by Hannah Ford
My panties were pulled roughly to the side, and the rush of cold air hit my bare skin. I tried to moan, but it caught in my throat. His hand was still on the back of my neck, making it almost impossible to get a sound out.
The wetness of my pussy in the cold air made me shiver, and Callum removed his hand from my neck and ran it down my spine.
Goosebumps bloomed on my flesh.
He stood up, and I felt something hard and impossibly heavy against my back.
His boot, I realized with a startle.
Callum had put his boot on my back.
He exerted a tiny bit of pressure, and I wriggled under him, trying to get up.
“Please,” I said. “I can’t…”
“You can’t what, baby?” he said. He took his foot off my back and reached down, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me up until I was standing, my back to his chest. “You can’t what?” he demanded.
“I can’t take it,” I said.
“You can’t take what?” His hands were down between the back of my thighs, and I clamped them together on instinct, afraid of what he would do to me down there, and yet still wanting it.
He pried my thighs apart with his hand, then gripped the fabric of my panties and twisted it hard, until the elastic bit into my flesh, hard enough that I knew there would be marks.
My eyes filled with tears.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
“I forget… I don’t know what I’m answering.”
“You said you can’t take it,” he prompted me. “What can’t you take?”
“The pain,” I whispered. “I can’t take the pain.”
This seemed to give him pause, and he released my panties. I could already feel the rawness down there, the place where the fabric had torn into my skin.
He pulled me flush against him, so tight I could feel his chest heaving against my back. I turned my head and looked up at him and his eyes locked with mine, the expression on his face softening just a little bit.
“Adriana,” he whispered. “Fuck, Adriana…”
I could see him struggling inside himself, but unless I safe-worded, he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t stop. And I didn’t want him to. Because the thing that being with him had taught me was that I could take anything, I could take any pain, any torture, emotional or physical, as long as he was with me.
His hand skated down over my back, grabbing my forearms and pinning them behind me. Then he reached around and palmed my tits through my bra, my nipples hardening under his touch.
His touch had lessened in intensity, his movements just a touch less rough, and I knew he was trying to be soft with me, knew he was trying to hold back.
I reached up and touched his cheek, letting my hand skate down over his skin.
This was him.
No matter how many AA meetings he went to, no matter how much he told me he was going to work on letting me in, this part of him would always be there. I didn’t want him to change it. I needed it, craved it.
“Be rough, “ I whispered. “I need you to be rough.”
His eyes turned to blue storm clouds, and then he was pushing me down over the back of the couch, his hands back on my panties, twisting them so hard they tore and bit into my flesh.
I gasped.
His hand was on the back of my neck, the pressure almost unbearable.
With his other hand, he began to undo his belt, and my breath hitched in my chest as I waited to feel his cock pressed against me.
But instead I felt something else.
I heard the slight slinging sound of the metal, and then the scent of expensive leather hit me, followed by the feel of Callum’s belt sliding around my neck.
I tensed, rising up on my feet, my body’s instinctual response being to fight. He felt me resisting him, and his open palm came down on my ass, hard and strong, making it clear he would not take any kind of disobedience.
I groaned and he tightened the belt around my neck.
He was collaring me, I realized.
Callum was collaring me with his belt.
My pussy flooded with wetness even as my eyes watered with tears at the humiliation of what he was doing to me.
The belt cinched tighter on my neck, the leather biting into my skin. I would have marks all over me again -- his handprints on my ass, the red lines where the fabric of my panties twisted into my skin, and now a bruise from the belt.
He was bruising me, marking me, making me his.
“Jesus, Adriana,” Callum breathed. He held the belt with one hand and unbuttoned my dress. I would have thought that the tiny buttons all up the back would have made him frustrated, but he must have enjoyed torturing me so much he was able to keep a handle on his frustration, because he unbuttoned each one slowly. He used one hand, deft fingers slipping the buttons through the material, shivers running up my spine as he exposed my body to him.
“Stay still,” he commanded when I fidgeted a little. My pussy was so hot it felt like it was on fire, and I needed something against it, wanted his cock against it, even if it was through his pants.
I tried to stay still, but he was going so slow, the fabric pulling away from my skin at a pace that was excruciating.
When the dress was finally unbuttoned, Callum pulled me up from the back of the couch, pulled the dress down over my arms, then slipped it slowly down my body.
Now he was pushed up against me, his cock against my ass.
The belt hung down my back as he finished slipping my dress off, leaving me in just my lacy bra and thong.
His hand slid up the back of my leg, over my calf, my thigh, slowly, surely, until it was between my thighs.
I whimpered.
“Quiet.” He grabbed the belt with his other hand and tugged on it gently.
The protests died in my throat. I knew better than to talk back when he had me collared.
“Spread your legs.”
I spread them, but instead of giving me what I wanted, his hand, his cock, something on my pussy, he reached around and pulled the cups of my bra down.
