by Faye, Amy
She rolls her eyes and I see red. “You know what? I’ve just gotten a good idea.”
I pull out my phone. I do have a good idea. About a dozen good ideas that all come together at once in an instant of white-hot rage.
“What’s that?” She says it with an air of contempt.
“You’re going to get on your knees.”
“What? You’re going to get me to suck your cock because you can’t get a woman stupid enough to do it for free?”
I’m recording the whole conversation, now. That’s part of the appeal, I think. It’s an angle. A niche for me to fill. That’s the trick to making money in any business. Have an angle. Something that makes you stand out.
“No,” I say simply. “I’m going to make money. I’m going to sell you to the whole world.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Get on your knees, babe.”
“Why?”
“So I can film you sucking my cock.”
“What, am I supposed to look like I enjoy it? Like some kind of porn star?”
“Look like whatever you want to look like. You hate me, don’t you?”
“You’re catching on,” she growls. But she drops to her knees anyways, and starts undoing my belt for me.
“But you’re still going to suck me off, aren’t you?”
I’m already halfway hard when she gets me out of my boxers. It more than fills her hand, though she’s got smallish hands. Small everything, but proportionally, she’s big where it counts.
She takes it into her mouth and bobs her head gently. God fucking damn. That’s good. She’s good at this. Better than I’d expected.
“Anything to say to the camera?”
She pulls my cock out of her mouth, but leaves her hand around it, jerking it slightly.
“Fuck you, let’s get this over with.”
“Good girl,” I say as she takes it back between her lips. God. Very good girl.
Four
Kate
Maybe, if I’d told him off right away, then the whole problem would have gone away from the get-go. I could have just walked away from my worries, walked away from the whole thing. But I didn’t.
There are a thousand excuses I could use. Luke is a big guy. I don’t think I could stop him, if he wanted to force me. But aside from busting into my room… well, busting into his room, really, he didn’t. So that excuse sounds really good, but it doesn’t work.
Maybe I was afraid of him. But I’m not. And as the time goes by, his ‘punishments’ continuing to get stronger and stronger, I don’t get more afraid of him.
I scroll through the browser on my phone. There’s no way to find the videos he takes. I know they’re out there, somewhere. After the first one, he puts something over my eyes to cover up. It’s the least he can do. But I never asked him to.
My finger traces a slow, gentle circle around my clit. I never tell him about these times, searching through any place I can find to buy porn clips. Looking for myself. Looking for him. I wonder what name he uses? What description he gives of what’s going on here?
What to people buying this stuff think about it? Do they think it’s all fake? All real? It turns me on to imagine that someone’s out there looking at all this. More than I would like to admit. Enough that I almost don’t mind doing it.
I hear the garage door working itself open. Someone ought to take a look at it. Then again, it’s not my house. Not my garage. And not my money to get it fixed, either. So I keep my mouth shut. Ignoring things that can’t be changed is something I’ve got a lot of experience with.
How can people believe this stuff? Women tied up in cages, like they’re kidnapping victims. But they’re perfectly happy. From the same clips they moan like whores when they’re fucked. Like they’re playing for the camera.
I can’t fault someone for wanting to play-act for the camera. I’ve got a dramatic streak in me a mile wide. I can understand it pretty well. But there’s something else.
“Kate?” His voice booms. I slip my hand out of my pants and lotion my hands. I can’t get caught having played with myself. The humiliation is one thing, but it would raise questions I’d rather not answer at this point. Questions about what I was thinking about. What I was doing.
Once that’s done, I finally open the bedroom door. “I’m in my room,” I call up.
I can hear his steps coming up the stairs. Heavy, slow. He’s mad about something. I wonder if it’s the little love note I left him on the counter.
He’s got something crumpled in his hand. He doesn’t bother to show it to me before he launches into his tirade. “What’s this?”
It’s a note. Like I thought it would be. It says ‘Fuck you’ on it. Luke doesn’t like it when I talk back; he likes it even less when I’m openly defiant and disrespectful.
The one time that he doesn’t mind it so much is when the camera is rolling. But he doesn’t seem to realize that’s exactly the time that I’m looking forward to. Punishing me with his cock is like punishing a starving man with food.
“What’s what?”
“This,” Luke says. He holds the note out to me, unfolding it part-way with his thumb.
“It says ‘fuck you,’” I offer with as helpful a tone as possible. “Why? Where’d you get that?”
“You’ve been here for two weeks, and you think I can’t recognize your handwriting?”
“Who says that?”
His teeth click together. The angrier he gets, the more he punishes me. Sometimes, the camera doesn’t come out. Sometimes it’s just a show for an audience of none. Those are the most enjoyable.
I can see in his eyes that he didn’t have a good day at work. That he’s angry because he knows that the note is the most petty thing I could think of that I knew would piss him off. I can see him working himself up. I can see my own efforts starting to pay off.
“Do you want to piss me off? Is that what it is? And this is the best you can do?”
