Mmh, You're Mine

Author's note: This is pure fantasy. The characters hold no relation to real people. I can barely imagine anything like this being real, and it would be terrifying and awful; far from erotic. Within story, however, I do enjoy a man's touch on my breasts...

*****

You cannot move. You cannot see. Soft white noise, which you quickly tune out, sounds in your ears. Your bare skin oversensitive to every brush of air from the overhead fan, but there is no way to avoid it. Your breathing picks up.

You are mine. I found you on the street, shy thing, finders keepers. Everything you feel now, think now, touch or do is because of me. I spread you out on the bed. I gave you the shot, piercing your pure skin, which has rendered you entirely paralyzed. I have spread you so you are open to me, wide, stretching to the point of slight pain.

Something crawls over the fingers of your left hand, which twitch involuntarily—the only movement you can make. You try to curl your fingers again, but it doesn't work, and soon the bug—it has to be a bug—is crawling down your hip, across your leg. The fine hairs on your shaved legs twitch and tickle as the roach searches for a good place of darkness, finally crawling around your shin to burrow underneath. You can't move.

I turn the lights on, and the bug goes still. You can see the red on the back of your eyelids, leaking through by the strength of the bright light I have overhead so that I can see you better.

A touch on your jaw, just below your ear, makes you jerk. The feather-light touch of my finger traces your jaw, your chin. The weight of my hand rests, at last, on your collar bone. You can almost smell the warmth of my breath as I lean forward. I pass on your lips, however, and bring my cheek to yours, rubbing against your face with mine so that the rough shadow of hair prickles and scratches against you. Under my palm, I can feel your breath coming faster now. Your heartbeat is picking up, too, and I pull away to pause for a moment, pressing my fingers close so that I can feel better. You don't move. You couldn't, if you wanted.

Suddenly, you feel like choking. The pressure of my thumb is hard against the hollow of your throat, pressing threateningly against your trachea. I feel your heartbeat better, here, going so fast. My toy, are you afraid?

You should be. I am pressing hard enough to bruise, and I feel you swallowing against me, as if that will do something to stop the pressure. Fighting the drug only gives you a headache. After the longest of moments, I sense your resignation. I take it as a sign of submission. You are mine.

I move back, sitting on my heels, just above your stomach. At once, both nipples of yours are in pain. I pinch as hard as I could and pull at them, twisting, using my nails. Your throat is still sore but yet you manage to gasp, a faint noise, limited by your lack of movement. Your chest is heaving, but your nipples are getting harder. I play with them for a moment, rubbing my thumbs over the very tips, blowing on them, tugging and twisting. They are very red now, and standing straight up from your chest as you try to breathe, try to fight the drugs that stop your motion, try to stop me.

The touch is gone for a moment, and I have left any sense-able range. I could be anywhere. I could touch you anywhere right now, however I wanted, and you couldn't stop me. I could kill you. I almost did.

I do not kill you. You nearly whimper in pain as sharp, firm nipple clamps drop onto your nipples all at once. I tug them into position better, pinching and pulling the skin until it is satisfactory, then adjust the clamps so they're tighter, tighter. Now you are frozen, focused on the pain in your nipples. You cannot see, but they are round, with parts that twist tighter to squeeze the entire nipple at once, the tip spilling out over the top edge and cherry red where I can see.

I lean forward and begin to lick the exposed tips, with light, wet, teasing motions. Your breath comes uneven as I do, and I take it as a sign of encouragement. I suck, I poke, I lick the very tips of your tender nipples, confusing the sensation of dull pain and cold kisses. Your body is fighting the drug harder now, trying to twist away, but it is helpless. Mine.

I sit up as the pain in your nipples fades into background noise, leaving your nipples cold in the air which now feels overly chilly across your entire body. Goosebumps rise across your arms, and I trail my finger down it, tickling, and when I get near, I scare the roach away from his hiding spot beneath you. I am reminded of the next step I have planned for you. I kill the roach, though you don't see me, and disappear for another tense moment. You can do nothing but lay there, legs spread, nipples pinched and ever-present air brushing over your naked body.

I've returned, and a thumb against your eyelid brings blinding light to your pupils, but you can't squint your eyes shut. Not on your own. I hold up a jar of wasps. Large wasps—you can see their stingers as they crawl over each other. Nevermind how I got them, but they can't fly. I uncap the jar, tilting it carefully so that within a couple moments, six or eight wasps are crawling across your belly and chest. I close your eyes. You've never seen my face.

I like insects. Also snakes. My presence disappears as I watch them. I can only imagine the sensations for you: creepy crawlies, with stingers, stepping across the fine hairs on your belly. One crawls lower, toward your pubic hair. Another moves up to the valley between your breasts. Your chest continues rising and falling rapidly, your skin is tight and tense.

After a few minutes, I become bored. I know insects well, and trap one of the wasps between my hand and the underside of your breast. It struggles, and before long, a sharp pain pierces your skin. I watch the wasp struggle, and remove my fingers. Encouraged by the interesting reaction, I move to another wasp, the one making its way ever closer to your pussy. I trap it the same way, and soon, it too resorts to stinging, leaving a painful, soon to be itchy bump right where your hip meets your belly. Your belly muscles twitch.

