****** Weekend by Kitncuffs ******
===============================================================================

Weekend


My assignment is due in less than an hour... I've put it off; it's hard, I
don't want to do it. Explain myself... explain what I want? I want you to
*know* what I want without my having to say, that's what I want. And you do.
But you enjoy forcing me to look into the creepy dark corners of myself to come
up with answers for you, and I hate that part.

So, finally, I sit, and I begin to type. I write about my fantasies and my
fears, my desire to be broken and still think of myself as strong. Everything I
want seems to be a dichotomy. I'm proud of who I am and what I've accomplished.
I'm proud that everything I've done in my life has been achieved by my own
hand, with very little help from others. And yet... I want there to be one
person who doesn't find me strong and independent. I want there to be one
person who revels in my fragility, who explores it and expands it and forces it
into the light. Someone who wants to see my soul standing naked and shivering
before his eyes. There aren't many men willing or worthy of that
responsibility.

A touch of a button and my words are sent into cyberspace... my deepest
thoughts and soul searching revelations neatly packed into computer bytes.

There is no reply to my e-mail the next three days and I begin to panic,
wondering what I've said wrong. I wait and am rewarded finally with a phone
call Friday afternoon. You say nothing about my assignment, but I don't care
because you want to see me, and that's so much better anyway. Your directions
are brief and concise and I jot them down quickly to allow no margin of error.
I shower and dress, exhilarated but nervous as I drive to meet you.

Opening the door, you motion me inside and I follow you silently into the
living room. You motion for me to sit and I do, watching you for any hint as to
your mood, your intentions, your thoughts. You regard me silently for several
moments until I begin to fidget under your gaze, then you speak.

"This weekend is a test. You don't really understand, you can't, what it means
to belong to another person. Don't," You hold up your hand abruptly as I open
my mouth to speak. "Don't. We'll see how you feel at the end of the weekend. I
want to ask you some questions now... I know the answers to most, but think
very carefully before you answer, because these will determine the course of
this weekend. Are you ready?"

I nod, my mouth too dry to speak as my heart pounds in my chest. There is a
part of me that despises myself for having this reaction to you, I don't
understand the mechanics of my body's response to you.

"The three things that to you exemplify your definition of domination. The
things that most excite and entice you?"

"Objectification." A whisper, my eyes downcast, the blood rushing to my face.
I'm praying that you're not looking for reasons yet for my responses, I can't
begin to form my thoughts. "Humiliation." Even softer now, my voice trailing
off. "Denial."

"Denial? Are you certain of that?"

I nod, looking at my fingers twisting in my lap. "Without it, you don't really
control, I do. Submitting is my pleasure, being denied is really the only
punishment you wield."

"And are there things that you could not endure?"

"Yes." I know you too well to fear reprisal for this. You have your limits as
well. "No children. No animals. Nothing gruesome, like scat or snuff things. No
permanent damage."

You nod, this is familiar territory. "Go upstairs and change. There's an outfit
in the small bedroom for you, on the bed."

I climb the stairs, enter the nearest bedroom and am mildly surprised by the
loose white shift on the bed. Too many movies... I had expected some cheesy
French maid outfit, maybe a harem girl costume or worse yet, nothing. This is
simply a very sheer silk dress, short and sleeveless, almost shapeless really
until it's on and conforms to the body beneath. Sometimes I underestimate you.

I'm more surprised as the evening wears on. It's very placid, almost domestic.
Other than fixing your drinks and warming the dinner prepared by your
housekeeper, you ask nothing of me. We talk, you work a little, me sitting on
the floor beside your desk, reading and occasionally laying my head in your
lap, encouraging attention. I'm almost disappointed actually, I had envisioned
something more melodramatic. Being handcuffed constantly to the furniture or
made to eat off of a plate on the floor, something more... well, submissive.
Not that I'm complaining, I love being this close to you, studying your face as
you type at your keyboard, watching the muscles in your forearm shift as you
jot down notes while you work.

You complete some document or spreadsheet or something and shut your computer
down for the evening. Standing, you tell me to pour some wine for myself and
come to you in the living room again. I set my glass on the table before
kneeling beside the sofa. "No, keep your glass, " you say, handing me the wine.
Reaching into your shirt pocket, you remove something and smile at me. "Open
your mouth."

