Master Over You

by Cerys du Lys

  He bites harder.

  "Harder!" I scream at him. Words slam against the back of my clenched teeth.

  He does. His teeth pierce my sensitive skin and I scream out again, but this time I am in beautiful agony. I open my eyes to see, but I do not see anything for a second. Everything is a blur. He is not biting me now. I can finally see and I look down and he is sucking hard on my breast. I bleed, but not too much. My blood paints his lips with a delicious thin crimson color.

  I grab the back of his neck and nestle him to my chest, burying my face into the top of his head. "How do I taste, Noah?" I ask.

  He answers me with a grunt.

  "I want to taste, too," I say with a pout. I want to kiss him. I pull away from him and he almost growls. One of his hands moves away from my ass to my back, pinning me to him.

  I fight him. I grab fistfuls of his hair and pull hard, but he will not stop suckling my breast. I grind against him, rocking my hips against his body. His fingers delve deep inside me while I rub my clit and the center of my body against his hips. He is erect and so hard.

  I have a plan. I have tricked him thus far. I will trick him again. He will not suspect anything.

  I let loose his hair and manage to wrap my hands around his throat. He refuses to let me go. He has three fingers in me now. I am so wet and wanton that it is easy for him to slide them inside me. I buck and grind against his body, but I also start choking him.

  "Stop, Noah," I say.

  He does not stop.

  "Noah," I say. "Stop."

  I choke him harder. His face is turning red. He is having a difficult time now. He can't breathe. His fingers inside of me are moving slower. He...

  He rolls me off of him and slams me onto the bed. I am in the position he was in before, laying on my back while he straddles above me. My hands stay wrapped around his neck and I see his cheeks turning purple.

  He slaps me hard. My face jerks to the side at his force. He slaps me again. I do not let him go. He grabs my hands and slowly peels my fingers from his throat. He breathes now. There is a delicious anger in his face and he offers it all to me. I struggle against him, but he manages to pin my hands above my head. His hands are bigger than mine and he holds both my wrists in one hand, leaving his other free.

  I can escape him if I wish, but I have tricked him and he does not suspect a thing.

  His free hand grabs at the waistband of my panties and he wrenches them down my thighs to my knees, then off completely. He fights with his own underwear and rips them off, too. We are naked now, he and I, and he is straddling me, pinning my hands above my head, his raging erect cock poised to enter me at any moment.

  He thrusts, but misses, and his cock slams against my clit and slides up my stomach. I flinch and scream at the sudden jolt of sensation.

  Noah pulls back and thrusts again, but misses once more. Instead of pulling back immediately this time, he slides his cock up and down. His throbbing, blood-engorged shaft rubs hard against my clit.

  He pulls back one more time and he thrusts again and this time he does not miss. He does not go slow, he goes fast. He buries his entire cock inside of me in one harsh relentless assault. My body slides up the bed, but he does not give me an inch of space. He follows me, cock digging into me. The head of his cock grinds painfully against my cervix. He is so big.

  I scream out in pain and pleasure. Yesss... my sweet, handsome Noah. Oh, yes...

  He takes one of my wrists in one hand and the other in his other now, holding them separately above my head and pinning me to the bed that way. His hips rock and he pulls out of me and thrusts back in. Each time he does, he moves with a hard, angry lunge as if he is going to kill me with his sexual desires. His cock hungers for my body. He needs to bury himself deep inside of me. It is impossible to do anything else.

  "You fucking bitch," he says, growling at me. "You crazy fucking psychotic bitch."

  I stare at him. I do not know what to say. I cannot say what I want to say to him. I wish I could but I cannot.

  "You're fucking drenched," he says. "You're dripping wet, love. Is this what you wanted? You fucking cocktease. Prancing the fuck around in your underwear the other day? Now this? You shouldn't have taken my shackles off, love. I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. You're going to regret it now."

  No. I will not. I do not. I cannot.

  "I should fucking kill you," he says. He lets go of my wrists and sneaks his hands to my throat, wrapping his fingers around my neck like I did to him. "Fuck you, Angeline. I'm so sick of your fucking shit."

