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Whipped into Speaking Up

October 14th, 2011

He came into the kitchen to talk to me while I cooked breakfast as He so often does. I stopped what I was doing and closed the distance between us. I never lifted my eyes above His shoulder. And I wrapped my arms around Him and nuzzled my face into the crook between His shoulder and His jaw.

I started in my head three times before I felt Him smile and heard Him ask, “What?”

“I really missed stuff like last night.” I stammered. Seven words that for most people would be simple, but me? I guard stuff like that with my life. It’s dangerous letting someone know how you feel. It shows them your weakness.

Last night…

Last night He was mean. Pinching and biting and slapping. Hair pulling and throat fucking and roughly forcing me into whatever position He wanted me in. And then He whipped me.

“Reach your hand back there and make your cunt cum.” And He whipped me as my legs trembled and my fingers worked and that explosive warmth gradually built in my clit.

Then I finished the blow job we’d started on the couch. This time, He was more gentle, but there was no question who was in control.

I really missed stuff like last night.

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