“Am I bleeding?” I asked in a broken voice.
He chuckled next to my ear. “You’re not bleeding, my little drama queen. You’re just a hot, deep shade of red.” He rubbed my ass. The abrasive contact made me cringe.
“Ow,” I whined. He rubbed harder. “Ow. Owww.”
“Hush, or we’ll start all over.”
I pressed as close to him as I could, still blind and caught in my bonds. Surrender, Chere. Surrender. A shivering sob shook me every few seconds. He’d gotten me so worked up, I couldn’t calm down.
“Pain and sex,” he murmured, stroking a finger up my spine. “Such a potent combination. Do you like when I hurt you, baby?”
My shiver turned to a shudder. I answered truthfully, trying not to feel ashamed. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir, I like when you hurt me.”
He stroked my shoulder blades, my hair, my nape, his firm, possessive touch making me fall deeper in love or lust or whatever the hell it was I felt for him.
“It’s okay to like it,” he said. “Say it: It’s okay to like it.”
“It’s o-okay to like it,” I stammered.
“You’re going to get fucked now. You’re going to take it in your sore, red-hot ass to learn a little more about surrender, and I’m not going to use very much lube. I think it should hurt you a little. Don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whimpered, even though I wasn’t sure how much more hurting I could take.
He parted my cheeks, depositing a scant amount of lubricant around my clenching hole. His body covered mine, a warm, masculine weight that would be pleasant if he wasn’t positioning himself to drive into my ass. I wanted to beg him to be gentle, to be careful and go slow, but I was afraid he’d be rougher on purpose, so I kept my mouth shut. Soft, strained panic noises escaped my throat.
One of the hardest parts of being the submissive member of our twisted relationship was that he kept me so helpless. I wanted to be fucked, yes, my pussy was dying, aching with lust, but it was so hard to be trapped at someone’s mercy. I had no recourse, no choice. I was tied hand and foot, with my ass propped in the air by a pile of pillows. He was going to fuck me and I was going to deal with it. I loved being overpowered by him, and it was okay to like it, but oh my God…fuck…
The head of his cock slipped against the lube at my entrance, pushing, poking, not quite making it in. He pushed harder, stretching me open by pure physics. Hard cock, steady pressure.
“Ow, ow, ow,” I chanted as the pain intensified. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, please…”
“Let me in.” He sounded so much calmer than I did. “I’m getting in either way.”
I panted as he stopped just inside me. I felt so full, just from the tip. My “ows” had become low, pleading groans.
“Does it hurt that much?” he asked.
“Yes!”
His thighs were warm against the insides of my tied-open legs. He grabbed a handful of my hair along with the mask’s strap, and yanked my head back.
“Ask for the rest of me.”
Holy shit. The harder he pulled, the louder I whined. My ass clenched around him, trying to push him back out.
“You’re hurting me,” I cried.
“Ask for the rest of me.”
“Please…”
“Please what?”
Surrender, Chere.
“Please give me the rest of your c-cock,” I said, my voice faltering over the words. “Please push it deep inside me. I want it. I like it.”
He made a satisfied noise and proceeded to jam his length into me, inch by excruciating inch, until I felt his nut sack brush against my sodden slit. By then, the acute pain of entry had passed. Now there was only the feeling of being split in two, of being filled with something way too large in a space that was way too small. I pursed my lips and lay absolutely still.
“Is that better?” he asked. “Is it deep enough inside you to hurt?”
I whimpered. “No, Sir.”
He let go of my hair and parted my ass cheeks, holding each in a firm, painful grip. He thrust the last inch or two into me, hard enough to push me down against the bed. My clit slid across the pillows as I clenched around him. My dark, surrendered world was filled with his dominance, and a fine edge of pain.
“Are you rubbing your pussy on my pillows?” he asked.
“Yes. I can’t help it.”
“You filthy fucking whore.”
He may have called me a filthy fucking whore in that growly voice of his, but the only thing that registered was that he hadn’t told me to stop. I gasped in time to his thrusts, like he was fucking the life out of me, and rubbed my clit against his soft designer pillows for all I was worth. The pleasure was so hot, so exquisite, because Price was being so mean to me and it was okay to like it. Sometimes I thought I was a shitty submissive compared to Andrew, that my heart wasn’t really in it.