I'm about to do something supremely stupid.
Matt, my husband, has been idly petting my head for an hour. My head is in his lap, pressed against his crotch, where we're laying on the couch, while he completely ignores me and reads a book above me. I've been staring into his stomach or at the book in his hands for the past ten minutes, slowly becoming more and more sure that I'm going to need to provoke him.
He's already reprimanded me for not staying still twice. I asked if I could go do something else, but he said no, that I belong in his lap. I even asked if I could blow him, but he declined.
Who declines a free blowjob?
Not that he needs to ask, anyway. He can have me whenever he likes, which made my offer a little redundant, but I'm going crazy here.
Especially since he had me strip earlier, so I'm only wearing his collar around my neck. He's still dressed, wearing a white button-down and black slacks. He likes doing this, wearing a nice suit or something similar while I'm only wearing his collar. It's his way of emphasizing our power dynamic, and my love for him grows a little every time he does it.
But that doesn't matter at all, not now that I'm going to piss him off. I know what I'm about to do will result in a paddling at best, but I don't care. I'd rather have that than boredom. Haven't there been studies on that, showing how people prefer pain to boredom? Well, I certainly do.
Matt turns another page, then goes back to rubbing my head. It feels nice, I can't lie, but a punishment would feel nicer. I stir a bit, not-so-accidentally rubbing my cheek against his hardening length.
"Be still," Matt orders, but I don't listen. I keep wriggling, eventually closing my mouth around his erection through his slacks. "Angel." Matt's voice is stern, his warning dangerous, but I barely hear him through the pounding in my ears. My adrenaline is so high I can barely exercise self-preservation.
A firm slap lands on my butt, and I let out a yelp, but more keep coming. He gives me five hard slaps on each cheek, but I manage to stay still for each of them, knowing I'll just make it worse if I try to stop him.
"Keep moving and see what happens," he warns, and I whimper beneath him.
Another five minutes pass, his warning playing on repeat in my head. Despite the sting on my rear, I desperately want to know what will happen. I'm already drenched, probably making a wet spot on the couch.
I'm not allowed to touch myself, which is exactly why I do just that. Carefully, pretending like I'm trying to hide it, I snake my hand beneath me and graze my clit. I stir a little at the contact but keep going.
A minute goes by while I keep rubbing at myself. My breaths turn ragged as I disobey my Master's rules, the dirtiness of the act spurring me on. I don't know how Matt hasn't noticed what I'm doing yet, but that's far from my mind when I'm quickly reaching the peak.
My aching nipples keep brushing against Matt's leg, and I use it to get further along. Only, just then, I notice that Matt has been staring at the same page for the past few minutes.
No
, I realize, when I turn my head to glance up at him. He's looking at
me
, with a frankly deadly expression on his face.
I stop moving. I wanted to get caught, to provoke him, but now that I have, a sense of dread and regret floods my body. "By all means, keep going," Matt says in a sarcastic voice. "I'm thoroughly enjoying myself."
I think I know why. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head, running through all the terrifying punishments he can subject me to. I know I'm fucked, but I'm not about to make this easy for him.
Slowly, I push up onto my elbows, and then sit all the way up. His eyes briefly snag on my breasts, hanging between my arms, but then they narrow on me. "Did I tell you to get up?" he asks. "Get back down here." He pats his thigh expectantly, and when I eye it for too long, his head drops, like he's preparing himself.
I don't hesitate. I bolt.
I push up from the couch and start running through the house, looking for somewhere to hide. Giggles escape me at the thrill of it, but truth is, I'm fucking terrified. I have no idea what will happen if-no,
when
-he finds me.
As I rush up the stairs, I pause briefly, listening. I can't hear him. He's not running after me, I realize, which terrifies me even more. He wants me to get away, to think I have some way of escaping my fate. I don't dare think about why as I continue running.
I make it to our bedroom and shut the door behind me. I lock it, then crawl under the bed and lay my stomach flush to the floor.
My heart is pounding, my ears pressed to the floor to listen for Matt downstairs, but I hear nothing. The rush of disobeying, of poking the bear, sends a thrill through my entire body. The knowledge that I'll be punished harshly for this, and the anticipation of not knowing what that punishment will be, makes me ache between my legs, moisture gathering.
