Dark Control (Dark Dominance 1)

I looked up to find him straddling my bound body, his cock jutting from his pants.

“Open wider,” he said, giving my cheek a quick slap and taking my chin in his hands. “I need to come, Juliet, because you’re so fucking sexy. I need to come now so I can last longer when I’m fucking your ass.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t all there. Was this subspace? I opened my mouth and swallowed against the pressure as he eased his cock between my lips. I couldn’t take all of him, and I made begging hums of protest as he pressed beyond my comfort zone. A cough, a gag. A hand on my shoulder and his answering laugh.

“You can do it,” he said. “Relax and accept it. This is what’s happening to you right now. You don’t have a choice.”

Just as he’d filled my ass to an uncomfortable degree, he filled my mouth and throat, and I was forced to blink through my discomfort, crying tears of strain. In and out, deeper each time, never varying his rhythm except to give a little extra jab whenever I gagged.

“Suck me deeper, that’s right.” He grasped my hair, pushing my head against the back of the chair with each thrust. “I’m going to come so fucking hard, right in the back of your throat.”

He was definitely going to come in the back of my throat, since he’d shoved in as far as my physiology would allow, and seemed to prefer hanging out there. I struggled now and again, bouncing on the dildo in my ass as tears streamed from my eyes.

The awful clamps were gone but my ass was still impaled and stretched, and now my mouth was too. I smelled his male scent, tasted pre-cum on the back of my tongue. I’d given plenty of blowjobs as a sub, given my Doms leisurely, fawning attention, but in this case it was all his doing, pure force, my throat being taken at his pace. My hands strained at my sides, but I had no way to stop him from plundering my mouth, no control, no way to protect myself. I had no way to plead with him to give me a rest and let me breathe.

When he finished, shooting ropes of cum down my throat, I gagged hard and swallowed, barely registering his satisfied growl. He pulled back, fisting his cock, and stared down at my tear-and-snot riddled face with a feral expression. He came back to himself a moment later, transformed to the controlled man I trusted. He got a towel and wiped my face with excessive care after fucking it so soundly, and held a glass of cool water to my lips.

“Take a minute,” he said when I finished drinking. “Then we’ll move on to part two.”

Part two? I’d barely survived the first part. My pussy smarted with erotic longing, my clit aching for any contact besides the stinging bite of the crop. My ass clenched intermittently on the shaft, reminding me that I was no longer a virgin in any way, not by a long shot.

While I rested, Fort cleaned the crop and returned it to the wall, and placed the clamps back in the drawer he’d taken them from. Only then did he come to the chair and undo my cuffs and straps, and help me rise. I gingerly lifted my hips from the slippery shaft, glad he was giving me his arm to balance on.

“Over here,” he said, leading me to the padded spanking bench on the other side of the space. It was actually two parallel benches, one low and the other higher. I bent over the high one as soon as he applied pressure to my shoulders. The bench was sturdy, providing support for my stomach and hips.

“Now spread your legs. A little wider.” His fingers circled my ankles, buckling them into cuffs bolted to the floor. I rested my hands on the lower bench in front of me, testing my legs. I couldn’t move them one millimeter, couldn’t close them. My ass felt empty and sore. My pussy throbbed, still hurting from the crop, and yet bizarrely ripe for more sensation.

Fort walked around the front of me, taking each wrist and stretching it as far along the lower bench as it would go. He ratcheted the cuffs into place, so when he finished I was spread eagled, bent at the waist. A quick check confirmed what I already suspected—that my hands couldn’t move with any more freedom than my feet.

I looked up at him, getting a chill from the satisfied, assessing glance he returned. What now? He’d put his cock away after he came in my mouth, so I knew I wasn’t getting fucked yet. He picked up the long, thin, rectangular paddle he’d selected earlier, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Time for some paddling,” he said. “Just remember to breathe when the pain feels like too much.”

