(Erotic BDSM Romance Bundle)
By Ella Louise
~~ All characters in this book are 18 or over. ~~
I met Mike for the first time at the laundromat. Of all the places you can meet strikingly handsome, heart-meltingly gorgeous men, I never suspected the laundromat would have been the place where I met mine.
To be honest, I never suspected I’d meet a man like him at all. But there he was, tossing his athletic shorts into the dryer and casting a grin my way when he heard my cell phone’s ringtone go off; I remember being surprised that anyone who looked like that would recognize and appreciate the Star Wars Imperial March.
It’s kind of like fate, he told me on our first date.
But now here I am, manacled in his basement. It’s been two hours since he left me here, and I’m starting to wonder if he’ll ever come back. The old fashioned cast iron cuffs are chafing the skin around my wrists and ankles, and the stiff wooden chair is still chilly against my naked skin even after being exposed to my body heat.
I breathe deeply and exhale a shaky breath, flexing my fingers to keep the blood flowing. I can’t shift much in my seat, but I can wiggle enough to keep my limbs from falling asleep. Of all my current discomfort and humiliation, at least I don’t have to deal with tingles and numbness.
When Mike and I first made love, it was perfect. I thought so, anyway. We were in my bed, he was on top of me, kissing me with each thrust, running his hands over my curves to show me he loved my body even if I had been afraid to show it to him.
I assumed he thought it was perfect, too.
Which is why, when he asked me if I’d be up for trying something a little kinkier this time, I didn’t think too hard about it before I said yes. At the time, “kinkier” to me meant something like the doggy-style position, or using a vibrator together.
I reflexively try to lift my right arm to scratch an itch on the side of my nose, flinching as the metal restraint bites into my raw skin.
Clearly, Mike’s idea of “kinkier” meant something entirely different than my definition.
He had asked, “Do you trust me?”
When I looked into his eyes and answered unequivocally, “Yes,” my heart had given a little excited flutter.
Now, naked, cold, and exposed in his basement, bound in irons to an uncomfortable wooden chair, left alone for hours to squirm, I’m not so sure of my answer.
What do I really know about this guy, besides that he’s ridiculously hot? We’ve been on a few dates, and I had thought I was falling for him, but now I’m wondering if I actually know him at all.
He told me he was falling for me too, I insist to myself. He asked me to trust him.
I look down at my body in the dim yellow light. Wide thighs spread out several degrees farther than I would naturally sit expose my most private areas to the empty basement. A tummy with too many rolls joins hips with too much flesh. My breasts are large and plump, and though I usually love them, now they look deflated to me, sagging low in acceptance of my defeat in being shackled to this chair.
Why would a man like him fall for a woman like me? Had I been foolish to trust him?
The memory from a couple hours ago rolls through me, sending my body into an involuntary shiver. Despite my circumstances, I feel my nipples harden at the thought of his lips on me.
“I’ll feel so much closer to you when I know we can share this,” he had whispered into my ear after I assured him of my trust. Then he had nibbled at my earlobe, sending a gush of wetness flooding between my legs. I would have agreed to anything for this man.
When he took my hand and led me into his basement, I followed without resistance.
When he kissed me and undressed me, I moved to cover my belly with my arms, but he kissed his way from my mouth down to my neck, and then dropped to his knees to kiss the flesh I was trying to hide.
When he lowered me into the chair and closed the manacles around my wrists and ankles, I looked at him questioningly, but he kissed me again and I didn’t resist.
It wasn’t until he left without explanation that my confusion turned to worry.
I won’t say “worry” has become “fear” yet, but I’m a girl who has seen my share of horror movies. How could I have been stupid enough to get myself into such a vulnerable position with a man I’ve only been dating for a few weeks?
A cold knot of anxiety works itself deeper into my chest. Does anyone even know where to look for me if I don’t show up to work on Monday?
A sharp noise from upstairs punctuates this terrifying thought. A door slamming.
He’s back.
Heavy footsteps thud down the stairs. I brace myself, unsure whether to feel relieved or afraid.
Normally, the sight of him fills me with powerful feelings of affection, arousal, and a sort of wonder that I’m lucky enough to have snagged his guy. Now, when he bursts through the basement door, a pervasive numbness, an utter lack of a visceral reaction, underscores my confusion.
I feel like that cliché deer staring into oncoming headlights. Whatever happens next could be beautiful or terrifying.
Absurdly, my first reaction when I regain my senses is to try and cover myself. I’m so in the habit of being shy and ashamed of my curves that that is the first thought that comes back to me.
Again, the cold iron prevents me from moving more than an inch.
“Sorry I was gone so long, honey,” Mike bends and gives me a kiss on the cheek. If he notices my tension, he doesn’t mention it. “I just wanted to give you some time to think things over.”
I feel an edge of anger cutting through my voice when I ask, “To think what over? The fact that you chained me up and left me here?”
I bite my tongue. I don’t think Mike poses any threat to me, but just in case, it might be better not to piss him off.
Mike sighs and drops into a squat before me. With his large frame, this puts us at eye level. He runs his hand through his long, dark hair and brushes it out of his eyes.
If he weren’t even now making my heart do crazy things in my chest, I’d demand he unlock me and let me go home. Damn him, and what he does to me.
“I tried to explain earlier,” he begins, hesitating. He lowers himself to a more comfortable sitting position on the ground, his long legs bent in front of him. “Trust is very important to me. It’s the most important thing. If we’re going to be together, I need to know that you trust me.”
I’m not sure how to answer. On the one hand, I don’t have much choice but to trust him at the moment. My naked body is completely at his mercy. On the other hand, I feel a ridiculous, childish thrill over the fact that he wants to “be together,” in his words. A third, quieter part of me is still pissed off at him for scaring me like this.
I decide to opt for silence, forcing him to continue without giving him any hint of my own thoughts. I’m not sure yet which emotion I ultimately want to settle on.
Mike reaches behind him, still sitting, and unlatches a cabinet attached to the wall. I had noticed it before, despite the dim lighting. I’d had two hours with nothing to do but examine my surroundings over and over again.
From it, he withdraws a canvas duffel bag, already unzipped. As he speaks, he reaches into the bag several times and lays a series of objects on the ground, one by one, for me to look over.
“I have had girlfriends before, of course, but no one has been able to reach me on the level that I need to be truly satisfied.”
He places a leather object on the floor. It looks like a very short whip, with several leather strips attached to a handle as opposed to a single leather cord. I don’t know what it’s called, but I can guess what it’s used for.
I swallow hard.
“No one has been able to fully submit to me. To trust me so deeply with their bodies and hearts that they know, even through the physical pain, that I would never hurt them.”
He lays a black silk blindfold on the floor.
