We’ve been fucking for nearly three months. Today, he fucked me twice. This evening, after strapping me with his belt until I cried, it was over his desk; his hips grinding into the mulberry marks. I have just come out of the shower, where he was slightly more benevolent but my breasts were kneaded into the the cold porcelain and my head was held forcibly skyward nonetheless.

I am tracing the welts and bruises, admiringly, in front of the bedroom mirror and listening to him brush his teeth. I let him beat and bond me; I have crawled and cried for him but I know he wants more.

I slip into his bed and conceal my nude body under the covers as I watch him stride through the room to a chest of drawers, before he turns to face me.

I curl my leg over the top of the duvet and he snatches my ankle, snapping a cuff around it. I seize it back and roll over to look at him, looming at the foot of the bed. The restraint maintains its clutch.

‘No. I’m tired.’ I say, my eyes narrowing in challenge.

He reaches over the bed’s base and a paw-like hand grabs my calf, dragging me down the sheets like an old Christmas tree.

‘You can sleep once you’ve told me which way you want to be cuffed: on your belly or on your back?’ He replies, evenly.

Panic and nausea ripple through me; I know he’s showing me that I’m captured. I think I want this but I am nineteen and scared.

‘I asked you a question: answer it.’ He snarls.

My mouth is paralysed but I slowly twist my body until I am lying prone again.

He tugs at my ankle and begins to secure it to the bedpost but, again, I bolt. I try to claw and wriggle back up to the pillows but a dead weight immobilises me. When we’re upright, he feels twice my height and, now, on top of me, I am reminded he has triple my strength. His arms cover mine and his hands encircle my wrists. His stomach crushes my abused flesh. I can feel his unyielding cock nudging my slit.

I throw my head back, desperately trying to topple him. He responds by releasing my arm and pressing my head into the mattress. My emancipated limb flails behind me, attempting to strike or scratch him. My other arm is freed as both his hands snap around my neck and squeeze, the force of his vexed body depressing me further into the bed.

‘It’s futile fighting me, little slut.’ He hisses into my ear.

His fingers flex around my throat and I’m starting to feel faint. One of my legs slips from under his and kicks upwards and backwards, despairingly. He laughs, mercilessly, his grip resolute.

I thrash as I feel my energy sapping and my consciousness ebbing away.

‘You are mine. I own you.’ He draws each word out slowly. His hands relax around my neck.

He’s made his proclamation and stated his cause. I’ve been expecting it but the words still cut an icy path through my heart. I drink in the oxygen, greedily.

He rolls off me as I pant, my ribcage rising and falling shakily. He draws a soft trail down my arm with his finger and I am nonplussed by his tenderness. I look at him, warily, and see his eyes are steely.

‘Are you going to stay still whilst I fasten the cuff?’

I break away from his impenetrable gaze and nod my head.

‘Say it.’ He commands.

‘I will stay still whilst you fasten the cuff.’


I know what he his trying to coerce out of me but I will not satiate him. I clamp my mouth shut.

He continues to stare at me for several seconds, waiting, before he returns to the foot of the bed. My ankle is secured.

‘You’re wet.’

I’m staggered by his observation. I’ve been consumed by genuine fear of him yet he still arouses me. I become aware of the sultry stickiness between my thighs. I scarcely notice him open and close a drawer.

A crack I hear before I feel refocuses me. I recognise its bite as that of the paddle. He has only used it on me once, on unmarked skin. I could barely endure it then.

My hips begin to buck irregularly as he strikes me on flushed flesh. He’s hardly hit me five times before I’m begging him to stop.

‘Please…please, Sir…I can’t…stop! Please!’

I’m still breathless from his suffocation and the pain engulfs me. I’m incoherent and inarticulate. Tears flee from my closed eyes.

‘Please, Sir…No!’

The paddle falls rhythmically, each smack harder than the last. He continues until my rear feels aflame and I’m no longer pleading, just sobbing and breathing in convulsive gasps. The implement drops onto the bed, by my feet. He appears by my head and strokes my hair.

‘Kiss your owner’s cock, pet.’ He whispers, his voice soft but insistent.

I attribute my actions to wanting to appease him but I know they stem from desire. I lean towards him and caress the head with my lips and plant lustful kisses down to its base. I open my mouth and strive to take him in but he pulls back. I raise my head, questioningly, but he is already mounting the bed and straddling me. The heat is radiating from my cheeks and collecting between us. His cock pushes against my cunt, gently. He drags the head over each lip, gathering moisture. His hand curves under me and he traps my clit between thumb and forefinger. He pinches and manipulates it in circular motions and I moan. I fold my leg towards my torso, like a pirouetting ballerina, to expose myself to him further. My back arches and my hips start to undulate. I try to push myself back and onto him. Still torturing my clit, he shoves decisively inside and holds himself there. I want to rock forward but he wraps his free arm around my waist and debilitates me. He draws out gradually and completely. I vent a frustrated sigh at being left hollow.

I feel him trail my wetness up to my virgin rosebud. I’m anxious but willing. He rubs more fervently as he urges himself forward into my narrower opening. Pain sears through me. He thrusts slowly as I become accustomed to the unfamiliar sensation and the soreness evolves into a perverse pleasure. The fusion of his ministrations to my bud and his increasing pace bring me swiftly to the brink. He feels me tense and demands:


I focus on impeding my orgasm. I try to desensitise myself and disconnect my head from the thrill building and overwhelming me. Despite myself, I begin to fall over the edge. His cock stiffens and spurts. Plunging into our shared euphoria, he descends onto my back and bites my earlobe.

‘Who do you belong to?’

I am overcome by desire and gratification. I am conquered.

‘You…I belong to you.’

He laughs, happy and satisfied. Yet he compels me further.

‘Who owns you?’

I sigh, defeated but elated.

“You, Master. You own me.’

He kisses my neck, straightens to unfasten the restraint and then snatches me up.

I smile to myself as he carries me back to the bathroom, amused at how quickly I need to be cleaned up again. He washes me, lovingly, and the man of just minutes before is a stranger. I love the duality.

‘I want to show you something before I re-cuff you to the bed.’

He steers me to the mirror by my hair. We both scrutinise my reflection, his hand still nestled in the locks at the nape of my neck. His red-purple hand prints are still livid on my throat, enclosing my neck.

‘Look at that, pet, you even have a collar.’

July 2018
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