Content Note: D/s, anal, daddy/girl, strap on, bruising, oral sex, crying, blindfold, dirty talk, choking, belt, rough body play
Melody:
Sometimes when I was here like this, I thought about cranes. I thought about felled trees that had to be wedged into to drop, carved and chipped at slowly, to break. I’d think about flowers leaning toward the sun, the one piece that held them up craving heat so bad it would bow, even split for it. I thought about the angle of the vertebrae at the top of your spine when you stared down at me hazily, below you while you rose up my skin.
******
I remembered it sweetly, how I arched my cries to reach you, curved my neck while you opened me, how I let you bow my hips like the knees of a saint, begging for forgiveness.
This was tonight. This was now in the dark. This was you coming back from drinks at the bar and my cell still bannering your text from twenty minutes ago before you’d left, “When I’m back I want you naked, bent over the dining table, your cheek and palms pressed flat on the wood with my silk tie around your eyes. No questions, and not a sound from you when I’m home.”
It was so quiet I could hear the grandfather clock ticking at the end of the hall, my heartbeat going faster, and my moist breath hitting the cool wood below my lips.
You’d left me home alone hours ago, having a night with the boys and handing me a list of chores too lengthy to finish, even if you’d been gone twice as long. I’d completed just over half, and had negotiated my time as concisely but also as thoroughly as I could. I wanted it to be enough, but I knew it might fall short of your expectations.
I was unaware of how much time I’d have or when you’d come bursting through the door with that pace of energy you always came in with after seeing them. I wondered what you talked about, sometimes wishing I could come too, or sit at the end of the bar and eavesdrop while I left lipstick on the edge of a glass, similar to the scarlet imprint on the head of your cock I’d made last night.
Was it all sex talk and cigars? Was it the tight shirts across your broad chests and everyone in black and the smell of fresh polish on your leather boots? Was it the linger of perfume you all had a whisper of on your collars, left behind from when you hugged your girls goodbye? I wanted to know so desperately sometimes.
Mostly, I just liked imagining you there, talking with your hands, your different smiles you reserved for different things.
That bawdy volume you all bounced off each other that made me feel like a cheerleader squeezing my thighs on the bleachers, staring intently at that primal energy I wanted to tackle me later.
I wondered if you went in the bathroom and stroked your cock slowly, staring at yourself in the mirror just as you had days before when you fucked my ass over the sink, my small handprints still on the mirror after our shower. I wondered if you thought of me when you were gone, saw other women at the bar and missed the way I laughed when your palms playfully smacked my ass after fucking it senseless. I wonder if when your teeth broke through the cherry in your drink, you thought of my swollen lips sucking on your tongue.
Something about this bent over position made me feel so vulnerable, my tits pressed against a hard surface, legs spread open, the inability to see, my face down and my ass up, hearing the echo of everything from a lower point in the room, you above me, soon.
I’d gotten wet while doing my chores thinking of you in all of those ways with your friends, wistful and aroused and fantasizing about when you’d return. Would you call me or just burst through the door hungry? Sometimes you came home and ignored me for a good while, listening to my breathing change its rhythm when you’d stand up and move around me, plucking at my anticipation. Sometimes you’d come through the door calm and quiet, until you called me over to the floor below your chair.
I’d rest my head on the curve of your boot while you sat silent and read or worked. Sometimes that would last hours and you’d pull me up and use my mouth, just for you, all for you. Then you’d put me to bed ignoring my ache, but knowing you’d push it further in the morning. Other times, you’d return and I’d decided not to follow any of your directions. I’d watch a movie, take a bubble bath and put on loud music, pretend it was a good idea saying hello when you got home, so casual it drove you up the wall.
Sometimes I wanted to incite that side of you that would pull me down the hall by my wet hair and edge me until I was crying, breaking blood vessels on your hands from how big of a mistake I’d made. After, you’d put me to bed in the guest room alone, come back to me before dawn pushing your cock in me while I was half asleep.
Tonight I couldn’t predict the temperature of you, but my ass was still bruised from last time, so I was decisive and listened to everything, choosing obedience. My grip on time was starting to falter and I couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours. It felt so much longer when I was wet and antsy, uncertain of your mood. My palms were slightly damp now from nerves. They were mildly shaking and sticking to the table. I could feel the cool air from the overhead vent brushing soft across my back, grateful for small comforts that may soon be stripped away entirely.
Then my muscles tensed, as I heard the deadbolt unlock and the air change in the room when you stepped back inside. I heard your boots cross the floor, felt your body heat close in on me. You smelled like whiskey and sweat and leather and the boys I was warned about in high school. You smelled like all your dirty thoughts were written on your skin ready to spill onto me. You smelled like you. You smelled like home.
Max:
I loved how much of a slut she was. For me. Against me. I loved how anytime I whispered to her cravings, they spilled back over me in her needy little whimpers, her tightened fists, her furrowed little brow, always so desperate to be filled and used.
I needed a toy tonight, pliable and bending to my will, something to chase and catch and loom my shadow over slowly while she shrunk. Let her cry. Ley her beg me to stop. Keep her below my boots on the floor like a sad little puddle. I wanted to lick the salt of her tears tonight, chase them with the liquor of her swollen little cunt, so greedy and hopeful and hurting to be touched. Let her wait.
I felt like I’d been gnawing at the bars of a cage as I drove home. I wanted to be fed by her cries tonight, her needy little protests. I wanted to kick her thighs open so wide her hips would hurt, slam into her and crush her shaky little body so her tits would be bruised the next week. She needed it like that. Make her prove she deserves it.