“I crave a connection so deep that no situation, no matter how scary or threatening, could possibly break that bond.”
A glint of metal flashes, and my breath catches in my throat. A straight razor has been placed on the floor next to the blindfold. My heart is pounding, my eyes wide.
A situation no matter how scary? What is he going to do to me? My fingers grip the arms of the chair so tightly they begin to ache. The worry has definitely turned to fear at this point.
My heart is pounding so hard it’s making me feel queasy.
Mike gets up from his place on the floor. He seems to have finished pulling his horrifying instruments out of the bag. He approaches me, slowly.
The hardness of his muscles, so sexy to me just hours before, is now a reminder of how easily he can overpower me. The set of his jaw could be cruel or loving, depending on the light. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that turns my legs to jelly.
Gently, he uses a finger to tip my chin up to look at him. His face is unreadable.
“I want you to know, you can ask me to stop any time, and I will. You can get dressed and go home whenever you want. But that will be the end of our relationship. I need someone who trusts me, no matter how dire things seem.” His voice is low, husky, serious.
“But I hope you’ll stay. I hope you’ll finally be the one who stays…” His voice nearly breaks with emotion.
And once more, he asks, in a whisper: “Do you trust me?”
I can hardly breathe. Adrenaline, and the intensity rolling off him in waves, surge through me with each pounding heartbeat.
I look into his eyes and I want to trust him.
I wanted Mike from the very moment I first saw him.
What he is asking from me is insane, clearly, but… Can I? Can I really submit myself to this man, put his affection for me to the ultimate test?
I know any sane woman would be demanding to be set free right now. No one in her right mind would go any further.
The spot on my chin where his finger still rests burns with heat.
To have an unbreakable, deep connection with someone… To trust someone unconditionally…
No. Not someone. To trust him.
Can I do that? Is such a thing possible between two people?
I swallow back the queasy fear and the reflexive reaction toward anger. Can I give him a chance to be different from all the others?
“Yes,” I breathe, making my decision before I can second-guess it. “I want that with you.”
I can’t tell whether my nerves are set on fire from my enormous leap of faith, or from the heat of his lips suddenly on mine.
His mouth covers mine, his hands cup my face tenderly as his tongue probes mine with an urgency he’s never showed me before. The kiss shuts off the rest of the world, focusing all my senses on that one point of desperate contact between us.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against me. “You don’t know what it means to me that you want to try for me.”
He kisses my lips again, softly, before standing up.
I watch his smooth, powerful body as he bends to pick up the black silk blindfold.
Confined within my shackles, I force myself to release my death grip on the arms of the chair. My aching fingers are stiff from the tension.
I shift my hips in the chair as he moves toward me, noticing a wetness between my legs that hadn’t been there before. His kisses still have that effect on me.
Mike drapes the blindfold around my eyes and ties it behind my head. The fabric is silky and soft, and the knot isn’t tight enough to be uncomfortable, but I know there’s no way I will be able to slide it down even if I try to use my shoulder. The sudden blackness is overwhelming.
I am acutely aware of his breath on my neck and the breeze on my breasts as he once again stands upright and backs away from me.
My nipples are tight and hard with anticipation. I can feel them straining against the empty air, wanting to be touched.
I gasp, startled, when he does touch them.
His fingers roll my nipples gently, tugging at the swollen flesh and sending jolts of pleasure from the sensitive tips all the way down to my crotch. I do my best to relax back into the chair, closing my eyes behind the blindfold and enjoying the sensation.
My clit gives an appreciative throb, making me wish I could close my thighs and squeeze them together to find some friction. Spread helplessly wide by the shackles holding my ankles far apart, my thighs can do nothing to relieve the ache in my clit.
I squirm and feel the moisture pooling between my open legs, dripping uninhibited from my exposed pussy.
I feel Mike’s warm, wet mouth close around my right nipple and suck gently. I can’t help but rest my head against the back of the chair and moan aloud.
“That feels so good,” I groan, hoping he’ll continue. I only wish he would address the growing ache between my legs as he teases my nipples. Being spread so wide open and completely unable to touch myself is a torture in and of itself.
To my despair, he not only does not touch my begging clit, he also pulls himself away from my nipples, leaving me squirming, wanting the pleasure to come back.
I hear a rustling noise, and then an object is placed into my hand. I grip it, feeling a solid wrapped-leather handle in my palm. I remember seeing him take this object out of his bag. The fringe of leather straps lies draped across my knee. They feel soft now, but with the force of a whip behind them, I know they must hurt badly.
I chew my lip nervously as Mike explains, “This is a flogger. It will sting, but it won’t cause permanent damage. I will not injure you. Do you still want me to continue?”
I remember our agreement. I can ask to be released at any point, but that would end our relationship. It would prove to Mike that I don’t trust him on the level he needs.
In college, I had a boyfriend who liked to spank me. In time I got used to it, and even grew to enjoy it, channeling the sting to increase my pleasure during our otherwise normal sex. Could this really be any worse than that?
I nod.
“Yes or no?” Mike demands firmly. “I need you to be clear.”
I clear my throat. “Yes,” I state. “I want you to continue.”
I say it with the formality of signing a contract. And that’s what it is, I realize. Each new level we reach establishes that I’m still here. I still trust him with my body. Nothing he has said or done yet, despite any impending pain, has made me think he would break his promise not to injure me.
It’s such a strange feeling, wholly terrifying yet somehow freeing, to give up control over the safety of my own body to someone else.
It’s like tipping over the first huge hill of a roller-coaster, looking straight down at the ground in the split second before the car begins to plummet. I might fall to my death, but I trust that I will not.
The first strike surprises me, causing me to yelp loudly, jolting me out of my thoughts and distracting me from the first few threads of understanding I have begun to weave. A trail of fire from where the leather fringe hit my right thigh erupts in my nerve endings. It hurts much more than I expected.
I bite down on my lower lip to keep from whimpering.
Suddenly, I’m not capable of deeper thought about the meaning of trust. My mind is entirely focused on anticipating and bracing myself for the next strike.
Smack!
When it comes, the sound of the straps biting into my soft skin cracks loudly in the otherwise quiet basement. I don’t cry out this time, but my teeth dig into my lip so hard I taste blood. This time, the trail of fire arcs across one breast, enveloping my left nipple in a torrent of stinging pinpricks.
Strangely, the stinging in my nipple creates the same reaction in my clit as his mouth had when it was sucking me gently. I squirm forcefully, twisting away from the pain and trying desperately again to find some friction to relieve the pressure building between my legs.
When Mike hits me next, he grunts with the effort, putting some force behind the swing. The leather straps lash my upper left thigh, the tips of them just barely nipping at the exposed, wet flesh of my crotch.
