Surrender

I let go of her wrist but kept her hair in my hand, reached to the table and picked up the leash. It was a long leash, made for a big dog, maybe six or eight feet long. I clipped it to her collar and then let go of her hair and grabbed the handle. The chain arced from her collar to my hand, hanging about six inches above the floor. I turned and put my foot on the lowest part of the leash and pressed it to the floor, pulling her head down.

"Alright, alright," she said. "I'm kneeling!"

But I kept on walking up the leash, holding onto the handle and stepping on it, working my way towards her, bringing her end closer and closer to the ground till Lena was forced to scramble to her knees, pulled by the chain and collar around her neck.

I stood on it for a moment, wanting to make sure she got the message, then got off, allowing her to raise her head. She tried to gain her composure, straightening up and pressing her legs primly together, her eyes down, hands on thighs. She looked as if she were going to join in some children's game.

"Not like that!" I said. "Knees apart, weight on your heels, back straight, chest out. You're supposed to be offering yourself. Understand? This is a position of respect."

Reluctantly, she straightened up, shifted her weight to her heels and shuffled her knees apart, but her expression still showed a willful resistance, a kind of scorn.

"Hands locked behind your neck. Show me your tits."

She did as told, lacing her fingers together behind her neck and pulling her elbows back to stretch the dress fabric tight against her breasts. I watched her chest rise and fall with her breathing.

"Eyes down on the floor three feet in front of you. You don't look at me, understand?"

At this she blanched. "Peter..."

"Quiet! You speak when spoken to, and only then."

This kind of order-giving was more than we'd ever done in play, and I could see she bridled at it. I took the crop from the table and went to her, and hunkered down so my eyes were at her level.

"Listen: you're either going to do as I say or we're not going to do this at all. I'm not going to fight and argue with you, Lena. If you just want to get fucked then lie down on the bed with your legs open and I'll fuck you, but if you're going to submit to me, then you're going to submit, with no talk-back and no eye-rolling and no hesitation. You understood?"

Her eyes went to the floor, and her face colored. "Okay."

"No. Not 'okay'. 'Yes, Master'. That's how you answer me."

"Yes, Master."

I stood up and left her kneeling there, hands behind her head.

"This is the position you'll take when I tell you to kneel," I said. "Just like this. Now, pull your dress up to your waist."

She hesitated only a moment, then reached down and pulled the hem of her dress up, over her thighs, over the tops of her stockings and her garters, and tucked it into itself at her waist, exposing the bare flesh of her thighs, her black panties. The slight pout of her labia where they pressed against the tight, thin fabric was clearly visible.

"Keep your hands on your thighs and don't move them. In fact, don't move at all," I said, and dragged the tip of the crop across her cheek, down her neck and over her breasts, tapping it gently against each nipple. I watched her closely for any hint of panic or discomfort, for some sign of resistance to being treated like this, but there was none. Her breathing was deep and regular. She flinched slightly when I tapped her nipples, but that was all.

I moved the crop to between her legs, to the inside of her right thigh, and slid it across the exposed flesh above the top of her black stocking. I knew what the crop must feel like, the leather rough and cool, its touch soft yet menacing. I slid it up till it almost touched her sex--almost, but not quite--then down again, and around toward the back of her leg.

Lena kept her hands on her thighs, but her fingers began arch as she pressed her nails into her own flesh to fight the maddening tickle of the leather against her skin.

When I switched to the other leg, she let her breath out in an audible sigh, a sound of impatience, of unsteady control, and the abductor muscle on the inside of her leg twitched.

"What?" I asked. "What are you feeling?"

"God!" she exclaimed through clenched teeth. " Touch me already! Please! You're driving me crazy!"

"When I'm ready," I said. "When I'm ready."

I continued to slide the tip of the crop up and down the insides of her upper thighs, slowly, softly, as the rain drummed on the roof and spattered on the concrete walkway outside. I was hard now, hard and aching for her, and I thought I could detect the smell of her arousal apart from the smell of wet concrete and river mud. I stepped up close to her, close, so my right foot was between her thighs. I pulled down my zipper and fished out my cock through the open fly of my shorts. It stood out like gangplank.

