Four and Ten

“Are you ready?” he asked, still holding her hands in one of his, lovingly tracing the tops of her knuckles with his other. Her fingers were cold and she was glad he held them. 

She feared he’d see them shaking otherwise. Whether from fear or anticipation, she couldn’t tell, though she’d wager it was a mix of both. 

Still, she nodded. 

“Yes, Sir,” she said. 

“What’s the word?” 

“Timshel.” 

He chuckled low and ran a soft thumb along her cheek. “That’s right, baby. Keep it in your mind.”

“I won’t need it,” she said, though the catch in her voice betrayed her.

That hand that had just so gently been stroking her cheek wrapped around her throat quickly enough to make her gasp. He yanked her forward until his growl was right next to her ear. A whimper escaped her lips against her bidding. 

“This isn’t a time to force your way through, kitten,” he said, voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. “You will use your word when you need to, and we will stop and I will reward you for being brave enough to stop. That is an order.”

“Yes, sir!” she forced out against his tight palm.

“Good girl.” He followed the words with a quick caress of his tongue on that ticklish spot behind her ear, before sinking his teeth into her neck until she squeaked and flinched. Releasing his bite, he kissed the abused skin, pulled back, and shoved her off the bed. 

“Get over there and sit down!”

She wound up stumbling before she could get her feet, having to plant one hand on the floor to steady herself. Pushing upright, she walked across the playroom to the chair and began unbuttoning her shirt. Before she could make it to the third button, however, he’d charged across the room.

He grabbed her by one shoulder, spun her around, and slapped her across the cheek he’d so tenderly caressed a minute ago. 

“Did I say to take your clothes off?” he roared. Without waiting for her answer he shoved her backwards. The wood chair clipped her in the back of the knees and she went down hard on her ass. “Now sit there and shut the fuck up. Jesus christ, you’re lucky I like my whores without a free thought of their own.”

She opened her mouth to apologize, and shut it just as quickly. He hadn’t told her to, and they’d started. Speaking was no longer hers to freely do, unless she need to stop things or slow down. Her heart ached to please him, which was always a challenge with a sadist–they liked it when you fucked up even more than when you behaved. 

He was silent and methodical as he bound her, ankle and knee to chair leg, ties at both the wrists and elbow. Her right leg, he tied raised–a rope around her knee running to the back of the chair and her ankle tied right under the seat. It cocked her leg out sideways, leaving her feeling open and exposed despite the clothes she wore. 

Up until he tied that leg, she’d been focusing on her breathing, enjoying the soft slide of the rope against her skin. When he raised her leg and pulled it aside, her heart jumped. His low chuckle off to her side hinted that he’d caught the hitch in her breath and, knowing him, it only made him more excited. 

“How is the rope here?” he asked, touching her knee.

She flexed and wiggled a little, checking the tightness, feeling for any problem areas. 

“Good, sir.”

“And here?” He touched her ankle lightly, and she nodded. 

“Good, sir.”

“Good.” He stood up, looming in front of her, a wicked grin plastered on face. What he started as a gentle caress on her cheek quickly morphed into a hand under her chin, squeezing until she winced. “What a stupid little whore you are, letting yourself be tied up and helpless. You deserve what’s about to come to you, don’t you?” 

He paused, but not long enough for her brain to catch up. Then he was squeezing harder, shaking her head slightly.

“Don’t you?!” he demanded. He let go long enough to slap her, then his hand was back on her chin, the pressure crushing. 

“Yes, sir!” she said, but he didn’t relent. 

“Tell me how stupid you are.”

“I’m a stupid cunt, sir!”

“God damn right you are. If it weren’t for your holes being useful to my dick, there wouldn’t be any point to you, would there?”

“No, sir.”

“Beg me, bitch. I want you to tell me to hurt you.” 

His voice had grown deeper, turning into miles of rumbling gravel instead of the smooth asphalt it usually held. It did that, she knew, when he was really getting into a scene, getting turned on, and it sent a pulsing, hot warmth through her core and straight to her clit. 

“Please,” she begged. “Please hurt this stupid whore, sir. Hurt it to teach it a lesson, so it knows how worthless and idiotic it is. I want you to hurt me, sir.”

He finally let go of her chin, but only to grab a handful of hair and yank her head back. Leaning down, his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. 

“What you want? The only reason, slut, I’ll give you exactly what you want, is because it’s what I want.” Fist tightening in her hair, he let loose a low growl and nipped at her neck. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, sir,” she whispered, and then he was gone. As always, her body felt foreign and cold without his touch, as though the way he burned was the only thing keeping her warm. Without it she felt abandoned and alone, and shivered in her binds. 