My breasts burst out of the cups, my nipples hard with arousal.
Then he pulled me back toward him roughly, one hand on the belt, the other pinning my hands behind my back so tightly it hurt.
There was a mirror across the room, one of those expensive-looking ones that leaned against the wall.
I turned my head, not wanting to see myself.
Callum noticed, and immediately became vicious.
“No,” he growled, grabbing my chin and turning my head back so that I was forced to look at my reflection. “Look at yourself.”
I turned my head back toward the mirror.
“Look at yourself, what a little slut you are for me, all tied up, your tits and pussy hanging out.”
I moaned, looking at myself, tied up, my breasts unfettered, a collar made from a belt around my neck, Callum standing behind me, his shoulders broad and strong. His gaze held steady and smoldering on my reflection.
I whimpered at the difference in our sizes, at how big he was compared to me, at how powerful he looked.
He held my chin in his hand, cupping it tightly.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against my lips. “You are so beautiful.”
He pushed me back down, roughly, so that I was bent over the couch again.
He kissed down the back of my neck, over my upper back, then my lower back, over my ass until he was knelt behind me.
His hands gripped my thighs, hard, his thumbs pressing into my flesh.
He spread me open, exposing my pussy to him.
“Look at that tight little pussy,” he murmured softly, his finger sliding slowly over my slit.
The flat of his tongue licked my slit, a smooth stroke down over me that caused me to cry out.
This earned me a hard slap on the ass, and then he was even further into my pussy, fucking me with his tongue, swirling the tip of it over my exposed clit, which had swollen with desire.
>
“Whose pussy is this?” he growled.
“Yours.”
“What?” he prompted, and one of his hands released my thigh and grabbed the end of the belt and pulled. I rose up on my toes, aching for some relief, from the leather biting into my skin, but that only made it worse.
“My pussy belongs to you,” I whispered.
He grunted in satisfaction, and then he was behind me, and I could hear him removing his pants.
He held the end of the belt with one hand. It was loose, slack around me, and I took the opportunity to take in two long breaths.
“Stick out your ass.”
I did as I was told, and he smacked me, hard.
He was spreading my pussy again, watching me, and I looked into the mirror to see him behind me.
When he saw me watching, his eyes hooded with desire. He stuck his hand in front of my mouth, slipping a finger between my lips and I sucked on him hungrily.
Then he held his palm in front of me.
“Spit on it.”
It was the same thing he’d told me the first night we’d been together, the night he’d told me he couldn’t fuck me, that there was no way he would let himself do that.
I spit on him and watched in the mirror as he palmed his cock, lubricating his shaft.
I knew there was no need for it– my pussy was already dripping wet, already slick and ready for him. He didn’t need the extra lubrication.
I knew he was doing it because it was dirty and nasty and because he loved doing dirty, nasty things to me.
He pulled back on the belt, snapping my entire body back as he entered me in one full stroke.
I gasped as he filled my hole, still not used to how big his cock was, how he stretched me.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he groaned. “Even after I’ve been fucking you so hard, that cunt is to tight.” I whimpered as he pushed into me again, pulling his cock all the way out, then pushing back in, past any resistance the tight walls of my pussy provided.
“Good girl,” he said. “Yes, baby, take that whole dick.” I watched in the mirror as he fucked me, watched as he gazed traveled down to where his dick was disappearing inside of me.
I looked at my reflection, at all the faint marks and bruises on my body from where he’d had his way with me, where he’d pushed into me, punished me, whipped me.
His eyes were a storm, the blue darkening into pools that were dark and infinite. He kept going, fucking me, harder and harder, pulling out and then thrusting back into me.
Every thrust got easier as my juices mixed with his precum. And at the same time, I never got used to the slight stretching that accompanied him inside of me.
Every time he pulled out of me, I immediately wanted him back inside of me, wanted him to stretch me out around his cock. Even though it hurt, it felt somehow right, as if he was meant to be inside of me.
He pulled me back to him with the collar, until I was flush against him.
“Arch your back,” he whispered, his dick buried inside of me.
I arched it, watching in the mirror as my tits thrust forward.
“Watch me fuck you.”
His hand cupped my chin, holding my face in place, forcing me to look at myself in the mirror, forcing me to see the dirty things he was doing to me.
I closed my eyes, all of it too much for me to take.
“Eyes open,” he snapped, and yanked on the collar.
I opened my eyes, watching him fuck me.
“Your pussy feels so fucking good, Adriana,” he groaned. And then his mouth was on mine, kissing me hungrily, his tongue tangling with mine, the stubble on his chin rubbing against my skin, another part of me that would be left raw and aching because of him.
He thrust harder and harder as he kissed me, and then finally, he pushed me down onto the couch, grabbing the belt around my neck, pulling back and using it for leverage as he continued his assault on my pussy.
My orgasm built and swelled like a wave, my clit swollen and wanting.