I feel my body's instantaneous reaction; we have begun. But I'm afraid. I trust
too easily, I'm frightened of what consequences that could have. But..... Why
else would I be here if not to relinquish my fears to you? I open my mouth, my
eyes locked on yours, beseeching. The pill you place on my tongue is small but
bitter and I swallow quickly, washing it down with the wine.. I look up at you
again, the question apparent in my eyes, but you shake your head at me. "Trust,
my dear." I nod, but my hands are as cold as ice as I twist them together.

Fifteen minutes later nothing about me is cold. I feel like I'm on fire, like
my body is about to erupt into flames. Wave after wave of heat, desire, the
most intense sexual cravings of my life is turning my body into a torch. I'm
breathing heavily, my face flushed as I stare at you, my eyes glittering with
want. You have never touched me other than the briefest stroke of hand to hair
or the slightest graze of fingertips to my skin. I had predetermined that I
would be proud at our first meeting, that I would not be reduced to begging no
matter what, but here I am, a quarter hour into this encounter, pleading and
anxious, ready to implode. "You seem out of sorts, my dear... perhaps I may be
of some assistance." Your chuckle infuriates me, yet sends another wave of heat
through my body at the same time.

"Please help me... please, I need.... God, please... touch me." I am
practically writhing at your feet, ready to push myself against the fucking
table legs to find release if you won't help me, but as much as I want to come,
I want to please you more, and I bite my tongue and grip my hands into fists
and wait, although I can't quite control the glare I fix in your direction. Or
the whimpers that vibrate in my throat.

"Lay back. Yes, like that. Now spread your legs for me. More. Do you know, I
can see how wet you are from all the way over here? I can smell you.. You're
like a bitch in heat, aren't you? If I scratch behind your ears, will you thump
your leg on the floor?" I was also determined going into this that I would not
cry, no matter what, so I take a deep breath and bite my lip against the sting
of your words. "Reach down and feel your wetness. Stroke around your lips. I
can see your fingers shaking from here, you appear to be quite distressed,
perhaps we should stop for a few moments...?"

"Nooooo.... Please..." I moan, twisting my body to reach the wetness on my
thighs, sliding viscously from my swollen lips.

"Dogs don't talk, my pet. Speaking of... what shall I name my pet? You rather
resemble an Irish Setter you know, all of that thick red hair... how about Big
Red. Yes, I think that works. Now, let me think... what does a bitch...an
animal do when presented with something on someone's fingers? Hmmm, oh yes...
lick it off. Good girl. But look what you've done, Red. You've made a mess on
my floor."

I sit up almost violently, disbelieving... but, yes, there is actually a very
small spot on the carpet from my wetness. My cheeks flush an even deeper shade
of red as I stare at it, wishing I could make it go away. You stand and close
the small distance between us. Gripping the back of my neck, you force my head
toward the carpet. I push against you, resisting, shocked and embarrassed...
humiliated. It dawns on me. Objectification, humiliation.... denial. I'm not
going to get to cum. The horrible realization makes me go practically limp and
then my face is against the carpet, the damp fiber rubbed across my nose as you
push me deeper against it. A couple of light slaps color my ass as you sharply
reprimand me. "Bad girl, don't mess on the carpet. You'll be put outside in the
cold for the night if you continue in this manner." I shudder and lay mute on
the floor when you walk away, reclaiming your seat on the couch. You watch me,
your eyes narrowed in thought as you observe me.

"That's a rather rebellious look you're wearing, Red. You're not getting
mutinous on me, are you?"

"Does it matter? No matter what I do, you'll deny me... right? You use me
against myself." I flip over, crouching on my hands and knees, mouth pouting,
eyes flashing.

"Actually, it depends, my dear. This behavior doesn't further your cause,
however. Now, if you want to earn a reward... then please your master." Your
smile is sardonic as you produce a plug from beside the sofa. An anal plug. Not
a small one, either. A flick of your wrist sends it across the room, several
feet away from me. "Fetch."

I seriously dislike you right now. I want to stand and slap you, tell you to go
to hell. I want to put on my outside face... I begin to crawl.... I can feel
your eyes following my awkward movements and I self-consciously picture the
thrust of my hips, the sway of my breasts as I crawl. Coming to rest beside the
plug, I reach for it and you cough discreetly. I close my eyes, trembling
against the desire to do this and the desire to stop and then I bend further
and take it in my mouth. I crawl to you, my head lowered and lay it at your
feet. Your hand caresses my neck and although I don't thump my leg against the
floor, I do shudder, an inhuman whine escaping my lips. "Good girl."