Unbelievably, I find myself crying out for a reason entirely different than the sharp pain. “More!” I gasp, amazed at how powerfully the pain turns into pleasure.
Mike obliges my request, and gives me more.
Over and over, the flogger whips and cracks at my soft skin. My cries of pleasure mix with Mike’s grunts of exertion, punctuated by the smack of the leather punishing me.
Beneath the blackness of the blindfold, I imagine red, stinging stripes where my flesh used to be a creamy, pale white.
Just when I start to think I absolutely can’t take anymore, the blows stop. I’m left gasping, stinging, throbbing, and wet.
“Fucking kiss me,” I growl. I want him pressed up against me again. I want to devour each other in the raw brutality of the moment.
My lip stings where I have bitten it, and I can taste blood when Mike’s mouth envelops mine. My blood on both of our lips. I bite him, too, both of us breathing hard into each other. His hands cradle my head and force me in closer.
When the kiss breaks, he lets go of me roughly. I had halfway been expecting him to unshackle me and fuck me right here on his basement floor, but he makes it clear that’s not going to happen.
I haven’t passed all of his tests yet.
I hear the rustle of the leather straps as he places the flogger back on the floor, and then a sound of metal briefly scraping against concrete.
The straight razor.
Is he going to cut me? Will I let him cut me?
A tremor passes through my body. At this point, with my entire world turned upside down and blackened, I have no idea what is causing me to tremble. The pain of the flogger, the unexpected pleasure mounting in my groin with every strike, the torrent of emotions I’m trying to hold back while I’m such a vulnerable position… All of the above. On top of that, I feel a strange emptiness, an absence of an emotion that should be there.
Fear.
With nothing else to look at besides the blackness of silk covering my eyes, I look inward at myself. I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of what he might do to me with the blade. He might hurt me, but he will not injure me, and pain is temporary.
Mike has gone silent but for an almost imperceptible rush of breath, slow and steady. I no longer hear his feet on the floor or the rustling of his jeans. Only the soft inhalations and exhalations let me know he’s still in the room with me.
Holding the blade.
Then, one last time: “Do you trust me?” His voice is rough, stained with his own rushing emotions. I doubt if any girlfriend in the past has made it this far with him. It takes a deep bond to subject oneself to the mercy of another person and not look back.
“Yes,” I answer again. My response hasn’t changed, but my commitment has. My absence of fear means something. To me, at least. I’ll find out soon enough whether I’ve been foolish to trust this handsome devil with a knife.
A boot lands on concrete and I know he has stepped toward me again.
A soft touch on my still-burning thigh startles me enough that I rattle the chair with my flinch. I had been so braced for the slice of metal into my skin that the gentle fingers almost made my heart stop. My own breathing is ragged, shuddering, but I don’t cry out. I don’t want to give Mike any indication of my moment of distrust.
“Easy,” he says soothingly. “It’s just my hand right now.”
The hot touch on my stinging skin moves, inching slowly up my thigh. His fingers trace the raised welts from the flogger lovingly.
In my head, I imagine Mike with a sad expression as he traces the wounds he caused me. I have no way of knowing if this is true, but I hope it is.
“I’m still here,” I whisper to him, afraid to break the heavy silence.
“I’m glad,” he answers simply. He doesn’t offer any insight into what he’s feeling, but his fingers move yet again, higher on my leg.
When he reaches my crotch, Mike slips a finger into my wetness and smoothes it up to circle my clit. My thighs are spread so widely that my juices drip freely and make my ass cheeks slippery on the chair’s seat.
“Oh god, yes,” I sigh, thrusting my hips into the air as much as the cuffs around my ankles will allow with my legs spread at such an extreme angle. I want to grind against his hand while he rubs me and satisfy that craving that has been driving me insane. My little clit is so swollen and sensitive, his light touch is almost more agonizing than nothing at all.
“Please rub me harder,” I beg.
Instead of giving me what I want this time, Mike slides his fingertips away and back down into my pussy, deep into me, with hooked fingers. I can hardly believe the sensation that explodes around the pressure point inside me, flooding its way through my whole body as he thrusts his way in and out of me. I throw my head back as much as the straight-backed chair will allow, mouth open, eyes closed beneath the silk.
“Oh fuck,” I exclaim.
And then the fingers are taken away again. I strain with my hips, searching for more friction, trying desperately to find Mike’s hand to grind against.
Instead, Mike begins smoothing my own juices around my opening, coating me thoroughly with wetness but carefully avoiding my throbbing, begging clit.
I freeze when I feel cold metal against my outer lips.
The razor.
Holy shit, I forgot about the razor.
A sudden, uncontrollable jolt of terror hits me. Is he going to cut me down there? Surely he won’t cause me any permanent damage? My heart pounds, my thoughts somehow simultaneously racing and focused on one cold, inescapable fact:
It’s too late to leave now.
The blade slides in an upward direction, toward my clit. This time, I want it to go anywhere else, absolutely anywhere else, besides that little button packed with nerve endings.
In my blind terror, it takes me several strokes of the blade to realize there is no pain.
He’s not cutting me. He’s shaving me.
The razor is so sharp, it glides effortlessly over my slick skin. I normally keep my pubic area trimmed, but I have never shaved it before. And I definitely wouldn’t have trusted any other human being with a razor near my most important bits.
Until now.
Now, I’m not only trusting someone else to shave my sensitive areas, I’m doing it while I’m blindfolded and shackled to a chair in that person’s basement.
Compared to the alternative of being cut and sliced, this realization is a huge relief. The trust required for this feels comparatively small. Mike’s hands moving deftly between my legs, carefully removing my hair and leaving my skin smooth and slick, seems like no big deal at all.
I let out the breath I have been holding and sink back against the chair again. The adrenaline rush wanes, and my heartbeat slows. For a moment, I feel dizzy with relief.
I’m going to be okay.
It takes Mike several swipes with the razor to clear all my folds, my mound, and between my cheeks down to the chair. Never once does he nick me or cut me. After a while, the steady, even passes take on a soothing quality. I’m almost disappointed when he finishes. The whole thing felt like being pampered.
When he takes his hands away, a cool breeze rushing over my newly hairless skin makes my nipples pucker all over again. How I wish I weren’t shackled at the wrists; I want so badly to reach down and feel myself, run my fingertips over my smooth pussy, spend some time on my clit, finally…
If it’s possible, I feel even more bare and exposed than before. But instead of feeling embarrassed, I feel emboldened, liberated, sexy. I’m on display with nothing to hide behind. I have no self consciousness about my soft tummy, my wide thighs, or my large breasts. I have no fear that I will be hurt anymore. I have no reason to worry about anything at all, after everything has been stripped away.
My lips curve into a smile.
