August 11, 2009

Forward & Back

Posted in Uncategorized at 8:12 pm by littlesubmissions

“Turn around. Face the wall.”

Numb legs and tired arms shuffled awkwardly in a circle, rotating around until his tortured back was to her, facing the blank wall on his hands and knees. He tried to anticipate what was going to come, to think through the fog in his head. There had been pain first, then pleasure…

“Scoot back.”

Awkward motions brought him close to her until his ankles slid under the couch, spread apart by her own bare feet resting on the floor, leaving him close, exposed, vulnerable. Open.

“Oh, your skin is so hot…” She leaned forward and ran her hands across the width of his back, between his shoulders, kneading the broken skin, feeling the heat from the bruised and tormented flesh. Purring at the tactile confirmation of what her eyes told her, of how she had laid frantic waste to his body with the flogger and the cane. This time she would be slower, more methodical. A steadily rising torture, not the crashing torrential pain from earlier. “Put your head down.”
He lowered himself to his elbows, then stretched his arms out until his forehead rested on the carpet, his hot breath washing back up and over his face as he tried to force himself not to think about what she was going to do. The events of the night flitted past him randomly, and he realized he couldn’t remember the pattern any more. Which had been last, suffering or joy? She had pushed, then rewarded, then pushed some more, and somewhere the two sensations had blended together, become jumbled and then inseparable until he just started following the sound of her voice wherever it led.

She had told him before that she always started simply, with just one thing she wanted to do to him, knowing that the scene would evolve and become more elaborate, additional pieces of the symphony appearing and vanishing, receding or advancing depending on how he reacted and her own desires. “I must like you.”

The snap of a latex glove. Such a playful, intimidating sound. Earlier she had pulled them tight over her hands, slapped his face and chest, taught him how the gloves made the blows sting more than just her bare hands. Now she needed them for other reasons.

His body tensed as her finger slowly worked its way inside him, sliding back and forth, casually stretching him and violating his body. “I mean, I’m using lube after all.”

A second finger and he winced, tried to grab hold of the carpet until the fibers scratched into his fingertips, to find something to hold on to that would him to keep him from falling forward. The material slid across his hands over and over, but there wasn’t anything to grab hold of, just the sound of her voice behind him holding there.

“How can I make this worse for you?” She saw him shaking, heard his breathing grow ragged and labored, let him rest, allowed the anticipation to build a little inside both of their bodies.

Her hand pushed down on the small of his back, and he sensed her weight shift as she slid a third finger inside him, working them back and forth, rolling them and twisting, stretching and pulling. The feeling of wrongness flooded down into his stomach, the sensation that wasn’t pain, that felt almost like an illness. The vague, unsettling perception that something in his body wasn’t the way it usually was.

His breathing became harsher and more irregular and she felt him trembling under her, knew he was close to losing it. Her fingertips slid away, let him regain his composure, just for a minute. “I know how I can make this worse for you!

Stay right there.”

Cheery words that still didn’t answer his earlier question. Would this be pain? He couldn’t be sure, but it felt like it would be pain from the tone of her voice, the sound of her cool, deliberate words. He forced himself to breathe slower, to relax and calm down. She flopped back down on the couch, watched him until he was still and quiet, almost peaceful.
The first clothespin clamping down on the skin of his cock confirmed his suspicions. Another followed, and he made himself breathe slower, not count them. Not think about how much more they would hurt coming off. The little tugging bites moved across his flesh, marching in a crooked line all around his cock and across his balls as her other hand maneuvered and tugged to get at hidden flesh.

“I wonder if I can get them all on?” The package was nearly empty, the pegs she had already placed pulling his skin down and distorting it, rattling against each other every time he breathed. Her fingers pulled and tugged at him, teasing reluctant flesh into view for the very last of the wooden jaws until she leaned back, satisfied.

Finished with her preparations, she slipped on another glove and ran lubricant down the length of her middle finger. She exhaled in pleasure and slid the digit back inside him. He was still slick inside, a little loose, it was easier this time.

Buried to the knuckle, she leaned forward and found a clothespin with her other hand.

“Forward.”

His body moved forward slowly, feeling the skin on his cock tighten under the wooden jaws until there was a sharp, searing pain that meant it had been pulled off, leaving the burning sensation of the absent jaws behind while he slid off the finger on her other hand.

“And back.”

With just the tip of her finger still inside him her throaty command brought him back, pushing with his elbows, impaling himself until her knuckles rested tight against his flesh.