"Now open your mouth." Reluctantly, I part my lips, open my mouth, feel the
rubbery plastic scraping my teeth as you insert the plug. "Get it wet for me."
I swirl my tongue around it, hating this. Discipline is easier... it's possible
to maintain your dignity while being whipped if you have enough determination.
There is no way to retain any shred of self-respect with an anal plug in your
mouth. Removing the plug, you wipe the excess moisture across my face. "Lay
back again, with your legs spread."

I comply, trembling as I am once again opened before your gaze. "Your nipples
are about to cut through that material, my dear. Perhaps we should pay them
some attention. Would you like to touch yourself?"

"Yes.....please." Five seconds of contact anywhere on my body and I'll cum, I
know it.

"You may touch your nipples, lightly. Very nice. Roll them between your
fingers. Harder. Use them to pull your breasts up, away from your chest."

During this litany of instructions, your voice is getting closer. I open my
eyes to see you beside me and I feel the plug pressed into my hand. I take it
hesitantly, disbelief evident on my face. You nod and I move it slowly down my
body, past my breasts, my belly, stopping at the wet juncture of my thighs. I
look at you again, eyes questioning.

"Put it at the opening of your ass. Put it in... very slowly. Take your other
hand away from your nipples to your clit."

A small sound, part moan, part whine. "Please... I can't. I'll cum if you do
that to me." Hopeful now... "Can I?"

A chuckle. "No, you may not. And you won't. Move your hand... I don't recall
changing my instructions. That's rather half-hearted, pet. Faster."

My hips are off of the floor now, my entire lower body involuntarily thrusting
against my hand. "please, please, please." Trying to stop the inevitable,
trying to be stronger than my body... it's like trying to hold back a sneeze.

"Take your hand back up to your nipples now." Your voice, farther away again,
that same dispassionate tone. I wonder sometimes what you feel at moments like
this. Do you feel lust, desire, want? Do you feel any of the emotions usual to
man?

My hand flies away from my clit as if bitten. Before I disobey, before I
disgrace myself. And so it continues, this back and forth... to my pussy, to my
tits, repeating and stopping. I'm shaking violently, unsure if the moisture
running down my face is sweat or tears, not even caring. The pleas falling from
my lips have become a mantra. "Please, please, please."

"Back to your nipples. Do you know, I could watch this for hours. I especially
love to listen to you cum. I have to admit, I had no intention of letting you
climax tonight. But after this performance, I seriously wonder if it might
actually shorten your life span to deny you now."

A long pause and then I feel your hand at my brow, stroking the damp hair back
from my forehead. Your fist wraps itself in my hair, pulling my face closer to
yours. I have waited for so long for this, to be looking in your eyes at this
moment. It's unfortunate that I can hardly even see you... my pupils are beyond
dilated, my sensory perception overloaded. "Cum. Now." Thank you....

At some point, long moments after the last screams have finished echoing and my
breathing has returned to normal, I find myself curled into a disheveled ball
at your feet. I hate this part too. I can see you, sitting so poised and calm
on the sofa, a placid audience for my display of no control. But surely, now,
I'll get to witness you lose that smug stillness. Surely now you will need to
use my body to satiate any desire brought on by this display? I know that my
own desire hasn't been reduced... my orgasm, intense as it was, only fueled the
flames and I'm trembling now not just with the aftershock of cumming, but also
with longing for more.

You stand finally and walk to the stairs. "Come, my dear. Bedtime." I'm on my
feet instantly, swaying slightly as I follow you up the stairs and into the
bedroom. Finally! Yes, yes, yes. You gesture toward the bed and I lay down.
"Grip the headboard and spread your legs." I do so, eagerly, my eyes glittering
with feral hunger. You produce several lengths of rope and efficiently restrain
me to the bed. Then you sit beside me on the bed, again stroking my hair from
my face. I feel like a child about to be told a bedtime story.

"The restraints are because I know that you wouldn't be able to resist the urge
to touch yourself tonight without them. You emanate lust, it's practically
visible on you. Sweet dreams, my dear... goodnight."

