Sighing, I sit up, bringing my fingers to her cheeks and swiping away the signs of her sadness. I like her tears when they’re brought on by something I’m doing to her in bed. But not when they’re emotional. And certainly not when I don’t understand their cause.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I order.
She opens her mouth, trying and failing to get the words out for some time. She’s gotten a lot better at talking recently. When she’s happy, she sometimes manages to speak whole paragraphs. But the minute she’s upset, she’s back to struggling.
“Go on,” I prompt, trying to keep my voice gentle. When I’m too brusque during these moments, her ability to speak vanishes entirely. I’ve grown to understand that she can’t help it, and I do my best to be patient. Though patience is not exactly in my nature.
She blinks away another tear. “I don’t like dirt,” she admits at last in a tiny whisper.
I snort. “Fine. We’ll get a good cleaner. There won’t be a speck of dirt on you or in the whole house.”
She nods silently. I’m tempted to go back to enjoying her body, but I have a feeling she’s not telling me everything. “Something’s still wrong. What is it?”
“I don’t like… the smell of dirt,” she breathes. Then, grimacing with effort, she blurts out, “It reminds me of when I was buried.”
I lie down next to her, my heart heavy in my chest. “Okay.” I stroke her hair and cheek gently until she’s relaxed again. “I’m going to make sure every inch of dirt is covered in flowers. We’ll go out there and see if you like it. If it’s too hard for you, we’ll go live in a city. Wherever you want.”
“You’re not angry?” she whispers.
I press my lips to hers. “Your pain could never make me angry. Do you hear that?” I rest my face against hers, breathing her in. “Your pain is my pain. I’m going to take it from you, and I’mgoing to own it. Just like I do the rest of you. Your body, your heart, your soul, your fear. Your pain. It’s not yours anymore. It’s mine. Got it?”
She doesn’t react, and now, I do feel a slight pinprick of anger. Not because of what she told me. But because of what she’s not telling me. She’s withholding something from me.
I pull back from her and tilt her face to mine. “I said, got it?”
“Got it,” she murmurs, but I can tell there’s something going on. Some sort of resistance I can’t get past. I’ve never been able to get past it, and it annoys me. Because it means I don’t possess all of her. Her mind doesn’t belong to me.
I click my tongue impatiently. “Get on your hands and knees.”
That gets a reaction out of her. She blushes with pleasure and follows my instructions a little too enthusiastically. Well, so much for the punishment fuck. Does it still count as punishment when the person being punished is this happy about it?
But moments later, all frustration vanishes as I take in the perfect, creamy globes of her bottom. They once more have a little fat on them, though not quite as much as I’d like yet. I rest a hand gently on her lower back, encouraging her to arch for me. Even though I’m used to seeing her like this by now, her wet pussy and her ass still have the same effect on me. My cock is already rock hard by the time I reach for the handcuffs dangling from the headboard.
Usually they’re zipped out of sight, in a hidden pocket there. But we’ve been using them daily, so at this point I just leave them out. I stretch out her arms and lock them in the cuffs. It causes her ass to rise higher, and I nudge her thighs open before slipping each ankle in one of the restraints at the base of the bed.
My cock twitches as I stand up, walking around her slowly, wondering what I’m going to do to her. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of knowing how helpless she is, how completely at my mercy. I could keep her here all day, using her exactly howI like. The glistening wetness between her legs tells me she wants it just as much as I do.
The wounds on her bottom are nearly healed, faint red lines the only sign of what I once did to her. I feel the urge to reclaim her there, to hurt her in another way, so she stops associating the pain in her bottom with the past.
I go to the chest at the base of the bed, and she inhales as she hears me open it. That’s where I keep my toys, and she must realize I’ve got plans that will make it hard for her to sit down for a while.
I grab a soft flogger and drag it over her creamy globes. Then I bring it down and she gasps in startled surprise, before moaning with desire.
I know it probably doesn’t hurt too much at first, but after a while it causes a sting that makes her bottom quiver and twitch tantalizingly. The red stripes that zigzag over her white skin make me groan with want, and it’s all I can do to keep from plunging into her right then and there. But I can tell the sting isn’t deep enough yet.
I keep flogging her, letting it flick against her thighs, then up into her wet folds, more turned on than ever when I see her jump and whimper in that cute way of hers at every stroke. I know she’s a lot more sensitive there, but I’m done being gentle with her. My cock strains in my boxers as I zero in on her pussy, each stroke of the flogger causing her to thrash against her restraints. I always marvel at how one of my relatively light punishments can make her squirm and yelp, but she barely moved a muscle during the three hard whippings I gave her. Her mind is a puzzle that keeps me out.
Frustration at that thought causes me to continue until her pussy is red and inflamed. But it’s still as wet as ever, and the desire to own it in a different way causes me to toss the flogger aside.
I mount the bed and kiss her tears away, licking at the saltiness. She sighs and mumbles a few incoherent words into the mattress. Then I sit back on my heels, sliding my hands over her ass, rubbing the pain away, inching my fingers toward her well-punished core as she moans louder than ever. Unable to wait any longer, I zip down my fly and my cock springs out, painfully hard. I slam it into her pussy, her inner walls clenching hungrily around its length, and I bury myself up to the hilt inside her.
I stay like that for a moment, my cock twitching at the sound of her soft sobs, before reaching up to trap her nipples between my fingers and twisting. She cries out and the sound makes me harder than ever. I start to pound her hard, driving deep within her, my balls slapping obscenely against her bottom. She’s still tight in spite of our daily fucking, her pussy milking my cock in a way that almost hurts. But she’s so wet and I’m so hard that I’m able to slide into her easily. I let go of one of her nipples and she exhales in relief, but it’s only a temporary reprieve as my hand finds its way first to her hair, pulling it back roughly, then to her neck, closing my fingers around her, feeling the beat of her pulse. I squeeze just a bit, just to remind her that her airflow belongs to me. Her life, too. Her body, her soul, her everything.
Everything but her goddamn mind.
I keep going, settling into a fast, hard rhythm that leaves both of us breathless. She’s no longer able to stay arched in position under my continued assault. She falls to the bed and I crash on top of her, working her relentlessly. One of my hands still clasps her neck, the other leaves her nipple to find her clit. I rub away the wetness, and I can tell it drives her frantic.
Moments later, I feel her spasm around me. She comes, her body shuddering under mine, as thick strings of cum fill her pussy.