I struggle to keep my face neutral. “I don’t want to piss you off. I didn’t write that note.”
“And now you’re going to lie to my face?” Luke’s jaw grits tight. He blinks.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I have to fight to keep from smiling as anger flashes again across his face. He knows exactly what I’m doing. I know exactly what I’m doing, too. One of us is going to get their way, at some point. I know it.
“You’re not the least bit sorry. I can see it right there on your face.”
He’s right. I’m not. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.”
He eyes me hard. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, Kate.”
“Do you need to punish me?”
He looks like he wants to punish me with a stiff right hand to the face. But he doesn’t. Luke is much too civilized. It’s a first for the type of man I’ve dealt with. I need to fix that before things get too far along and I end up having no fun at all.
He grits his teeth and looks like he’s ready to let loose something really impressive. “Bend over,” he growls. No audience today? I shiver, and then I do what he tells me to.
Luke’s fingers hook into the hips of my pants and pull down. For a moment the fabric fights him, refusing to go down over my wide hips, and then it slips down lower, and finally past the widest part of my body.
His hands run gently along the smooth skin of my ass. I wonder dimly when it’s going to come. When I’m going to be left yelping in pain that feels deliciously bad.
In an instant he pulls away and replaces his hand with a powerful thwack. My ass jiggles for just a second before it starts to burn with pain. I let out a low groan.
He slaps it again. I shiver again. My body feels impossibly pleasant, like I’d never stopped. I wonder if he’s realized already that he’s not going to get me to stop this way. If he has, why does he still do it? If he hasn’t… how?
I stretch my ass back further, tightening the skin until it almost hurt
s. He brings his hand down again and I straighten reflexively. Fuck, this is going to be good.
I almost let out a groan when he steps back. I start to straighten myself out, start to stand up. But with a word, I press myself back into the bed, the way that he’d left me. Then a dark hood descends over my head, covering everything above my nose, and I hear his voice, low and confident.
“Alright,” he says. “We’re recording.”
Five
Luke
“Alright,” I say. I try to keep my voice low and calm. It’s easy to lose myself in this. It’s even easier not to care that I’ve lost it. So I have to be very careful.
She’s teasing me. Taunting. Oh, sure. I know it, and she probably knows that I know. But how much of it is a game? I don’t know that. I don’t know if I care at this point.
She’s still standing there; still bent over. Her ass is still round and tight and ready for me to get ready for it. I grind my teeth unconsciously. Step away and glance at the camera. The viewfinder shows us clearly in the frame.
Then I reach into my pocket and pull out the leather strap that I picked up on my way home. She’s not going to see this coming. Maybe she’ll learn the lesson not to tease people. More than likely, though, she won’t learn anything. She’ll learn that I have a leather strap, and that she likes it.
I set it down on the bed. It can wait. I can wait. I pull back with my hand and bring it down on her ass. She reacts by tightening up her body, but only for a moment. Her ass jiggles slightly. A pleasant image.
“Oh, God.”
“You like that?”
I bring my hand down again. Harder. She lets out a little yelp. Her fingers curl up in the bed sheets.
“Is that the best you can do?”
I have to swallow the anger that raises in my chest. I shouldn’t respond. The more that I respond to her, the more that I encourage the testing of my boundaries. I don’t want her to test anything. What I want is for her to fucking listen to me.
If that’s not an option, then I guess this is a decent substitute, but it’s not an ideal situation.
“You want it harder than that? Bitch?”
She nods her head without looking at me. I don’t know how well she can see, but without being able to move much, she can’t see a whole lot no matter how well she’s adapted to the blindfold.
“Fine. Harder, it is.”
I reach for the strap. I make an unnecessary flourish to make sure that the camera has no doubts about what I’ve got in my hand. Then I pull it back and move forward. My arm goes slow.
If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that blunt weapons like this tend to hurt more than you realized. And I’m not looking to put her in the hospital. Not even really looking to leave a welt. Just looking to hurt her enough that it works for the camera. And it seems that she’s perfectly satisfied to accept that herself.
Twack! It’s louder than I expected, but the reaction is instant. Kate yells.
“Ah! Fuck!”
For a moment I think she’s hurt. I’d been gentle, but maybe gentle isn’t gentle enough. I rub my thumb against her skin, hoping that if she’s upset, she’ll say something. Because she’s got to. I’m not going to decide out of the goodness of my heart to stop.
The skin feels hot under my hand. Hotter than normal, as if the pain is radiating off in the form of heat. I cup her ass and squeeze. God. She’s made for this kind of shit. Built for it.
“How’s that?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she breathes. Her voice sounds like she’s on the edge of tears. “I won’t talk back again.”
“No?”
It’s a lie. I suspect it’s a lie, anyways. She’s terminally incapable of not talking back. She’s barely capable of following instructions, even when I’m right there to enforce them. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to accept it.
“No, Sir.”
Calling me ‘Sir’ is new, as well. Not something we worked out. The only thing that we worked out was a safe word, and I don’t know if she even remembers it at this point because she’s never used it, no matter how rough I got.
