by Amy Faye
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.
There are a lot of things I could complain about, if I wanted to. I try not to. It makes life easier.
I could complain about being put in this position in the first place, for example. I could complain about being in this position with a guy who I barely know. I could complain about him fucking me. Not that I would complain about it, but I could. It’s the principle of the matter, you see.
But of all of those things, the one that I most want to complain about, each and every day, is that I have to plug my phone in on the opposite side of the room before I go to bed, if I want to charge it overnight.
I push myself up from the mattress. Inconvenient. Just downright inconvenient. I push the button to turn the screen on. Power’s at 100%. I pull the cord out gently, as if it’s going to make a difference to the lifespan of the cord. They seem to go bad within a year no matter what I do, but it feels good to try.
There’s a text. From Luke. I didn’t know what to put him into my phone as, so he’s just Luke. If I had been feeling very clever, maybe I’d have thought to do something else, like ‘Sir’ if I was frisky or ‘That Asshole’ if I was feeling rude.
But neither stood out, and now I don’t want to change it. It doesn’t seem important and nothing seems to fit.
Dinner tonight, it says. As if I don’t eat dinner every night. I can only assume that means that there’s something noteworthy about this particular dinner. Like we’re going out, for example.
I don’t know why we’d be going out. It’s not like we’re dating. It’s not like he’s expressed any interest in dating, even if I were willing to do it. Then again, maybe I would be willing. I don’t really know at this point.
I take a deep breath. Flick the screen to unlock it and type a message back. ‘What’s the plan?’
He doesn’t respond right away. I don’t know what he does for work, but I am under the impression that sometimes, it’s time sensitive. Some times more than others, at least, and this is probably one of the ‘more sensitive’ times. So I don’t complain.
Deep breath. What am I going to do now?
I lay back down, my phone in my lap. There’s a lot I could do. I could continue my search for the holy grail, porn of me, myself, tied up and giving oral pleasure to a man who I only technically know the name of.
That’s an option. But it’s not one that’s very appealing, at least not right now. I could do some morning reading. There’s still a near-infinite number of books I haven’t read out there, and some of them are likely to have something interesting and informative to show me.
The phone buzzes in my hands. A little window drops down from the top. Text from Luke. Dinner is at six, get dressed. My fingers start to move, albeit slowly. I’ve never been a fast texter. Never had anyone who I wanted to text.
Just as I’m typing ‘Get dressed’ with the intention of finishing ‘in what?’ the phone buzzes again. This time, the little flag doesn’t come down because the message screen just pops up on the screen I was already looking at.
‘Dress on my bed,’ it says. I delete the question without sending it, push myself up from the chair, and look around. There’s something to consider, at least.
I walk around. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to think about. He’s given me an instruction, and now I decide whether or not I’m going to listen to him. Not listening is tempting, but then again, I’ve never had the chance to embarrass him publicly. I don’t know how that would play.
I look at the dress. I’m surprised, and can’t help the smile on my face. Maybe he’s got some taste, after all.
I pull my clothes off and carry the dress into my bathroom. Well, it’s a shared bathroom, in theory. In practice, with a master bath and a shared bathroom, with only two people living in the house, it’s my bathroom.
The water’s hot, feels good on my skin. Feels like I’m waking up for a second time, more powerfully this time. As if the first time wasn’t quite enough.
I get out, put the dress on, and drop my dirty clothes down the laundry chute. For a moment I consider whether or not to put on underwear; I settle on a bra, but nothing down below. It’s going to be an interesting night, but I’d like to leave the opportunity for it to be more interesting.
Deep breath. Ready for dinner. Check the clock. I’ve got an hour. I don’t know whether it’s a 6pm pick up, or a 6pm arrival. But at 5:15, I don’t think that there’s a whole lot of room for delays if it’s 6pm arrival.
There’s another long moment where I don’t know what’s going to happen. A knock comes at the door. That’s unusual. Extremely unusual, if I’m honest.
I put my eye to the door. See who’s on the other side. Open it.
Dad’s eyes shift from one side to the other like he’s nervous about who could see. I understand why, given who he’s left me with.
“Dad?”
He’s got a grin on his face, but it’s a nervous grin. Not the expression I expect when he comes to pick me up because he paid his debts.
“Hey, chickadee.”
“Why are you here?”