You exit the room as shock rolls over me in waves, followed by fury. Followed
by a hollow feeling of emptiness as I strain against the ropes, calling your
name in broken little gasps. I lay awake for hours, uncomfortable in the bonds,
listening to the sounds of you moving about the house. Despite all of this,
eventually my body succumbs to exhaustion and sleep claims me from my thoughts
of you.

SATURDAY MORNING

Sunlight streams through the windows as I wake with a start. You are sitting on
the bed again, freshly showered and dressed. I have no idea how long you've
been there. You begin removing the ropes, watching me as I attempt to massage
feeling back into my extremities. "Good morning, pet. Did you sleep well?"

Biting back the instantaneous urge to lash out with sarcasm, I still manage to
convey petulance laced with causticity. "When.... after I got through wondering
what if there's a fire? What if I have to go to the bathroom? What if someone
comes in? How do you think I slept?"

A wry smile crosses your face. "The bathroom is down the hall. Join me
downstairs when you've completed showering."

You're gone before I can even complain. I make use of the restroom and scrub
quickly under a steaming hot shower. Then I pad softly down the stairs,
barefoot, my hair damp and my body swathed in a thick bath towel. I find you
sitting in the breakfast nook, drinking coffee and reading the paper. You raise
a critical eye at my appearance. "This may surprise you, but we do generally
dress for the day around here."

I fidget self-consciously before sighing and flinging myself heavily into a
chair. "This may surprise you, but I couldn't find my clothes." Somehow, I
suspect that you may have known about that.

"There's a robe in the bathroom. Never-mind, eat your breakfast." I glance at
the dry whole wheat toast and grapefruit juice in front of me.

"I hate grapefruit juice."

"No, you don't. It's good for you. Drink it." You haven't even glanced up from
your paper. I sigh again and begin eating, swallowing quickly as you fold your
paper and toss it on the table.

"I'll be back shortly. You may swim in the pool out back if you like, or read,
or watch TV."

"You're leaving? Why?" I can't control the hurt tone of my voice.

Now it's your turn to sigh as you turn to regard me with exasperation. "That's
not relevant to you. You can entertain yourself for the hour that I may be
gone, I'm sure. Since you mentioned once that you have a rather regrettable
habit of being nosy, let me make this clear before I leave you. You are
absolutely not to snoop through any closets, boxes or drawers. Is that
understood?"

I nod, trying to look insulted but failing.

"Say it out loud. You will not snoop while I'm gone."

"Fine! Yes, whatever. I solemnly vow on my honor. No peeping into your stupid
closets, boxes or drawers. Are you happy?" I'm openly pouting now, refusing to
even look at you as you gather up your coat and leave.

I move quickly to the window, watching as you drive away. After a suitable ten
minute wait, I make my way to your library, wondering why I'm tiptoeing as I
approach your computer. I sit and boot up, glancing over my shoulder nervously.
I expected some kind of password requirement before being able to access
anything, and am surprised to find myself right at the start-up screen. I also
expected to have to really dig to come up with anything, so I'm even more
surprised to immediately see a file icon bearing my name. I double click on it,
checking over my shoulder once again. A slight click to my right, I look over,
confused. Then the computer image on the screen begins taking shape and I watch
it form, slow dread creeping over me. A booby trap.. A digital camera...
programmed to record this flagrant violation of your rule. I close the
application, searching frantically for a way to delete it, but you've rigged it
beyond my limited computer comprehension. I punch the power button, hoping
beyond hope that somehow it will erase the proof. Maybe like a power surge, the
abrupt termination will make this not have happened.

I burst into the bedroom, searching everywhere for my clothes and some money
for a cab. I don't know if I would actually take this opportunity to leave
before you return, but it's a moot point, since I can't find any way of doing
so. I'm so scared, scared and furious with myself.

"Looking for something?" You're leaning against the doorframe, watching me, a
bemused look on your face. I turn slowly, the blood draining from my face.

"No, not really." I whisper. "You're back early."

"Hmmm... well, traffic was light. I have some work to do in my library. Would
you care to join me?" You hold your hand out and I take it, letting you lead me
reluctantly to a seat beside your computer desk. I close my eyes, barely
breathing as you turn it on. I hear the familiar chime of Windows and then
silence prevails.

