Night comes early in midwinter at these latitudes, but he had left the drapes open and the lamps unlit. The fierce cold brilliance of the solstice moon illuminated the darkness in shards of white light; the blinking strands of bulbs on the Christmas tree in the corner and the leaping flames in the fireplace provided a multi colored counterpoint to the starkness of the moonlight. He knew that, despite the gloom, there was enough of a glow to make the interior of the room visible to any one of his neighbors who cared to look through the tall windows that ran the length of two walls.
The thought to take her like this had been impromptu, so he hadn’t used any of the many purpose-made restraints he’d collected over the years. Being well dressed came in handy, he thought, as he regarded the woman at his feet.
What he wanted most to do was rip the clothing from her, but having her make herself vulnerable was so much more effective an approach. So, though her resistance was clear in the controlled insolence of every movement, he’d made her strip down to her knickers.
Her knickers were pointless as cover ups anyway, since they were pale and sheer and very brief, but he liked the variety of a clothed and unclothed thrashing. At some point, once she was whimpering or maybe even squealing a bit, he would remove them and stuff them in her mouth as a gag.
After binding her wrists behind her back with his tie, he grabbed her by the nape of her neck and put her on her knees. It was his favorite position for her, even more so when she was being so quietly mutinous. His handkerchief served as a blindfold. She was a little frightened of blindfolds, and he liked to use this fear to put her more deeply in a receptive frame of mind.
She was already trembling a little under his hand as he pushed her upper body down across the large leather ottoman. Whether the cause was anger or fear or even anticipation, he couldn’t tell. It hardly mattered anyway; he was going to do what he wanted regardless.
A small pillow from the sofa provided a cushion for her knees against the hard wood of the floor and raised her ass just a bit higher. He bent and slipped his hand down inside her knickers. He rubbed the pale soft flesh in slow circles, then slid his fingers down through the cleft of her ass to her cunt and stroked between her legs.
When she began to move her hips and make small mewling sounds, he stood and unbuckled his thin leather belt. There was a muffled clink of metal and she froze. He waited; she knew what the next sound in the sequence would be, and delaying it a bit would heighten her anxiety. He wondered how long he could leave her like that, whether this might be a tactic to try later – keeping her in agonized suspense until her resistance broke and she begged him to go on. She would hate the irony of it, and that would make it infinitely more enjoyable.
The belt made a snappish sound as he pulled it quickly through the loops. He drew it down through his hand a couple of times, fast, so that the flexing tip made thin whippy noises. She had raised herself slightly off the ottoman; her entire upper body was twisting back and forth in a silent but emphatic negative.
He stooped and pushed her down again. With her face turned against the pillowy surface, she could only move her head slightly, but what she was communicating was still obvious. It both amused and aroused him that she refused to speak, to beg or plead or even ask. That would come soon enough, and despite her best efforts to prevent it.
He watched her as he folded the belt, unfolded it, then wrapped the buckle end around his hand. She stretched her bound hands down towards her ass, an attempt to protect herself from what she knew was coming.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, and she recrossed her hands and pulled them up to the small of her back.
His cock was rigid, pulsing against the confines of his trousers, and already seeping. It amazed him sometimes that he could reach this level of arousal without really having touched her in any overtly sexual way. Knowing that he could put her in this place, her place, by sheer force of will; that he could drive her implacably into submission despite herself, compelling her to confront her own submissiveness and abandon all that cool detachment and self control; that he could bring her to such a state that she didn’t know whether she wanted him to stop or to go on – just knowing he had such control over her was sufficient to make him crazy hard.
He raised his arm. This moment of stillness, a tableau of anticipation; it was like that second just before orgasm broke over him. All that bursting energy poised to come crashing down, roaring through his veins like a tsunami. She tensed, his excitement brushing her senses like a physical thing.
He moved; then, the only sound was the whistle of the belt as it sliced through the air.
Posted in fiction
Tags: d/s, dominance, submission, thrashing