I hear a jingling sound, which I recognize to be the keys he locked me up with. To my great surprise, I feel a small stab of disappointment when the cuffs are released from my wrists and ankles.
Surely he’s not finished with me? Am I supposed to just go home now? Pretend this never happened?
“I want to thank you, for sharing this experience with me,” Mike says softly as he lifts the blindfold from my face. “It has truly meant a lot to me.”
I rub the sore flesh around my wrists and blink several times. Even the dim light of the basement seems incredibly bright after being beneath the blindfold. The dark, plain basement seems awash with new color.
I stand, legs shaking. I push my shoulders back, proud of the way Mike’s eyes slide over my body.
“I hope you’re not done with me yet,” I tease. My voice comes out in a purr, sexier than I thought I could manage. “I passed your test, didn’t I?”
Without waiting for a response, I reach for him and pull his head down to mine, feeling his hair between my fingers with new intensity. As I kiss him, his stubble of facial hair sets my skin on fire like the flogger had done to my body.
I nip at his lip, which seems to break the spell over him. Suddenly back in his dominant role, he plunges his tongue into me to explore my mouth, kissing me deeply, urgently. As his hands run from my head down my bare back to my ass, I know he won’t be stopping this time.
Mike’s hands fumble against my stomach, unzipping his fly and pushing his jeans down around his hips. Then his hands are back around me, cupping my ass, and his rock hard erection is trapped between us, grinding against my stomach as we kiss and leaving sticky trails of pre-cum on my skin.
I want him inside me.
I help him tug his shirt off over his head and then wrap my arms around his powerful shoulders, signaling that I’m ready. The hair on his muscular chest tickles my breasts until we’re pressed tightly together again, our skin sticky with heat.
Without breaking the kiss, Mike guides me backward until my bare skin is pressed against the wall. Cold drywall behind me contrasts with hot, vital flesh pressing hard against my front. As he lifts me, hands digging into the soft padding of my hips and thighs, I don’t even cast a spare thought to my weight as I normally would. My thoughts are filled with his strong arms supporting me, and then with the thick, throbbing cock I guide into my freshly shaved folds.
We both gasp as he slides inside me, the gravity of my body sliding down against the wall offset by the pressure of him pressed hard into me. His cock feels huge inside me, crammed into my tight hole deeply, until I’m resting entirely on him, stretched to my limit with the force of him.
His arms hold me in place while his hips and legs do the work. I wrap my legs around his narrow hips, feeling his buttocks tightening with each of his thrusts. His hamstrings and calves work until he’s sweating, fucking me hard, making me moan and gasp every time his cock slams into me. He grunts with every movement of his cock in and out of me, gravity increasing the natural tightness of my pussy, helping me grip him tightly.
If I brace my back against the wall and tilt my pelvis toward him, my clit rubs exquisitely on his lower abdomen down to the base of his cock.
“Fuck yes,” I gasp when I find the perfect angle. “Keep going just like that.”
I hook one arm around the base of his neck to hold myself up, and use the other hand to pinch and roll my nipples in time with our fucking. Each pinch and tug on my sensitive, swollen nipples sends a new shockwave of pleasure to my clit grinding hard against him.
I’ve been teased for so long, I desperately need to cum.
I shove my hand down between us, careful not to interrupt his thrusts. I rub my clit hard, relishing the hot gasps of his breath in my ear as I clench down hard around him.
Mike’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back in a perfect picture of concentration and ecstasy. If he were to bite his lip and smile at me, it would probably send me over the edge right this second. I pull myself closer to him, hooking my ankles over his clenching and releasing butt, picturing his taut legs and back working for every thrust.
My pulsing clit tells me I’m close, so very close, to finally cumming. The pressure building in my crotch is delicious, almost overwhelmingly powerful. I can’t focus on anything except the enormous release of tension about to erupt through me.
Removing my fingers from my clit only briefly, to prolong the pleasure once more, I spread my juices around my nipples, tugging on them with my slippery fingers. My clit still grinds against Mike’s body, but without the added pressure of my fingers, I can’t orgasm. I’m left desperate again, riding that agonizing edge while I rub my nipples, savoring the agony while Mike’s iron-hard rod pistons in and out of me faster and faster as he approaches the point of no return.
Finally, it’s too much. I can’t endure any more teasing. I thrust my hand back down to my clit and rub furiously, finally allowing myself to tip over that edge. As every muscle in my body contracts, Mike slams into me, feeling my orgasm tightening my pussy walls around him. I think I’m screaming, but the only thing I know for sure is the sensation rocketing through me, wave after wave. Even the feeling of my nipples brushing against his chest is so intense it makes me cry out.
Mike growls, fucking me as roughly as he can, slapping my ass with one hand while holding me up with the other. The intensity of sensation is so overwhelming in my pussy that every grind of my clit against him feels like another orgasm mounting.
When his hips shudder to a halt and he lets gravity pull me down as deeply onto him as possible, I can feel the hot, spurting cum erupting from his cock into the deepest part of me. He sinks his teeth into my bare shoulder as I claw my nails down his back, both of us breaking skin and not caring. His deep, guttural moans in my ear are the sexiest I’ve ever heard.
“Oh my fucking god,” I pant, breathless, still riding the last of the waves and contractions. The world is spinning and everything but Mike is fuzzy and out of focus.
I feel a soft, hot kiss against my throat, and then another on my shoulder where he bit me.
“With flying colors,” he says.
“What?” I have to ask. My brain isn’t working yet after climaxing so hard.
“You asked if you passed my test,” he explains. “You did, with flying colors. Thank you for staying.”
The trail of kisses continues, back up my neck, over my chin, until they settle on my lips. His arms release me slowly, sliding me down the wall until my feet hit the floor. He helps me steady myself on my shaking legs.
Behind him, I see the chair, manacles lying open, my wetness still shining on the seat.
“I’m glad I stayed too,” I answer.
And I mean it.
I nuzzle my head into Mike’s chest, feeling the tickle of his chest hair against my nose and cheek and the warmth of his skin underneath. His natural musk mixes with the hint of almost-worn-off cologne, sending an involuntary shiver through me. It’s the sort of emotional reaction that can only be evoked with scent memory.
In this case, the memory is of Mike on top of me last night, thrusting hard into me, nipping at my neck and earlobes roughly enough that it makes me yelp in both pleasure and pain. My legs tighten under the sheets. I bite my lip, wanting him to kiss me again so I can add his taste to the sensory symphony I’m enjoying. I want his hands to roam over my body again and his teeth to etch their marks into my throat.
God, I want him so badly all the time. But I’ll be nice and let him sleep in this morning. I am very much enjoying the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each peaceful breath. It’s one of those moments I wish would last forever.
