbing of my clit through the scrap of delicate fabric making my hips jolt up to meet him.
"You're a bad girl." He admonished, and my breath caught in my throat as he reached down to bite my neck, bearing down on the sensitive flesh.
"Yes." I conceded, prickling to appease him.
"Such a bad little thing. Doesn't know how to behave." He pulled his hand back and slapped the damp fabric of my panties. My need mounted fiercely, a bright peak of desire inside me.
"You never learn, do you?" He slapped me again, hard.
"I'm sorry." I gasped.
"You will be." He spat, pulling off of me and kneeling on the bed before me, grabbing my bound wrists and unraveled the restraint.
Laying there on my back, I felt an ache- wishing for his weight on top of me once more. Fingers working quickly, he threaded his grip around my ankles and pulled me lower on the bed, easily folded my legs back, grabbed at my panties, and roughly dragged them off of me. I tried to calm the alarms sounding in my mind clashing with the desire warring inside me. I ignored the compulsion to pull my legs together to protect myself.
"Stay just like that." His tone unwavering. "You keep those spread." For good measure he slapped at the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gritted my teeth, waiting as Eli quickly unbuckled his belt and in a fluid motion, pulled the leather through the loops of his jeans. He doubled it over and paused before swatting at me.
"You're going to show me what a sorry little slut you are."
I tempered my breathing, heart beating wildly, waiting for him to strike. He took my hand and pushed his belt into my grip. I searched his face uncomprehending, then all at once I realized what he wanted.
"Eli, please."
"Please what?" He pushed back. "You like being punished so much, show me how sorry you are."
"I . . .no." I shook my head. " I can't do that."
"Do you want to cum for me tonight?"
"Yes."
Conflict surged in me. I was excited. I could feel myself begin to drip onto the bed sheets beneath me and the heat of the embarrassment on my face. I hit a wall where I wanted to do as he asked, but couldn't act. That last stitch of resolve remained stubborn. I clung to it, frightened that once it dissolved I might do anything he asked.
"Here, let's start with one on your left thigh." He tapped where he wanted me to aim, his tone shifting, seeming to acknowledge my nerves.
I arranged my grip on his belt, testing the way it felt to swing it a little, feeling its heavy heft in my hand.
"Right here." He urged, pulling back to watch.
I swung the belt down onto my thigh.
"Was that so bad?" he smirked.
"No." I admitted
"You make things so much harder than they have to be, don't you?"
I blushed, unable to defend myself.
"Tell me, what was that pain, one out of ten? A "two" maybe? A "three"?"
"Two." I confirmed.
"Try a 'four' on your right thigh. Then alternate between them." He counseled, nodding in approval as I brought the belt down on my inner thigh and felt him run his fingers over the light sting. He moved his hand away and nodded in encouragement as I brought the belt down, alternating between my thighs. I felt the sting grow more pronounced as I continued on. That smarting pendulous motion became easier as the embarrassment of the act faded.
"Now right here." He lowered his hand to rub over my wet, exposed pussy. I arched at his gentle touch, fighting the urge to beg for more of his fingers against me. He groaned a little at the feel of my parting flesh under his fingers. "Right here." He repeated, retreating.
I closed my eyes and brought the belt down between my legs, letting out a gasp at the bright, stirring sting.
"What was that on a scale of one to ten?"
"Hmmph." The pout was genuine, but I stalled under his impatient look. "Five."
"Five out of ten isn't quite a punishment. A little harder."
A whine escaped, feeling the hard sting of his leather belt catching on my sensitive clit.
"There. That's where I want you hovering. Right there. Six?" He searched my eyes, brushing my hair out of my face.
"Yes. I think so." I mewled.
"You keep it right there. You can do it harder but don't you dare go beneath a six."
"Eli, please!" I begged.
"You love it you dripping little mess. Now, do as you're told."
Despite the humiliation I felt under his intent look, I could feel an undeniable pleasure-pain growing. His hand reached out, rubbing the underside of my thigh, as though he were trying to soothe an anxious animal. I quickly found a rhythm, slapping my exposed pussy, punctuating the painful strokes with a symphony- sighs of sublime suffering.
I watched as he unbuttoned his jeans. The dark denim contrasted with his skin. I admired him, in that moment, the lean lines of his body and the strength to his presence. There were moments where I saw him in his entirety, like I was looking at him for the first time, and felt this giddy flush of magnetic attraction to him. He pulled his hard cock out, gripping his shaft and jerking it off. He had this wolfish intensity about him, energy absorbed in watching me. Trapped in his stare, I reminded myself that I trusted him.
"Again." He urged. "Again." His voice was pure lust, he could've been calling "Encore!"
"Eli?" I felt a strange panic at the pleasure blossoming. The steady rhythm of mixed sensations made me twist my hips, feeling myself grow closer to the edge.
"Oh fuck." He rasped. "You're going to cum like this." He groaned low from the back of his throat, his hand moving faster on his cock.
"But I don't want to." I whimpered.
"Don't you dare stop!" he spoke through his teeth.
"Please, please fuck me?" I felt trapped there, sustained in that transient state. I needed something, just an inch of friction would be enough to push me over the edge.
"Not yet." He pressed. "Hurt yourself for me, Sasha. Bruise your sweet little clit."
