Hear it

He runs his tongue over my tight and puckered little hole. Slicks it over my cunt. I'm blushing scarlet against the crisp whiteness of the bed sheets. I still hate how good it feels. I'm dripping wet.

He gets up and opens the box, grabs something. I hear the crack of a bottle being uncapped. I feel oozing, oily lubricant pool in the cheeks of my bottom. I feel him start to work something inside me. Big. Sort of. A plug. I feel it pop past the muscle. I feel him push into my cunt. 

So wet. So wanting. Climax is eminent and allowed. My insides are sore and full, being abraded by his piercing and aggressive thrusts. It doesn't hurt enough. It should hurt more. 

He pulls the plug and pushes into my arse. Fuck yes. His pleasure is vocal and visceral. His thrusts are aggressive. I start to build up. I want to come again. He isn't going to let me. He releases deep inside me and I push back and fuck until he's sated. He flops next to me on the bed. 

He breaths deeply. He's still hard. He speaks to me calmly. "Make yourself come again. I want to hear it".

A letter

I desperately want to keep loving you and be the person you want me to be. 

I want us to build a life together, to have dreams and aspirations about silly but lovely things. 

I want to feel that you want to share your life with me and that I am not a transient time waster.

I want to feel a level of importance, reflective of the time and effort that I put in to making us work. At the same time, I don't want any other partner you have to feel worthless, secondary or second best. I think it's appropriate for you to entertain their feelings and acknowledge their needs, because people are people and I understand that. But I value the care taking of my own needs above theirs, I probably want you to do that too. 

I don't want the power to veto other relationships you have but I want to feel like you listen to me, respect me and respect my opinion. 

I don't always feel that way. 

I don't want to feel insecure or worthless. I want to feel loved. I want to feel there is a future and we will spend it together, no matter who else comes or goes. 

When I get anxious I get defensive. I fluctuate between being your slave and self preservation. Please don't criticise me for this. It isn't on purpose. It's because I'm afraid. 

I don't know which part of our relationship polyamory falls into. I don't know which girl is meant to deal with it, because the problem is the sides feel rather differently. Slave says yes, girl says I'm not so sure. 

I feel like the two sides get played off each other, you do it to me and I do it to myself. 

I can't be faster, I can't be more efficient at processing my anxiety. I'm not sorry for that. I don't see why I have to be. I am good and I am trying and if you cannot see that then you probably don't know me very well, or at the very least are blinded by your own desires and will. 

Please treat me positively. Please do not select the parts of my anxiety that irritate you and make me feel like I'm not trying hard enough or doing well enough, and beat me over the head with them. Please ignore my failings and celebrate my achievements. 

Understand that they are anxieties and not my intention. Please realise how hard I am trying to shift from a lifetime of failed monogamy, cheating and insecurity. Please make me feel like I can achieve it, treat me like I can, respect my opinion and need to communicate, regardless to whether the communication has rational or value to you. It has immense value to me.  

I need to feel that I have space to talk or not talk, succeed and fail. I need to know that you will love me without conditions. I want to be the best person that I can be. Help me to make that happen. 

Sunday - good

He's sucking my nipples, sore and hard from the clamps. 

He licks my cunt, I am forever grateful, he sucks at the engorged bruised skin and bites it. I squeal like a little pig. He laughs at me. 

When we fuck its tight and swollen and bruising. It aches bad, he crams his flesh into me, thrusts and bucks and doesn't care. I don't care either. It feels good. 

Saturday - Why

My cunt is purple, bruised and swollen. The lips are engorged and painful. I can't cross my legs. My body aches. My lower back. Over stretched, over used, needy desperate whore. 

He laid me down and hurt me. Clamped nipples yanked, bottom stretched, cunt, pumped it into a puckered and contorted mess of flesh. 

I screamed, begged, shook, sweat. Clicked my fingers to try and distract myself from the agony.

He likes this sort of stuff, minimum effort, maximum impact. A yank or a pump evoking agony. Fucking my holes, no feeling, too much feeling. So many stupid feelings. Why am I doing this? 

Friday - plugged

Kneeling at his feet while he sits at his desk chair, I'm on all fours, both holes plugged, oozing. He stops what he's doing to stroke my cunt. 

Pleasure shoots through my body and makes my knees tremble. I'm all trussed up in black lace. Sad and desperate to look appealing. A vessel body. Just a bit of something, something. Just a bit more.

He stops to stroke me. 

It goes on and it goes on. I wish he'd take me upstairs, but it just goes on. My knees and hands are starting to shake. I can feel myself pulsing. Tight, twisted up muscles pushing down painfully. Small whimpers interject the silence and the click of keyboard keys. 