  He squeezes. His fingers wrap hard around my throat, squeezing me, choking me. I open my mouth and gasp for air, but I have none. His body presses against me, stealing my breath, cock pounding into me more and more. I feel it. I feel so alive. I am about to die. Noah can kill me if he wishes. I cannot breathe. I cannot do anything.

  His lips latch onto mine and he kisses me while fucking me and choking me. It is too much. My body caves in to his demands. A surge of life crashes through me. I spasm and clutch against him, my inner walls milking his fierce erection. My entire body convulses and I buck and shift and I am trying to breathe, trying to live. I am so alive. I have nothing, but I have everything.

  An orgasm overtakes me and I squeeze so furiously against him that I force him to slow his pace. The strength of his body and his cock shoves its way past my impenetrable climax, until he has buried himself deep into me again. He refuses to move now. The head of his cock grinds against my cervix and all I can feel is him. Everything is him. We are together, joined.

  His body on mine, his cock inside me and filling me, his lips taking what little breath I have left, and his fingers making sure I never breathe again. I cum for him and I writhe in absolute bliss as orgasm wracks my body with exquisite anguish.

  I have never been so happy.

  Noah's cock twitches and throbs, then releases. He fills me with his own orgasm, pure white seed flooding into me, directly onto my cervix, pressing onwards towards my womb. I am so lost in sensation that I do not realize it at first, but then I do. I feel it and I feel him.

  I panic. I am not happy. No, no, no.

  I fight him. He is not holding my hands. I grab his wrists and squeeze hard, forcing his fingers to release me. He struggles against me, but he cannot win. He thinks this is a part of our game. It is not. He pulls out of me with a smirk, then slams his trembling cock back in me, over and over, while I fight him away.

  "No!" I shout. "No. Noah, no! Stop. Noah..."

  He does not listen. I did not tell him. I cannot explain it to him now. It is too late.

  I cry. Tears trickle down my cheeks as I plead with him even though it is already done. Finally he looks at me and he stops. I need him off of me. I am pushing at him, but he does not understand. I slam the heel of my hand into his chest and knock the air from his lungs, then I throw him off of me. I roll away, escaping him. His potent seed trickles out of my abused pussy and down my thigh.

  I cry and let out a strangled scream and I leap off of the bed. Nimble and lightfooted, I land near the desk and grab my folded clothes. Quickly, I snatch my panties and bra from the floor, then bound across the room to the door. Scattered caramel popcorn crunches beneath my feet, sticking to my toes. I do not know if Noah watches me, and I do not care. I open the door, slip out, slam it shut, and lock it from the outside.

  I flee down the halls to my own room. Thankfully I do not see anyone while I run. If I did, I believe I would kill them. I do not want to... I don't want to kill. Please, don't make me do it. Noah, why? Why did you do that?

  It hurts. My entire body hurts. I enter my room and my body shivers and trembles. I am cold. I was not cold but now I am cold. I wish I had a blanket. I do have a blanket on my bed, but that is all. I wish I had more.

  I do not know what to do. I need to clean myself. How could this happen? No. I said no. Noah. Why? No, but, he did not... he did not know... my sweet Noah. I do not know if he is sweet or if he hates me
.

  He did not know but I am finding it difficult to convince myself not to kill him. I lock my bedroom door and throw my clothes on the floor and go to my master bathroom. I turn on the shower. When it is scalding hot and burning, I enter. I sink to the floor in the corner of the booth and pull my knees to my chest and cry.

  My tears slip down my cheeks to my chest and across my breasts. One stream of tears rolls across my nipple. I see it mix with the drying blood resting within the piercing bite mark Noah gave me.

  I hurt so much.

  *** Noah

  I honestly don't know what the fuck just happened. I'm kind of pissed about it, too. I should fucking know. I'm the one who did it. How the fuck can you not know what you've done? I used to think people were idiots when they used that bullshit excuse. Like if they're driving a car and get into an accident that's obviously their own damn fault. Then they say shit like, oh, I don't know what happened?

  Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. You know what happened. You just fucking crashed your damn car into a van full of motherfucking kids and some poor fucking defenseless mother trying her best to raise the fucking brats.

  I don't have firsthand experience with that, but I hope you get the point that it pisses me the fuck off. Fucking worthless waste of life human beings. Seriously.

  Now I'm one of them. I'm a huge fucking waste of space. I knew this before, but I used to laugh about it. Probably because I didn't believe it. Yeah, I do terrible things to people, but there's a reason. I don't expect you to understand. I'm not fucking broken or anything, which is exactly why you'd never understand. People like to make excuses for what they do, but I don't have excuses to make. I know what I do and I know why I do it.

  I wish I had an excuse. I'm so fucking angry right now. I was having a nice time. Sounds fucked up, but there it is. Yeah, I liked what was going on with Angeline. She's a crazy fucking psychotic bitch, but unfortunately I'm not exactly sane and regular myself. It's a real problem.

  I liked how she looked at me when I had my hands around her throat, choking her so she couldn't breathe. I fucking loved the feeling of her cunt wrapped around my cock like a goddamn fucking vice. She was so fucking wet, and so fucking tight, and I can't even begin to explain to you how turned on I was.

  She isn't some helpless bitch. She's made that point more than once over the past week. The fucking crazy whore ripped out six of my fingernails. She looked like she was ecstatic as fuck when she was sucking the blood from my thumb, too. She begged me to dig my teeth into her nipple and make her bleed.

  She knew what she was doing, is basically what I'm saying. I knew what I was doing, too. Now I don't know anything. I don't know what the fuck I did.

  One minute we're having a lot of fun together and I start to think maybe I had the wrong idea about her. I mean, no, not really. She's still fucked up, that's for sure. But I felt like I could get used to the Angeline brand of fucked upness, you know?

  I don't even fucking know how to say this without sounding like I'm exaggerating, but fucking Angeline was the best sex I have ever had. I say fuck a lot, but I mean it literally this time. Having sex. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. Making love with a crazy psycho bitch. I don't care. I think making love is some useless phrase people use to make themselves feel better about what they're doing, like it means more or some shit if they say that. It's about intimacy and closeness.

  Yeah, it's fucked up, but while I had my hands wrapped around Angeline's pretty little throat and I was pounding my cock deep into her tight little pussy, I felt like we were connected. We were pretty fucking intimate and close in our own fucked up way.

  And I fucking ruined it. I don't know how. I saw it in her eyes. I've seen that look so many times before and it fucking hurts to look at them when they're like that. You kidnap a girl, and the entire point is to break them, but there's different breaking points. I don't like going to the final one. I don't want them to be mindless and fucking useless. Some people say that's better, but fuck them. It fucking hurts to watch someone be like that.

  It's almost like they've finally accepted it. This is how it happens. Thank fucking God I haven't had to deal with it a lot, but here it is. It's going alright, but the tension is there. It's like a looming fog or some shit, and you don't realize it until afterwards, but there's signs beforehand. You could be fucking them, or punishing them, or who the fuck knows. It can happen whenever, when you least expect it.

  Then they fight. More than ever. There's a dire fucking need to resist and it's so fucking strong. It's impressive at first, but it doesn't last, and I always know what's coming next.

  I want to say something to them, but I can't. What the fuck do I say? I'm so fucking sorry, love, but I can't. If I knew this was going to happen, I'd never have fucking taken you in the first place. It fucking hurts. They fight, fight, and then they lose, because I've fucking failed at making sure they never ended up in a dark place like that.

  They stay there. They stay there for a long time. It takes longer to get them out of it than it does to put them into it. That's not what I do, though. I never see them after that. I get rid of them as soon as possible once they're broken that far. I can't fucking do anything more for them after I've done that to them, so I send them to the asshole who bought them and let someone else handle the rest.

  I don't want to talk about this. Or think it.

