hurt
Content warning: this story contains elements (D/s, violence) that may be objectionable to some readers.
I stare at the digits on the hotel room door: 327. Our room, where we meet once a month, a crappy little room in a crappy little dive. But it’s where we first lay together and I find I’ve grown fond of the chipped paint and tacky bedspread, the thrift-store lamps, the garage sale art on the walls.
My stomach is jumping as I wait, my hand poised to knock. I can hear the TV through the door, and the soft, muffled sounds of your movements. My pussy is pouring wetness, my breaths already coming fast and shallow. I close my eyes, let my anticipation take control for a long, sweet moment, a whole swarm of butterflies fluttering my belly.
At last I take myself in hand and knock.
The door opens with almost comical promptness. You’re standing on the threshold, a bit rumpled, your face unshaven the way you know I like. I open my mouth to say hello, but your arm snakes out, grabs me by the wrist and drags me inside. My back hits the wall as the door slams shut and your mouth is on mine, your tongue pusing in deep, nothing tentative or hesitant about you as you lean into me. I groan against your lips, caught up in your need. I feel as if I’m being carried along on a breaker, about to be dashed to pieces on sharp rocks, and I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care…
You pull back, your eyes on me as hot as banked coals as one hand slides up from my hip across my torso and breast to my neck. It rests there, not squeezing but making me feel helpless all the same. I can’t catch my breath, can hardly see straight I want you so bad. The month between this night and the last one stretches out behind me like an ocean I had to cross, and I’m done waiting. I reach down, press my palm to your cock, and you close your eyes, let out a ragged breath.
“This is what I want,” I say, my voice barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears.
“Get on the bed, then,” you tell me, your voice like gravel.
You step back, tugging at your clothes. I go to the bed, my legs like noodles, and stretch out on my front. To tease you, I lift my ass a little, but make no move to take my own clothes off, purposely making things difficult. I can hear you behind me, your jeans sliding to the floor, your shirt rustling as you pull it off over your head. The mattress dips, and I wait, burning with anticipation. I know what’s coming, and you don’t disappoint.
Your hand comes down on my ass, hard enough to make me flinch. An instant of pain that my passion transforms into a delicious, hot tingle. You take me by the ankles, flip me over, reach for my fly. Wrestle my jeans down and off, drag my panties after them.
As soon as I’m bare, you bury your face between my legs and devour me as if you’re starving. There’s no finesse, no thought of my pleasure in you, no skill…your eagerness is the hunger of a thing too long starved, wolfing down its meal without care. Your mouth slides across my wet flesh, your stubble scraping my inner thighs, as if you can’t get enough and you can’t possibly get it fast enough. My cunt pours nectar in response, my clit aching, my muscles clenching on an emptiness that wants nothing more than to be filled.
I grab your hair, pull you upward. Your lips and teeth draw ragged trails up my body, until I can finally kiss you. I run my tongue up the raspy stubble of your neck and chin, loving the taste of my wetness on you, the salt of your skin and the sweetness of my musk commingled. I reach down, encircle you with my hand and begin to pump. God, you’re so fucking hard. I know you haven’t touched yourself in at least a week, and from your moans I can tell you’re already right on the edge. I smile to myself and increase the tempo, wanting to bring you as quickly as I can, to savor one little victory of my female allure over your male dominance.
“Not yet,” you growl, taking my hand away. I make another grab and you swear under your breath, snatching both my wrists and pinning them above my head with one hand. The other snakes between my legs, two fingers stabbing up into me.
“Behave yourself,” you say as my breath catches and my hips lift off the bed. Your fingers stroke me in just the right spot, your calluses rough on my sensitive inner flesh. I love what you’re doing to me, both love and hate the superior look on your face as you do it. I’m so fucking close I can taste it, but I don’t want you to win.
I start to pull my arms free and you tighten your grip. Fuck, you’re so strong, your hand like a vise clamped around my wrists. The bones of my forearms grind together as I struggle to free myself, and god it hurts so fucking good. Your lips pressed tight together, you scowl down at me, slap my thigh hard with your other hand. Your fingers and palm are wet from my pussy and that makes it hurt more, but I don’t care, it doesn’t feel like pain. I twist my arms again, trying to pry your grip loose.
“Stop!” you hiss. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I push my hips off the bed, press my open cunt against your cock, feel the length of it nestle in my furrow as if it belongs there. “Then give me what I want…” I glower up at you, jerk my arms, feel the fine, small bones of my wrists compress under the pressure of your grasp.
“Jesus,” you whisper as you release me, flip me onto my front again, grab my hips and lift them. One hand fists in the back of my hair, pushing my head down until my cheek is pressed into the bedspread. Your other hand guides your cock to my entrance and you sink deep, all the breath rushing out of you as my flesh encloses yours. I moan and shove back against you, wanting you deeper still, and you start to hammer into me, all your self-control gone in an instant. Your hand comes down on the flesh of my ass again and again, making the skin there hot and sore, and you slide the other from my neck and down my spine, your nails raking me.
Oh holy fuck, holy fuck, I’m there, the feel of your invasion, the acknowledgment of your power over me hurling me off a cliff and into a freefall that lasts and lasts and lasts. I bite my fist to hold in my cries as my body wrenches free of my mind and my will and has its way with me. I feel nothing but pleasure and the primal rhythm of your plunging movements behind me, and with my last glimpse of awareness I feel you pull out of me and the hot spatter of your come on the stinging skin of my bottom…
When I can think again, I’m wrapped in your arms. You’re shaking, your breath still fast and uneven. Your lips are moving tenderly on the skin of my wrist, and I open my eyes a crack to see you frowning into my face.
“Shit,” you say, showing me the bruises that are already starting to blacken. “I’m sorry. But god, I can’t believe how strong you are. I was worried you’d end up with a broken wrist…”
I smile and trail my fingertips down your cheek, my touch as soft as rabbit fur. “I’m not made of glass, you know. Seriously.”
“I keep hurting you.”
“Yes,” I say, leaning in and pressing a slow, exquisitely tender kiss to your lips. “That’s why I keep coming back here.”
Your frown deepens and you settle your head on my breast, lacing our fingers together. I let my other hand play in your hair, stroking lightly, soothing your worry with a touch as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wings.