Oh, breathing. That would solve everything. I yanked at my bonds, squirming in a short protest before his hand touched my back.

“Be still.” His voice reverberated in my pussy, as did his warning: “You can’t get away.”

I heard his arm rise in the quiet of the room, over the frantic huffing of my breath. The paddle connected with a crack, and I jumped, but didn’t shriek or scream. The first three licks were painful but bearable. The paddle was light enough for him to hit me with a pretty good windup, and it imparted an agonizing sting, but nothing fiery like the dowel he’d used on me at the end of our last session. He stopped between each lick and squeezed my ass, tempering the sting with rough pinches. Checking for redness? I trembled and tried to squeeze my legs shut, to no avail.

The lighter strokes were a warm-up, of course. I realized that as soon as the actual paddling started, as soon as he drew back the implement and hit me full force. I let out a wail, my whole body tensing and jerking. Another blow, and another, right on top of each other, blazing across both my burning cheeks. I thrashed in the cuffs, my wails breaking into sobs.

No matter how hard I pulled my arms, no matter how hard I tried to kick, I couldn’t escape his rapid, brutal paddling. The onslaught probably only lasted a minute, but by the end I was breathless from screaming and begging him to stop.

“I can’t…I can’t…” My voice broke. “I can’t take that. It was too much.”

“I decide if it’s too much, remember?” His hand brushed over my cheeks, a light, ticklish touch after the horrible paddling. “You only have to take it. You don’t have any choice.”

I’ll be damned if his words didn’t heat up my pussy almost as much as my clenching, sizzling ass. The bench pressed against my pelvis, stimulating my clit, and I started to grind against it, mostly to get the pain to dissipate faster. He whacked me with the paddle, eliciting another scream.

“Keep those hips still. When I want you to come, you little maso-slut, I’ll make you come. I choose when, not you. I always get to choose, and if you’re a bad girl, you won’t get to come at all.”

You little maso-slut. He didn’t say it in a mean way, but I still started bawling. The idea that he might not let me come… “How much longer?” I pleaded. “How much more will you hurt me?”

“As much as I think you need to be hurt. Now shut your mouth. The only words you need to say during our sessions are ‘Yes, Sir.’ Understood?”

I sniffled and sobbed, and squealed when the paddle connected again.

“Understood?” he prompted in a more dangerous voice.

“Yes, Sir!”

I knew this was part of the game. I knew we were playing, I knew we were both turned on, but I was also going a little bit out of my mind. When he picked up the whip, I cried harder, cried like a literal baby. He held the whip in front of my face and grabbed a handful of my hair with the other hand.

“We’re almost done,” he said in a low, soothing voice, even as he wrenched my hair until I whimpered. “I know you’re hurting, but you’ll be fine. Sink down into the pain. Let it rule you for a while.”

He meant, Let me rule you for a while, and I wanted that, but I didn’t know how much more I could take. I couldn’t think about what had come before, or what might come after. When he stepped behind me with the whip, I could only thrash helplessly and whine like a trapped animal.

“I haven’t even started yet,” he chided, tapping my ass. This whip was a little sturdier than the one he’d used on me last time. I wondered if it would hurt more or less than the dowel, and how many welts I’d be looking at in the mirror tomorrow.

“Please,” I begged, the quavering word leaking from my t

hroat. “Please don’t.”

“Such good manners,” he said, “but I think I will.” He brought the whip down across the middle of my ass cheeks. I tensed up as I had with the paddle, flailing, going up on my toes, trying to survive the burn. He whipped another fiery line, and another. I’d hoped he’d stop at three like the dowel, but it wasn’t to be.

“I want your ass cheeks to be nice and raw before I shove my cock between them.” Whack! “It’ll hurt more that way. Anal’s only good if it hurts a little, or in your case, a lot.” Whack! “You know why it’s going to hurt a lot, baby? Because your asshole’s so tiny, and my cock is so big.” Whack!