"Not a very flattering picture, really." Your voice is grim. "In any sense of
the word."

"I... I'm sorry."

"Really? Are you?" You open a closet door, retrieving my bag and tossing it at
my feet. Striding to the desk, you pick up the phone and I listen as you order
a cab. Tears begin streaming down my face.

"Please, I'm so sorry.... Please don't" My voice sounds so small, so pathetic.

"Save it. And the blubbering, it doesn't become you and it won't work on me..
You have about 10 minutes to dress before the cab is here. Trust me when I
assure you that if I have to place you naked in the cab, I will."

I stare at you, numb. I try to decide whether begging, pleading, throwing
myself at your feet would help, but one look at your face advises against it.
"Please, don't do this."

Your voice is sheer ice, contempt frosted with fury. "Because you obviously
have a comprehension problem, I will use very small words. You do not defy me.
You do not challenge me, or disobey me. Know this- what I give, I can take
away. What I create, I can destroy. What I no longer find useful, I discard.
Now get dressed."

I am white with terror now. I feel like the temperature in the room has dropped
20 degrees. Stupid to anger you further, but in for a penny, in for a pound- I
open my mouth, "You said closets, boxes and drawers, you didn't specifically
say computers."

You pause, looking at me incredulously. "You're not going to plead stupidity
are you? We both know better."

I wipe my face, trying to meet your gaze. "Well, you didn't."

A long hesitation. Then you reach for the phone. I hold my breath, my eyes
closed until I hear your voice instructing, "Cancel the cab."

Relief floods my body and I start to cry again. I stop abruptly as I'm slammed
into the wall of the library, your hand at my throat. Shock ripples through my
body, although I'm not hurt. "Did you misunderstand any part of what I just
told you?"

I shake my head, speechless, lips trembling. "Don't ever push me again. I will
accept the responsibility for this, since I wasn't more specific with you,
although you will pay a penance. But this won't happen again."

I nod wordlessly, desperate. I would agree to anything to have you forgive me
at this point. But I sense that although I haven't been cast aside, it will
take much to be back in your good graces.

You look searchingly at me, as if you're weighing something in your mind.
"There's clothing in the bag in your bedroom. Go get dressed, we're going out"

I flee the room, grateful to escape your cold eyes. Yanking open the bag, I
stare at the wisp of material in my hand. Some kind of latex, rubbery dress, if
you can call it that. I squirm into it, eyeing myself in the mirror. Halter
style, it barely covers my breasts, leaves my back completely bare and dips
practically to the crease of my ass. The hemline grazes the bottom of my ass
cheeks. You appear silently in the doorway, a pair of black thigh high boots in
your hand. They thud as you toss them at my feet and I gaze at you. "There's no
respectable place in town that would let me in dressed like this."

The faintest trace of a smile. "Who said we're going anywhere respectable?"

Your impatience transmits itself to me and I rapidly pull on the boots and then
pin my hair up, loose tendrils curling around my face. "Where are we going?"

"To an S and M club. You say I treat you like a child. Tonight you'll get to
see how the "grownups" act."

I'm astonished by this, but I hurry to catch up as you yank open the car door
and thrust me inside. The trip is made in almost complete silence, both of us
apparently lost in our own thoughts.

Pulling up to an uninspiring brick building downtown, you park and retrieve me
from the car. I can hear the loud music from across the street. You greet the
doorman, handing over some money and then we enter and go down a flight of
stairs. Rounding the corner, I stop dead in my tracks as the interior comes
into full view. At the very first table, a girl is laying naked with her legs
spread, supported by two men. A third man is fisting her... I watch in
fascinated horror as his wrist disappears into her. One of the men holding her
legs removes a bottle from his pocket and pours the contents over her. A flick
of a lighter and her body erupts in flames. I cry out and you pull me away, in
another direction. "She'll be fine."

I turn to follow and almost trip over a male slave, crawling on the filthy
floor behind his Mistress. I eye the concrete floor dubiously. The place reeks
of sweat and worse, less pleasant bodily fluids. I can't imagine touching that
slime. He is beyond bizarre, wearing a sheer teddy, stained at the armpits with
his sweat. Nylon stockings encase his legs, his leg hairs are matted against
them, giving him a mottled, sick appearance. When his Mistress is seated, he
buries his face between her legs, his lips clamping over her exposed pussy
lips. His cheeks bulge out a few seconds after he begins and I frown, wondering
what's wrong. Then urine begins streaming from his mouth and I turn away,
repulsed as I realize that he's being used as a toilet slave. I speak your
name, a plea, unsure of myself in this place.

