Author: Anarchist Poet PM
this is not abuseRated: Fiction M - English - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,576 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 09-01-10 - Published: 08-29-10 - id: 2842949
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"Watch those teeth, bitch."
I feel my head being jerked up by my hair, and I feel myself flinch, even though He doesn't like that, I know that, I know that, but I can't help it. I keep my eyes down, waiting. Then, sure enough, His hand smacking me in the side of the face.
It isn't necessary, I wonder if He knows that, if He realizes that his disappointment is enough to make me wish I could disappear.
"I'm going to make this very simple for you." His voice is cold and hard and runs straight through me. I'm bent over with my hands tied, breathing, listening to the sound of His voice and the sound of His footsteps as He walks around me.
"I am going to whip you with my belt. It's going to hurt. Safe word is 'stop please.' Do you understand, slut?"
"Yes sir." My ability to speak is reduced when I'm with Him – "yes," "sir," and "please," are the words that are easiest to say, but still, they are spoken so much as let out in weak breaths of air, barely whispered.
My body is tense, my breathing is sharp – nothing is worse than waiting.
The anticipation ends with a sudden crack of the belt against my ass, then again and again and I'm biting my lip and my eyes are watering but I can't tell him to stop – that would be like losing, like giving up, another disappointment in His eyes.
Again and again, and I can't take it.
"Do you want more, slut?"
I try to speak up, but the word gets lost somewhere, "stop" is not in my vocabulary right now, so I am just left with "please." I breathe this word aloud twice, "Please, please." Could be easily misinterpreted (please more?) but He knows me too well, he moves around me and frees my hands, I stay in position until I'm told to move, but realizing my eyes are squeezed shut I allow them to open, blinking the world into focus.
"Come here." I get up quickly and follow Him over to the bed. He motions for me to lie down next to Him and I do, resting my head on his chest. His arms are around me, and He kisses the top of my head, then His fingers stroke my hair gently, and soothing words rush over me like warm water – "Such a good girl, you make me so proud, so good."
Then quiet. I feel His heart beating and the rise and fall of His breath, and I am calm and safe.
We lie like that for a long time, and then in a sudden moment of boldness, words flooding back to my brain, I ask Him, "What are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking about flying."
On the train. I'm headed home. My eyes keep fluttering shut, I struggle to keep them open – I don't want to fall asleep and miss my station. I am exhausted in every possibly way, and sore as fuck.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from my best friend in this whole fucking world – "Where you at, girl?"
I type back: "Spent the night with Robert. On my way home now."
A minute later, my phone vibrates again. "Aw. How cute."