It’s only been a few weeks since I was fearing for my safety, manacled in his basement while he pushed me to the edge of trust and back. Since then, he has been much more open about what he wants from me in the bedroom. And more often than not, what he wants is… rough. I’ve come to accept the bruises and soreness on my body as reminders of how passionate he can be.
Passionate for me. Looking at his naked body next to mine on the bed, it’s hard not to compare his strong, muscled frame to my plump, soft one. Still, my abundance of curves hasn’t seemed to bother him so far. If anything, he’s so voracious sometimes, I can barely keep up.
One of these days, maybe I’ll believe him when he insists he wants me and thinks I’m beautiful. But for now, I have the bruises to remind me.
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
Even though he speaks softly, his voice startles me. I hadn’t realized he was awake.
“Morning,” I yawn sleepily, careful not to breathe on him in case I have morning breath. I think it’s fine, but I’m still so self-conscious around him that I’d rather be safe than sorry.
Then his mouth covers mine, his powerful chest pushing my shoulders into the bed with his weight, and I find it hard to think about being self-conscious, or anything else for that matter. I’m pinned and can’t move; my only escape is to lose myself in the sensation of his kiss. I moan, letting go of my sense of control, as I’ve learned to do these past few weeks.
His mouth, already hot with need so early in the morning, moves from my lips to the hollow of my throat, down the swell of my right breast, and sucks in my nipple. His teeth graze my sensitive skin sharply, enough to make me cry out.
“Gentle, please! Ow!”
If anything, this makes him bite harder, but I knew it would. I arch my back, pushing harder against him, and close my eyes to find the pleasure underneath the pain. Before long, I’ll be writhing, and I know that’s what he wants.
“Fuck yes, I want you to take control of me again,” I groan through clenched teeth. I fantasize about that rush of adrenaline I felt in his basement, blindfolded and cuffed to a chair, when I knew he was moving toward me with a blade. I didn’t know what he was going to do with my body, but I knew I wanted him to do it. Now, with his mouth lapping hungrily at my painfully erect nipples, I crave that emotional rush.
He grabs my wrists and pins them to the bed above my head, rapping my knuckles against his headboard in the process. Instead of apologizing, he uses his other hand to reach down and give my pussy a firm slap. I throw my head back against the bed and try to grind against his hand while it’s between my legs, but he takes it away before I can find any friction.
“You want me to fucking control you?” He rasps this in my ear, his breath hot.
“Yes, please!” I hate how my voice sounds like I’m begging, but I know that’s exactly what I’m doing. I think he likes to make me beg for relief.
“Be careful what you wish for…” he whispers.
His hand loosens around my wrists and his weight lifts from my chest. When he pulls away, the sudden lightness and the devilish grin on his face send the first anxious bolt of tension down my spine.
Mike steps out of the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I picture the flogger he’s used on me before, and the razor blade. In my mind, I feel the crack of leather against my skin and the burning strips of reddened flesh. I feel the slice of metal cutting into me, drawing blood and making me wish I had kept my mouth shut after all.
Now that he’s gone and my mind is racing with possibilities, I suddenly want to take back what I said.
What exactly have I wished for? Will I be able to handle what he does next?
I know Mike is not afraid of hurting me. He seems to enjoy it, even. And now I’ve gone and asked him for more? What the hell was I thinking?
My heart races from equal parts fear and leftover arousal from his mouth on my body moments before.
When Mike returns with ropes in his hand, I feel an immediate rush of relief.
He only wants to tie me up…
I can handle that. In fact, I’m well-practiced with it by now. I even slide my wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed to make it easier for Mike to tighten the ropes around the bedposts, splaying me wide open and immobile. The ropes have given me bruises around my wrists and ankles before, but I’m mostly healed from last time, and there is very little pain even when he cinches the rough material tightly.
Reflexively, I buck my hips at the twinges around my extremities, fluid flowing freely between my open legs and dripping down between my cheeks and onto the sheets. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I remember from a college psych course that this is a conditioned response to the feeling of being tied up by him, but that doesn’t make it any less real. Or any less intense.
I’m tied tightly enough that even using all my strength, I can’t move more than a couple inches, and even my best attempt at closing my legs leaves my thighs still wide, my pussy completely open to the air.
I want to twist at the throbbing in my clit. More than that, I want Mike’s tongue to lap at my slit as hungrily as it was on my nipples. But I know Mike won’t satisfy me yet. He never does until after he’s had time to play.
It isn’t until I’m completely tied up and helpless that I notice the tiny object in Mike’s other hand.
The little blue velvet bag on its own does not inspire fear, but suddenly my attention is rapt, focused entirely on what the contents might be. It’s only a few inches, much too small for a knife or a flogger, but I know better than to let that lull me into a sense of security.
It crinkles slightly when he grips it.
“Just relax, babe,” he says soothingly, recognizing the look of a frightened, trapped animal in my eyes. “Remember our deal – I will hurt you, but I will never injure you permanently.”
I swallow hard and nod, forcing back the fear. So far, he has been true to his word. While Mike is no stranger to causing me physical pain, he has never done anything to me that would leave me disfigured or disabled.
Still, restrained and exposed and at his mercy, that measure of comfort is small indeed.
He unfolds the top of the velvet bag and slips a small plastic package into his palm. The crinkle I had heard was bubble wrap packaging.
I watch in silence as Mike opens a sealed plastic bag and pulls on latex gloves before unsheathing the next object in the package: a needle.
At least, I think I am watching in silence. For all I know, the waterfall roar of blood pounding in my ears at sight of the needle is audible to Mike too.
The needle is a couple inches long, tapered to a razor sharp, hollow point at one end. I recognize it from my one brief trip to a tattoo parlor when I had just turned 18. I thought I wanted a tattoo to celebrate my brand new adulthood, but one muffled scream from a client in a back room was enough to send me scurrying back home.
But the needle Mike holds is not meant for tattooing; it’s a piercing needle. And it is thick.
“Oh god,” I can’t help but moan. My voice trembles, but I manage to keep it from breaking. “Why is it so big?” Tears sting the corners of my eyes at the thought of where he might be sticking that needle.
“Believe it or not,” Mike answers calmly, “It’s safer and less painful to perform genital piercings with a thicker gauge. It anchors the piercing more securely and will help keep it from being rejected by your body.”
My stunned brain can barely force my tongue to form words. “Genital… piercing?” My fear is open now, I’m not even trying to hide it. My eyes must be the size of saucers. I strain as hard as I possibly can to wrench my legs closed, but my bindings hold fast.
It’s no use. He’s going to pierce me and it’s going to hurt like hell.
Another terrifying thought occurs to me and brings the sting of tears back full-force.
