January 6, 2010

Collared

Posted in stories tagged at 1:56 am by littlesubmissions

“You said you wanted a collar, but to tell the truth, I don’t like leather. So I’ve got something else in mind.” She shoved him to his knees, black slacks hitting the floor, his chest getting tight under the dress shirt and jacket.

Her fingers peeled off his tie, their reflection in the mirror showing her what someone watching them would see. She smirked for her reflected audience, lopped and twisted the ends of tie until it was a circle, then dropped it back over his head. Pulling it almost tight, then licking her lips.

She picked up the truncheon, black wood polished and hard, and pushed her panties from under her skirt and down her legs. The rounded tip of the club caught them and pulled them off her ankles, black cloth sliding off the end as she flicked them away.

The mirror smiled back at her and sighed in lust as she pushed the end of the truncheon down through the tie, then twisted it upwards. She watched the cloth tighten around his neck, skin and muscle bulging around it as the truncheon forced it tighter. The end was at 10 o’clock as she felt it tighten, and she let it dip back down while she adjusted the knot, moving it out a little further.

The sound of his deep, steady breath filled the room as he tried to store enough oxygen for what was coming. She waited until he was inhaling, then pushed the end of the baton in her hand down again, the other end rising up and turning his inhalation into a strangled choking rasp. This time the baton pointed nearly straight up, and he was barely exhaling, forcing the smallest amount of air in and out as steadily as he could, eyes wide, sweating, trying not to panic.

She leaned over him, holding the baton as she moved her hips forward, rubbing it up and down her slit. Her hips rolled as she planted her feet and felt herself getting wetter. She leaned over further as her hand slipped down, the wooden shaft sliding up inside her as she straightened her back and dropped her knees.

She planted her hands on the side of his face, pulling and stretching his skin, turning the face looking back at her in the mirror into a grotesque carnival mask, barely breathing, barely alive. “Your collar is going to be made of bruises, and it’s never going to come off. It might heal, but it’ll always be there, every time you take a breath. Under your skin, in your muscles, in the sudden tightness of your throat when you cough. So, you still want a collar?”

She could feel his short, jerking nod in her cunt as it jerked the truncheon back and forth. She shuddered at the sensation of his surrender, and shoved herself down, riding it, twisting her hips as she rose up to twist it that last little bit that cut off his air. Impaling herself on it, riding his breath down, then jerking it away from him as she rose up and the collar tightened around his neck. Hair bouncing in her eyes, raping herself as she gave him breath, trying to hit her g-spot with the end of the lever strangling him as she pushed herself up.

Killing him with her cunt.

Resurrecting him with her cunt.

Over and over, making a collar around his neck out of destroyed flesh and gasped breaths. Bruised skin and flesh rubbed raw that wouldn’t come off, that would leave him hers.

Marked.

Owned.

Collared.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

4 Comments »

  1. Mike said,

    Very original and hot scene. She is so lovingly sadistic, he is so long suffering. “Marked, owned, collared” is so ominous, so deep, so sexy. Thank you.

    • littlesubmissions said,

      You’re welcome.

  2. Mike said,

    On re-reading this, I am still turned on. It is rough, wild, loving, nasty, hot. Wow. I have never found anyone with an imagination like yours (or is it experience) . Thanks again.

    • littlesubmissions said,

      You’re welcome, and thanks for commenting.


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