Whip

“I believe I told you to stay out of that box.”

The words, spoken quietly behind her made her jolt with shock. She was busted, flat-out caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She turned, her eyes huge.

“Y-you did. I….I was ….”

“Curious? Unable to follow directions? Nosey?” She nodded at each bulleted word.  He spoke tersely. She could tell he was pissed, but he was always in control. Sometimes it pissed her off. Sometimes it made her want to poke and prod at him to get some emotional response from him. He never fought. Never. He discussed. He rationalized, he reasoned.

It fucking pissed her off.

“You have whips. And…and….handcuffs.” Reaching into the box that she’d tugged from under the bed, she threw the cuffs at him. He caught them nimbly, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“What the fuck, Tim? What the fuck is this shit?”

They’d been living together for a few weeks. They had yet to work out all the kinks of their relationship, but they agreed on the major issues…which way the toilet paper hung on the roll, putting the seat down on the toilet, and who cleaned up after who cooked.

They’d met via mutual friends, and the magnetism was instantaneous. The sex was incredible, he’d driven her to heights of ecstasy that no one before him had. He liked going down on her. He ate her like other guys ate a pizza, for gosh sake! Tongue, teeth, sucking, nibbling, fingers…he’d given her the most amazing orgasms she’d ever had. The man had a gift for knowing all those little places that liked to be stroked, that set her off.

He’d even spanked her a time or two, calling her a bad girl for something she’d not done the way he wanted her to. Her bum had gotten rosy and pink and tender, and then he’d fucked her so deliciously. Rough. Not the gentle lover he often was, but with a fierce abandon that made her squirt. She’d never  done that before!

She had these fantasies…but no. Good girls didn’t. Didn’t fantasize about being tied up, being used. Raped. She shook herself mentally. She thought of television news stories of women who’d been attacked, raped. This was the stuff of evil fantasy, wasn’t it? It was wrong, it was bad.  Quickly she had refocused, and moved onward.

Until she’d gotten curious, nosey, and pulled the box out from under the bed. The very box she had been forbidden to poke in.

Now she knelt, staring up at him, her temper simmering, as he stood there holding a pair of silver handcuffs, and almost smirking at her.

“Well? No smug answer, you bastard? These are whips, Tim. And…and…gawd…I don’t even know what some of this stuff is…” she murmured as she turned back to the box.

He moved so quietly that it startled her. Reaching around her, he tugged a ball gag out of her hand. She jumped.

“This, my dear, is a ball-gag.” Quickly he popped the ball into her mouth, fastening the gag with a quickness that spoke of practice. “These are velcro cuffs,” and in seconds they were around her wrists.

“These,” he said calmly, “match. They go around your pretty ankles.” Rising, he pulled her to her feet by her ponytail. She didn’t protest. She didn’t fight. He tugged down her yoga pants, and pushed her back onto the bed. They fell in a heap on the floor beside the bed, unnoticed, as he fit the cuffs around her ankles.

“And this attaches one to the other.” Quickly bending each knee, he fastened each wrist to each ankle. He pushed her further up the bed, until her head was almost on the other side.  She watched as he bent down to the box again.  He took out two long things that looked like…dog leashes. He hooked one end around the thick post of his openwork headboard, and stretched it across the bed. He repeated this with the footboard.  Another foray into the box brought up a larger pair of velcro cuffs. These he fastened just above her knees, then hooked the leashes to them.

“Now you will discover that you cannot close your legs to me. You are open…and quite vulnerable, my dear.  You’re curious, I know. And you have these dark desires that you are so terribly afraid of.”

Her eyes widened, and she muttered around the gag.

“You talk in your sleep, little one,” he said, as he stroked her inner thigh with a whip. The tassles tickled. She wriggled but could not move away from the annoying torture. He smiled as he played the ends all along her openness. The quick swat at the arch of her foot shocked, and stung. She yelped, but the gag muffled it.

“You like being out of control. You like someone to take the lead. And you want to be fucked. You’re annoyed. You get a little wrinkle between your eyes when you’re pissed. I’m okay with that, you know. But your cunt, ” and he emphasized the dirty word with a short snap of the whip against her folds, “your wet little cunt betrays you.”

He knelt on the bed between her thighs, and shoved her tee-shirt up, baring her braless breasts. Laying the whip across her belly, he pinched both nipples hard, then twisted them in opposite directions. His knee sat at the junction of her thighs, and he leaned into her, grinding his hard leg against her hot pussy.

She throbbed. She burned. He was abusing her….and she loved it. It was every naughty fantasy come to life. She couldn’t fight him off, her wrists were cabled to her ankles, her knees held open and apart for him. His knee, his hairy thigh, rubbed against her clit setting off waves of sensation.

And her nipples hurt. Ached. Throbbed. Throbbed in harmony to the aching throb between her legs.

“Uk ee” she whimpered, looking up at him and trying to lift her pelvis.

He smiled down at her, twisting her nipples, and shook his head.

“No.”

Growling, she tossed her head. “UUUUUKKKKKK EEEEEEEE” she yelped behind her gag. She was frustrated with need, wanton and inflamed. Her pussy sent a stream of juice that she felt pooling under her butt.

“No.”

He rubbed his leg against her mons once more, then slid off the bed.  A quick flick sent the whip against her tit. She whimpered. He whipped her tits, sometimes soft, sometimes firmly. She rolled her head, tried to move crablike away from the blows. She couldn’t escape the relentless thwacks on her tits.

