Surrender

I'm really not a dom's dom. I'm really not one to impose my will on a woman just so I can feel a sense of control or superiority. What I am is more like a teacher, or maybe a guide. I like to take women to parts of themselves they haven't visited before and don't know very well, and there we explore. I like to take them to the edge where rationality and inhibition disappear, and all that's left is the things you can express by one body thrusting into another, by mouth fusing to mouth, soul to soul.

But it's hard in motels. There's no decent places to tie a girl; no solid hooks or poles or fixtures, not like at my place, festooned with chains and pulleys and rope. I could throw a rope over the top of the bathroom door to raise her arms, but that was a hassle and would take time to set up. The bed, being a motel bed, of course had no legs to tie a rope around and the plain fake-wood headboard was bolted flush to the wall. But this time I'd come prepared. I had some special tie-downs attached to flat pieces of steel designed to slide far enough between the mattress and box spring to provide secure anchors for tying her. I would have my way.

I got them out now, pulled the duvet and blankets off the bed, and slid the tie-downs in place, one in each corner. I got the four leather cuffs with the chains and clips attached and dumped them on the bed.

"Come here," I said. Sit on the bed."

I took her upper arm and led her to the bed, turned her around and sat her down. I slipped the handle of the leash over my arm, then took two of the cuffs and got down on my knees and buckled them around her ankles. Lena watched in something of a fog, as if this were happening to someone else. When her ankles were cuffed, I clipped them together with a short, two-inch clip.

"What are you doing?" she finally asked.

By that time I was standing back up and loosening the bonds on her wrists so I could cuff them too. "Cuffing you. What does it look like?"

She seemed to take a long moment to digest what I'd said, and in that time I got both cuffs on her wrists and pulled off the rope and tossed it aside.

"But why? What are you going to..."

I took her right wrist and pulled it over to the upper right tie-down, causing her to lose her balance and start to topple onto her side. She stopped herself with her left hand and said, "No! Wait! Wait!"

I clipped her wrist to the chain on the tie-down, about four inches from the edge of the mattress. "What? What is it now?"

"You're going to tie me to the bed? Is that is?"

"Yeah. That's about it." I reached for her left hand and she snatched it away.

"No, wait! Wait, I can't do this! Don't!"

"What are you talking about? I just had your hands tied behind your back."

"I don't care. I don't want to do this." She hugged her left arm to her chest against the leash, her fingers curled into a stubborn fist. She turned her face away from me.

"I don't understand. How is this different?"

"I don't know! It just is. I don't want to be tied down to a piece of furniture, stretched out like that."

I looked at her, but she didn't look panicked, she didn't even look frightened. She looked pouty and hurt, stubborn, like a spoiled child.

"Is it about what happened? Does it remind you of the assault?"

She waited a while before answering, then said, "No. It has nothing to do with that. Nothing at all." Her face was still turned away.

I was bewildered and uneasy, still worried about her traumatic past. The rain beat on the roof as I sat there at a loss, looking at her naked body in shoes, stockings and garter belt, primed for sex. As if now aware of her nakedness, she drew her knees up towards her body, her ankles still clipped together.

Something in that simple, modest gesture made things suddenly clear to me, made me instantly understand. She wasn't afraid, wasn't panicked-- she certainly wasn't having some kind of traumatic flashback. She was being coy, making me work for it, refusing to comply in her own violation. So far she'd put up hardly any resistance, and that had been easily overcome, and now she was feeling like maybe she was being too easy, too biddable and compliant.

At the same time, she'd made no move to free her right wrist from the restraint. She hadn't touched the clip holding her ankles together. She was waiting. Waiting to be forced, waiting to be compelled.

I felt a sudden surge of anger-tinged desire, realizing I was being toyed with, played. I'd been sitting with her on the right side of the bed. Now I got up and went to the left side where I'd have more leverage.

"It's a little late for that, Lena." I grabbed her left wrist and pulled it up toward the tie-down. "It's a little late for that now."

Faced with my adrenalin-fueled strength, she was no match. She tried to keep her arm down, but I easily overpowered her and felt her give up, her arm relax. I pulled it tight, stretched her arm out till her left wrist was almost off the mattress, and clipped it in place.