He’d disappeared somewhere out of her periphery, and there was nothing for it but to listen to him rummage around. Odds were good he was shuffling objects and rifling through drawers just to fuck with her, but it worked. There was little her mind could do but imagine what he was picking out, thinking of all the heaviest, hardest, most painful toys he kept. 

So distracted was she by that thought that his touch at her back made her jump, earning a laugh from him. 

“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” he said. “You might be in trouble.”

Strong fingers wove their way into her hair and massaged her scalp. No nice touch ever came without pain but despite the knowledge, she leaned into his hand, all but purring with pleasure at the sensation. 

At least, she was until his other hand snaked over her left shoulder, holding something the length of his palm. With a mere flick of his thumb, he flipped a blade free. The quiet schnick of it locking into place stilled every drop of blood and froze it in her veins. He kept massaging her head but pulled his arm back, bringing the knife closer and closer until its blade nestled beneath her chin, against her throat. 

“Oh, you are so. Definitely. In trouble.”

His hands disappeared from view again, but he walked before her holding a low, light table. Setting it right in front of her, he laid the blade, still open, on top. Tip towards her. 

Ready to begin. 

Moving back around her, he hooked something over one ear and nestled it inside. She could hear the hiss and crackle of white noise before he even settled the second earbud. With both, she could no longer hear where he moved or what he grabbed. 

Which itself set her nerves alight, and that was before he jammed the black bag over her head and cinched it around her neck. 

She couldn’t help it. She whimpered despite herself. He’d shown her the knife, let her feel its cold steel on her neck, then taken away her hearing and her vision. 

What he had, where he was, and when he was coming for her was a mystery, which was why a surprised shout tore free from her lips when he slapped her again. 

Even above the white noise, she could hear the edges of his full-bodied laugh. 

She tried to focus on her breathing but couldn’t turn her brain away from the light wisps of air, real or imagined, telling her lies about where he was. Knowing him, he’d merely propped himself on the edge off the bed, getting pleasure out of watching her twist and squirm at imagined sensations. 

The snap of the crop tip on her left breast made her jump with as much surprise as it did pain, though the latter quickly outpaced the former as he beat steadily at both breasts. His strokes were hard, compensating for the double layer of shirt and bra between the weapon and her skin. 

Just as he really started to draw the moans  and whimpers from her lips, he switched targets, laying blows on her inner thighs. It was a spot that more than hurt; it burned, and she cried out with every strike. 

And just as quickly as it had come, the assault ended, leaving her with burning flesh and that emptiness of his presence. It upset her, not knowing if she relished his touch more than the pain it caused. Not that it mattered. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but to wait and see if what came next made her regret longing for his touch. 

In the hot darkness of the bag, she had no idea how much time passed before something pressed into her stomach. It was hard and pointed, the tip bouncing off every button of her shirt as it trailed up. From her bellybutton to the collar of her shirt the knife slid, and she dared not even breathe as it passed from the fabric and onto her bare skin. 

The metal was cold, and its bite was a fine line of sensation. Without her eyes it was impossible to tell which side of the knife he used, a thought she couldn’t shake as he brought it up under her ear. It pressed into the soft spot below her jaw and she whimpered, holding as still as possible as he drew it slowly across her throat. Next it trailed down her shoulder, where she felt a tug at her sleeve. 

A blast of cold air on her skin. 

He’d cut her sleeve open, and quickly did the other. The knife then trailed south, and sliced her waistband, the front of her pants, and along the thighs. Exposed to the air, her skin prickled as he pressed the knife into her thigh and pulled inward, tantalizingly slowly. Thank god he’d bound her so tight because she wanted to squirm under the touch but it was a knife. Moving was a stupid thing to do. 

The sharp press of the blade bumped over her still-intact panties and made a sharp turn down at her pubic bone. Her whole body released a shudder as it trailed over her clit, lighting up every nerve at once. 

Then the contact was gone and his hands were on her shirt, rough and groping. With one tug he ripped it open, drawing another surprised cry from her. She waited for the knife to reappear, cut her bra off, expose her chest. Instead he merely grabbed it between her breasts, shoved it upward, dragging the lacy fabric up and over her taut nipples and leaving it to rest on her chest. 

Somehow that was worse. Her cheeks warmed in the hood. It was embarrassing to have her bra perched there, stupidly on her chest. Belittling. Demeaning. Just a way for him to get to her tits without having to bother with her bra. 