“How… how do you know you won’t really hurt me? If you hit a nerve… I might never be able to enjoy sex again.” Or feel much at all down there, I add silently. I can’t bring myself to put a voice to my fear in case it somehow makes it come true.
Mike laughs at me.
He actually laughs. It’s not a cruel laugh, but it makes me feel so incredibly alone. There’s no comfort there. He clearly is not going to stop just because I’m terrified.
I bite my lip and try not to cry when he begins applying an alcohol swab to the area around my clit.
Why there? I suppose it would have been too much to ask for a simple piercing on one of the fleshy parts I don’t use very often. But my clit, of all places?
The alcohol feels freezing cold against my skin, tingling as it dries the juices and disinfects around my little nub and the hood surrounding it.
If my legs were free to move, they would be shaking uncontrollably. As it is, they are trembling hard enough that the ropes circling my ankles chafe painfully. But rope burn is the least of my worries.
“I said relax,” Mike warns gently, as if I had been deliberately disobeying an order.
When he sees that my shaking is not going to stop anytime soon – and I’m biting back whimpers with increasing frequency – he pauses what he’s doing.
He leans in and kisses up and down the inside of my thighs, careful to avoid the freshly-sanitized bits of my anatomy. His lips on me would normally feel wonderful, and block out whatever else in the world was bothering me. But at the moment, they feel foreign, coming from a person who doesn’t hesitate to terrify and hurt me.
“You may not know this about me,” he says, voice muffled by the flesh of my thighs, “but I used to do this for a living. I was a professional piercer to pay my way through a pre-med degree. This is nothing I haven’t done hundreds of times. You’re in good hands.”
I know this is meant to comfort me. I know he is trying to reassure me that he won’t slip, he won’t hit a nerve, he won’t permanently slice through my ability to ever have an orgasm again. But my mind, already stressed to the max, goes to the worst possible place.
He’s had his hands between the legs of that many women? He’s seen and touched hundreds of them? The cold pit of fear in my stomach turns sour with this shot of unexpected jealousy.
Part of me knows that it must have been in a professional capacity, since this was his job, but… how many were like me? How many were tied to his bed, naked, craving him while he pierced them?
I unconsciously move to cover my tummy and hips with my arms, but of course I can’t. I feel more exposed than ever, acutely aware of every jiggly part of my soft body.
Mike’s hands on my clit again jolt me from my insecurity.
This is happening.
I clench my teeth, waiting for a stab.
I feel the skin of my hood, the little fold of inner lips that protect my most sensitive area, stretched to its limit. Cold metal startles me, but even with the sharp jolt, the ropes hold me tightly. Waiting for the pain is as agonizing as I think the pain itself will be.
I wait, trembling, trying not to move. The last thing I want is to jostle Mike’s hands and cause him to accidentally maim me.
I want to curse his name right now for making me so vulnerable and frightened.
There is a pause, a moment of stillness where neither of us moves.
“I love you,” he whispers.
I open my mouth to answer, but a white-hot pain scorches through me at that moment and I end up screaming instead of forming words. My back arches, and for the first time I’m thankful that the ropes are there to keep me still.
Holy fuck.
The pain is blessedly brief. The pinprick of agony between my legs subsides almost as quickly as it began, fading to a low, sore throb within seconds.
I realize I’m gasping for breath, my fingernails digging bloody crescents into my palms. My eyes are squeezed shut and the blood pounding in my head is starting to make me nauseous.
I risk a peek, opening my eyelids just in time to see Mike sliding a curved piece of barbell jewelry onto the back end of the needle and sliding it through my fresh piercing effortlessly. Aside from a small pinch when he fastens the jewelry, there is no more pain. Even so, the small pinch makes my exhausted muscles clench up again in memory of the needle slicing through my delicate flesh.
I realize I’m covered in a thin sheen of sweat. And I’m reeling from shock for multiple reasons.
“Did you…”
My voice comes out as a squeak, and I have to clear my throat before starting again. “Did you just say you love me?”
An involuntary shiver courses through me as the trauma of the moment fades. It is replaced by a swelling hope that I heard him correctly right before he shoved the needle through. A tear rolls down my cheek as I’m slammed with a wall of swirling emotions.
I swallow more tears back fiercely. I will not cry.
Mike looks at me. I’m stretched out on his bed, tied up, shaking, sweating, sore.
He stands and moves to my side, taking my face in his hands. “I did say that.”
After several beats where I think he’s not going to say anything else, he adds quietly, “I do love you.” His eyes are dark and serious, locked onto mine.
The blood is no longer rushing in my head. In fact, I think my heart might have stopped.
I force myself to take a shaky breath.
“I love you too,” I whisper so quietly I can barely hear myself. And then, before I can stop myself: “I really need you inside me now.”
Mike’s penetrating eyes flash in amusement at my demand. A hint of a smile turns up one corner of his mouth. “We’ll need to let the piercing heal. But that can still be arranged.”
His half-smile morphs into a cocky grin.
“Wait here,” he says, and disappears from the room again.
As if I am capable of going anywhere. There is no need to test the ropes again; I can tell by the chafed skin on my wrists and ankles that they’re still holding strong.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing my head back onto the pillow. I study the ceiling while I wait.
He loves me.
The thought won’t stop circling inside my brain. Despite my flashy new metal adornment and the pain it caused, Mike’s words are all I can think about.
He loves me too.
I feel myself starting to get choked up again. It’s barely ten-o-clock and already this day has been filled with an onslaught of rushing emotions.
To distract myself, I try to peer between my legs and get a look at my new addition. I have to curl my back uncomfortably to see past my boobs and tummy, but from my position, I can see the little silver ball at the top of the barbell jewelry. To my surprise, it’s resting on top of my labia instead of on my clit directly. He must have only pierced my hood, instead of the little bundle of nerves itself.
I blow out a long breath and lean back, eyes wide. It’s a strange sight to see something like that on my body.
But now that I know my clit was never in any real danger, I’m warming up to the idea.
I take another peek.
It’s actually kind of… pretty.
Not to mention, if the top of the barbell pokes out above my hood, that means the bottom ball is sitting underneath, directly on top of my most sensitive area. I can’t touch it now, but I bet that little barbell provides some very nice friction in the right circumstances.
I feel a throb of arousal at the prospect of what I could do with that. Long walks in tight underwear. An extra surface that will buzz when I use my vibrator. Grinding against Mike when I’m on top, riding him until his cock and that little silver piercing drive me to ecstasy…
I bite my lip, wishing I could twist my legs together to see how much friction it produces. I can tell my pussy has already started to drip again.