Lena struggled, or she tried. Her ankles were clipped together, her wrists were bound and arms stretched. All she could really do was roll her hips from side to side and thrash, and her heart really wasn't it in. I got her ankles chained down easily enough, bringing them both to the left tie-down while I affixed her left ankle, then taking off the short clip and pulling her right ankle over to the other one.

By now she'd stopped struggling at all, and I drew the chains, tight, tight, really stretching her out till the corners of the mattress started to curl up. I want to give her no slack to work with.

I was sweating when I finished, and I was hot for her, ready to take my prize, but a glance at her face showed me something else: she was loving this. Loving the struggle, the fight, and loving not only her resulting state of helplessness, but the level of angry arousal she'd ignited in me as well. I was hard, throbbing, and my muscles felt big and swollen, like after a workout. I forced myself to be calm, to keep it under control.

She was spread wide, exposed, vulnerable, and there was nothing she could do about it. Stockings and shoes and garter belt now framed her loins in black and in the center was the glistening slit of her sex. The leather cuffs creaked softly as she shifted her weight, trying to get comfortable, but how comfortable could she get when she was lying there with her legs apart, beyond decency, beyond shame.

"It's true," I said as I picked up the flogger. "Some people panic when they're tied like this. A kind of claustrophobia, I understand. You're not going to panic, are you, Lena?"

I dropped the thongs of the flogger against her tits and dragged them lazily down her body. She looked up at me intently but said nothing. When the thongs drifted down over her hips and thighs, some of them sliding over her pussy and dropping between her legs, she closed her eyes and shuddered slightly.

"It actually feels good being tied down this way, doesn't it? You can't move, you can't resist, you can't stop me from doing anything I like to you. Do you like it?"

Her eyes were closed and her lips compressed, but she didn't have to say anything. In the weak, watery light I could see her pussy glistening, swollen and wet with her own arousal. She was dripping with it, overflowing.

I laid the flogger down on her chest, coiling the thongs under the handle so it looked like a nest of snakes between her tits, then sat down in the chair and leisurely took off my shoes and socks. I stood and unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off. It was quite warm in the room by now and both of us were sweating. I was hard and throbbing against my pants, but I left them on, savoring the pressure and discomfort. It would give a certain urgency to what I was going to do. I merely adjusted myself to ease the tension, pointing my cock up.

"Whatever happened to you when you were young, I don't think it has anything to do with how you feel now," I said, slowly retrieving the flogger from her chest. "There's a difference between being sexually exploited at an age where you don't even know what sex is, and giving yourself over to your lover as a mature woman and putting yourself in his hands. There's nothing sick about this as far as I'm concerned. How you want to think about it is up to you, but you want it, you want to know what it's like, and you deserve to know. More than anyone I can think of, you deserve to know. So let's see what we can learn."

I began swinging the flogger slowly over her thighs, back and forth, letting the fall of thongs brush against her skin as if I were sweeping her off, preparing her for what was to come. It was a light suede flogger that I was very fond of, because it could be make to tickle like velvet or sting like rawhide depending on the force behind it. I brushed it against her maybe a dozen times, getting her ready. Then I reared back and whipped it across her thighs.

Lena gasped, pulled tighter, and I flogged her again.

"No!" she said. "Don't! Not with the whip, the flogger, whatever it is. Don't"

I stopped and looked at her, surprised. This was starting to be more trouble than it was worth.

"I don't care if you hit me, if you punish me, but not with the whip. Use your belt. That's yours, a part of you. Use your belt instead."

"My belt? You know that's going to hurt more than the flogger."

"I don't care. I don't care about the pain. Use your belt."

I looked at her for a moment and saw she was serious. She wanted he belt. I put the flogger on the table and unbuckled my belt, pulled it through the loops and doubled it, then wrapped it around my hand a couple times to shorten it.

The first few strokes were gentle, tentative, just laying the leather on her skin with a lazy overhead delivery. The belt was capable of doing much more damage than the flogger, and I was hesitant to use it. I let it slap softly against her thighs, her hips, brushed it against her tits.

"You can do it harder than that," she said. "You can do it a lot harder than that."

"Don't rush me," I said. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

I pulled my wrist back and flicked it against her thighs. Harder, then even harder. Finally I hit her hard enough to make the belt slap against itself with a frightening crackk!!