She loved it. 

For the brief moment he was caressing her breasts, it was beautiful. His warm palms, calloused on her tender skin. Thumbs brushing gently over her nipples. 

But that gentle caress turned painful fast, as his always did. He pinched one nipple, hard, and began slapping the other breast fiercely, over and over and over, until she cried out. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move, impossible to pull away, and all she could do was vocalize the pain. When she did he switched, grabbing the other nipple and twisting, pulling, while slapping the other side. She cried out and he continued, slapping and slapping, until her hands clenched with the pain and her toes curled. 

One handful of her thong and that was torn free, too. He delivered a single slap to her exposed sex and it ripped her breath away. 

The crop was back and its blows were relentless. He beat her thighs until she cried out, then went on to her breasts. He flicked the leather tip of the crop on a nipple, and drew a shocked gasp from her when he slapped the other breast hard. By the time he stopped his assault her body screamed from the sensations and a light sweat coated her skin. Oxygen could only be sipped at this point in ragged, short breaths. 

But even that stopped when the cold of the knife pressed back into her neck. Her heart beat felt like it moved her chest too much to be safe as he pulled the blade across her throat, down to her clavicle, and began tracing sharp figure-8s around her breasts. His other hand went to the hot, throbbing pussy, slapped once, then began massaging circles that made her nerves sing out with bliss. 

The two sensations worked together to rip all coherent thoughts from her mind. All the worries, fears, even desires were gone as her consciousness was reduced to the knife on her chest and the hand between her legs. Eventually she couldn’t discern between the two, became nothing but the melding of the sharp and the sensual. A mewl formed at the back of her throat as that familiar tightness and pleasure warmed in her belly, her breath catching and hips trying to grind harder into his hand as she got closer and closer. 

So, of course, he pulled his hand away. As she panted and whined, he grabbed her left breast, hard, and brought the knife back down. 

The bite of the knife now was sharp like a papercut, and she hissed between her teeth. Warmth pooled and ran down the lush curve before trailing along her sternum. 

As scared as she’d been about being cut, it was nowhere near as bad as the fear and anticipation had made it out to be. Hell, the crop hurt worse by far. Plus, there was something about that drip of blood starting to roll down her chest that was… 

Fuck, it was hot, and she bit her lip and laughed deep in her throat. She only wished she could see it. 

His hand found her chin through the bag over her head, touch gentle now. He moved her head up and down in a nod, and back and forth as well. 

A check-in. A question. Continue?

She couldn’t nod fast enough when he let go. 

The back of the blade was back, now on her belly, and traced a path up between her breasts, then around each nipple, passing once over the hard peaks. Also back was the hand between her legs, slowly massaging her brain straight out of her skull. 

Three more times he edged her, bringing her to the precipice of climax before cutting her. Each slice was a fresh, clear bite of pain, followed by the tantalizing roll of blood across her chest. 

Four cuts. Four pretty souvenirs she got to carry until they healed and disappeared. She was dying to see them. 

As if reading her mind, he whipped the hood off her head and pulled out one earbud. 

“You did so good. You bleed so beautiful for me, you might be worth keeping around if only to be my bloodbag fucktoy. Yeah, take a look,” he said as she glanced down. “Look at how hot you are when I cut on you. At least you’re good for something.”

It was hot. Four cuts, two on the top of each breast, had left four small trails of blood running down her chest. They met at her sternum and trailed a couple inches onto her belly before thinning too much to run further. She couldn’t help but grin as she looked back up at him, and caught his self-satisfied smirk before he turned away. 

“And now,” he said, “your reward for being such a good little blood slut.” 

He kicked a rolling shop chair before her, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips when she saw the wand in his hands. Positioning himself between her legs, he put one hand on her throat and brought the wand down on her engorged clit.

It was like being electrified after being edged so much. His grip on her throat kept her from throwing her head back while her whine of pleasure vibrated against his fingers. It took no time at all before her climax was building again.

“Sir,” she said against his hold. “Sir, I’m going to cum…Sir!” She took a deep breath and tried to relax her body, to stave off the threatening bomb of sensation. 

“Are you?” he said darkly, her pained mewl as he withdrew the vibrator bringing a smile to his face. “I don’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

He slapped her twice across the face and resumed his grip on her throat. 

“Please,” she begged. “Please sir, can I cum? Sir, please. Please.”

“Look at the little whore, begging to cum. How pathetic are you?” He pressed the vibrator back between her legs, and she stuttered to answer. 

