(in)soumise

He kept asking me, the night before, which I wanted first: pain or pleasure. But I didn’t answer. I don’t like to choose…

So I had no idea what to expect when I knocked on the door of AR’s hotel room. Well, I had some idea. He had told me that he was travelling light, with nothing but his belt and his open hands to beat me with. So I didn’t have that much to fear, did I?

He looked at me sternly when he opened the door, but he always does, really. And he even kissed me deeply. But there was something unusually brutal about the way he pushed me onto the bed, pulled my dress up and began to fuck me, without a word. He took me first in my pussy, and then, once I was wet and slippery from coming, he entered my ass, slapping me sharply at the same time, across my face. I stared back at him, stunned. He slapped me again, harder this time, and again. I turned my head away, trying desperately to deflect the blows.

“Look at me when I’m fucking you, slut!” he growled, slapping me again for good measure. Then he pulled me up, and told me to hand him the silk scarf lying on the bed. As I stumbled over to retrieve it, I noticed a vast battery of equipment laid out on the bed. My eyebrows raised in alarm, but it was too late, he had my arms pinned behind my back and was securing my wrists with the scarf. He pulled them together with a tight knot and then told me to stand against the wall, facing him.

“I read your blogs last night,” he told me.

“What?” I spluttered. “But – but how??”

“I got the e-mails,” he told me. Damn! Knowing how he would react to my last two posts about the Edge, I had fiddled with my privacy settings in the hope that the e-mail notifications wouldn’t go through. Oh, I knew that he would read the damning material sooner or later. But I hadn’t wanted him to read it right before our date. I have some self-preservation instincts, after all.

“Oh no…” I muttered.

“That’s right,” he said grimly, slowly raising one hand and curling it around my neck. He began to slap me harshly, keeping one hand around my throat to hold my head still. My cheek was smarting; it felt like my skin was on fire.

“No, no – stop!” I cried, staring at him in horror. How could he think he could do this to me? He slapped me a few more times, then pushed me to my knees and undid his trousers, pulling out his cock and forcing it into my mouth. I gasped for air; he pushed it deeper and deeper into my mouth until it hit the back of my throat, then he shoved it in even further, ramming it into my throat. He began to thrust violently into my mouth, holding my head against his cock, so there was no escape. I began to choke and gag but he kept face-fucking me, until I felt the bile rising up into my throat; I knew I was about to puke and began to cough frantically; he released me just in time, pulling his cock out of my mouth, along with a trail of thick, viscous saliva from the back of my throat. Laughing scornfully, he reached down and smeared it all over my face, then plunged his cock back down my throat again. After a few hard thrusts he let go of my head, sending me reeling backwards against the television console as I lost my balance, my hands still tied behind my back.

He walked off without a backwards glance. Lying down on the bed, he beckoned me over and told me to straddle him. I climbed up onto him gingerly, trying not to fall over, and began to fuck him slowly, then faster, trying to redeem myself. But he soon tired of it and flung me off him, releasing my wrists with a sharp tug of the scarf behind me.

“Now bend over that chair,” he told me, indicating a chair which had been placed beside the bed, with its back towards me.

“What are you going to do to me?” I demanded in fear.

“Whatever I want,” he replied.

“What does that mean??”

“I read what you let him do to you,” he sneered. “The ‘Edge’…”

“No!” I gasped, realising what he had in mind. “You wouldn’t!”

“Why not?” he demanded. “You let him do it.”

Dully, I bent over the back of the chair, placing my hands on the seat of the chair to steady myself, but he grabbed my left wrist and tightly tied it to the front leg of the chair, doing the same with my right wrist on the other side. Now I was unable to stand upright. Craning my neck, I could see him stride towards the bed and lift up a long and treacherous-looking cane.

“No, no…” I begged him. “Please don’t!”

He hesitated for a moment, evidently moved by my pleas. Unable to turn around, I couldn’t see what he was doing, but a few moments later I felt the flogger come crashing down upon my back. My relief was short-lived, as he swung it at me again and again with such force, I felt that my back might break in two. Finally he stopped, and scrutinised me coldly where I stood, whimpering and shaking all over.

“Now you’re still going to get the cane,” he said.

“What??” I cried in horror, but before I could say another word, he had swung it down upon my trembling bottom. I let out a shriek of pain. “No – stop, please!”

“But you let him do it… didn’t you?”

“I didn’t – it was a lie! I made it all up!”

“You made it up? I don’t believe that…”

“I was exaggerating! Really – I swear it!”

He was silent for a moment; I glanced around anxiously, but he had only paused to line it up just right before swinging it down again upon my defenceless backside.

“Please stop, please,” I sobbed, and for a moment I thought he might, but he sent another blow crashing down on me, with a gleeful look on his face. Then at last he stopped, stepping back to survey the damage, and snap a few photos of my bruised and battered behind. I hung my head in abject humiliation while he untied me. Then I saw that he was holding a horrible-looking paddle in his hands. I groaned and shook my head in fear but he whacked me squarely on my breasts with it, laughing remorselessly. Then he made me get on to the bed again, on all fours, pushing my legs apart, and entered my soaking wet pussy. I moaned with excitement as he began to fuck me. It wasn’t long before my pussy was clenching around his cock in the throes of orgasm.

We lay side by side, kissing, then he asked if I wanted some chocolate. At first I thought this might be a code word for some new sex game, but then he handed me a bar of 70%. I broke off a piece and put it between my lips, savouring the wonderful rich flavour in my mouth. It seemed the best chocolate I had ever tasted. We shared some more of it and talked a bit. I felt like I was in another world – his world, which he had brought all the way with him to Paris.

After a short while he knelt down between my legs and began to suck my pussy, gently at first, his tongue vibrating against my clitoris. As always, I felt more relaxed after he had come, knowing that there was no hurry. He paused for a moment to unwrap a stick of liquorice, using it to probe my pussy and spread the lips apart.

“You’re going to taste like liquorice down there,” he warned me, pushing it all the way in, while I squirmed with helpless delight. He drew it out again to take a big bite, watching me brazenly the whole while, and then went back to work on me with his talented tongue. I sighed in appreciation and then fell silent, focused on the tiny ripples of pleasure emanating from my clitoris, spreading slowly through my body, and crashing down over me finally like a tidal wave!

“I shall eat the rest of this later tonight,” he grinned, putting away the stick of liquorice. I blushed, giggling with embarrassment.

Back to reality, I thought to myself a short while later, as I hurried on to the metro, on my way home. A stout Russian fellow with a wild white moustache saw me jump in, and warned me not to stand too near the doors – “Les portes sont très sensibles, madame… comme toutes les femmes!*“.

…et les hommes!” I retorted cheekily.

Et les hommes,” he concurred, with a smile.


* The doors are very sensitive, madame… like all women!

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