by Alina Sawyer
She couldn't believe what he was doing, and that her body didn't care. How her pussy could light up like a Christmas tree and flood her slit with her juices while her nipples ached and her ass burned was beyond her. They were sensitive before, the clamps being tight and rubbing on the bed, but now, now that he'd tightened them, they throbbed. Just wearing a bra tomorrow was going to be a chore and she hoped that they would not stay hard, poking through the material all day, giving men something to stare at while she talked with them.
He was still fucking her pussy, now wet and loose enough to be comfortably tight when he pulled out. She was sopping wet from the two rapid, intense orgasms back to back. He slid two cupped fingers into her pussy, swirled it around to gather as much of her goo as they would hold, and dragged them upwards to her asshole. He buried his dick back in her cunt, making sure it was as wet as could be. Then he placed the head at her moistened asshole.
"NO.'
"Stop me."
"NO, NO, NO."
She was back to bucking around again, and no matter how firmly he grabbed her hips, it was hard to keep her still enough to get it in. Her asshole was wet, but unlike the few times before, she was not relaxed at all. He'd never fucked an unwilling ass. "We can do this the hard way or the harder way. I will fuck you in the ass tonight. I am going to shoot a hot load so deep in you that it will still be dripping out two days from now. If you thought your asscheeks made it hurt to sit, wait until I get finished reaming your asshole out."
She stilled just a bit, her breathing heavy and erratic. "Just to be nice, I'm going to fuck your pussy once more and let you cum again. Make it work, honey, because the wetter your pussy gets my dick, the wetter it is when I cram it into your backdoor." He moved his cock from her tensed ass and thrust it into her pussy with one stroke. He fucked her mercilessly, reaching around to rub her clit. He rubbed as hard as he could, grinding her clit back into her flesh, mashing it into her G-spot. He picked up some of her cum and rubbed it on her asshole again, pushing his finger slightly in. He wanted to hurt her, not damage her, after all, he wanted to fuck that ass again after tonight, whether she wanted him to or not.
When he felt her tremble and her pussy pulse again, he pulled his cock out and placed it at her unwilling star. He pushed, felt complete resistance. "Relax, or this is going to hurt even more than I want it to, baby." Felt it give slightly, pushed again, felt it open just a bit, and then buried his rod into her bowels in one thrust. Her shuddering cry was drowned out by the sensation of her white-hot asshole like a vice around his cock. After a few seconds, when the sensation was bearable, he looked at her, looking back at him with an indiscernible look on her face. There were tears on her cheeks, shiny streaks running down her face. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. She looked like a fish out of water, gasping.
He started pumping, feeding his meat to her ass repeatedly, never filling her so there was always room for one more thrust, like a glutton at a buffet. He pistoned in and out, grunting with the effort of shoving his cock into her, over and over again. He watched as her pink ring pulled outward on his outstroke and sunk back in, hiding, on the way in. To add insult to injury, he took the time to whack her on the ass again, making her cheeks as hot as her tunnel. He reached down on the instroke and pinched her clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Her pussy was still soaked, but that wasn't the hole he cared about right now. Occasionally, he heard her whisper, "Please" and nothing more.
"I want you to think about this. I want you to think about this before you give me a dirty look next time: me, having you tied down, bent across the bed, with your asshole stretched out to dick-sized glory, about to be dripping with my hot cum, your asscheeks red and burning, and your nipples clamped and hurting. They are going to announce themselves all day tomorrow, and I imagine it won't be pleasant when they rub against your bra for eight hours. You think about what you look like right now, with no control, taking what I'm giving you, how I want you to have it."
He continued to pound her asshole wide open, only their rhythmic breathing breaking the silence. When he couldn't hold it any longer, he shot off into her, filling her with his load. His dick was getting raw after fucking her ass with everything he had, so as soon as he was able to extract himself, he pulled out and lay across the bed. She was boneless, unable to move, tears silently running down her cheeks. He moved her enough to remove the clamps, her nipples holding the flattened shape with little ridges that matched the clamps. He untied her wrists, then her ankles, pushed the frame away and helped her lie down. She didn't say anything or do anything, just lay there in silence. A few minute later, she got up and limped her way to the bathroom, obviously nursing her pounded hole. He heard her groan when she sat on the toilet, her cheeks still beet red.
He heard the shower running and she came out a while later, freshly washed and in her nightdress. She climbed into bed facing away from him and lay there in silence. He waited to see what she had to say; she couldn't have been too upset, she wasn't screaming at him or calling the police. He'd let her have the first word to see what she had to say without being colored by what he had to say. He heard her even breathing a while later and drifted off himself thinking that they'd have a lot to talk about tomorrow. He wondered if she was going to use her big words or not since they obviously didn't do her any good tonight.
The End.
Bobby and Sally
"I want you to dye it back to her natural color," he said to the stylist.
"But Bobby," Sally whined, "I like highlights. Jenny has highlights. Missy has highlights." Bobby remained unchanged. "They were expensive," she added, "you don't want to see that go to waste do you?"