I wet my fingers and run the dampness over the tips of your nipples, down the valley of your breasts, and over your sides. The light touches raise goosebumps.

Finally, I tire of the wasps. Before I put them away, I pick one up and place it on your forehead. You can feel it wandering, and soon the ugly insect is sitting on the corner of your eye. When I pick the others up, I leave it for last. It sits there, the tickle of its feet on your eyelid, until I pick it up, too. Soon the wasps are back in a jar on my shelf, and you are at base zero, lying expectantly on the bed.

I push your knees up and they give easily, I push them to the side and they fall into a butterfly stretch, pulling on the muscles. I push gently, making sure you feel the tug and strain. My hands are warm and frightening, but when they are gone, your skin is cold from the fan. You could almost miss the lack of touch.

You are shaven because I have done so myself, and now I take advantage of this fact. I pull a paintbrush from my box of toys and touch the tip to your skin. It's a hard, flat brush, with plastic bristles that scrape rather than soothe.

I poke around with it, and draw it down the curve of your outer lips, then across the inside of your leg. I return to your pussy quickly, and scrape the brush across the inner side of the lips.

As I play, I glance up to your face in time to see a very warm blush grow. Your pussy is beginning to get very damp. It would be impossible for me to play as I am with the brush against your private lips if I had not noticed.

I run my finger up and down your slit, watching it twitch and jump. I pause at your clit, pushing it out from its hiding and putting direct pressure on it. I can see in the way your belly clenches, how you try to squirm, avoiding the pressure. I don't let up.

As I press your tiny button, I push another finger into your hole itself. Your muscles clench gratefully, and I begin to finger fuck you.

Finally, I begin rubbing my thumb in slow circles around the clit itself. I can see your breathing pick up even further, but I can see it's still not enough.

I pull out a vibrating egg. I turn it on low, and press it against your clit. Your hips arch slightly, never leaving the bed. I put another finger you, and another. You must be very full, down there, and enjoying yourself. You're dripping.

I watch you near the edge, muscles a twitter, twitching and tugging. Little moany sounds begin to escape your lips as the vibrator teases you.

I take it off and slide it into your cunt in place of my fingers, and you squeeze it tightly in. I let you come down from the edge before pinching a dull clamp onto the hooded area around your clit. The pressure must be exquisite, I can only imagine. I wonder at your blank expression. If you couldn't move, would the little hitches in your breath would become screams? Would the wrinkles in your forehead dissolve into tears? That is a pretty image to consider: you, a beautiful woman, laid bare before me, sobbing as I held such immense power over your life and suffering.

Perhaps tomorrow. You've been devoid of touch a few moments as I daydreamed, but now I run my finger back over your slit and find you soaking despite the pain. I decide you are ready. I remove my own clothes now, and move closer to you. Your oversensitive skin registers my warmth, no longer blocked by the fabric of my outfit, and you tense and moan softly from the bottom of your belly. I smile.

I take your hand from where it lies, limp beside you, and press it against the skin of my chest. You can probably feel my heartbeat. I guide your fingertips lower, over soft but defined abs and then to the hardness that is my erection. A small amount of cool pre-cum wets the palm of that hand. Your breathing has picked up to an almost frantic pace now, as the vibrator continues to buzz inside you, but I move away again, leaving your hand cold once more.

I pull the vibrator from you, and your hips jerk toward it and toward me. You are coming down from your high now, unfulfilled and still horny. A little grin comes on my face. You will not be like that for long. I mount you, and line my member up with your slick entrance. You know what is coming, and once more you tense.

My fingers are roaming your sides, your breasts, the nubs that are your nipples. I can feel your heartbeat speed when I press close to your chest. I thrust in you, all the way, just once. Your greedy cunt muscles clench and oh, it feels so good. My cock thrusts, faster and faster, and your arousal quickly finds the peak it was at before. I can see you fighting the sensations, fighting your climax, for who am I and how dare I make you feel this good? but your muscles are building and jerking regardless.

You moan, and I lick your abdomen, and your hips rise to meet mine and I thrust, and my balls ram against your clit clamp, but the pain only registers as warmth. You start to shudder a little, and I remove the clit clamp, and the air goes out of your lungs. I massage your bead with my free hand, little circles as I thrust, my own movements half unwilling themselves.

As you are just about to go over the edge, I pull your nipple clamps all at once, and you gasp and whimper from the pain as sensation comes flooding back. The clit vibe is still going very strong, and as I attack your nipples with my tongue and teeth once more, I watch you finally surrender to it. Your hips arch off the bed, your thighs clench and jerk, your toes curl, and your facial expression betrays you. Finally, you are panting and breathless and tired, and about ready to sleep. I do not make it much farther, as your orgasm clenches and pumps my cock, squeezing and hugging, and I thrust one final time and moan and explode into you.

When I leave, I retire to the room in which I can see feeds from the video cameras. You remain tense for a long while, but slowly begin to relax somewhat when it is clear I don't intend to return right away. Soon, the drug is wearing off, and you fall deeply asleep. Mine.