Being a brat, especially to a sadistic Master, is addicting. Even though I'm fucking terrified, laying on the floor and awaiting my fate, I'm also so turned on.
Minutes pass, and I'm tempted to go downstairs and drag Matt up here to beat my ass, but the door suddenly opens. In my rush to hide, I completely forgot he had a key, and didn't think to block the door with something. I'd be kicking myself over it if it wasn't for Matt's slow, methodical footsteps creeping closer to the bed.
"You think you can run away from me, baby girl?" he purrs, and I nearly whimper from fear and arousal. "You just made your punishment far, far worse." His feet stop right in front of my face, just by the edge of the bed. "Come out here.
Now
."
I want to obey, to fling myself to his feet and beg for forgiveness, but the urge to be a brat spurs me into action. I slowly creep backwards, edging my legs out from underneath the bed.
"Oh, no you fucking don't," Matt says, and I realize he's seen my legs when his feet quickly round the bed. I shriek, pushing forward just as his hands clamp down on my ankles. I kick away at him, wringing myself free from his grip and crawling hard out from underneath the bed. I make it out, shooting to my feet and beginning to run out the room, only to be yanked back by my hair.
I scream as I'm twisted and pulled down to the floor. I land on my knees, and my hands brace themselves on Matt's feet, where he stands still as a statue.
His grip in my hair remains firm as he pulls my head back, forcing me to look up at him. My hands land on his thighs for stability. "You little fucking brat," he spits. I shrink a little at his harsh words, even as the degradation turns me on even more. "You're just desperate for your Master's cock, aren't you?"
"Yes, Master," I grit out, the tugging at my scalp making it difficult to speak properly.
"Hands behind your back, little girl." I obey. "If you move them, I'll tie them to your ankles."
Oh god, how badly I want to punch his crotch just to see what happens. Even so, I manage to keep my hands behind my back. I have
some
common sense, at least.
He quickly unzips and unbuttons his slacks, then pulls them and his briefs down in one motion. His thick length springs free, smacking me in the cheek, and he lets out a laugh. Then, he forces all of his length down my throat.
I gag immediately at the intrusion, and my hands twitch on instinct, but I keep them behind me. I expect him to start fucking my mouth, but he stays still, forcing me to choke on him. Drool quickly builds at the edge of my mouth and starts running down my chin. My nose is stuffed into his crotch, almost painfully squeezed against him. I can't breathe, and soon, I'm panicking, trying to wriggle out of his grip.
Despite it all, my hands remain behind my back.
When I think I'm about to pass out, Matt finally pulls all the way out, still gripping my hair. I gasp, sucking in as much air as I can. His free hand comes down to my cheek, slapping it just hard enough to hurt, and I yelp. "I though this was what you wanted?" he mocks.
I nod eagerly. "Yes. Please." I have to force it out in between my eager pants for breath.
He laughs, then tilts my head up so I face him. He then bends down to my face and spits on me, hitting me right between my eyes. I gasp at the rude gesture, but before I can say anything, I'm forced down onto his cock again.
I'm subjected to the same treatment again, choking and gagging around him. He lets out a moan every time I gag, the sadistic part of him getting off on this. His rough treatment of me makes me wet both in my eyes and between my legs, and my writhing beneath him isn't entirely just because I need air.
He pulls out again, giving me air for just a few seconds before starting over, forcing me down again. This continues two more times before my hands fly up involuntarily. I push at his legs on instinct, even as I try not to.
When he pulls out again, he lets go of my hair, instead walking over to the drawer with all our restraints. "God, I'm sorry, Master," I try. "I didn't mean to." I'm panting heavily, but he just ignores me, looking through the drawer.
He returns shortly with restraints for both my ankles and wrists, which cross together in the middle in an X-shape. Tears run down my face from all the choking, and he notices them just as he finishes hogtying me on my knees. He remains crouched next to me.
"Give me a colour, angel," he says gently, a sharp contrast to his earlier treatment of me. His fingers brush my tears away in a gentle, soothing touch.