“Forward.”

The worst part of the clothespins was knowing that the pain wouldn’t hit until they were off. That relief didn’t come from removing them from the most sensitive parts of his body. That once they were on, the pain was inevitable.

“Back.”

He was raping himself on her hand now, helping her violate him. Feeling her slide in and out, a willing puppet for her to abuse.

“Forward.”

Another clothespin came off, and he had to remind himself again that it was too late to stop the pain. How many had she put on? Had she managed to find enough skin for the entire package?

“Back.”

Another finger slid inside him, and he rode them both back until her knuckles pushed tight into his ass and stopped him. She let him keep pushing, leaning into it with her weight, watching him sweat and tremble until she finally spoke again.

“Forward.”

She let her hand move forward with him this time, teasing him with the tension, waiting until the skin pulled tight then moving her hand with his body, keeping him on the edge.

“Back.”

His hips rolled back, her hand pushing and pulling on the wooden clamp, steering his body and sliding him back onto her fingers.

“Forward. Back. Forward. Back.”

She worked his flesh like a pendulum, controlling him with her voice. Twisting and rolling her fingers, one heightening the sense of violation in his ass, the other reminding him of the pain that would eventually sear across his cock.

“That’s four fingers inside you.”

Tremors rolled through him, bounced around his head and scrambled his thoughts.

“You’re doing really well. No blood at all, that’s a good sign. I wonder if I can get my whole hand inside you.”
She left him in place, twisting her hand, teasing him with her thumb, not letting him move forward and escape any more. Not letting him suffer familiar pain to help block out the feeling of her entire hand trying to force its way inside him.

“I’d be so proud if I could get my whole fist inside you.”

Guttural sounds started to come from deep within his stomach, rattling out past his lungs. Deep, animal sounds of hopelessness and human wreckage.

“After the thumb, the hard part is the knuckles.”

He could feel her hand stretching him, wrapping his body tight around her, joining them together. Tortured sounds kept sliding out of his lips, and she exhaled in pleasure every time he sighed his despair.

“You tighten up around my hand every time you moan like that, you know?”

Her mocking tone brought another languishing exhalation and she slid closer to the edge of the couch, to be as close as possible to the sight of his pain and the sound of his agony.

“Forward.”

His limbs collapsed, taking him away from her, one last bright spot of pain tugging at his mind as the insistent pressure of her hand vanished, leaving him cold, empty, relieved. Deep breaths worked their way into his chest, while his mind still refused to stop wondering which would come next, pain or pleasure.

“You leaked a little there. You need to clean that up.”

He couldn’t tell which it was. It didn’t matter any more.

He turned around, his eyes finally focused enough to see the spot of white fluid she was pointing at, and he lowered his head.

He leaned forward, ran his mouth over the spot. Started to consume the proof of his own uncontrolled lust, sliding his tongue over the evidence of what she had done to him.

Forward, then back, then forward again. Over and over.

Forward and back.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

10 Comments »

  1. Ferns said,

    “He was raping himself on her hand now, helping her violate him.”

    This… this… just… THIS… I can just read this over and over…

    “…raping himself on her…”

    God.

    Ferns

    • littlesubmissions said,

      I’m glad you liked it.
      V.

  2. Mike said,

    Wow ! What a scene! So well written. I love the women of your stories, the way they delight in hurting you. If as I suspect these stories are based on real experiences, you are one lucky sub to have such a great domme. More, more!

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Ain’t that the truth? 😉

      And thanks, there should be more next week.

  3. Phalene said,

    *Swoon-thud*

    Perfect, as always!

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Thank you. 🙂

  4. AconitE said,

    Awesome!
    sitting and reading all at one go, such a hot little discovery of the kind of things i *want* to read as opposed to stereotyped femdom erotica.
    keep ’em coming!

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Glad you’re enjoying. I’m more fond of some than others, but I usually find something to enjoy in each.

  5. Dan said,

    “The feeling of wrongness flooded down into his stomach, the sensation that wasn’t pain, that felt almost like an illness. The vague, unsettling perception that something in his body wasn’t the way it usually was.”

    You absolutely nailed that. That peculiar relocation of stuff inside. That sickness, vivid and unrelenting. I almost felt it as I read it last night. And twinges of it came back to my gut uninvited as I tried to get to sleep.

    You wield a powerful efficiency of words. You wrap up beautiful and neat packages for the world to keep forever. Well done and thank you.

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Thank you.


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