He held me down against the couch as he pumped into me, and I watched in the mirror, watched as he fucked me hard and held me down, watched as he assaulted my body and did dirty, disgusting things to me.
“I’m going to come,” I whispered into the couch. “Callum, I’m going to come.”
It was a declaration, but I was also waiting for his permission, was waiting for him to tell me it was okay, that I could come, that he would allow it.
There was a pause, a moment of silence, and I could feel the wave building inside of me, threatening to crest, and for one terrifying moment I thought he was going to deny me, was going to tell me not to come yet, and I wasn’t sure I could stop it.
But then I felt him on top of me, his body pressed roughly against mine, as he whispered into my ear. “Come.”
As soon as he said it I did, the walls of my pussy clenching on him, and then, almost simultaneously, I felt him come inside of me, felt him unload into me, warming me and coating me inside.
He pumped into me as he did it, making sure every last drop of his seed was deposited into my pussy.
Then he collapsed on top of me, his body warming mine. I felt hot and feverish at the same time, goose bumps breaking out all over me.
Callum gathered my hair in his hands and pushed it over one of my shoulders, kissing me softly on the back of the neck.
Then he began to undo the belt he’d placed around me like a collar. When he was done, he pulled me to him, turning me around and gazing into my eyes.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispered.
“No.” I shook my head. It was imperative to me that he knew that I loved this part of our relationship, that I needed to be submissive to him. That nothing about this part of him was wrong or dirty, the way he’d been led to believe. “You could never hurt me.”
He kissed me again, this time on the lips, soft and sure.
“Go shower and get dressed,” he said. “I’m taking you to dinner.”
An hour later, we were on our way out the door.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked as Callum fastened the necklace he’d given me around my neck.
“No,” he said.
“But it’s fancy?” I smoothed down the front of my dress nervously. It was black and gorgeous, made of cashmere with a loose cowl neck and no sleeves. It was elegant and sexy at the same time, and I’d paired it with a pair of black pumps and pantyhose with a sheer chevron pattern. Callum had arranged for the clothes to be sent over while we were in Michigan, knowing that I was going to need things here when I moved in.
I had so many clothes that he’d gotten me, in so many different places. I was going to have to consolidate them here, all in one place, in our home.
“You look gorgeous.” He kissed me softly and I inhaled his scent, that spicy cologne that I loved.
The moment felt perfect.
And yet.
It was always there.
The little voice in the back of my head.
Reminding me I was pregnant, that there was a baby inside of me, threatening to change everything.
The thought was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
I wanted to share it with Callum. I wanted to tell him. And yet I was afraid that something like this, so soon after him relapsing would send him into another tailspin.
Rose’s funeral was barely over, and to hit Callum with another big curveball like this…I wasn’t sure how he would handle it.
“Hey,” he said, tipping my chin up so that I was forced to look him in the eye. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I swallowed. Tell him, a little voice in my head whispered. Tell him you’re pregnant.
“Good,” he said, smiling at me. “There’s nothing to be upset about. We’re together. I want to just go out and have a nice night. No stress. No talk about things that are upsetting. Just me and you, together.”
“Callum…”
“Yes?”
H
e was looking at me with concern in his eyes.
Tell him, I told myself. Just tell him.
It’s not for sure, another voice whispered back. Wait until you go to the doctor tomorrow. I’d made an appointment online while I was in the other room getting ready. I’d had to find a new doctor, since my regular doctor was back in Michigan and I didn’t have a new obgyn in the city yet.
“I just… I want you to know how much it meant to me, what you did for me in Michigan,” I said.
Callum’s eyes narrowed. He knew me better than that. “You’ve already said that.” He tipped my chin up. “Adriana. No secrets, remember? I know I have no right to make demands on you when it comes to that, but I want to try.”
“I know.” I licked my bottom lip nervously. “I, um…it’s really nothing. I’m just… “
We were interrupted by a buzz from downstairs. “Ignore it,” Callum said.
But it buzzed again.
“It could be important,” I said.
“Nothing is more important than this.” And yet the buzz came again, three times in quick succession.
Callum crossed the room. “Yes?” he barked into the intercom, irritated.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir.” The doorman’s voice was smooth, unruffled by Callum’s curtness. I supposed he was used to it. “But there’s a messenger here for you, and he says you need to sign personally.”
“What is it?” Callum asked.
“He won’t say, sir.”
Callum’s brows knit together.
I reached out and touched his arm lightly. “Let’s go down,” I said. “We can go to dinner and talk about this later.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but he must have seen something in my face, something that made him think better of it.
Finally, he nodded. “We’ll talk about it at dinner.”
He held out his hand.
I took it and let him lead me out of the apartment.
There was a messenger waiting for us in the foyer, a harried-looking kid of about twenty-one with a full bushy beard and faded gray jeans.
He was holding a manila envelope, which he held close to his chest until Callum was done signing for it.