I hear his chair move. He tells me to get up, go upstairs, get on the bed. He removes the plug from my arse, replaces it with his flesh and begins to fuck me. Mmm the stretch, the pull of the flesh. The continuous rhythm of his body, pushing deeply into mine. That dull ache of feeling overly full. I ask him in breathless desperation if... well you know how it goes by now. 

Deep, aching, feeling like something make break, pop, rupture, so full, too full. I beg him to fuck me harder, he obliges, he climaxes, deep shuddering moans of satisfaction and release. I could have so easily come again. He flops next to me. Eyes closed. Body limp and relaxed. He mumbles to me. 

"Make yourself come again".

I oblige. I can feel that he's drifting off to sleep. Crippling, deep muscular pain and droplets of pleasure slosh around inside me. Black heat and twisted yelps. I look at him. His eyes and closed but his lips curl into a smile. 

Wednesday night

I am so clean. Perfectly clean. Soaking wet. Desperate for attention. 

I lean over his lap and he spanks me repeatedly. He dips his fingers into my cunt and my bottom and stretches them and fucks around with me. His other set of fingers find my mouth and he slides them down my throat, forcing me to gag, so he can feel my muscles clench. 

I know he gets a great amount of satisfaction from this sort of special sickness. 

He pulls out his fingers and makes me suck them clean. Strings of gooey,  clear pleasure, web between the digits. I stick out my little pink tongue and lick them away.

I want to go home. I want to go to bed. I want to fuck. 

When we do it's dreamlike. We're tired. He fucks my cunt.  He tells me I can't touch myself until he's hilted in my arse. Whatever you want. Anything you want. He slides in. Deep. Damp. He thrusts his hips and bucks and I touch and push back onto him. 

I talk in half gone whispers. 

"I'm such a desperate little anal slut. You fucking my arse makes my pussy so wet. It feels so good. What a monster you have made". 

I beg him to come for me. His thrusts increase. I'm close. I want it too. He says I can have it. His climax is deep. I harsh stuttering breath. We're trying to be quiet. Not disturb the people in the room above. I can feel his body shake and start to melt behind me. I climax with him. Those same intensely quiet gasps. I just want to moan. I can't. I bury my head in the pillow. We separate and lie together. Breathing steadily. I slide my hand underneath his. He links his fingers into mine. My brain is mush. I can hear myself whispering to him. I don't even know what I'm saying. Something messed up, I'm sure. Something dark, undoubtedly.

The Rugby Boy

You are strong and stocky, you make me feel delicate. Maybe some days I am?

Flirtation is budding quietly. I study your face, trying to make a call if I find you attractive. Trying to work out if I want to fuck you.

You pull me in for a kiss, not bad, not great, I run my hand up your thigh, your cock feels thick and hard, much better.

I tell you to take off your shorts, you're stroking my breasts through my tank top. I tell you I'm going to get on my knees and suck your cock. You're not going to stop me.

I take you in my mouth, thick, hard, fat, flesh, full of blood, full of come, mine right now, mine all mine. Im putting on a show, I can tell it feels good. I know what I'm doing here. I take off my top, I give you some eyes, I trail hot, wet spit all over you and gag as I pull you into my throat.

I like sucking cock, you're a good specimen. Im getting wet. I ask if you'll take me to bed and fuck me, you oblige. I pull down my jeans. You lay me down and get between my legs and give me some exquisite pleasure. Lips, tongue, fingers, pulling, plucking, thrusting, tasting.

"You've got such a wet pussy"

No shit sherlock, tell me something I don't know. I mean...Thats not what I said obviously.

I purr at him and tell him to fuck me, I tell him how hot and tight its going to feel, I tell him I want him to make me come.

The fuck, the weight of his body, he pushes down on my spine. My back curls. I feel like he could snap my bones, but that thought wouldn't cross his mind. His moving quickly, pushing deeply, the thrusts are heavy and painful and what I want and need and then I come, and he comes and its hot and all sort of over now.

He goes to clean up and I lie on the bed, draped over the covers, pink flushed skin, soaking hole, my heart beats hard, my breaths are even. He comes back into the room and grins at me. He tells me I look satisfied. Maybe I am? I doubt it.

You've done worse

He pushes into my tight, unstretched, dry arse. The skin burns around the punctured fucking wound. He begins to move his cock back and forth. Abandoned. Using me. I hold still and try to stifle my stupid bleating little sobs. There is no let up, there is no end.