“S-s-s-so pathetic, S-sir. Please, Sir. Can your p-p-pathetic whore cum?”

“Since it asked so nicely, yes, it may cum.”

Had they not been bound, her legs would have been shaking. The pressure at her throat let go and she cried out, bucking as best she could in the chair. 

“That’s one,” he growled as the waves subsided. Already her brain was short-circuiting and he merely pressed the wand harder against her clit. The second hit before the first had even time to stop. “That’s it, baby, that’s two.”

Her brain completely shut down at four, and she couldn’t recall five through ten. It wasn’t until he untied her cocked leg and stretched it out gently that she even realized her hands were free. All of her wanted to stretch and move but the moment he set her leg down, he scooped her bodily into his arms. 

As he carried her to the bed she nuzzled into him, breathing in the wash of smells his skin always carried, a heady mixture of air-dried sheets, the spice of deodorant and the musk of sweat. The two–the comfort of his arms and familiarity of his smell–left her limp and content in his hold. 

At least, until he tossed her like a lump of wet spaghetti onto the bed. He was on her before she had time to move, dragging her to the edge and flipping her over so her feet were on the floor. He put an elbow into her spine, holding her there as he kicked off his pants. When he leaned in to wrestle her hands behind her back, his erection pressed into her backside. 

Apparently he’d enjoyed the knife as much as she had. She gave one tantalizing wiggle of her ass against his dick, and was rewarded with a sharp, hard smack. 

“Stand still,” he said, though she heard in the mumbled, low words how close he was to being lost to his lust. Lining up to her entry, he shoved one, twice, and was buried entirely inside her. His whole body shuddered against hers, and she exhaled with pleasure. For a split second each stood still, enjoying the fit of their bodies into each other’s. 

But only for that moment. A heartbeat later and his free hand was on the back of her neck, using that and her captured wrists to yank her back on his dick in time with his savage thrusts forward. Slow and hard, like he was trying to punish her with each blow. 

“God you feel so good. My little whore feels so good on my cock,” he growled. “Only reason to keep a dumb bitch like you around, to feel good on my prick.”

He continued to degrade her as he picked up rhythm, until he was breathing too hard to speak. His hands released their grip on her and pressed into her mid-back, pinning her in place, giving her no option but to lay there and take his punishing thrusts. Slowly he lost himself to his own savagery, capable of little more than moans and growls of pleasure. When he fucked her after a scene, especially after he’d pushed her and hurt her, he became entirely unhinged. At times she doubted he was even aware of her anymore. 

It was a state she adored him in. When he held her down, when he fucked her like she was no more than a doll whose only purpose was his abuse…god damn. She couldn’t get enough.

She could hear how close he was when his hand found her hair. With a fistful of it, he yanked her up, arching her back, making her body take all of him over and over and over as her scalped screamed. 

“Fuck! Fuck, I’m cumming!” he yelled, and thrust into her hard enough to bruise her ass with his hips. A few more savage thrusts and he collapsed on top of her, both breathing hard, their sweat mingling even as it stung the fresh cuts on her chest. 

He heard her hiss and sat up quick.

“What?” he asked, the beast he’d just been gone and replaced by the man who babied and treasured her. “Did I hurt you? Tell me.”

“Just the sweat,” she said, trying to push off the bed only to find herself once again in his arms and swept tenderly into the bed this time. 

“Stay,” he ordered. He started away and paused, confused, when she laughed. 

“I don’t think I could walk if I wanted to.”

His mouth quirked up at one side and he gave her a soft kiss on her forehead. “Good girl,” he said in her ear, and disappeared. 

He was back moments later with two warm washcloths and alcohol pads. With more tenderness than a man his size should possess, he cleaned the four cuts, wincing and apologizing whenever she flinched with pain. Next he fetched her flannel pajamas and crawled beneath the covers beside her. Gingerly he held her, kissing softly on her neck and shoulders, whispering in her ear all his favorite things about her, how beautiful she was, and how much he adored her. 

She loved all of it and hearing all his doting was always her favorite. But the warm bed, his safe arms around her, and her ravished body was too much. Sleep took her, and it was the sleep of the dead. Dreamless. Black. Empty. Perfect. 

At least until he tried to sneak away. Quick as a whip she went from dead asleep to holding his wrist, glaring his way.

He patted the air with his free hand, trying to signal her to stand down. “Dinner,” he said plainly. 

She glared a moment longer before relenting and snuggling back under the covers. 

“Pizza,” she said, and waited for him to echo in confirmation before letting sleep whisk her away once more.