I wrench her other arm behind her back and hold her wrists together. “It only hurts because you’re struggling,” I growl.
“Fuck you,” she snaps, thrashing her head and nearly knocking my nose with the back of her skull. “You … you monster!”
I shake my head. “It could just be so much easier for you,” I say, as I buckle the cuffs on her wrists.
She chuckles. “What makes you think I want it easy?” She’s so self-satisfied with that comment. I can hear the grin in her voice.
Fucken brat. Fine; we’ll play it that way then.
She stands in her fancy high heels and the shortest jean shorts, the ones that show her ass. Her legs look so long and strong and the muscles in her thighs flex as she balances while she pulls against the cuffs, trying to test if she can get out of them. The blindfold has her long hair tangled and messy.
I flick open the knife right next to her ear, and she jumps.
I fist her thin tee shirt and slide the blade through it enough to start the rip, and then use both hands to tear it the rest of the way. She gasps. I pull it down her arms and wrap it around her elbows, an additional piece of bondage.
“Ow, ow,” she whines, twisting. I can see that the cuffs are getting caught at awkward angles.
I grip her hair. “You’re doing that to yourself,” I say, low, my mouth next to her ear. “You could just relax. Let it happen.”
She melts a little at that, and then stiffens. “Fuck you!” she says again. I circle her, predatory, letting her feel my breath on her neck, letting her feel the warmth of my body near hers but not touching. She keeps wriggling in the cuffs, but a little less dramatically.
In a swift move, I grip the back of her neck, bend her over the bed, and shove my hips against her ass, letting her feel the ten inches I’d packed in her honor, because she is such a size queen. She curves her spine and presses back into me. I grip her hip bones and pull her back into me, grinding against her as I unbutton her jean shorts and push them down her thighs, along with her tight pink colored femme-athlete style thong. I leave them both on her thighs, and push her feet apart with my boots, so far that her legs pull her clothes taut. Another bit of bondage, at least for now — as long as it doesn’t get in the way of what I want.
She is cheek-down on the bed, almost slurring, as she says, “What are you going to do?”
I grin. “Whatever I want, I think.” I unbutton my jeans, unzip.
“Fuck,” she says, arching her hips again, and then seems to remember herself and starts trying to roll over, close her legs, get away from my hands.
I grin, almost chuckling. My thick thighs are between hers and with one hand soft on her back, she can’t go anywhere. She knows it. “I don’t think so.”
She goes still and quiet as she tries to assess where I am and what I’m doing. I slide my hand over her pussy, my fingertips brushing the fine hairs and delicate skin.
Teasing. Petting. Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly.
She’s still, like she’s forgotten that she was struggling and is now leaning in to the barest of touches that I’m offering.
Turns out, she wants it. I figured she did — or would, after I played with her for a minute.
“See that?” I ask, low and soft in her ear. “See what happens when you behave yourself? Isn’t that better?”
I push her shorts and panties both further down her thighs, leaving them tangled at her knees. She tries to move them further down, pushing her legs together even as she arches her back and offers her pussy to me even more. I stop her. “Leave them,” I say.
She throws me a sneer over her shoulder that combined “you can’t make me” and “I’ll do whatever *I* want,” but I slide a finger over the slick that is gathering at her entrance and her eyes roll back, just a little, and she shivers, then moans.
I shift my hips and fist my cock so that the head is up against her pussy, getting silky with her wetness, rubbing against her swollen lips and clit. She’s so open and wet that it slides in, just a little, when I get lined up right against her opening. I pause before going any deeper and breathe, just feel it, that pause moment, almost like the eye of the hurricane: she’s going to thrash around again before she gives in, I know she will. But for right now, I’m on the precipice of thrusting, and she’s arched and taut and holding her breath, and I want this moment to last and last.
“Oh god,” she moans into the dark blue blanket, letting her weight settle, rising up on her tiptoes. I can feel her pulsing around the head of my cock.
I grip both her hips and start pressing in, slow.
I feel her grip tight and pull away. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she spits over her shoulder, her pupils dilated with lust, grinning and eager to play. Trying to hold on to some sense of … what? Brattiness? Autonomy? Choice? I know she wants this; she knows she wants this. We both know this is a game we play to get even more of what we both crave, of what we both think about late at night in our beds alone.
I chuckle. That low laugh that is part amusement and part cruel sadism. “Oh, sweet little toy,” I say, wrapping my hands in her hair and pulling. “I dare.” And I push in — I have to push, really push, against the resistance in her muscles, and she’s strong, tight, and forcing my way in takes more potency than I expect, but it works, and when the head slides past the first ring of tight muscles it effortlessly glissades in. Faster than I’d planned to, one hand gripping her hips, the other in her hair, all the way until there is just no way to get any deeper.
She starts thrashing, twisting. “Ow, fuck! That fucken hurts.”
“Like I told you,” I say, my mouth close to her ear as I pull my hips back and start slowly, slowly, thrusting back in. “It only hurts because you’re struggling, poor little toy. If you just relax and open up for me, it’d feel a lot better.” And I pull out, and thrust in again. I’m trying to make this slow and torturous for her, but really I’m just torturing myself at this point.
She almost laughs. “What if I like it more when it hurts?” Her voice is dripping with lust and her cunt is so open, her lips are swollen and she’s pushing back against me, grinding her hips and ass even deeper into my cock.
“Then, I suppose,” I say, still thrusting, picking up speed, the orgasm building in my dick, a growl deep in my chest coming out. “You’d be a filthy slut who’s going to get what’s coming to her.”
“Fuck,” she says. And then, “fuck” again, and her breathing is getting ragged, and her cunt clenches so tight around me, and I can tell she’s going to come soon.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Come on my cock. Tell me how much you like it when it hurts. Struggle for me. Do your best.”