“Do you think you’ve been a good girl?”
“No, Sir.”
“Do you think you need to be punished more?”
My hand continues kneading her ass. It’s big enough to fill my hand, with enough softness for my fingers to sink in pleasantly.
“Whatever you think, Sir. If you think I need to be punished more, then I will accept whatever you think I need.”
I move my other wrist and it brings the heavy leather strap flicking up to tap her ass. She convulses again, and I get my answer about why she hasn’t tried to use her safe-word yet. She fails to hold back a moan this time.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she says. “I am.”
“What a slut,” I growl. She pushes her ass back into my hand at the words, as if to say that she’s perfectly happy being called that. “What should I do to you? Maybe I could find a use for a slut like you. What do you think?”
She lets out a long breath. “I don’t know, Sir. Whatever you think is best.”
I don’t want to fuck her without some sort of tacit permission, and she doesn’t seem to want to give it. But she’s not exactly holding it back, either. So I pull my cock out and grab her by one shoulder and pull her off of the bed. I’m careful with where I stand, so she doesn’t have to even know exactly where the camera’s placed to avoid obstructing the shot.
Her mouth opens automatically as she’s pulled to her knees. She’s used to the routine, now. Knows what to expect. At least, she thinks that she does.
I don’t waste any time, entering her mouth and moving my cock in and out. Her mouth struggles to keep up, trying to tease every ounce of pleasure out of the blowjob. It comes across on video, but more than that, I can feel the difference. Her desire to please may not be altruistic, but it’s genuine.
I could spend all day inside her mouth. Fucking her throat. But I’m not interested in that. Not today.
I pull away and she gasps to catch her breath before I enter her mouth again. I usually give her enough time, but only just. She has to work hard to stay full of breath.
But this time I pull her up to her feet and push her back over. My hand comes across her ass in a back-handed slap, not hard enough to leave any mark. But hard enough to remind her that I can do it again at any time.
She stands there, unsure of what’s going to come next. I line myself up with her entrance, and at that point she seems to realize what’s going to come next. Her hands reach behind her back. Is she trying to stop me? Her legs scramble.
But the one thing she doesn’t do, and I’m very carefully listening as I take a rough grip of her hips in preparation for what comes next, is say the word. So I take her.
Her struggling isn’t enough to get her away from me. It never would be. From behind like this, I can do whatever I want. I take one of those struggling arms by the wrist and pull it around behind her back. The other one tries to make up for the difference, but I grab that one, too.
With a pair of hand-holds I start moving, hard and fast and deep. She doesn’t fight for much longer before losing herself in the pleasure. After a handful of thrusts, I forget the camera is even there. Lose myself in the heat of the moment.
I can hear her voice, growing louder with every thrust. Feel her lips gripping my cock as I pull away, only to be pushed back inside when I slam my cock home again. I’m so close. God.
If I just keep moving, a little faster, it’s right on the horizon. I need to cum. Need it so bad that I don’t even think about a condom, or the fact that I’m not wearing one. I could make a mint off this video, if I filmed it right.
But I’m not thinking about that. Not even for a second. All I’m thinking about is the primal need that’s been building up in my gut for the past week, and the fact that I can finally spend my lust in a productive way.
My
hands move to her throat and I start squeezing with my fingers. Her hips roll back in an attempt to meet my thrusts, to pull away when I rock my hips back. Her hands start to ball up and then loosen, her fingers starting to shake erratically as a powerful orgasm rips through her.
Her lips squeeze down tighter, so tight that it hurts in the most delicious way imaginable. And then, shaking, I fill her with my seed, and don’t even think for a moment of going to grab the camera to show the cum dripping out of her.
Six
Kate
I don’t know what time it is when I wake up. I never do. Not for as long as I remember, anyways, and that pretty much means that I’ve never known.
I didn’t go to school. That would have been nice, but I was home-schooled. With Dad, of course, that by-and-large meant that I hung out at the library a lot, and he… well, whatever it was that he was doing, it didn’t involve hanging out at the library along with me.
Still, I guess I must have had something going for me because I managed to get a diploma, and I still managed to feel like I’d pretty much learned what I needed to learn. I hope so, anyways. Maybe I should have sat another few hours with that old Calculus textbook, and tried to really suss out the second half of it. But I didn’t care, and from what I gather, I’m not the only one.
I did manage to get a job, of course; but I work the night shift. Or, I guess, I used to work the night shift. One day I didn’t show up, on account of being at some stranger’s house, and I haven’t gotten a call about it, so I guess I probably don’t work the night shift any more.
So as a result, getting up on time has never been a priority. As long as I was up by noon, when I was a girl, I was fine. And I was, usually. Then if I was up by six in the evening, I was fine. Which I guess I probably am, since it’s so late in the year and it’s not dark out yet.
I rub my eyes and look around. The curtains are drawn, as they always are, but I can see light seeping in through the corners. Enough to tell me that I might have even gotten up a little bit early today.