  That's the look I saw in Angeline's eyes, though. That fucking final break. I don't know what happens now. She escaped. I just watched her run out the door. It broke my fucking heart. I liked what we had going on right then. Now she's going to be fucking dead inside. She was dead before, with those blank and soulless eyes. How the fuck did that happen? Is that how she hides from the rest of the bad shit? There's a fuck ton of bad shit, let me tell you. We do bad shit every fucking day.

  When I had her beneath me, she looked so fucking vibrant, though. Her eyes were alive. There was something beautiful there. I didn't even fucking deserve to see that. I'm never going to deserve it. You know what she's going to fucking do? Kill me. I deserve it. I hope I fucking die.

  She unchained me before that. The TV is on from when we watched a movie, but there's some commercial playing. I don't care. I'm not locked down. There's a window. I can escape. Who the fuck knows where I'm going to go, but it's an option available to me now. Fuck, maybe I can try the door? Sounded like she locked it, but I can probably pick it.

  I can just walk the fuck out of this hellhole, and I should, but I can't make the effort. It's too fucking difficult.

  You win, Angeline. Fuck off, love. I'm done.

  *** Angeline

  I sit in the steam of the shower, feeling hot water and vapor dance across my skin. My head is bent down, as if I am sleeping or praying to God, but I do not know why I should sleep or why I should pray. I cannot pray, anyway. There is no reason for anyone to answer me. I am already dead. I have been dead for a long time, but I have never been able to accept it.

  My dark, shower-soaked hair clings to my cheeks and falls onto my breasts. I stare downwards between my legs. I remember. I remember everything. I do not want to. How much easier would everything be if I could forget?

  My hand moves to my sex and I rub my fingers there, toying with my feminine folds. I do not gain pleasure from it. It is the opposite, in fact. I feel the sticky remnants of Noah's cum on and in my body. I press two fingers deep inside of myself to see if anything is left of him there. There is. His seed clings to my fingers the same as when he came inside of me and it clung there, too, his cum hoping to give itself purpose by invading my womb.

  He was so far in me. It hurt, but in a good way. I could not breathe. I loved it. I felt so close to him then. I wanted him. He wanted me. I think maybe we needed each other, but then I think maybe I am being foolish. That is what happens, Angeline. I tell myself this, and I know it is true, but a part of me does not want to believe it.

  I stick two of my fingers inside of me again and gather more of
Noah's rampant cum. He has hurt me. He does not understand and I do not know how to tell him. Why does he not remember? How do I make him remember? I thought we had promised each other, but I do not know anymore.

  Hot water from the shower cascades onto my legs. It stings, but I do not wish to get up yet. I do not want to turn the scalding hot water into warm water. I want to burn. I want to feel it. I want it to dissolve me and melt me away so that I can be reborn anew. I wish that I were a phoenix of legends so that I could die every day and become ashes, then return to life with every sunrise. It is a foolish, childish thought to think, but I do it anyway.

  I scratch at my thigh, itching away some of the heat. It is a nice feeling to be able to scratch.

  I wonder what will happen if I kill Noah. What will happen if I incinerate his body and turn him into dust? I can do it during the evening when the sun sets, and then lay his ashes outside for the morning. When the sun rises, will he be reborn?

  I do not think that is how it works. I do not know, though. I have never tried it before. Maybe some day I will.

  I want to kill you, Noah. I love you.

  *** Chastity

  I didn't know what I was doing wrong. None of these men would talk to me. I had sex with at least ten of them, and every single time the same thing happened. They'd start, and they'd do it really well, and then once they brought me to orgasm they'd stop and go away. Was there something wrong with me?

  I didn't even need them to cum, I just needed them to stay afterwards. Was that normal? I thought men always came easier than women? Maybe I was too sensitive to pleasure. That meant I needed to change tactics, and I thought I knew what to do.

  The sex tired me out, but I forced myself to go on. Once one of them finished with me, I found another. This made a lot of sense to me, because once I had one orgasm, it'd be harder for me to have the next, right? Sort of. I didn't really know if that was how it worked, either. That was what I started doing, though.