Lena groaned and gasped and her nipples stiffened visibly but she never told me to stop, never told me to ease up, and she never asked me why I was doing this to her. I suppose it must have been obvious from the look in my eyes why I was doing this. In fact, I could feel it in my eyes myself, their heat and sinister glow. I was doing this because I wanted her, because I wanted to make her feel me, feel my need and desire. I was doing it because she had the gall to make me want her this way, with hunger and anger.

Whack!! Slap!!! Crack!! I was leaving marks now, stripes on her thighs and belly, across the mounds of her tits. It was a type of power, a type of possession, a type of punishment and an incitement to arousal all in one, bringing the blood to the surface of her skin and making her sensitive, stimulated.

I was sweating now and so was she. The room was too hot and I went and turned down the heater, then came back and let the belt drop against her pussy and dangle there. I watched her face as I slowly dragged it over her sex.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, trying not to feel it. Refusing to feel it.

I did it again, letting the leather fall against the moist valley between her legs and then slowly dragging it out, over her belly, watching her hips lift and her thighs flex as she tried to capture it.

"Mmmm..." I slapped the belt lightly against her pussy. "Is that good? Is that nice, baby?"

I really didn't have to ask. I could see the answer on her face. She was biting her lip now, her eyes still closed and her brow furrowed as she concentrated on the sensation, either accepting it or trying to block it out. It didn't matter what she did, really, because she couldn't deny the crudeness and obscenity of what I was doing. It was rude, insulting, exciting and degrading all at the same time, whipping her pussy with my belt.

I moved down near the foot of the bed to get a better angle, and I began to thwack the folded belt against her swollen labia, steady, rhythmically, watching her stomach muscles flex and thighs tighten as her wrists and feet twisted in the bonds.

"Oh God!" she moaned. "Oh God I don't believe this! I don't believe this! Peter! Peter!!"

Whap!! Smack!! Slap!! Whack!!

It was terrible, delicious, sick, suggestive. She loved it; she wanted it. She lifted her ass from the bed seeking the belt, exposing herself to it, while at the same time her face was clamped shut in a look of total denial and disbelief. She looked as if she were no longer in control of her body, that it had taken over and it wanted the belt, the punishment, the surrender, without regard for what she wanted, and it wanted it desperately.

I saw her climb towards orgasm, saw her open her mouth wide to breathe. and screw her eyes shut against the intense and shameful pleasure that was looming over her. I saw her thighs tremble with the strain and her stomach pull tight and quiver. Her fingers wrapped around the chains and pulled, pulled as her entire body clenched tight like a spring, ready to explode.

She stayed like that for a second, for maybe two seconds as she fought to contain the wave of excruciating pleasure, but it was all too much, too much, and she couldn't resist. The orgasm rolled over her like a physical wave, and she heaved her body off the bed, reaching for it, reaching for that terrible pleasure. I thought she was going to scream but she bit it back, choked it back, shaking her head in denial and disbelief as he hair whipped her face and the vicious ecstasy seemed to rip her apart and throw her aside, showing her no respect and leaving her no dignity.

I stood there with the belt, high on the cruelty and savagery of what I was doing, watching her, amazed. She'd never been so responsive, so wild and unrestrained, and it drove me crazy, made me nuts. I dropped the belt and undid my pants, shoved them and my shorts down together and stood by the bed hard and aching, my cock throbbing with each beat of my heart. I knew she might be unbearably sensitive after an orgasm like that, but I was on fire for her and near climax myself. I climbed on the bed and got between her legs.

I didn't even wait. I didn't even tease. No caresses, no words, just me on my knees, falling over her and catching myself on one arm while I grabbed my cock with the other hand and placed the head against the swollen lips of her pussy.

Lena was panting, moaning, her pussy was hot and sticky, pursed like a lover's lips, I pushed forward and the head of my cock wedged into her, splitting her open, her labia clinging to me and stretching to accommodate my cock. I pushed the head in and felt the tightness of her sheath, the semi-cartilaginous muscle that guarded her entrance. I pushed, putting my weight on my cock and the muscle stretched, dilated, and then slid smoothly up the stalk of my cock as Lena arched her back in a sudden spasm of pain.