When the door slammed behind me it was quite the pathetic little display to take in. Our longer dining table lays parallel to the front door so when I stepped over the threshold, her greedy little holes were right there glistening back at me, presenting themselves and her ass was still so fucking bruised from the beating I gave her last night. I ran my eyes over them again, noticed what would be tender, what could take more. How could I push her more? Where would she run?
I advanced closer and noticed her calves tense, her breathing quickened slightly. I unbuckled my belt slowly, pulling it out of each loop like a snake that was restless to wrap her up in scarlet streaks. She was keeping quiet, holding it in, pushing it back.
I wanted that space in her chest, wanted the bass of me thundering her out of her little mind so she was all body, all mine. I wanted to be the Daddy tonight that made her wait, kept her anxious, built her fear with my energy and echoes dancing around her, pathetic in her stance all open and quiet and nervous. Just a toy. Just my holes. I wasn’t there tonight. I didn’t have the patience or the time to draw this out. I wanted it now, rough, toxic; the sheath of her aching holes forced to take, accept the use. Say thank you. Say it again. Make me believe you love this. Keep crying. You know how much I love that.
My cock could already feel it as I palmed the length of it below the tight denim I had on. This was all for me. Her God. My pleasure. She wasn’t allowed to speak so I spoke for us.
“Look at you down there for Daddy. So small. I can smell your cunt through the door, you know. Already such a greedy little brat when I gave you everything I had last night. Did you already forget?”
I cracked my belt across the bruises on her ass and the deep breath she’d been holding burst out of her, eliciting a stubborn moan, making me laugh and waking the sadist up all over again.
I kicked at her ankles, spreading her open as the sting of leather on skin snapped in the room, too hard, too fast for her, her hips already pushing themselves into the table as if doing that would save her when she had nowhere to go.
Once the tears came, my hands touched the heat of her skin, welts already forming and her ass trying to grind into my touch, advantageous as soon as she could be. I bit my own lip and bent over her body so I was flush against her. I brushed the hair from her neck and slid the belt around her throat, pulling her back to me so her spine was arched into my chest, making her feel my cock.
I kept one hand on the belt while the other grabbed her weeping cunt possessively.
“Do you know how many good girls there were at the bar tonight? How many of them wanted to sit in my lap secretly instead of listen to their stupid boyfriends. How many of them I could have brought back here and used? How curious they were about what’s under my jeans? How they’d kill to be right here, right now? Instead I come home to this toy that’s dripping, forgetting its place, forgetting who owns it.”
I squeezed her cunt with my hand and she cried out, harder than she needed to and nodding and sniffing in her blindfold. I unzipped my jeans and ran my cock along the length of her ass, poking her bruises with the thick head.
“You think just because you listened and can bend over for me you earned this, girl? You think these holes are better than theirs? You think you deserve relief for doing half of what I asked? Fucking slut.”
I found her oozing cunt and slid two fingers inside aggressively, feeling that tension in her spine untangle against my chest and biting and sucking on her neck and shoulders, tightening the belt. She was moaning now, acting like she knew I’d fuck her. I pulled my fingers out abruptly and stroked my cock.
“Shut up, greedy girl. That hole didn’t earn Daddy tonight. You’ll be lucky if I touch it again for a long fucking time.”
Another whimper. Let her be scared. She knew. I let the length of me slide up and down her ass and loosened the belt, replacing it with my forearm, skin on skin. The smell of her drove me wild, her hunger, the juicy little ass so sore and hurting for me. Mine. I shoved my still moist fingers in her mouth and pushed the head of my cock against her ass.
“Suck on my fingers, girl. Act like they’re Daddy’s cock. Deeper. Mhm. Good little slut. Fucking pathetic to be filled. Just here to be used, aren’t you? Show me. You can cry, girl. Give Daddy those hungry holes.”
She was gagging now and distracted, lost in the push and trying to meet me but failing. She was anxious and the back of her bruised little neck was damp, shoulders shaking. I kept talking, pushing into her tight little ass while she took my fingers down her small little throat. So pathetic. Crying so hard.
“You are a good little slut, aren’t you? Take it. Open the fuck up. Tell Daddy thank you. Louder. You can talk while you gag. Try again.”
Her lips were trembling around me in that sweet moment where I pushed past that bundle of muscles inside her and I was through, past that threshold that always scared her. Her little legs were shaking and I pulled her into me real tight, sucking on her neck and tasting her surrender in primal gulps. My thrusts were shoving her hips into the table with my weight, and she felt so fucking good.
Sympathetically, I reached for the bud of her clit and as soon as I touched her, buried in her ass, she squirted all over my hand. I growled and kept going, pulling tantric orgasms from her starved little cunt and pounding her ass.
She was wrapped in me again, all confusion and hurt and pleasure and bundled tension unwinding from my presence, my cock, my touch.
I wanted this to take all night, wanted to exhaust her until she collapsed at my feet in that sweet mess of tears and come and shivers, just how I loved her.
She broke her voice restriction after the third time she came and elicited the smallest whisper of “Daddy” I’d ever heard from her. I turned her neck to the side and kissed her deep.
“Shh. No more thinking. Just be a hole. Open up.”
“Just Be A Hole” is a short story reprinted with permission from Jezebel Jett’s queer kink erotica collection, Nectar of Surrender. Learn more about Nectar of Surrender and buy the book here.