Another few steps, another table. A female slave, binder clips attached to her
nipples, her face contorted with pain. Two tables away, weights are attached to
the scrotum of a male slave. I try to look away, to bury my face in your
shoulder, but you move aside, forcing my chin up. "Please get me out of here."

"I would offer to get you a drink, but I don't really recommend anything that
doesn't come in it's own bottle." You nod toward a group of men... one man is
bent over, a shot glass is being inserted in his ass.

I can feel my head starting to spin. I try to breathe through my mouth,
"Please... can we leave? I'm going to be sick, I mean it."

A dominatrix passing us pauses, interested. "Could you wait while I fetch my
boy? He enjoys being vomited on."

My face drains of blood and you grasp my elbow, yanking me to the entrance of
the club. Pushing open the door, I burst outside, drinking in the cool night
air gratefully. You hold me up, leaning me against the wall, supporting me. You
stroke my hair, making soothing noises until I stop shaking. Finally you lead
me to the car. "Come on, before we get robbed."

The ride back to your home is even quieter than the trip away. When we enter
your house, I wait until you've locked the door. "May I please take a bath or
shower?"

You nod, "I'll wait by the fireplace."

I stand under the scalding hot water, feeling it burn my skin, scrubbing myself
again and again with French milled soap. I wrap myself in a bathrobe before
venturing downstairs to sit at your feet in front of the fire. You pick up a
wooden hairbrush and begin working it through my damp curls. I'm still shaking,
I don't know if you heard the sounds of my being violently ill before I
showered, but there's tea on the end table.

"Why?" It's the merest whisper, I hadn't even meant to ask it out loud.

"Because you need to understand what will happen to you if you try to go too
fast. You need to quit questioning my decisions. You need to quit pushing me
and challenging my authority. Or you'll end up like those people."

I shudder... "No."

"Yes. I've seen it happen. Is that what you want?'"

I shake my head, turning to lay my head in your lap. "Please don't let that
happen to me."

You stand and pull me to my feet. Without a word, you untie my robe and it
pools at my feet. A hand at the small of my back and I'm bent over the couch. I
don't know where you produced the crop from, but it makes me cry out as it hits
the back of my thighs. Then I'm ready for it, braced against the couch as my
body becomes criss-crossed with red welts. I don't know if this is punishment
for my earlier snooping or just done for your pleasure. I'm crying out with
each blow before you're done, pride forgotten. Then your teeth are at the back
of neck, your cock is pushing against my ass. I flinch, tensing as you open me,
you're too big. Another thrust and I scream as you enter me completely. I can't
breathe with your weight bending me in two over the sofa back, but I don't
care. This is the culmination. All I want, all I ask, is the opportunity to be
this for you, to be a vessel for your every desire. I want to amuse you when
you talk with me, interest you and provoke you. I want my body to be used by
you to release your frustration, to be humbled at your hands. I want you to
find your pleasure inside of me, whatever the method. I'm cumming, my juices
running down my legs as you thrust inside of me, but I don't even care, all I
want is to please you. Spots start forming in my eyes as I try to draw oxygen
into my lungs. I'm frantic beneath your touch, wanting to feel you cum, wanting
to claim victory over your body for once. Blackness at the edges of my eyes, I
wonder if you know that I can't breathe. Your breath is hot against my neck,
please, please, please, cum for me... everything fades away and I never know.
When I regain consciousness, you are dressed again, aloof and cool and I am
once again restrained, spread-eagled to the bed.

"Sweet dreams, my dear."

SUNDAY MORNING

Another night spent restlessly fidgeting, my mind filled with images of sex and
violence and surrender. This time I'm awake when you enter the room: I've heard
you shower and leave the house, returning shortly, then moving about
downstairs. I listened to your footsteps on the stairs and tried to anticipate
what would come next. I was wrong, again.

You're carrying a breakfast tray which you set beside the bed. I try to angle
my head to see what's on it but fail, and my attention is distracted by the cat
that follows you into the bedroom.