"Suck it," I said. "Suck it using only your lips. No tongue, no teeth. Leave your hands where they are. Show me how soft your mouth is."

I saw her eyes on my cock, on the drop of pre-cum glistening there, then they flicked up to my face, where she saw me glaring at her, eyes glowing. She immediately dropped her gaze.

I slapped the crop lightly against the inside of her thigh. "You want me to touch you, you'll do as I say."

She leaned her face forward and opened her mouth, captured my cock between her red lips and extended her neck, taking me almost half way down. I felt the moist heat of her mouth on my cock and her breath from her nostrils blowing on my shaft as she sighed. She took more, and her tongue nervously lapped at the underside of my dick despite her efforts to keep it away. She sucked a little, trying me out, then slid her head forward and took more. And then more.

Women and cock. Some of them just love it in their mouth, love the strength and hardness, the feeling of potency, and love just as much the control oral sex gives them over their man and his pleasure, the moans they elicit, the shudders of excitement. Lena was a woman who loved it, who loved that sense of control as well as the raw, living feel of it in her mouth. Her mouth was hot and wet and close and I could feel the warm greasy slip of her lipstick on me as she began to pump her head back and forth.

"Good girl. Good girl." I tangled one hand in her hair and began to guide her mouth back and forth on my tool, watching her lips slide up and back, her mouth constricted into a submissive 'O'. I moved her head easily, like she was on bearings, up and back, up and back, my cock making wet and viscous sounds as it slid in and out of the vacuum of her mouth.

Steeling myself against the pleasure, I reached down with the crop. It was a delicate shot, I aimed it precisely, then drew my hand back and slapped the crop against the bulge of her labia, right on her pussy, right through her panties.

"Mmmnnnnhhhh!!"

The blow came as a shock to her and her eyes flew open. She moaned around my cock, but she didn't stop sucking.

Slappp!!! I spanked her pussy again, continuing to work her head back and forth on my prick, holding her hair and pumping it in and out.

And then Whapp!!! I hit her again.

"Nngh! Mmmnnnn!!"

"That's a hot little whore pussy you have there, isn't it Lena? Hot little piece of ass. She gets you in a lot of trouble, doesn't she? Makes you want to do terrible things."

I slapped her pussy again. And yet again.

"She's the reason you're so bad, isn't she? She's the real trouble-maker here. That hot little cunt. That little hole between your legs."

Lena moaned. She grunted each time the crop hit her cunt, but I wasn't hitting her that hard. A little slap, a spank with the inch square piece of leather that tipped the crop, that's all it was. It was the shock of what I was doing that got her; the indignity of being spanked between her legs while her mouth was being so brutally fucked inflamed her, made her moan and slaver and labor over my cock as I pumped it in and out of her mouth.

She was sucking me hard now, cheeks hollowing, tongue all over my cock despite my warnings, trying to pull the cum out of me, trying to make me shoot it in her mouth. If she was having any negative reactions to this, experiencing any of those feelings of self-loathing or despair she claimed came upon her whenever she remembered her earlier abuse, they sure didn't show now. She looked like a woman in the throes of submissive transport. She was sucking me hard, trying to make me cum, hoping to distract me from noticing just how much she loved what I was doing to her, whipping her pussy, driving her towards orgasm despite her shame and humiliation, despite punishing the very source of her sex.

Slap!! Slap!! Whap!! Slap!!

The blows came faster and firmer. I was spanking her pussy steadily now, a little faster than she could bob her head, wanting to see if she'd move her head in rhythm to the blows. Saliva was leaking from her lips, running n twin streams from the corners of her mouth making her look wild and dissolute, drunk on cock and abuse, when suddenly I stopped, pulled my hips back and lifted her head off my prick.

"God! God!" she moaned, licking her lips and sucking in great gobs of air. She looked disoriented, totally disheveled, her hair a mess, eyes heavy and lips swollen, her red lipstick smeared and worn.

"How are you doing?" I looked down at her.

"God, Peter! Why'd you stop? Why'd you stop? I was close!"

"You were, huh? Going to come from getting your pussy whipped like that? And who gave you permission to orgasm? Who said this was about you coming?"

Her eyes flicked up to my cock, red and swollen and dripping with her saliva, then went down the floor. She dug her nails into her legs.