"That's exactly why I want you to cover them up," he said. Sally slumped in her chair. The stylist tapped her on her back, indicating she was to sit up straight. The smock was clipped tightly around her neck. She sat straight as a board, hands folded neatly, primly in her lap. She was at the mercy of two men now. Her husband Bobby, who seemed to have had enough, enough of something she had been doing, and at the mercy of the stylist, whose specific instructions moved her head this way and that, her chin up and down, he whole body forward, so he could cut the bottom of her hair. Bobby stood motionlessly nearby, arms folded across his chest, eyeing every one of the stylist's moves, instructing him as specifically as the stylist instructed Sally. He told him to cut deeper layers here, longer ones there, rounded bangs, set her hair wavy.
Throughout much of this Sally had given up on her protests. This was a new side of Bobby. He was a prison consultant. He helped new prisoners get adjusted to their new surroundings. He had compassion for the lowest of the scum. He was showing no compassion for her now. What had she done?
Sally was a housewife. She belonged to numerous neighborhood associations in their upper class homes. She employed a housekeeper to keep the house to meet the demands of her busy lifestyle. She met frequently for brunches with her girlfriends in the neighborhood. She spent a lot of her husband's money on fancy sweat suits, in which she lived and designer handbags. She spent his money on a gym membership and a suspiciously good looking personal trainer. For show, when she was shopping with her girlfriends she purchased racy lingerie and spiky heels, but those never got any wear around the house. While Sally bragged about her and Bobby's savage sex life to her friends, her stories were made up fantasies. Their marriage was frigid. Sally was beautiful and fit and Bobby longed to be intimate with her, but Sally was under the illusion that she was an independent woman and didn't need the services of her husband anymore. She felt they had been married long enough. Sex was no longer a necessity. Their marriage, she believed, was past that.
Recently, Bobby had been working extra long hours with a police officer who was incarcerated with a number of criminals he put in jail. And although Sally considered herself an independent woman, something inside her still felt a strong attachment to her husband. But that was pretty far deep inside her. Nonetheless, she felt
a loneliness she couldn't identify and sought refuge in her husband's wallet. She began spending recklessly. Bobby saw this in her. He let his beautiful wife start slipping through his fingers. He had to start tightening his grip. It had to start with her most personal of expressions. Her hair.
After the salon, Bobby took Sally out shopping. "I want you to know I've taken your name off all the accounts but one. Here is your new debit card. I will transfer funds into this account as I see fit," he said. Sally was speechless. "I've transferred a few thousand dollars into it today. We're going shopping and to dinner. You need a new wardrobe other than sweats." They drove into town and Bobby allowed Sally to purchase tight jeans and pants, dresses with tailored bodices, ones that flared from the waist, high heels with straps around the ankles. The day was long and flattering to Sally. At dinner, Bobby felt it important to bring something up to Sally. "I think it only fair, that since I've done a few things for you, and will continue to take better care of you from now on, you do a few things to take care of me."
"Like what?" Sally was getting angry. She thought Bobby was lavishing her for its intrinsic value.
"Well, that needs to come from you."
"To what exactly are you referring? I'm not your whore."
"I certainly don't expect you to be. However you have been irresponsible with our finances and I will have to resume control over them until you can prove yourself capable once again. No, I am not referring only to sexual favors, Sally, but other things. Things you have to figure out for yourself."
"Why are you being so vague? I realize I'm in deep with you... but I'm not even sure why. I know things aren't how they used to be. I only want to make things right. Don't you see? See how I did my hair?"
"I did your hair," he corrected. Sally slumped.
"I am being vague because it is important to me that these gestures come from you. Yes, your hair is very becoming." Bobby laughed as he chewed his food. Sally chewed in silence and felt a fledgling sense of excitement. They didn't exchange a single word for the rest of the dinner, or the ride home, or during the ritual of coming home. Bobby dropped the keys on the front table. They both went straight to the bedroom.
Bobby's hands wandered up Sally's dress, around her perfectly formed ass. That damn trainer was doing something right. He unzipped the dress and pulled it over Sally's head. He walked her to the bed and sat her on it, positioning her hands on her lap, as if she were a doll. He went to the closet and searched through all the lingerie Sally had purchased. He selected a high necked silk gauze teddy, with a high legged thong in the back, and a silk flower that sagged at the neck. You could see right through it.
"You may wear any shoes you like," he said, looking down. Sally walked up to him, the teddy in one hand, completely naked. Bobby was fully dressed. Somehow, she felt more comfortable that way. She was seeing a new side to him, a stronger side. Not strong in the way her personal trainer was strong. Better. Psychologically strong. But she wasn't ready to fully submit just yet. And she couldn't express her feelings to him yet either. So she just said,
"Okay." Before Sally could get dressed Bobby was at her makeup table selecting colors. He laid them out and exchanged glances with her. As she readied herself, Bobby left the room and went looking through the garage. He returned with two outdoor construction lights and placed them strategically in the room. Sally looked at him quizzically. She was blindly following all his directions all day. He wanted to capture that look on her face.
