Pain is when your life has been flowing out between your fingers. When you see reflections in other's eyes of a landscape bleak and rainy and hope has passed you like a bus in the middle of nowhere.
Pain is when time has become so unimportant that minutes, hours, days, seconds, sit in laundry piles on the floor, uncounted. Unclaimed. Forsaken.
She shivers. Heat rising off her chest, her heart inflamed, yet goosebumps roiling under her skin. Tracking her arms and puckering her back. Her nipples are stiff and angry as they jut out in front of her and her breasts are swollen to their utmost. They strain against the bounds of decency. Shoved forward by the door holding her back straight and solid.
She hangs there. Her fingers toying - or rather, trying to - with the bindings around her wrists. They hold her firmly in place however she squirms. And she writhes with a need she thought might never be hers.
The whip marks a stinging trail across the outside of her right globe. She gasps. The flesh there so tender she feels her back arch without conscious movement on her part. Jolts of electricity shoot through her raw nerves and pulse in receding waves of agonizing ecstasy. Not a full delivery. He holds the braiding at about the halfway point and so delivers a short, light stroke. That sears across her brain not one whit less.
A slash across the other side spews a whimper from her. Her throat raw from the force behind the sighs and mewlings that push their way out her mouth. She spasms up and down her back. The overloading sensation driving her muscles into broken motions.
A dozen more strokes, each with exquisite trills of sharp red tendrils. She thinks of a mirror with crisscrossing weals patterning her naked bosom. Fluid escapes in a rush down her thighs. She wonders if she came, it's so much and her insides so shaky. Surely, she isn't this wet without an orgasm? She wonders how she could have held back from it if she had noticed it building.
He's kissing her neck now. Her shoulders and chest. The heat blaring in a furnace of need and she wriggles to give him more, to suggest her boobs as places for his mouth and tongue. He's careful with placement of each kiss, though. Positions it perfectly to miss the soft tissue and press to the little torched area in the middle.
She moans and writhes. The anguish nearly unbearable. "Please fuck me." She manages to gasp. "Please fuck me. Please fuck me. Please fuck me."
She wants to chant it. His mouth covers a nipple, however, and she almost screams. The intensity of it drives everything away but sensation. Agony. Delirious, desperate, vicious need.
His hands run up and down her sides. They move confidently over her back, her hips, her thighs. It makes everything more real. The ethereal sense of disconnection with her tormented body dispelled with the definite probing of his fingers. The sure way he handles her. She's forced to feel everything. To come back into her tortured corpse and burn with need.
The shaking begins anew. Her knees first, then her back and organs. Bones and muscles refuse to work for her. Refute direct orders to stop, defy her paltry attempts to gain control and they wrack with shivering despair instead.
His whip strikes again. And again. Her back arches and crashes until the muscles separate into individual fibers. Each pulling a different direction and all of them jittery. She becomes nothing. No. Something more. His.
Her breath is nothing but pants. Her tongue lolling in her mouth. Gasps of disbelief and shock and unadulterated lust. He has reached into her core and yanked her desperately beating heart from her flailing chest.
The whip finished with its work, he lets it rest on the table at the bedside. His hands settle firmly on her hips and move her back to him. Her face presses gratefully to the cool wood, but her breasts protest anything touching them. They are swollen to bursting and ache with the hard surface against the precious skin. The flaming sends her limbs aquiver and moans flow from the very center of her being.
His thumb circles her anus. Pressuring steadily. The movements causing her to squirm anew. Both plumping her ass out towards him and pulling her hips away. Finding she can't manage both, her body takes over and opens for him.
The sudden filling makes her groan with pleasure and she feels him sink in to the base. His palm resting on the underside of her ass. He shoves and jerks and nearly lifts her off her feet as she oohs and ahs and sighs.
"You remember how I want you to cum on my cock." His voice in her ear makes her shudder and give a little scream. An involuntary jerk.
"Y - y" She swallows and tries again. This time, no sound comes out. She remembers only too well. She nearly came as he told her what he wanted.
Her hair is yanked back. Her neck stretched. His fist holds a full bunch of her ponytail. "I want to talk." His grip keeps her. Her back arches searching for slight relief. Her breasts, raw against the wood, sting where they rub.
She is speechless.
"Don't you want to talk?" He is pressing into her ear. "Darling?" He adds.
She wants to nod, but cannot.
"Women always want to talk."