I glared down at her but in reality I was terribly pleased. She'd just been used and violated, and if such treatment were going to trigger any kind of bad reaction, it would have shown by now. But there'd been no flashback, no sudden recoil, no signs of trauma at all at what I was doing to her.

Maybe I'd better explain myself here. Maybe I'd better explain how ordering a girl to her knees and fucking her mouth while I slapped her pussy with a whip was in any way morally different than simple, outright abuse. Maybe I should try to explain the difference between BDSM and assault, between submission and victimhood.

Or maybe I should let Lena describe the difference, because as I pulled her to her feet and made her take off her dress, I asked her: "What are you feeling now. Tell me how it feels."

She peeled her dress up over her head and threw it aside She was naked from the waist up as I'd told her to be, wearing only her panties, black garter belt, stockings and shoes. She'd been shy about her body. I knew that from talking to her, but she didn't show any shyness now. She hardly even noticed her nakedness now. She was excited, aroused. Her dress had been an encumbrance.

"God! I'm on fire! What did you do to me? Your hands in my hair..."

"You liked that, didn't you? It feels good to be used, to be taken. It started you up, didn't it?"

She seemed confused, half intoxicated, but I didn't waste any time. I turned her around and lashed her wrists together behind her back with a length of rope, then turned her to face me. I pushed her back against the bathroom door until she banged into it, then pressed her up against it and was on her immediately, kissing her, biting her mouth, my hands sliding up to find her breasts and squeeze, grabbing them and flattening them against her chest.

She moaned into my mouth and bit me back as I kissed her and I might have smiled had I been less excited. She was such a hot little vixen, more responsive than I'd even dreamed. When I pressed my leg up between her thighs, she pushed her pussy at me and began to rub herself on my pants like a bitch in heat. I could feel her warmth and moisture through the fabric of my pants.

Here's what it is: women are every bit as sexual as men, but some have these inhibitions to overcome. Social pressures, self-image, the need to appear lady-like, it takes some women a lifetime to shake these restrictions, if they ever even do. But when a man comes down on them like this--a man they love, a man they want-- comes down on them with all his lust and his twisted desires, they no longer have to worry about all that. They're no longer responsible for their actions, they're no longer in charge of themselves. By forcing her and tying her, I was setting her free, taking the decisions away from her. She was mine now, and all she had to do was stand there and experience it.

I let go of her breast and slid my hand down her belly, down beneath the elastic of her panties, touching her, feeling the softness of her shaved mound, her pubic protuberance. Her bites became harder, more urgent as I teased her above the hood of her clit, rubbing her skin but not her pussy, then slid my finger down and curled it beneath her in the moist heat of her vaginal swamp. I softly touched the hot, sticky lips of her pussy.

"Oh!"

She jerked her hips at me in mindless reflex and let her head fall to her chest. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back so I could see her, so I could see her face as I violated her. I held her head against the door as I slid my lips down over her chest, over the soft bulge of her breast, captured a nipple in my mouth and began to suck. It was tender and silky beneath my lips, but soon became stiff, hard, suffused with blood. My finger meanwhile had found the swollen lips of her sex and slid up and back, opening her up and exposing her.

"God! Peter!"

She needed it. She needed it already, and as my finger plowed back and forth in the swollen tightness of her slit, it opened her up enough that a stream of her wetness dripped into the palm of my hand, hot and viscous, overflowing with readiness.

What is it about a woman with her arms tied behind her that does this to me? That turns me into such a sexual animal, a beast. Her defenselessness, her vulnerability. No, it wasn't just vulnerability. It was her eagerness, her offering. She'd agreed to this, to be used, tied and bound, and now her nakedness and the hot wetness of her pussy was being given to me, pushed at me as her body reacted without her conscious control.

The panties had to go. They had to go. I wasn't about to mess with the garters and clips, so I took the bandage scissors off the table and just cut them off her, cutting them at the hips as I held her head against the door. I pulled them off through her legs and tossed them aside and there she was--naked for all intents and purposes, her arms levered up behind her back, her legs slightly spread. I held her head there against the door till she opened her eyes and looked at me, and then, never breaking the gaze, I slid my finger into her.

