Mine 33

I stop pressing my thumb into your throat for a moment. As you look me in the eyes, yours now covered in tears, I tell you I love you before pressing again. You make a small noise, a little bit like a choke but mostly like a moan with a splash of gasp.

Sometimes it takes all I have to keep my eyes on your face. I want to look over your body; your tensing stomach and trembling hands. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, and you will always be. I hate the power this has over me. So hard not to put you on a pedestal and let you walk all over me. That's why we have nights like tonight. Without them you'd be my only reason for living, and after all the times you've left me, I wouldn't be alive.

You inhale as I release the grip on your throat, though my hand remains. My thumb is gently stroking the red mark, the imprint, that I left as you shake. "I want you to say it," I offer in a low tone.

"No," is all you say and all I can do is nod.

I raise my hand away from your throat and show you the back of it. As you recoil I side-step and move over to the bag on the cheap motel bed. There I pick up a small, cold metal chain and an over-sized black silk scarf. I move behind you, easily more than a head taller, and wrap my left hand tenderly around your stomach. "We used to stand like this all the time," I say as I move the fabric around your eyes. "Do you remember?"

"I remember," you whisper.

"You used to tell me you never felt safer." It once took all my focus to tie a simple knot. Now I can do it with one hand. You've forced me to this so many times it's become a habit.

"I never did."

The ad-hoc blindfold rests over your eyes. I take my left hand up over your stomach, stroking a path up between your breasts and over your throat. A cautious rub to that tender spot where I take the air from you before I move it to silk. There I grip a tail of it tightly in each hand and pull. A soft fabric vice that takes your eyes from you. You've surrendered another part of your body to me. I hear you inhale, apprehensive in its escalation, and I lean forward to whisper in your ear. "We can stop now. You just have to say it." My tone is soft and easy.

"No," is all you say and all I can do is nod.

The chain is light and easy, it cannot weigh more than a few ounces. It is silver and linked and expands, like branches, in three different directions, each ending in a small, metal claw. A pincer, a clothing pin in essence. As I spread the first clamp open you shriek and your arms rise defensively. Even from behind I know you are covering your nipples and I afford myself a smile as you can no longer see it. I press my body firmly into yours, a fine sheen of sweat already covering your spine. "If you do not lower your arms to your side," I say, "I will make it so much worse."

You comply. You always will.

With your hands placed tightly against your naked thighs I latch the first piece against your nipple. Your body shakes as you moan, your body now pressing into mine. You squirm against my now erect cock and everything is perfect. I slide my hand from the clamp itself to the chain beneath it and give a solid tug. You shudder and gasp and say my name and we repeat the process for your other nipple. With one pull on the chain you lean forward, your nipples being ripped from your breasts and your mouth wide open. Already you are secrete onto the floor and I ask you to say it.

"No," is all you say and all I can do is nod.

"Then spread your legs like the worthless whore you are." There is no power in my tone, no force. No deep snarl or great depth. I'm not commanding with intimidation or fear or strength. We have reached the threshold where I simply own you, and you are mine. Where you will give me everything, anything, but what I need from you the most.

I wrench your pussy lips apart roughly with the index fingers of my left hand. I spread you open, letting the cold air in and giving you a moment to grow less sensitive before I open the last metal clamp with my right hand. After stroking you for a few moments, paying attention the tightness of your form and when you hold your breath, I am confident. Without looking I fasten the metal jaws directly onto your clit and you yelp.

There is nothing most arousing in this world than hearing you. However full your breasts, however perfect your ass, however deep and full and lovely your eyes, there is nothing like your moans, your yelps. Your little sounds that you make only for me and only when everything is perfect and right. If I listened to them, allow them to cut through me like so much stinging rain on cold wind, I'd never stop hurting. So I only hear you, but I don't listen anymore. I'm only listening for one thing anymore.

I give another tug, this one just on the metal line fastened to your clit and you arch away from me, moaning and growling and begging. I think you're saying please, but the words are far away as I give another tug to the lines attached to your nipples. Then I find the small ring in the center and pull. You told me once it's agony, but you're leaking onto my foot.

"Your last chance to say it," I offer as I drop the chain and move back to the bed. I look over selection and ponder how fucked up we really are - or if there is anything wrong with us at all.

"No," is all you say and all I can do is nod.

I pick up the special gag, the "bad-girl-gag." The one that leaves no room for debate. In the past, when we first went down this road, I shoved so many things into your mouth to keep you quiet. I tried my fingers first, which I enjoyed so much, because you would allow me to push two of them down your throat. I'd stroke the inside of it tenderly as you cried.

We tried a pair of your panties. I especially liked using the ones from that night, if the dance had been a long one before we reached this point. The ones marinated in you, the taste I enjoy so much. I also liked shoving them into your mouth, pushing them down deep enough that you couldn't get a word out.

Then we tried a silk tie, like your blindfold now. I hated that. You looked so silly, bitting down on it and straining like a horse at the bit. If I wanted you to grasp and struggle like a beast of burden I'd simply hurt you. No, it was not right for me and, even though it was your favorite, you decided it was not right for you.

Neither of us appreciated the ball gag. It was perverse and meaningless.

But this gag? This is the one. A reverse strap-on, you called it. A belt, thick and strong, with a large latex phallus that keeps your throat open for me. I enjoy pushing the faux-cock down your throat and then tightening up the leather before clasping it shut. I love the moans of resistance you make and the gurgles that follow. You've given up your body, your sight and now your tongue to me. "I wish you would just say it," I say without luster.