“Now, what kind of a way is that to talk to your father?”
I frown. I don’t care if he sees, because if Dad was going to change, then he’d have done it already; if he was going to get offended, well, that’s fine by me. He’ll get offended with anyone, for even the slightest perceived offense.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“To see my only daughter?”
Only that he knows of, at least, I add silently.
“Did you pay Luke? Or is he going to be pissed when he shows up here?”
“Is he coming home soon?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then I’ll have to be quick. Sorry, no pleasantries. Straight up: I need to borrow a little money.”
My teeth grit. My blood pressure jumps about a thousand points. If someone cut off my head, the blood would just shoot out like a fire hose. Anger surges in my ears.
“You want what?”
“Just a few bucks. Just until pay day. I’m good for it.”
“If you were good for it, Dad, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
I must have gotten tunnel vision, because I didn’t hear anyone pull up. I didn’t hear much of anything at all, until Luke’s low voice rumbled “What do we have here?”
Seven
Luke
Maybe if I were a smarter man, I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this situation. Maybe, if I were more forceful, I would have gotten my money in the beginning. Maybe, if I were more principled, I wouldn’t have taken the ‘payment’ that Bill Ashley offered me.
Maybe, if I were a good person, I wouldn’t have taken whatever I wanted from her, regardless of what she thought. Regardless of the fact that she seemed to enjoy it herself.
But that’s not the situation that we’re in. And I’ve got to deal with the world as it is, not as I wish it were, no matter what I wish the world was like.
“What are you doing here, Bill?”
He blinks at me in surprise. I can see from the way that Kate stiffens that she’s surprised, too, but she at least tries to hide it. Maybe she’d make a better poker player than her father, if she managed to cultivate a mean streak to go along with it.
“I was just leaving,” he says. He tries to give me a reassuring smile. I’m not going to have any of that. I clap a hand down on his shoulder.
“Kate? What did your father want?”
I heard enough of the conversation to recognize the lie that comes next, but to my surprise, it doesn’t show on her face. “He was just asking me for advice on how to get a loan. To pay the debts he already owes. Isn’t that right?”
He raises his eyebrows and then nods vigorously. “Yeah. That’s what I’m doing. Just asking for advice.”
“Here’s some free advice, Kate. Don’t cosign a loan with this guy. He’s going to leave you high and dry.”
“No, of course not,” she says. Like she hadn’t even consider
ed it. Then again, she probably hadn’t. She just made up the lie right here in front of me. But I’m not going to call her on it. That would be mean-spirited, and I’m many things, but I’m not out and out mean. At least, I don’t think that I am.
“Bill, here’s another piece of advice, for you this time.”
“Okay,” he says. I can see in his eyes that he’s hoping he can get away from this situation. I hope he can too, because he shouldn’t be here.
“Don’t come here again unless you’ve got my money. You got that? You want to talk to your girl, you’ve got her phone number. If she doesn’t answer, it’s because she doesn’t want to talk to me. You got that?”
I squeeze my hand on his shoulder. I should be nice and kind and polite. But I squeeze hard enough to hurt, and I know it.
“You got it,” he says softly. “Won’t do it again.”
“No, you won’t,” I agree. “Now go on, get out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
I watch him leave. He climbs into a car, one that I assume is his. Watching Kate’s eyes as he climbs in, though, I have to change my assessment. Maybe it’s not his. Maybe it’s hers. I have to pinch my lips together to keep them twisting into a snarl.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Kate answers. She turns away from the door and leans on the stair banister.
“If you need a minute,” I start. She doesn’t wait for me to finish.
“Just a minute, and then I can go.”
Her shoulders rack as she does… whatever she’s doing. Thinks her private thoughts.
“You look good,” I offer.
There’s a long moment where Kate doesn’t answer, doesn’t seem to have much of anything to say.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “You look good, too.”
I look down at my clothes. They’re nothing different than what I wear most days. But I’ll take the compliment if I can get it, I guess. I didn’t spend all that time in the gym so I could ignore compliments.
“Thanks. Are you okay to go?”
“Do I have to?”
“I’m asking you to,” I say. If she pushes back, then the answer is ‘no.’ I don’t know if she realizes it, but it’s not my job to spell everything out for her. If she doesn’t want something, she’s going to have to stand up to me about it at some point. That’s how life works.
