I was feeling a little… wound-up when I came home on Friday.
It had been a long week, too many late nights.
Going to bed exhausted, long after you had fallen wait.
On the train home, I was almost aching with need and frustration.
Thinking about how I might finally enjoy taking you.
Stripping you.
Teasing you.
Biting you.
Claiming you.
I hate weeks like this one, where I’ve had to neglect our time together.
The train station had a florist and I smiled as I picked out a bouquet, thinking how nice it would be to surprise you.
That’s why I came in the back door.
My hands were impatient with excitement as I fumbled with my key.
Wondering why it wasn’t turning.
Then I realized.
It wasn’t locked.
I eased the handle slowly and crept in, taking care not to step too heavily.
That will be why you didn’t hear me, from your position, washing dishes in the next room.
Or maybe it was your ever-present earbuds.
The dog was snoring, so even he didn’t alert you to my presence.
That was why you were so delightfully……surprised
Or maybe… terrified…
When I grabbed you, tightly, closely, one hand pinning your wrists behind your back and one hand over your mouth, muffling your scream.
You bucked and thrashed against me instinctively.
We struggled for a while, but you didn’t stand a chance against my strong, tight grapsp.
I waited for you to give up, smiling as you went limp with exhaust in my arms.
Then I grew in your ear:
“What the fuck have I told you…. about leaving that back door unlocked?”
Your brain slowly caught up and made the connection.
I thought I felt you relax back into my grip as you realized it was just me.
And breathe a sight of relief.
Although I could still feel your heartbeat, hammering in your chest.
But Baby. I could have been anyone.
So I don’t think you should relax just yet.
Maybe I should teach you a lesson.
About what could happen, if you don’t pay attention to your safety. When I’m not here to protect you.
I spin you around and grab one of your braids, winding it around my fist and pulling backwards, forcing your head back so you have to look up at me.
And just as I close my mouth on yours, claiming your breath, I see it.
The wild look in your eyes.
Fear.
And I feel myself stiffen.
My blood starts rushing to my cock as I watch yours drain from your face.
Before your whimpers can turn into groans, I pull you away from the sink, and over to the counter.
You resist me, dragging your feet and whimpering, which is both adorable and pathetic at the same time.
I reach under your little blue sundress and pull your panties down, ordering you to step out of them with just an expected raise of my eyebrow.
I have to hide my satisfied smile as you do.
Then I opena drawer and find exactly what I need.
A roll of plastic wrap.
I take a long piece and wind it tightly around your wrists, binding them high behind your back.
Then I pick up your panties and pack them into your open mouth, sealing them with another layer of wrap. Winding it around your mouth and behind your head, several times.
You breathe shallowly through Your nose, your eyes darting around the room.
As if something might save you. Or there was some way to escape.
Finally, I pick up my favourite kitchen knife.
A 7-inch ridged Santoku blade forgotten in Damascus steel. Full tang. A black heartwood handle.
It glints dangerously, sharp enough to cut the air.
You tremble, as I began to trace it up your exposed thigh, leaving a trail of tingling pressure in its wake.
“Keep still” I warn you, calmly. “That way, you won’t get cut”.
I make sure to take my time, running the blade up your stomach and across the exposed tops of yourbreasts, savouring your whimpers.
The adrenaline course through your veins rises off your body like steam.
I want to inhale it. To taste it.
The sharp, metallic tang of it.
I hold the blunt edge of the knife to your throat.
We’ve done this before.
I know with every ragged breath, your pussy is getting more and more soaked.
But also, I Know the blunt end feels safe. We both know I’m in control, and all you have to do is keep still.
Then inspiration strikes.
I grab one of your braids by its tip – somewhere close to your waist – and wind it around two fingers, holding it teach with my thumb.
The sharp edge of the knife is braced now, against the point the braid starts to weave into your scalp.
“Wouldn’t it be a shame,” I breathe. “If somebody broke in here, and violent you?”
“But first, they cut off your hair”
You start to whimper.
Then beg.
Jackpot. I’ve managed to tap into one of your more primal fears.
Losing a symbol of your beauty. Your youth.
You start pleading with me.
You’re sorry.
You know you’ve been foolish.
You won’t do it again.
And now the tears. Oh God. If I wasn’t already starting to soak they would certainly push me over that edge.
The sniffling. Your chest heaving.
The way they’re Spilling, landing on the poisoned leather of my shoes.
I inhale. I feel saliva rising in my mouth.
The way you look so… helpless. It makes me want to hurt you more.
But the way you’re gulping quickly now, make me pause.
I decided you’ve suffered enough.
We’re at the place we need to be.
The fear rolling off you in waves, and both of us perfectly balanced on the crest, riding them together.
I settle for licking the tears off your delicate throat. Tasting the salt.
And as I do you shiver. And melt into me, just a little.
Just then, I know…I own you completely. You can feel fear and comfort in my hands.
And you need them both. That’s not a contraction for you. It’s just the way you are.
I feel it, this fierce bond we share, pounding in my chest, a rhythm of deep satisfaction.
Quickening my breath.
I bend you over the kitchen counter and you wait, still and obedient as I cut your flimsy little dress off your body.
Sliding the blade under each strap and exposing each should blade with a pop.
Then gripping the fabric, I make one brutal slash, out through the back, tearing it the rest of the way.
You gasp, as the dress falls in a satisfying heap at your feet, and I take out my cock, raging to be unleashed.
You let out a small scream as I plumge into your tight, wet little cunt.
You let out a small scream as I plumge into your tight, wet little cunt.
You momentarily, the counter too high for you to have a proper purchase on the floor.
And then I fuck you. I pound you hard, using your braids to keep your back perfectly arched.
You whimper a little more softly now, the sound mixing with the moans and shudders. Your tears now are from the helplessness, the intensity, the swelling relief from the fear, and finally, being forced to come so hard it overwhelms you.
When we’re done, I carefully unwrap your hands, pausing to kiss your wrists. Then I undo the gag, taking the panties from your mouth and tossing them into the neary laundry bin.
I dip my fingers in the sink, not breaking my gaze.
I smile and shake my head slightly as you press your lips together in an embarrassed little smile and look at the floor.
Indulging me a little more.
Acknowledging the darkness we share.
“The water’s still warm, you can finish washing the dishes” I tell you, slapping you on the ass.
“And remember to lock that door next time”.
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