"Ohhhhhhh..."

I wanted to see her eyes when I entered her. I wanted to see the look on her face, and I wasn't disappointed. Her eyes locked on mine, innocent and violated. I had my finger inside her, and I saw it in her eyes, the hunger, the humiliation, the surrender and desire. I covered her mouth with mine and put my tongue inside her. Still holding her head against the door, I moved my finger inside her and felt her quiver.

"This is what it's like," I whispered. "This is what it's like to be taken, possessed, to be used for my pleasure."

Her eyes were closed now. Her lips were parted and her breasts lifted with her rapid breathing, up and down, up and down, her nipples still shiny wet with my saliva. I tried to put another finger in her but she was too tight, too firm, her sheath unyielding, so I relented and satisfied myself with sliding my thumb around her clit as I fingered her, lewd, invasive. She opened her eyes and looked at me, her eyes pleading.

"No," I said. "You're not to cum. No orgasm, no climax. Not till I say so. So just hold it in. Keep it back. You're mine now, and you do as I say."

Lena whined through her teeth as I continued to work my finger in and out of her pussy, my thumb sliding around the wet, nubile bud of her clit. I let go of her hair slowly, slowly relaxing my grip, and she kept her head there pressed against the door. From outside came a peal of thunder in the distance as the rain continued to drum on the roof. I hadn't even seen the flash of lightning.

"You're to stay here," I told her." Stay right against the door like this, legs apart, just the way you are now. Don't fucking move!"

Slowly I levered myself away from her, lifted my weight from her. I kept my finger in her pussy till the last moment, then removed it. I held it to her lips.

"Taste," I said. "Taste what your surrender is like."

She closed her eyes, turned her head in refusal, so I grabbed her face and turned her back to the front.

"Taste!"

Her lips opened, the pinkness of her tongue appeared. I slid my finger into her mouth and she closed her mouth on it, began to suck on it docilely, a baby at her mother's tit. I let her suck it, started moving it in and out like I was fucking her lips, like a little prick. There was another flash of lightening and the lights dimmed, then came back on, flickering nervously. Seconds later came the muttering of thunder. The storm was settling in, the front moving on, leaving these dark, wet clouds above us. Out behind the motel, the river would be heaving between its banks, thick and gleaming like a gleaming black serpent.

"Tell me how you like this," I asked, pulling my finger from her mouth. "Tell me how it feels, being tied like this, being taken."

She looked at me with the eyes of a criminal. "God! Can't you tell?"

"Is it like your memories? Like what happened to you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's just... intense. I didn't think it would be so intense."

Seeing the lights dim had been nice, so I left her there while I turned off the bedside lamps that had been illuminating the room. I opened the curtains to let in the runny, aqueous light that seeped through the rain-sheeted window from the parking lot, illuminating her in a square of pale white and nacreous green. It gave the whole scene a surreal, undersea glow, illuminating her body standing in the doorway.

Lena stood where I'd left her, waiting for my next move.

When you dom, you have to control yourself. You have to let yourself go, but only so far and no further. This was her first time and there was the issue of her past to consider, the horror of real sexual abuse. I was afraid of pushing her too far too fast, of overwhelming her with my needs and demands. I had to know where to draw the line.

It's a mystery to me what I want from these women anyhow, tied-up, bound, rendered helpless and vulnerable. To fuck them, own them, possess them, make them let me do what I want to them and admit me to their bodies, but something else as well. Their souls, their surrender, the molten chaos of their orgasms, the feel of them melting around the hard thrust of my cock, the loving, intimate violence of male on female sex. It was something primal and primitive, something that could not be rationally explained.

But here I paused, my conscience getting the better of me.

"I'm going to untie you," I said. "I think we've done enough. I think you need time to..."

"No!" she said.

The wet light from the window was washing down her body like liquid. Her eyes were dark and certain.

"No. I don't want to be untied. I want you to take me like this. I want you to do it. Do everything."

I looked at her but she didn't look away.

"Peter, I want this. It feels good, it feels right, like how I used to imagine sex would be, hot and passionate and hungry. I want you to do this, to take me like this. I feel like I belong to you, and I want to feel what it's like."