"Please Sir cant we use some lubricant?"

He spits on me.

"Lube is a privilege not a fucking right."

I bite my lip. Stupid bitch.

He keeps fucking my hole until he gets bored and then he pulls out and lays on his back.

"Suck me"

"You're filthy though"

He grabs the back of my neck and shoves me down on his cock. His voice is full of poison and desire.

"You've done worse".

Saturday small talk

"We should add more blood to that rope."

"Yes. I'll stuff  it in your mouth and then punch you in the face."

I squirm. 

"Why do you say things like that?"

"Because it makes you wet."

Thursday 6.

We have been playing hard for hours. We're both flying. He's so high. We go to bed together. He leans over me. Kisses me. He says 

"I'm going hurt you a little more and then we're going to fuck"

Anything. The sex is so close I can almost taste it. I'm desperate. Take anything you want. He pinches my nipples and tells me to fetch the crop and a stiff leather flogger. Three then two. He tells me to get on my back and spread my legs and rains three harsh hits down with the flogger onto my cunt. It's like being repeatedly burnt with the tips of lit cigarettes. A scalding itchy pain. He then tells me to get on my knees on the rug and put my head on the floor. 

I crouch down. Arse up. Thwack with the crop. I scream and curl up. A nasty harsh hit between the cheeks of my buttocks. The tip wraps around and scorches my arse hole and the lips of my cunt. I start to cry and kneel back on my haunches and beg him not to hit me again. My hands ring together in a pleading crippled mess. I try to look at him. He just smiles at me. He talks me into putting my head back down on the carpet and hits me gently on the cheek of my bottom. 

"There you go. That's two"

My head racks with confusion. That fucking bastard. That's not enough. He beckons me onto the bed with him. I lay limp and full of venom. Feeling betrayed and stupid. 

He looks me up and down. 

 

"Fine get back on your knees then"

I crawl back onto the rug and he hits me so hard. A massive welt begins to form on the back of my thigh. The skin is burnt and damaged. I snivel and take in ragged breaths. I try to curl up but there's no chance. I asked for it. Even though I barely said a word. 

So quick back on the bed, his cock in my mouth. Half hard already. Hard. 

"Get on your knees". 

He begins to fuck me effortless and ragged. I touch and buck and push back. I burn. I bleed. He's smeared in our effluence. He grips me tightly. I come in an aching desperate crash. After asking on both instances of course. We separate and he's breathing hard and sweating and theres nothing there, he's lost. I catch my breath and nuzzle into his neck and kiss him and ask if I can suck him again and if he will use my sorry sore arse. 

He pushes my head towards his groin and shoves his cock towards my lips. He's covered in my blood and come. He looks like a fucking horror show. I take him deep in my throat and he groans. I wet him and make him hard again and my face gets smeared in red. He tells me to lie on my slide and starts to nudge himself between the cheeks of my bottom. No please. Not slow. I want it to hurt. I bend and let him use me and talk to him.

"Please put me on my knees. Please fuck me hard. Please hurt me please". 

"Fine".

I scrabble. Arse in the air. He pushes into me roughly and groans. He starts to thrust hard and it hurts and the skin splits and stings. It goes on endlessly. I beg to touch. I can feel the burn in my groin as he dazzles the nerves.  He's working hard and out of his head. He talks to me like he's possessed. He's on one hell of a power trip. 

"You're a dirty anal slut. So fucking desperate. You're mine. I own you. I own your tight sore arse. I love to fuck you. I love to use you. I own you. I could kill you. I could choke you. What are you?"

"Yours sir. Thank you sir. I'm a filthy whore. I'm a filthy fucking whore".

He groans at me. I'm fit to burst. I repeat the phrase in an incessant whisper. 

"Fuck me. Come for me. You're mine. You're my slave. My toy. I own you. Come for me now". 

I let go. My breath is ragged. I push back hard against him and climax. I cry out It's huge. Heavy. The third orgasm I've been allowed that evening. It's certainly no bronze medal. It's shattering. I hear him groan deeply behind me. I feel him pulsing inside me. I don't know if he's come. I don't think he knows. He's flying. He leans into me and holds me so tightly. I feel I could break apart and crumble into dust underneath him. Fade and fade like flotsam on the wind. Nothing could take away how good this feels right now. Nothing could take away the pain. The power, the intimacy and awfulness. 

He releases me. Rolls onto his back. He's laughing. His eyes are wide and so blue. So full of something alien and adrenal. His hands and the bed are soaked in my blood. He stares at me. I look at him. He writhes and squirms like he's going through something exquisite. He touches the marks we've left on the bed and then touches my face with his bloody hands. 