He invokes every psychological fear. Does he really feel so bigoted? She's never seen a misogynist side of him, but she realizes she may have missed it or ignored the signs in all the discovery of him. Of them.
"I want to hear you." She arches. Fluid is pouring down her thighs. Her knees want to fold. To circle him and surrender. Give up, give in, give the very depth and soul of her. At the same time, anxiety runs unchecked through her stomach. Clenches her teeth. The red flag he waved at her billowing.
"You know I don't want your silence. I want your voice. I love that you're smart and capable and still..." His thumb shoves deeper into her ass and he physically lifts her body, pressing her face, her breasts harder into the door. It's met, now, with a finger sent bulleting to its full length inside her sopping mess of a vagina.
"Feel like this." She knows she has splashed all over his wrist. Hears the squelching, sucking noises she makes when he pistons in and out. "Not just wet, but so incredibly tight and wanting."
Her toes have left the carpet.
"Tell me what you are expecting." Still, she can hardly moan. Her mouth is working furiously. She knows he won't stop until she is able to tell him what he wants to hear. Anxiety is turning to anguish and edges with fear. The concern about chauvinism dissolved into mist.
Finger and thumb push higher. "I want to know your fantasy. I want to hear what you were imagining."
"N - nothing." Her voice is strained, weak and delicate. "I never know what to expect from you." Tremors dance over and through her. "I want anything. Everything."
"I told you what we'd be doing. I went through what I wanted from you tonight. You knew coming into this. Now I want to hear your side." The pressure lets up enough that her tiptoes find the rug. Her nipples scrape on the woodgrains.
"I got everything out, just like you told me." Her words are a whine to her ears. "You don't always use everything though..." Her voice trails into dust motes.
"I told you that you would be hanging from the door, didn't I?" His tone is calm, the quiet of the night hardly stirred.
"Yes." She barely stirs the hush.
"I told you I would whip you."
It's not a question. She answers anyway. A gulp first. "Yes." A gasp.
"You want it."
"Hhhhh."
The fist wrapped in her hair snaps back so fast her teeth click. "We can't talk if you won't say anything." His voice so menacing she cries out.
His lips on her ear, nibble softly as he coos. "I'm trying to help you baby." He's almost pleading with her to do the right thing. "If you won't even answer my questions..."
Her head sags until the wood holds her by the forehead when he releases her. "Well." It sounds final. Her heart drops.
"No. Please. I'll talk." Rough noise from a raw throat. Torn from the effort.
A plunging feeling sets her feet flat on the floor. A loud plop sends her anus snapping shut. She is set loose from his hand.
"You want it."
Her pulse jolts twice, three, eight times. It's jangling. Ten beats skip by. Her mouth flops. She's almost kissing the door. No words come.
"Crack!"
She jumps so hard and far her nipples are abraded by woodgrain. The sting at the top of her ass sets off paroxysms. The bite deep and slashing. She cries out.
"You want it."
Her ears pound from the inside. A loud thump, then another. Six thuds coming on top of each other. At ten, she manages to push a word up.
"Yee - ee- sssssss" More of a scream that spits out in time with the "Crack!" The slice on her right side arches her back.
"You want it."
"I'm trying. Yes."
"You know I enjoy it most when it hurts."
"Yes." She finds her voice quickly this time.
"Good. See? That's not so hard, is it?"
A hesitation. Ten beats of a frightened heart. Two seconds. Wild thoughts of how hard it is for her to say simple pleases.
"Crack!"
Flares from her left side pop lights in her head. A moan is hanging in the air. Somewhere.
"Is that so hard baby?" His voice sounds so concerned. His fingers stroke her back. She sighs and languishes in the feel. His touch so soothing.
"Crack!" She screams.
"NO. It's not hard. Please." She hates that her body trembles uncontrollably, but she can no more stop it right now than to break out of the cuffs he has designed just to hold her.
"Good." A gush of fluid spills out at the word. "Let's start again." His fingers slip between her shoulder blades and knead the aching spots. He finds them all and she lolls her neck. Her forehead pressing into the wood, keeping pressure off her torn nipples.
"You want your whipping."
"Yes."
"Not enough to say please?"
"No. I mean yes. Please. Yes. Oh god. Please."
"Is that so hard, baby?" His voice drips deep into her shivering heart. So sweet and caring, she is lost. She sighs.
"Crack!"
The scream comes with tears. The flaming slash across her thighs just at the bottom of her ass an open wound.
"Is that so hard?"