Any minute now, he’ll be back, and then he’ll fuck me, and I can take it for a test drive…
A metallic jingling noise accompanies Mike when he enters the room. I look up to see his tanned, muscular body moving gracefully across the room toward me. His chest and abs rise and fall almost imperceptibly with each breath, but I’ve spent so much time with my head on him that I can picture it perfectly even from several feet away. I can even smell the heat from the skin of his throat as if he’s pressed right up against me.
My face breaks out into a smile. I want to tell him I’m actually into the idea of the piercing now, that I understand why he didn’t tell me beforehand because I would have chickened out. I want to tell him I’m excited to give it a try and see if it adds an extra level of fun to our sex life.
But the words freeze on my lips when I see the medieval-looking device he now carries. In an instant, the relief turns right back into anxiety.
What is that?
It seriously looks like a torture device.
Is this part of our “I’ll hurt you, but I won’t injure you” agreement? If so, I want to back out of that agreement now.
The fear is plain on my face again. My eyes plead with him. Haven’t I endured enough today? Haven’t I trusted him enough with my body?
“Relax, this part won’t hurt much,” Mike says, noticing the terror radiating from me all over again. “Or, if it does, just tell me to slow down until you’re comfortable again. And I promise I really will slow down.”
I take a moment to breathe. Do I still trust him?
Yes. Yes, I do.
The metal on the device clanks as he unlocks a chain from one side of it. The chain looks to be a belt, attached to a curved, solid metal plate. Now that he’s closer and the panic has less of a hold on me, I recognize what it is he’s holding.
It’s a chastity belt.
I have a vague idea about them being used historically to preserve a woman’s purity, but this modern-looking contraption wasn’t designed with purity in mind.
I don’t bother to ask questions when Mike lifts my hips and slides the contraption around me. This is what he wants me to wear, so I’ll wear it.
He snaps the chains in place and stands back to admire his handiwork.
The solid metal plate covers both my clitoris and my vagina, blocking them entirely from view, and from being touched. I wonder briefly how he expects to make love to me while I’m wearing the chastity belt, but then I realize how naïve and foolish I am. My anus is still exposed and perfectly accessible.
My lip quivers. I can’t help but blurt out, “I’ve never had anyone in…” I mentally chide myself for being so childish and make myself finish the sentence like the adult woman I am. “I’ve never had anal sex before.”
Mike looks pleased that I’ve deduced his plan without him having to explain. When he gets down to business, he likes things to be all about the moment, untarnished by things like conversation.
All he says is, “Just let me know if you feel pain and need me to slow down.”
I nod, eyes wide and pleading.
His touch on one of my raw ankles causes me to draw in a sharp breath with a hiss. At the noise, Mike’s eyes dart up to meet mine. He does not apologize, but he does make an effort to avoid touching the places where the ropes have left my skin raw and reddened. He unties me with a care and gentleness that wrings my heart and makes me want to forgive him for frightening me and causing me pain.
He loves me.
The sentiment echoes again through my whole body.
After my ankles are free, Mike unties my wrists with the same care. I kiss his shoulder when it drops close to my face, savoring the feel of his skin on my lips again. He smells so warm and inviting I can’t help but close my eyes and try to hold on to this brief loving moment before he shoves his cock where I’ve never had anything shoved before.
I’m nervous as hell, but I trust him. Among the rush of emotions, I feel strongly that I’m glad he will be the first man to explore me in this new way. When he hurts me, I just have to remember that he loves me.
I open my eyes when the last rope is gone and I feel Mike’s weight on the bed with me.
For the first time this morning, the panic has cleared enough for me to appreciate his form crawling toward me. He’s a long, lean block of chiseled muscle compared to my soft curves. I wonder if there will ever be a day when I don’t feel self-conscious around him. Like he’s out of my league…
His dark hair falls over his forehead, further darkening his already serious eyes. Though it’s unconventional, I appreciate the thin line of his lips. I’ve never liked full lips on men. Mike is literally the image of male perfection I’ve carried around with me since I started noticing boys when I was a girl.
So I let him push my boundaries a little farther than I’d normally be comfortable with.
He won’t injure me, I repeat to myself. I know anecdotally that anal sex is painful for the recipient, but I think I believe him when he says he’ll slow down if I need him to.
What worries me at this very moment isn’t the idea of anal penetration itself, or the restrictive, tight metal contraption on my body. Even the fresh piercing resting against my swollen clit is nearly forgotten. The thing that captures my attention and makes me recoil back against the headboard is the fact that I don’t see him holding any lubricant.
Is he going to take my ass for the very first time dry?
The calluses of his warm hands on my thighs are just like the rest of Mike: rough and unyielding. When he flips me over, facedown, and spreads my thighs apart, I grip the pillows so tightly I accidentally bend a fingernail backward.
I let out a sharp yelp, feeling silly for my pain because he hasn’t even touched my virgin asshole yet. I try to keep my body from shaking.
“Please be gentle,” I mumble into the pillow. For some reason, perhaps subconsciously searching for the softness inside him that sometimes comes out, I add “I love you.”
It’s oddly freeing to be able to say that to him after holding the thought in for weeks.
“I love you too,” Mike says back without hesitating. “You need to relax so it doesn’t hurt as much. I told you, the scary part is over for today. I’m going to take care of you now.”
His breath on my right shoulder blade makes me shiver with the anticipation I usually feel when he’s about to fuck me from behind. I’ve always enjoyed the doggy-style position.
I press my hips back, greedy for the sensation of him shoved against my dripping pussy and the backs of my thighs. I can indeed still feel him on my thighs, but all I get on my pussy is an absence of touch, blocked by the chastity belt. It’s frustrating in an incredibly teasing way.
The movement of my hips presses my thighs together, trapping my new piercing against my clit. Fresh twinges of pain and pleasure simultaneously course through me.
I grip the pillow again.
So what if his cock will be sliding into a different hole this time? It could be fun.
Mike runs his hands over my body, from my shoulders to my sides, down to my butt, and then under to my breasts and tummy. It feels so good when he touches me, but again I feel timid and shy when his hands find the rolls on my tummy and my breasts hanging below my body. Normally, his fingers would find my clit at this point, but the metal plate prevents him from touching me where I need him.
His kisses start softly on my shoulders, but quickly turn into nips on my earlobes and full bites into the flesh of my neck. His hot mouth on me sends shivers through my whole body, making me push back into him even harder. His warm chest, heavy against my back, shudders as he draws in a deep breath. I feel his erection grow even bigger and harder against my bare ass, but he makes no move to stick it in yet.
Instead, his hands continue their soft massage of my body while his teeth sink into me, both of us grinding together with growing need. Inside my chastity belt, my clit throbs in vain, begging to be touched. I can feel my juices dripping from my wet opening, unreachable by either of us. The feeling of being so desperately horny and yet totally unable to do anything about it is driving me crazy.
“Do it,” I groan. “I’m ready. I want you inside me.”
