I Want You To Watch While I Hit You

Days later, and still the jets stung your skin; the hot water may as well have been falling icicles, transparent spindles reminding you of who you really were, remembering their hunger. They kept secrets behind their soft demeanor, what was was under their shirt and inside their jeans and beneath their boots. They kept you under their skin, kept you in the onyx of their piercing eyes.

You liked knowing that you could speak in this tongue together, just a channel for the two of you. Your skin was welted, inflamed and raw. Their knuckles were red and bruised and the dampness of your tears still sat on the back of their neck. You didn’t cry easy. You fought it until your lungs were heaving and your lower lip was trembling like a child, your muscles spasming and cramping from the inability to escape, from their arms holding you through this, pushing you further in.

Your strength came from somewhere else, somewhere that wanted to prove more next time, to show them how far you could go, to challenge their own power to burn out first. Even though it never did…

Plans had abruptly shifted and normally when they came home, they needed a half hour of quiet pause, of decompression from the drag of the day. They needed soft light and you sitting by their chair, waiting to be summoned, eventually with your head in their lap. That was what you’d grown to expect, what you anticipated when the deadbolt unlocked swiftly.

Not today. Today the door slammed closed before you barely heard it open. Today they came into the living room looking at you with the coal in their eyes lit deep. Their steps were heavy, their bag tossed on the ground to prove a point and they stood good ten feet from you, a pointed gaze that told you more in words than what they were about to say:

“Strip.”

Righting yourself to whatever energy shift this was, and looking at them quizzically, hesitant even, you brushed the hemline of your jeans and blinked back at them.

They advanced on you and put both hands around your throat until you were between them and the wall. Their forehead found yours, breathing you in like an animal inhales its kill before ripping into its flesh. They met you with a flash of softness when you reached for their lips, kissed you gently, not giving you their tongue and pulling back the more you tried to find it.

“STRIP. You do not want me to ask again.”, they spit at you.

Silently, while they gave you about a foot of breathing room, you quickly pulled your tank over your head, unhooked your bra, and brusquely slid your jeans past your hips, so fast the scrape of the denim almost burned your skin.

You never wore panties. They liked you accessible and aware of how little was truly between your body and theirs.

Their stare still unwavering, they came back and flipped you around so their chest had you pinned back against the wall. Their hands grabbed your ass like the meat of you was dripping with blood, a growl at the back of their whisper made the atmosphere darker than it really was.

Kissing and biting your neck,

“I want you to look at me while I hit you tonight, while you need me to stop, while you will try not to. I’m going take you past the edge, while your tears make me hard, make me wet.”

Their hands spidered over your skin in a brief but rushed effort to warm you up. The insistence of their energy dissonant between getting through this moment to the next, but knowing the sugarcoat would push you further, too. Your knees buckled slightly when their boot kicked your legs open, when their fingers felt how swollen and soaked you already were.

“You think this is still for you, don’t you?”

Slapping your cunt and swallowing your little gasp with their mouth,

“This is for Daddy tonight. Say it.”

One hand in your hair, the other on your throat nodding your head for you as you repeated them, contrived bravery flecked with timidness, just what they fed on.

Kissing you one last time and biting your lip so hard you cried out into a staccato whimper, they swept you to the floor on your knees abruptly. Their closed fist reached out at a sharp angle and pointed to the sectional couch impatiently.

“Crawl.”, they simmered.

In the 20 seconds it took you to reach the furniture, they crept behind you objectively, staring at the lines of your ass, the sweet arch of your back, the delicate glisten of your cunt they wanted to slam mercilessly into later. They kicked you into the sofa before your last step, dragged you up onto the couch and then flipped you on your back abruptly. Your cheeks were flush from a mix of fear and arousal, the scent of you obvious as all hell you wanted them in all your holes.

You looked so fucking perfect: a little breathless, doe-eyed, scared, on the brink of wincing. You were wavering between trust and fear and trying to ping-pong your overthinking mind to the right side of the net.

They looked down at you like they’d been starving all day and had one bullet left, like their eyes were pulsing panic into your own and then swallowing it like mercury down their throat.

Their full weight on you, their knees tethered your hips and your skin sinking you lower on the fabric of the couch, no way out. Then their fists came raining down, along with their rabid teeth. Their mouth covered yours the louder you cried, swallowing the taste of your bravery shrinking, of your pale skin giving way to deep colors and your limbs trying to cover spots that had almost had enough. Still, their strength and resolve were bigger, bullying you more knowing you had nowhere to run. Your eyes closed as you tried to disappear and their hand hugged your throat almost too tight as their knees dug into your ribs.

You watched. You watched them become and watched them rise and they felt you fall, for them. They felt your heat against them slick and grinding on their thigh, desperate for any small piece of comfort. You kept trying to take their fingers down your throat so they’d have one less hand, kept trying to suck and kiss skin so you’d melt them into acquiescence.

Then the moment came when the ramp grew too high. You couldn’t climb anymore. You were sobbing and shriveled, sunken and trembling, cheeks salty from your own tears and their sweat, unable to even beg anymore because you were crying so hard.

Their current slowed, the ocean of them listening to your body. Their hand reached for your clenched fist to open it. Their lips found your breasts and shoulders and neck, thigh pushed into your dripping cunt. Your hand found their cock and your eyes looked up, so whole in your brokenness, so lovely in the cradle of their wicked smile.