Do**** Posted March 22, 2023 Posted March 22, 2023 As he stood looking down at her, she lying face down on their bed, he wondered what it was she was feeling. She needed him to take her so much, to feel him in control, running the pace, dictating what came next, and yet she somehow needed to push him back, challenge him, almost push him to make it rougher, harder, more ***ful. As if she somehow sought to lose herself in their sex, needed a freedom in that submission, felt escape from her deeper inner self through their violent carnality. She was still now, her breaths even and relaxed, clinging, he felt, to the aftermath of frenetic sexual closeness, their rough intimacy. Almost afraid to come back to herself. He’d hurt her. He was enjoying the liberty they had made their own – his will be done. Downstairs they’d been watching a movie when, as the feeling washed over him, he’d acted on impulse. Putting his hand around her throat, he’d squeezed until she was gasping for air. Tuning into her, measuring his pace by her need, he’d allowed her a deep gasping breath before closing his hand once again, lifting her by her throat from the couch, and pushing her backwards up the stairs. All the way up, their eyes had been locked together, hers wide and staring, his calm and determined. This was his comfort zone, his control, her acceptance of it. It had been an intense …what? ‘Session?’ He smiled to himself. Hardly that, no scene as such, no drawn-out playing of cane or crop, no build-up of *** or worry on her part, just acceptance of whatever he’d had in mind. And what he’d done was – simply – to use her, to enjoy her, to fuck her ***fully, hard, fast, knowing she’d submit to his fingers, his teeth, his breath close to her ear, his hand around her throat or pulling her hair. She’d cum, several times, as she always did, as she submitted to his use of her body, his mean fingers twisting her nipples until she cried out, his hand spanking her ass, cruelly pushing fingers into her, thrusting ***fully deep inside her wet cunt, until he’d finally fucked her, his cock deep inside her, de-personalising her, using her merely as his property, the only words he’d uttered: ‘You’re mine’. Short, sharp, intense. So now she was sleeping. But lightly, in that place between sleep and wakefulness. This he could use. He considered her prone form. They were separate, but bound together. Smiling to himself, he positioned himself close but not so close that he’d wake her. ‘Slut’ he whispered, gauging the depth of her dozing. No response. He inched nearer and repeated himself. ‘Slut’. This time a pause in her breathing told him he’d reached her. He wondered idly if she was dreaming and if so, what scenario his words would suggest. T’was a powerful thing, the mind. But pliable, open to suggestion in certain states. Like now. Measuring the distance from her, and the modulation of his voice, he began: ‘Slut. You’re beautiful. You’re mine.’ As he’d expected there was no palpable response, other than an irregularity in her breathing. Perhaps in her dream-like state he was playing his own part in a scene of her imagining. It hardly mattered. What mattered was the effect. ‘What a shame,’ he continued, ‘that you’re such a disappointment. What a shame that you struggle so much to be anything worthwhile. You could be so much more to me, but you just don’t measure up. You’re a wet cunt for sure, but with nothing more to give anyone. Most of all, me.’ This was fun! She gurgled. Something incomprehensible. Was she replying somewhere in her own dreams? Did she make perfect sense on a level of consciousness below waking? He should have recorded this, he thought, lazily. She’d be mortified later if he had. She hated looking stupid. Ever so lightly, so softly it was hardly happening, he stroked her still-wet cunt with his fingers. That got a response. A soft moan, a barely perceptible opening of her legs, even though in their fucking earlier, she’d begged him ‘no more’ as he’d used her, fucked her, left her gasping. He felt … complete… in this moment. Controlling her responses, playing with her mind as well as her body. His senses alive and responsive, living the moment, tuning in to her physically and mentally. Playing her. Still stroking her cunt, his fingertips finding her clit, he continued his litany to her deeper self… ‘What a sad little princess you are… don’t you wonder who you are sometimes? Don’t you wonder why you’re so fucked up inside? Why you need to be treated so badly? Beaten, fucked, used, and ***d… just to get you off? You do know you’re worthless, broken …’ He let his voice trail off, with its edge of disappointment implicit. Her body was responding, as he’d known that it would. If he thought about it too much he’d realise even that was disappointingly predictable. But she was his princess. His broken doll. Now pushing his fingers inside her, he finger-fucked her – but gently, allowing his actions to oppose his words. Delicious. Without allowing her to wake, he continued speaking softly: ‘Your cunt is mine, your tits are mine, your mouth is mine, I own your body … because it’s all you can offer. You’re worthless, incomplete… You’re nothing because you have nothing to give…’ She was moaning now, her body reacting to his actions and…yes…his words. On some level she hears him, hears his implications, his cruelty even. And her body responds accordingly. He can feel her wetter even than before, her juices soaking his fingers… the movements of the muscles inside her cunt demanding his attention, needing to be taken, wanting more … Her breathing though. That was the heart of this intimacy. The core of her being and his intent … her breathing said more than her body ever could. He increased the measure of his thrusting fingers, using them deeper, faster, making them steel as they moved in and out of her soft but demanding wetness, her cunt contracting around them as if in some desperate attempt to cling to … something … ‘Poor little princess. Worthless, broken, a nothing, a fucktoy, nothing to give and so nothing to be given… except this… ‘ his fingers moving faster, deeper, thrusting, pounding her cunt … ‘how do you feel deep inside… down where you hide yourself … to be discovered so easily… for anyone who wants to look … knowing in yourself you deserve nothing. And that anyone who bothers can see it like a light when you think you’ve hidden yourself so well…’ Her breathing is ragged, gasping. She’s at war with herself, her body in ecstasy, her mind in turmoil. And how would he know that? Easy. She gushes as she cums, soaking his fingers and the bed linen. It’s intense. She gasps for breath, her orgasm consuming her. And she’s crying. Huge sobs, for a reason she can’t explain, wouldn’t know if he asked her, couldn’t put into words if he talked to her all night. Her body still twitches in the aftermath of her climax. But her sobs are more consuming. The pillow is wet with tears. ‘Poor baby’, he says, putting his hand in hers and clasping it tightly. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’ He smiles as she cries into the pillow.
Do**** Posted March 22, 2023 Author Posted March 22, 2023 55 minutes ago, Mistresskimber469ing said: WOW!!! Youre welcome 😉😎 55 minutes ago, Mistresskimber469ing said: WOW!!!
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