drinkyourcunt: “Get up. Turn around. Drop your...

Sunday, January 30, 2011

“Get up. Turn around. Drop your pants. I need to hurt you.” I knew I could have punished her just fine without help, but I left her standing there, staring plaintively at her own feet, naked in the middle of the room. I went to the special drawer. I reached in and lifted out the false bottom. I rifled through our various apparatus of vice until I found the one she most feared.

It was simple. It was unassuming. Frankly, it wasn’t nearly as scary as some of the things in there. The beads, the tape, the leash, the straps, the clamps, the gags… Those all conjured up vivid daydreams of cheap, sordid back room dungeons where you’d take your life in your hands for 20 seconds of shuddering, transient, inconsequential relief. In comparison, it seemed silly to me that she feared this little piece of soft, pliable rubber.

I hadn’t touched it since the first time I tried to work it into our fun. She had whimpered and pleaded and insisted that I remove it because it made me entirely too big. I slipped on the condom. Over that, I stretched the tight, black, elastic ring and fit it snugly around the base. As I slung the other strap under my balls, I felt my cock swell further, veins straining against the already taut skin. I smirked at the notion, but it honestly did look menacing. It made a joke out of the idea of a ribbed condom.

I looked up at her. She had managed to look up from the floor. She watched me, her lower lip quivering. I stared. She walked over to the bed, rested her head on the pillow and arched her ass into the air. She braced herself. She bit her lip. It wouldn’t help. She woke the neighbors.

In a single, cruel motion, I sank hilt-deep into her steaming, slick snatch. Her moan, her whorish moan, caught in her throat and she gasped as if she had just come up for air. I braced one hand so that my fingers gripped her hip and thigh. I wrapped the other hand firmly around her throat. I whispered in her ear, “No. You don’t get to tell me how sorry you are. This is me showing you how sorry you are.” She groaned. Her back arched, her shoulder blades pinched, and I felt her pussy lips tremble, clench-release-clench around me. I felt her throb against the taut veins. I practically heard the walls of her cunt steep themselves in more of her juice. She wouldn’t ever get any readier.

I thought about how sore she’d be tomorrow. I thought about how she’d wince every time she sat down or recrossed her legs. I thought about how she’d bite her lip in pain every time a fucking elevator jerked to a stop. It was like telling her to stand in the corner and think about her mistake.

That. That would be her apology.