"Look. Look. This is so visceral. It's so hot. Fuck. My head. I need to come down. Look at this". 

I just smile at him hazily. A brutalised and spent body adrift on the covers.

He pulls me into a hard kiss. Pushes himself against me. Holds me. 

I stroke the back of his hair. Part my lips. Speaking to him softly. I say.

"Lets go have a cigarette. I think you need one".

Thursday 5.

He's got this nasty itchy jute rope. It's sandy brown and twisted and smells like motor oil. He fashions it into a noose and ties it around my neck. 

I sit and smoke a cigarette like its last rights or something sinister along those lines. 

He tells me to get up and bend over. 

He threads the rope between my thighs and the cheeks of my buttocks and then starts to pull. 

Fuck this is abrasive and uncomfortable and it just gets worse and worse. I clench my teeth and watch the rope disappear infront of my eyes. I think thank god it's almost gone. I think oh god it's almost gone.

The rope becomes taught. He yanks it hard. I squeal. It digs into my soft labial flesh, raggedly abrades my clit, roughs up the puckered skin of my arse. It tightens the noose. I choke. He yanks it again. I let out a gargled scream. He lets it go. 

I crumple down. The rope spills out. Covered in blood. He picks it up. He laughs and stares at it and looks at me and stares at it again. He runs it between his hands. 

He smirks "This is great stuff. I love this rope".

Thursday 4.

I'm lying back on the footstool. On my back thighs spread open. He's sitting in front of me. My cunt is an exhibit. He passes me a toy. 

"You've got eight minutes to come. It's twenty past now. If you don't come by 28 minutes past you can't try again for an hour".

I mumble my don't knows and not sures and all that other feminine bullshit and I grip the toy and crank it as high as it will go. 

The attack of sensation is just as I put it, an attack, it makes my teeth hurt. The build up is short and swift, it hurtles in a ricochet. More, more, I could come. 

"Can I come?"

"Yes you may"

"How long do I have?"

"Three minutes"

Lets play with this. Lets see how far I can hold off. Tight to the line. I vaguely count down in my head. With a minute left I start to fuck the toy in and out of myself. Moving hard, I've given up on making this a floor show, my body is a jiggled mass of moving desperate flesh but I do not give a damn. I come. Deep aching, long, oh god, it just goes on and on. Did it make it in time. He didn't stop me. I must have. I hope. 

13 seconds to spare.

Thursday 3. (In under 30 words)

He tells me to bend over. 

He writes in thick marker across my lower back. 

"You are a good clean girl, with a delicious clean bottom"

Thursday 2.

I loath bath time. I hate it. I am already sore from the self-stretching but he wants me clean. I kneel in the bath tub and he makes me insert the enema plug into my arse. He turns on the tap. I begin to fill with water. He counts me down. Smokes a cigarette and watches as I start to bloat. He leaves briefly. Lets me expel on my own, then he comes back into the bathroom. 

"Again".

I don't want to do it again. He insists. The sore plug is pushed back in. He turns the tap back on. I stare at the clean white tiles on the bathroom wall. I fill up. He makes me hold it there. He tells me to expel in front of him in the bath rub. I start to cry. Release and sob. Tepid filthy water. Clean water. Still sobbing. He tells me I can take a shower which I do. Water drips off my hunched sad shoulders. I dry up and go downstairs. He passes me a cigarette and lights it. 

I mutter. 

"I hate you" 

He smiles at me. 

"It doesn't matter you're still obedient" 

I look at his cock, half hard, full of blood and power. 

He smirks at me "Do you sometimes think about stubbing cigarettes out on my cock?"

I inhale and respond.

"About every ten minutes".

Thursday 1.

He's got me lying across the foot stool. On my side My bottom facing towards him. He's given me a glass toy. He wants me to insert it into my hole. The tight and stretchable flesh. He wants me to open it up in front of his eyes while he watches. It's humiliating. Its going to be done. He says he likes the shape of my curves when I lie like this. I push and twist the bulbous glass and the flesh starts to give and it starts to hurt. I hold it there. I can feel the skin ripple and pulse. I hear the ice clang in his glass as he takes a slow sip. I push again and again and there is an ache and the plug slides into my arse. I prize the cheeks apart so he can witness the finale. He stands up and walks until he's in front of my side turned face. 

"Look" he says.

I look at him. His groin. Excited. I can see a gentle tremor in one of his hands. Power is erotic and arousing to him. Control makes him hard and eager for more. I want to give.