May 19, 2009

It’s All In How You Say It

Posted in stories at 5:45 pm by littlesubmissions

Face down, duct tape bound his wrists and ankles to the legs of the table, the wooden edges digging further into his thighs and arms whenever he tensed up. She had stripped him violently, jerking his body into position and pulling his clothes off, throwing them on the floor. Hard, violent slaps across each cheek when he was trembling before her, naked, until his breaths turned to gasps and whimpers.

Her fingers had pulled hard on his hair, jerking his head down and dragging him to the table. She threw him down, kicked his ass hard, forcing his body to scramble down the length of it. The “SCHNIIIK” sound of adhesive pulling loose came from behind him, and he had felt her wrapping the tape around his ankle, the leg of the table, around and around until movement was impossible. The other leg and each wrist followed, holding him down tightly.

She had stopped then, breathing hard from lust and exertion, pulled off her panties and lifted his face up. Brought them close to his mouth, watched him close his eyes, open his mouth wide, stick his tongue out to reach for them. The cloth had barely touched his tongue when she laughed, and threw them into the corner of the room.

He could still see them there, an oval of wet desire in the middle, laying on the floor. She was sitting on his lower back, occasionally grinding herself down, masturbating with his skin. The operating room smell of sterilized flesh hung in the air, the bottle of alcohol sitting on the floor in the corner of his vision.

He could feel the needle dragging through his flesh, carving lines and curves. She felt his whimpers deep insider her as the steel point separated skin, then moaned whenever she paused and his whimpers became quick gasps of breathless pain.

She set one needle aside, ripped open the packaging on another.

“What do you think I’m writing? Guess correctly and I’ll give you a reward, maybe even let you lick my boots.”

Whimpering sighs as he tried to remember the path the pain had taken across his back while she hummed the tune to Jeopardy. “Are you writing ‘Whore’ ma’am?”

She skipped to the last three bars, and sighed dramatically. “Nope. Guess again, while I do another letter. But good job on phrasing the answer in the form of a question. Let’s say the next one is for a good hard rogering with my strapon.”

“Agg… Are you writing ‘Slave’ ma’am?”

The needle skipped higher up his back, filled in a line until it was properly oozing crimson blood. “Swing and a miss boy. Last chance, wait until we’re done. And think hard, because if you guess right I might just let you lick my cunt.”

He whimpered, tried to focus on the path of pain moving across his back. Tried to picture the flesh parting, the nerve endings being molested until they screamed, tried to imagine how it would look outside his body until he got lost in a trance, until the world was contained in the lines of pain she was using him to create.

She tossed aside the needle and stood up. “Tell the truth, I think I’d like your tongue on my cunt now even if you guess wrong. But consistent ma’am is consistent. On the other hand, no reason I can’t give you a hint.”

She got the knife, carefully cut the tape away from the legs of the table until he could pull himself loose. “No peeking.” She pulled him off the table, dragged him into the bathroom on all fours. “In the tub, on your hands and knees.”

He crawled in, lines of blood rolling down his sides now, forming into small drops and hanging off him.

“You do want a hint, don’t you?” She paused, one leg in the air.

“Yes ma’am. Please.”

Her feet on the sides of the tub, she carefully maneuvered herself over him, and released herself. Hot piss poured down onto his back, filling the letters and turning the words from a dull throb back into fresh, burning pain.

Animal sounds of pain and pleasure came out of his throat, his hands curled into fists and his face contorted.

“What did I write, boy?”

He tried to think back, to all the things she had ever called him while he suffered in front of her. To the words that had come through his pain and screams and made it all ok, made it something he desperately needed to do for her again. To think of how she would brand him, what phrase would mark him forever as hers. “Did you write ‘Mine’ ma’am?”

“Tsk, nope.” She shook her head, climbed down off the tub, carefully placed her feet on the floor. “Stand up, look in the mirror.”

He pushed himself up, gray ribbons of tape hanging off his hands like broken manacles. Shoulders slumped, he looked over his shoulder, avoiding her eyes and reversing the letters in the mirror. “Oh.” He smiled, turned around to look at her. “I love you too ma’am.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.


  1. Ferns said,

    I love this… violent and hot and romantic! It doesn’t get much better than that.


  2. littlesubmissions said,

    Maybe if there were also ice cream involved…


  3. Ehlana said,

    Came here via bitchy; this is truly beautiful, thank you for writing it 🙂

    • littlesubmissions said,

      You’re welcome, and thank you for reading. 🙂

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