Mike’s hand finds my left nipple and pinches it hard. His right hand brushes its way from my thigh to the metal plate keeping me from him. Knowing his hand is right there, rubbing me, without me able to feel it, is enough to make me want to cry with need.
Finally, after several seconds of this torture, I feel his fingers side back onto my flesh and circle my exposed hole. He probes, exploring this undiscovered territory.
I gasp when he slips a finger inside my ass. It’s a strange feeling for me, at first. I’m not used to being touched there, but I’m horny enough that all I want is more. If I can’t have him inside my pussy, I want him buried in my ass instead.
I shove my hips back, trying to encourage him to slide his finger in deeper.
Instead, he adds a second finger. The fit is extremely tight, much tighter than I expected. I’m thankful he keeps his fingernails clipped short.
I didn’t expect to feel pleasure from this, necessarily. I never thought my ass was one of my sexual zones. But at the stretching sensation of him shoving that second finger into my tight hole, I unmistakably feel appreciative throbs from my clit and nipples. It feels so strangely good.
Another part of me worries that his dick is a lot wider than just two fingers.
Without removing his hand, Mike begins to thrust his fingers gently, wiggling against my insides. This stretches me to a point somewhere between pleasure and pain. I can’t quite figure out whether I have my eyes squeezed shut out of fear or because it feels good.
“Reach into the drawer on the table beside you and grab the bottle,” Mike instructs me.
His voice startles me. I had been completely lost in the intensity of the feeling. But I do as he asks, relieved to find that the bottle he requested in in fact a bottle of lubricant.
Surely lube will make things less painful for me?
He takes the bottle with his unoccupied hand and squirts a generous amount of the cold liquid all over my backside. It not only drips down my thighs, but also into the tiny gap between my skin and the chastity belt. The chilly droplets warm quickly when they mix with the wetness in my already sopping cunt.
How I wish that damned metal plate weren’t there. I can’t remember a time I have ever wanted to rub myself this badly.
I squirm, tightening my ass around Mike’s slippery fingers and trying to find that spot with the piercing between my legs again.
“Let go a little,” he urges me. “When you’re ready, I’m going to add a third finger.”
The words make me clamp down even harder. The lube helps a lot with the friction, but the stretching sensation is still overwhelming.
“Just put your cock in me,” I growl. I do my best to relax my ass as he asked. Get it over with, I add silently.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he says for the second time today. When he draws his fingers out of me, a dribble of lube follows.
I wonder briefly if my hole still looks stretched without his fingers in it, but I don’t have much time to think about it. Mike wastes no time replacing his fingers with his thick cock.
I feel it slide in, hard and demanding, just like the rest of him. For a moment, I think the entry wasn’t so bad. And then I realize he’s only halfway in.
The lube bottle squelches as Mike squeezes more out, spreading it around the base of his cock. I feel sticky and soaked, from my pussy to my ass to the wet streaks running down my legs.
“Are you-“ I start asking if he’s going to give me a warning before he enters me fully. But my words are cut off by a stretching, tearing pain as he forces himself the rest of the way in. No warning.
I bite the pillow to keep from crying out. Once he’s inside me, Mike remains still, letting me get used to the feeling of incredible fullness. I’m thankful he waits to start thrusting; I definitely would not be ready for it yet.
I believed him when he told me he really would slow down for me, but I don’t want to have to ask and find out.
Eventually, the intensity of the stretch becomes less overwhelming. I start to breathe normally again.
“I - I think I’m ready.”
When his hips start to move, the strangest feeling washes over my body. It’s like, once he passed that threshold of pain, suddenly my body realized it’s okay to feel good. It feels nothing like being taken in the pussy, but I still relish the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of me.
It feels even better once Mike’s hands find my nipples.
My breasts swing with each of his thrusts, but with all the neurons firing in my brain I have no room to feel embarrassed or self conscious about my body shape. His fingers tweak and pinch my nipples, rubbing them gently sometimes and tugging hard when I least expect it.
Beneath the metal plate, my clit pulses in time with each pinch and each thrust. It’s agony not to be able to touch it, but somehow delicious at the same time.
I am honestly surprised when I feel an orgasm building deep inside me.
I moan unabashedly. I probably would normally be embarrassed to admit it feels good to have a thick cock in my asshole, but I have no mental capacity for embarrassment now. I shriek like a banshee each time the base of him stretches my hole beyond its limits. I’ve found that place where pain is the pleasure.
Each tug on my sensitive nipples sends a burst of electric shocks through my core, concentrating in the sore pleasure around the piercing and the steel rod of Mike’s cock pistoning in and out of me. As usual, he fucks me roughly once he knows I can handle it.
The building tightness in my groin reaches deep into my belly. I can tell already that, with Mike buried deep in my ass and a little metal ball stroking my clit with each clench of my thighs, this is going to be an orgasm like none I've ever experienced.
Mike twists both of my nipples with one particularly deep thrust into the core of my body.
When I cum, it hits me like a train going full speed. There are none of the usual slow waves washing over me. Instead, it’s explosion after explosion slamming into me, forcing my muscles to contract almost painfully. I can’t help but scream as I try desperately to keep my thighs steady and let him keep thrusting. It’s so intense I can hardly stand it.
The quivering pulses in my pelvic muscles tighten my ass further. I know Mike can’t hold out against that. His fingernails digging into my hips are going to leave scars.
He makes a noise that is half scream, half guttural groan and shudders to a stop. Before the shockwaves of my own orgasm pass, I feel the shuddering of his cock exploding inside me. The heat of his cum so deep in my body surprises me. I’m tight enough that it stays inside instead of dripping out, lubricating him even more.
For several moments, we stay completely still, his semi-hard cock holding us together while we try to regain some composure. I feel him wince as he loosens his grip on my ample hips and flexes his fingers.
When he slides out, he bends forward to kiss my back gently. A trail of kisses from shoulders to the small of my back. It’s a sweet, welcome distraction from the cum that gushes out of me when he withdraws. Between that and the lube, we’re both covered in sticky wetness. I don’t mind in the slightest; it will give us an excuse to have a shower together.
I realize I’m smiling like an idiot into the pillow, still face down with my ass in the air.
I carefully collapse next to him, casting only the briefest thought toward preserving his sheets from our mess.
There is silence, but I don’t feel the need to speak. All I would say is “I love you” again anyway, and maybe it’s better to leave it unsaid in the moment.
He smiles at me, as if to ask, Not so bad? I grin back, feeling my lips tremble from yet another assault of emotion. God, I love his smile.
Despite the soreness in my ass and around my brand new piercing, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to curl right back up onto his chest where we started out this morning. His arms wrap around me, and I can’t imagine a more peaceful, safe place to be.