"Oh God!" she cried. "That hurts! It hurts!"

"Okay. Okay. I'll take it slow. Relax. Just relax. Get used to it. It'll stop hurting. Just relax."

I reached up and brushed her hair from her face so I could see her. Her lips were swollen, eyes closed, nostrils flared as she panted for breath. Below, halfway into her, my overexcited cock jerked in pre-ejaculatory spasms, which I just managed to control. But I could feel her muscles relaxing, accepting me, adjusting to me.

Lena smiled weakly. "God! I can feel that! Did you do that? I can feel you inside me."

"Yeah," I said. "That's the idea."

She smiled again and looked at me. "Oh yeah? So that's what this is about?"

Wise-ass to the end.

"Ready?" I asked, and she nodded.

I pushed again, pushed, and felt her tissues open, her pussy expand and admit me as a welcome stranger, an inaugural guest. She waited till I had it all inside her, and then I felt her hips lift and push tentatively against me.

"Is that it? Is that all of it?"

"That's all of it."

"Oh God, that's good! Oh my god, that's so good!"

I pushed with my hips and let myself down on top of her, resting my weight on my elbows on either side of her head. I opened my mouth and covered her lips with mine, and she was immediately there, opening in response, tongue finding mine and caressing it eagerly. I kept myself still, wanting her to get used to the feel of my cock, but even as we kissed her hips were lifting up to absorb me, rocking slightly to move me around inside her, testing the possibilities. She broke the kiss and turned her face to the side to breathe through her open mouth and started moving in earnest now, grinding her pussy up against me straining for more.

She was tied down and could hardly move but she did her best, until finally I decided the time was right and pulled my cock partway out of her then slid it back in.

"Oh yes!" she hissed. "That's it! That's what I want."

"You want me to untie you?"

"No, no! I love it like this. I love being held open like this. Just fuck me. Give it to me."

So I did. I lifted my ass and pulled my cock partway out, then slid it back in. She moaned with a rush of escaping air, but the moan was only partly discomfort, partly something else.

I did it again, and this time the sound she made was that of a woman getting fucked--pleasure, relief, astonishment that anything could feel so good. I felt her hips lift within the limited confines allowed by the bonds.

"Oh God, Peter! This is it. Harder! Harder!" She grabbed onto the straps and pulled, her arms flexing. She had to know she was tied down, that there was no escape.

Her words set me on fire and I knew now that there was nothing to hold back, there was no problem, no trauma that had to be addressed, no tender spots to be avoided. The pleasure she took n being tied was simple and universal, the urge to be restrained during sex, to be taken and controlled and overpowered by desire. It was the inward-falling mountain, the darkness of yin, the surging and moon-dappled rush of the river in flood.

The bed creaked as I fucked her and she pulled at her bonds, spread wide for me and defenseless, offering me everything and holding nothing back, and the sound of rain on the roof was joined by our hard and labored breathing as I worked myself off inside her, hands clutching her ass and pulling her up to me, mouthing her breasts, oblivious to everything but the pulse of her body beneath me.

At some point I put my hand down there, an awkward angle but I wanted to feel the cylinder of my prick going into her. I must have stimulated her clit, because suddenly her cries took on a fervent urgency and she turned her head and sunk her teeth into my shoulder.

"Harder, Lena! Harder! Show me what it makes you feel like! Show me how it feels!"

I felt her teeth dig in, her jaw shudder with the strain. The pain knifed down my arm and spine and set off the obliterating rush of pleasure that triggered orgasm, and suddenly I was pushing deep into her, pulling her hips up to me and groaning: "Coming! Coming! Oh God, baby! Here it is! Here! Here! Here!"

I managed to lift myself off her and push her hair out of the way so I could see her face as I came inside her, the look of pleasure, pride, and completion as she felt my cock throb with each ejaculation. It was a deep, desperate, and delicious release, each slug of cum leaving my cock like a charge of molten metal, burning with life and saturated with my essence, cast into her furnace with helpless abandon and pure love.

And as Lena felt me cum and pushed her hips up at me to take my seed and meet her own shattering orgasm, I saw her look of bliss turn into a smile, a smile of relief, triumph, and acceptance. A smile of victory and surrender and peace deep as a river.