"I didn't picture you as the pet type; I didn't know you had a cat." Attempting
to make small talk, ludicrous really when you're tied naked to the bed.

"I don't. I hate them. It's the fucking neighbors, but it's always over in my
yard, so I borrowed it this morning." You are stirring a bowl of something...
pudding?.. as you talk, and I know what comes next. I *know* and I can't do
anything and I hate you and I want to not believe it, but I'm right.. You begin
smearing the pudding over my nipples, the spoon cold against my skin. "No."

You ignore me, of course, making a small clucking sound. The cat jumps onto the
bed, obviously comfortable with itself, rubbing against your hand, sniffing the
spoon with interest. You hold it out and his tongue laps at it, insistent for
more when he's done with the spoon.

"NO! *Please*" I am struggling in earnest against the restraints now, absolute
dread and disgrace making me panic as you stroke the cat's head, directing his
attention toward me. I know that you have no sympathy for tears, which is fine,
I'm too upset to even try manufacturing some right now. "PLEASE don't, you
promised, I can't, please!"

Calmly, "I never promised anything. I listened. Now hold still or you'll
frighten your new friend." You reach for the tray again and I see the ball gag
in your hand. "Wouldn't you rather show me that you can behave than force me to
use this?"

I don't know what to do. I turn my head away, I can't look at you as I feel
that tongue against my nipples. Each time they become licked clean, you smear
more of the cold pudding on and my fucking traitorous body responds, heedless
of the dictates of my mind. My nipples get harder and more sensitive and soon
I'm breathing more heavily, panting really, aroused despite myself and this
time the tears aren't manufactured. I despise myself for my weakness.

The spoon again, against my pussy. Your hand spreading my labia, smearing it
thick over my lips and clit. I'm begging, no, please, no... but I don't
honestly know if that's no, don't or no, don't stop? What a complete phony I've
turned out to be, with my insistence of having standards, having limits.
Obviously they're as insubstantial as the mist.

"Are you strong?" I open my eyes at the question, looking at you with tears in
my eyes. No pretense, no evasion on my part. "No."

"Are you independent?"

"No."

I barely even register the cat, the sandpaper tongue between my thighs, I am
completely focused on you, barely breathing as I wait.

"What do you need?" A shudder runs through my body.

"You"

"Can anyone else ever give you what you need?"

"NO! Please... you know it. You know that I need you, that I would do anything
for you. All I want is to belong to you, please." I'm begging, a thousand
different supplications encompassed in my words. Claim me, use me, fuck me,
hurt me, own me, break me, control me... Anything. With every fiber of my soul,
I want you to possess me.

The ropes are cut in seconds, the poor confused cat thrown from the bed. You
know that I am always wet, always ready, your cock is inside me in one brutal
thrust and I'm wrapped around you, moaning as you fuck me, hard and fast and so
fucking good. I cry out in dismay when you pull out, but it's only long enough
to flip me onto my hands and knees and then you are inside me again, and I'm
thrusting back against you, meeting every penetration with my own force.

Your thumb presses against my ass and I whine with craving. "You're such an
anal little bitch, aren't you?" I'm gratified to hear that your voice is not as
calm as usual. "Do you want me to fuck your ass again?"

"Yes. Anywhere, please... I just want to please you."

You pause. "That isn't what I asked. Ask me to fuck you if you want it."

My pussy is spasming around your cock, I can feel every pulsation... I'm beyond
argument.

"Please, I want you to fuck me in the ass. Because I'm your whore. Please, I
want you to fuck every hole until I'm raw and screaming and I want to lick your
cock clean afterward and I want you to cum inside me. I'll do anything PLEASE!"
I'm sobbing the words, broken little gasps alternating with moans as you
proceed to enter my ass, pounding into me, I don't even know what I'm saying
really, just begging, just wanting to do everything to feel you cum inside of
me. And I get to this time. The slight noise you make doesn't begin to compete
with my screams and moans, but I feel you cumming and feel victory finally.
God, I want this so bad.

I don't want you to uncouple us, don't want you to leave me alone again. I
don't expect cuddling afterward, no softness or petting. But I make a small
noise of unhappiness when you pull out of and away from me. "Nooo..."

You hold out your hand, "Come and get cleaned up."