"Sally. You have made me so happy today. You are such a beautiful woman. I want to take your picture." Sally feigned shyness poorly. She longed for this kind of attention. As an obligation, she shied away from the camera for the first few shots, but while the camera was capturing a false shyness it was capturing something else too. The fledgling sense of pride growing in Sally. Not the obvious pride in her looks she displayed as she warmed up for the camera, but a pride in something else. Something Bobby hoped for.
Bobby's photographs of Sally were in black and white. Her lips were painted dark. He photographed her hair over her lips. He photographed the small of her back when she arched it. He photographed her nipples through the silk gauze. He pulled the back thong string aside and photographed her asshole, the string pressing into the bulge of her ass. He positioned her continuously. She posed as she was told, basking in the camera flash and the adoring eyes of her husband. She had already forgotten this was the man who had taken all her allowance away. How quickly he had gained her affections back. He wondered if they were real. He kissed her. She put the camera down and kissed him back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and then ran her hands all over this man's body. Kissing. Kissing. He wondered, was she just blinded by all the gifts he had given her today? After having used him for his money for so long could he really trust her after a day like today, even if she did have her legs wrapped around his waist for the first time in months? He wanted to possess her fully but this was not the way. She had to show him she was his. Bobby slipped off the bed and tucked Sally under the covers. He told her he'd be in bed soon, cleaned up the camera equipment, kissed her forehead, and turned out the lights. Sally was asleep by the time Bobby went to bed and Bobby was gone for work by the time Sally got up.
Sally spent the whole of the next day in a daze. Who was this new husband of hers? When did he get so romantic, so authoritative? She liked this new Bobby. He wanted her to take care of him as he took care of her. What was this thing she had to do for him? Was it something specific he had in mind? Something ongoing? She wracked her brain, then she thought of the perfect gift for Bobby. A rare edition of Moby Dick came into the used bookstore and he had mentioned it over dinner in passing. He would be so surprised to receive a copy from Sally. She threw her bag over her should and went, but when she handed over her shiny new debit card to pay for it her heart sank. She knew it would be declined. She didn't even ask the clerk to run it again, she just apologized and left. Her hands were tied. What gesture, she begged.
She was slumped over on the couch thinking when Bobby came home from work. She offered to make filet mignon. Bobby refused. He had something else in mind. Bobby led Sally to the tool shed out in the back of the yard. It was small, but had diagonal beams holding the ceiling up.
"Now you have to remember, Sally. I love you. Do you trust me?" asked Bobby.
"Of course I trust you. What are you talking about?" Bobby answered with silence. He straightened Sally's collar and began unbuttoning the buttons to her blouse. He rolled her jeans off her. When Bobby began to tie the first wrist to the first beam, Sally protested heavily.
"What are you doing? What is this? I'm not into this sort of stuff." And more comments of the like. Bobby remained unchanged, firm, and calm, continued about his business. When he tied the second hand she was significantly more docile and had tired of protesting, as she knew he was stronger than her and it was clear that he wasn't going to give in. Soon, Sally was hanging naked from the ceiling beams by her wrists. She was scared. Bobby walked around her. He inspected her body parts, touching them as he looked. He pinched her nipples. He ran his fingers down the curvatures of her torso. He touched the two tiny bits of pink inner labia that showed when Sally stood upright. Bobby ran his hands around her thighs as he walked around to the back of her. He squeezed her ass hard enough for her to cry out. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He laughed with his mouth closed and left the shed, locking her inside.
"You need time to think," he said as he left. It was hot in the shed. Sally felt a bead of sweat form on her temple and roll down her cheek. Her eyes shifted from one corner of the shed to the other. Her thoughts were only of escape. Another bead of sweat formed at the nape of her neck. Sally forgot about her escape and obsessed over this bead. It dragged its way slowly down her back leaving behind an itchy, slippery trail, picking up more sweat as it rolled, like a clear slow motion snowball, until it reached her ass and the itch was too much to bear and Sally cried out. In that dark, in that silence, it made her
aware of all the other beads of sweat forming on her body. They were small and scattered across her torso. Some fell to her legs and dissipated. Some only wobbled in place and threatened to make that tortuously itchy and unpredictable path down her body, moving downwards, but veering this way and that, clinging to this little hair or that one. There was sweat on her brow, her lip. The tips of her bangs were wet. A strand of hair fell out of place in Sally's protesting and was now stuck to her lips. It tickled her more.
But the rope around Sally's wrists was rough. She could feel it chaffing her. She was so terribly wet and itchy all over. She wanted nothing more than to roll around in a bed of that scratchy, chaffing rope. But she had to be satisfied with relief only in her wrists. The chaffing started as a pressure on her, pressure from her body weight hanging there. But then she became more highly attuned to the fibers and textures of the rope, how sore the skin around her wrists were. She could truly feel the entire weight of her body hanging from those two scratchy rope cuffs. Each fiber pulled her body weight on the delicate skin of her wrists. She became aware of the muscles in her chest, pulling and pulling her down, her toes only barely scraping the floor. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and onto her back. The silky caress surprised her. She remembered Bobby. The way he gently touched her sex and walked away. She craved another brush, another caress from him. She hadn't craved such things from Bobby in years it seemed. She remembered how they met.