He struck lower. Across her belly, making her suck in a breath.

Oh. OH! Fucking hell…that hurt. Blow after blow, working lower, then lower, and she knew he was heading for her pussy. She couldn’t take that. She would die. If he hit her throbbing clit with that thing? She’d die.

The orgasm ripped through her like a bomb, exploding every nerve ending. Her eyes slammed shut, her back arched in a bridge of ecstasy, her fists bunched the covers. Her toes curled, and sweat pearled her brow. He hit her again, straight on her clit throwing her up and over again.

Waves of sensation poured through her, sending her reeling.

She didn’t feel the bed move, she felt the universe shift, as he slid his cock into her. His hands rubbed the welts, his mouth tasted her bruised nipples as her body continued to shift and shimmer through sensations.

He fucked her, hard and fast, a horse running the Preakness for the prize. His shaft drummed into her, beating her belly with the thick hardness. She screamed as she convulsed around him, the thin ‘eeeeeee’ from the gag, and her tight clenching cunt pushing him into his own orgasm. With a last hard thrust, he held her hips, buried deep inside her tunnel, and exploded his own cream into her.

*****************

She awoke, throbbing. The late Saturday sunlight streaked through the trees, sending fingers of light spearing into their room. She was alone, her arms tied above her head. Her nipples sang a song of pain, her clit knocked like a piston. She felt.

She could end that thought right there and it would be a full sentence. She felt.  She caught movement from the corner of her eye, and turned to look at him.

She followed his eyes to the end of the bed, where the box lay, top off.  Her pussy began to weep in anticipation as he moved across the room.

growl

he growled against my ear, barely audible against the panicked beat of my heart.

“shut your fucking piehole. Not a fucking sound. Got it?”

His hand, fisted into the hair at the nape of my neck tightened. I nodded, though the movement cost me. I felt the prick of tears in my eyes, even as I heard buttons pinging against the cracked linoleum floor. It smelled back here, this old, unused room was once a kitchen but was now just a storehouse of eclectic junk.

It was also the room I was about to be fucked in.

He tugged me across the room, bent me over a cold, sheet metal table. The stainless steel was gritty with dirt; I felt it grinding into the skin of my right cheek as he pressed my head against the unyielding surface.

“Don’t fucking move,” he hissed, and I heard the sound of his fly. I shuddered, but remained still. My arms were behind me as he’d ordered me, my tits were starting to fall free of my now-buttonless blouse, and my hair was coming out of my once-tidy French braid.

There was a tug and my skirt was pulled up and over my ass, and my pantyhose pulled down to bare my bottom. He rubbed the roundness there, then rough fingers probed at my exposed holes.

I expected his cock to thrust into me, rutting through his hunger. But instead, his fingers played along my folds. Caresses and pinches as he fingered my slit, and the unbelievable sensation of him rubbing my clit.  I wanted to moan with the pleasure.

I was being taken advantage of. Someone had let it be known that I liked sex. Loved sex. It was scrawled on the wall of the teacher’s bathroom, as if we were the kids, not the leaders.

“Justina loves sex. Force her and she’ll love ya for it.”

It has been erased within the hour. Sure, I could have traced the lipstick. Found the perp, as they say on those tv cop shows. But instead, Mr. Williams was preparing to complete a quadratic triangle on my pussy.

When he pinched my swelling clit, I came, hard.

“So, it’s true. You do cum buckets.” His voice was low. There weren’t many teachers left in the building this late on Friday. But I’d had paperwork to finish, and the big copier was just on the other side of the old kitchen door, in the new office.

His big fingers slid up into my sodden tunnel, gliding easily along the trail of wetness.  He filled me, fucked me, banging me with his hand. I came again, embarrassed by the sounds of wet splatter on the linoleum.

His hands gathered on my hips as he pulled me back and onto his cock at last. It was thick, and he was quite firm in bucking it into me.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a cock that thick inside me before this,  but it didn’t make me want to fight it off. No, it made me want to press harder back on it.

Those words on the bathroom wall were true. I liked to be fucked. The harder, the meaner, the better. He began to piston into my pussy, and I moaned softly. He struck me between my shoulder blades. My lip banged on the table, my teeth biting it.

The copper taste of blood in my mouth told me my lip was split, before the soft ache came. All my attention was focused on my cunt. On the cock working to split me in half. It hurt, the hard, relentless thrusts.

And it felt so fucking good.

I pressed back, wanting more. His hand found one breast, grabbing it and growling. I winced at the pinching grip, as his fingers found and rolled my nipple. I reared up a bit, but the grip was unrelenting.

He fucked faster.

He fucked deeper, way up into my belly. There was growling again, but this time I think it came from me.

I came again, the wet spatter on the floor even louder than the slap of his balls against me.

He pulled me abruptly off the table, and to my knees on the dirty, wet floor. There was a grunt and a hot splash on my left tit. Another spurt on my cheek, another almost in my eye. It stung and I groaned. He slapped me, hard.

When I opened my eyes again, cheek throbbing, he was gone.

It was only me, and my cum-soaked face, tits, and floor. Rising unsteadily, I tugged up my panties, and went in search of a mop.

Before I left,  I found my purse tipped over. My favorite red lipstick was tucked inside with a note taped to it.

“You’re welcome.”