I'd forgotten about the pudding. I'm sticky, covered in it. I follow you into
the bathroom and wait as you start the shower. You motion me in and I sigh as
the hot water rinses me. I'm surprised that you follow me in, standing away
from the spray, but I take advantage of the situation, admiring your naked body
for the first time. I reach for the shampoo, but you grab my hand and bend my
fingers, driving me to my knees. I'm confused, uncertain...no. I realize that
I'm on my knees before you and you're waiting. I look up at you, look at your
cock, still firm despite your orgasm, still covered with your cum...and with
me... my gag factor is about to kick in. I close my eyes, knowing what I've
said, knowing what you're waiting for. But...

"I don't think I can."

"So, don't think. Just do." Your fist is in my hair and I know what I've
promised. But this is so close to being vulgar, so close to scat... of course.
Friday night. My mind scans back quickly, no animals, no scat, no kids, no
permanent damage. I look up at you, panicked again and you chuckle.

"You'd make a horrible poker player. I can read every thought the second you
have it. The cat was underage, ok?"

I blush furiously, hating how transparent my emotions are to you. And then I
take a breath and close my mouth around your cock. I'm determined not to let
the ick factor of this keep me from giving you proper attention, but I have to
admit, I'm thankful for the water surrounding us in the shower since it has
rinsed you a little despite your staying back. I suck on the head first,
building up wetness in my mouth before I move to take all of you in my throat.
My hands are at the base of your cock, one following the motion of my mouth,
stroking up and down; the other moving to outline your balls with my
fingertips, tracing them lightly, then moving to suck them into my mouth, my
hand still sliding over your dick. I hate doing this in this position. I want
you to lie down so that I can use my tongue all over, lick and suck the inner
thigh, the crease of your ass, your heavy balls. This is so limiting. So I
return my attention to the head, sucking it hard, then licking it lightly.
Repeating and sometimes sliding the entire shaft down my throat. I know it's
too soon for you to orgasm again, but still I want to pleasure you, feel your
hands at my head, urging me on.

The water has gotten cold by the time you pull me away. You readjust the
temperature and pull me up, handing me the shampoo before you push me under the
stream of water. I want to touch you more, explore your body, let my soap
slippery fingers learn you, but you leave the shower, wrapping a towel around
yourself as you exit the room.

I finish my own cleansing quickly and go searching for you. You're in the
library, feeding logs to a fledgling fire. I sit on the couch, quiet,
uncertain. I've bared my soul to you, given you myself with my words and
actions. Do you want me though?

I wish that you weren't so in control. I wish that I could use the only weapons
I have to make you want me, but you're impervious to them. Most men are
vulnerable when faced with insatiable great sex and intelligence. Neither one
seems to particularly phase or impress you, though. I need you far more than
you could ever need me, and that disturbs me. Of course, it's also what makes
you the only one I want.

You stand and leave the fire to sit next to me and I quickly slide off the
couch, kneeling at your feet. You shake your hand and motion for me to stand,
pulling my bathrobe from me as I do. I stand, uncomfortable as you examine my
body, all too aware of my flaws. You turn me and I feel your hand trace my
tattoo.

"I wish I could have been there for this."

"I thought of you the whole time they did it. I wanted you to be there,
but...." I wanted you to be there, marking me as *your* slave. In my mind, my
tattoo means that anyway.

You stand and pull me closer to the fireplace. Retrieving something, you
inspect it before using the tongs to place it back into the flames. I look at
you questioningly and you regard me seriously.

"My signet ring." The hissing of my breath between my teeth gives away my shock
at this and you stroke my body lightly, positioning me against the desk...

I wait, trembling as you check it several more times, never satisfied with the
heat until it's glowing, white hot against the tongs. You move toward me and I
step away, surprising both of us.

"Wait... please. I... " I close my eyes, my breath coming in short gasps.
Opening my eyes, I look at you. "Will you kiss me? You never have."

You set the tongs back into the fire, then move me back to the table. You hold
my shaking body against you, stroking my hair. When your mouth closes over
mine, I sigh, opening my lips to you. I love kissing, I've always wanted to be
kissed by you, but it seems out of place with everything else. When you break
away from me, I close my eyes and wait. The cold swipe of antiseptic over my
skin, right above my tattoo. And then, you mark me. Forever. Permanent damage
in the form of your initials, marking me as yours.

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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