You gurgle something so I grab your hair in my hand and shake your around, from left to right, like a little doll. You scream, as well as you can, and I stop when I grow bored of it. Then it's time to bend you over and shove your face, into the mattress. I make sure it's a game of "can I breath" for you. It is your favorite, after all.

With a splash of anal lube two fingers are inside you. You're wailing through the leather and the latex and my cock tingles from it.

After loosening you up I take a small dildo with a self-adhered velco strap and shove it in you. I make sure to screw it in, pushing at the edges, before I strap it around your waist. You have two cocks locked inside you now, but this one vibrates, and I turn on the feature only to watch you fail your body against the bed top. "No hands," I remind you as you thrash up and down. It does not take long for you stop, spasm, and shot cum all over your legs.

I'm back to bed to pick up the last toy. "I can't trust you at all, can I?" You don't bother to respond, not that I'd understand it. So I left your hands off your side, good girl as you've been, and bind them with cuffs behind your back, shoving you into the mattress once more.

Then it's time to pace around the dank room and look you over, or at least, as much as I can see. Your legs are shiny with the alchemy of sweat and your naturally tangy juices. I smile, despite myself, and begin to stroke myself.

And now for my part in all this.

I grab your hair in my left hand and pull. I place my left elbow against your back and push. You arch and grind and try to submit as best you can to the pain but there is no winning. I don't want you to win, though, I need you in pain. It's what gets you so loose, so ready. And after a moment I satisfied with the rhythm in which you are pumping your hips against the comforter. And that is when I enter you.

All at once, with one thrust, I inside you.

We fuck and you cum three times from all the stimulation, rapid fire like little fireworks.

We fuck some more, I take a break, and I push you over the end to your 'big one' for the night and you cum so hard, and spray so long, that sometimes I'm afraid I've killed you. And there you lay, knees bent, sinking to the floor with abandon. You are a thing, a sex toy, and you have served your purpose. So I turn off the vibrator that's up your ass and take it off. I undo the clasp at the back of your head and toss the gag aside. But everything else remains.

"Will you say it now?"

"No," is all you can say and all I can do is nod.

I give you a few cups of water and you thank me, without an expression of joy on your face, but at least you're not making eye contact any more. The control I have over you is now absolute and I need to use it. "Then I have to punish you," I say.

"I know." You cry a little as you say it and then a lot more, soft whimpering with tears falling as I pick you up off the floor and bend you over the bed again.

There is a little plastic bucket filled with cold water and crushed ice in the sink. I take it up and shake it loudly to watch your reaction. You start saying no and try to stand up. So I shove you back down before I begin the difficult task of taking small pieces of ice and shoving them up your ass and into your pussy.

You start to scream so I shove the fingers of my free hand down your throat and make you gag a bit before you stop. Then I continue, counting out the ice. One piece in your ass, three in your pussy, and then back again. This process takes several minutes and my fingers feel cold and numb and unpleasant. I can only imagine what it feels like for you.

When I am done and the bucket is placed aside I remove my fingers and ask you if you want the water out. You nod a few times and so I sit on the bed, rife with your cum, and place you over my lap.

I don't spank you. I hit your ass with hand savagely. I do it over and over again. I am beating you. I am striking you. I am smacking the shit out of you in the way that, on any other part of your body, would be a felony. It's probably one here, but I guess, since I don't clench my fist, that it's okay. I used to feel guilty about it, but now I just beat you as the cold water sprays out. Then I flip you over, grab you by the side of your throat and shake you as the water falls out of your anus.

I rise, toss you onto the bed, and grab you by your arms, dragging you back to the edge and positioning your mouth over the side. "Open it," is all I say and your lips spread. Moving my hands to your wrists, pushing them into the damp comforter top, I shove myself into your mouth. I take pains to push it as hard and deep as I can to make sure you spasm and choke. Gagging. Then I pull out and thrust in again. We repeat the process until drool is pouring out your mouth.

Now you've adapted and I'm all the way down, feeling the tightness of throat as it constricts. I enjoy it, enjoy it far too much, and I feel myself edging to the end just from this stimulation. So I pull out and take my hands off you and look down to your sweet, perfect face.

Fuck you for being so beautiful.

"Tell me," I ask.

"I can't," you say with a wavering voice.

So I pull your head off the mattress another few inches and I place my balls over your mouth. There's is no need for a command; you're already licking and sucking. And as you do, I stroke myself, pumping my hand as your tongue makes it way over me.

Then I growl, shutter, shake and explode.

I rub my cum into your skin and you whisper "thank you, Daddy," over and over again. This task takes about a minute and, when I'm done, I get you to your feet as gently as I can. You're on shaking legs and you lean into me for support, so I wrap an arm around your waist. You place one around my back and that touch means more to me than anything else tonight. I know you're only using me because you're weak, but I've been used for worse.

In the shower you're a different person. You press your body against me as the hot water pours over us kiss my chest tenderly. You lay back against the facet wall and instruct me, in your softest voice, on how to clean you with the loofah. How to wipe the sweat and the dirt and the cum off you. And when you are done we shut off the water and I take the towel over your skin, drying you like a child in awe. We tie up your hair and then you dry me.

Then we float to the bed and strip off the comforter, shake the toys to the floor, and meet under the covers. We lay on our sides, one hand on your stomach, the other snaked under you neck and laid across your chest. I with the towel wasn't there just so I could kiss your hair, however much you detest it.

And it is only then, when you press back against me, that you give me what I need in return.

"I love you," is all you say and all I can do is nod.