November 29, 2013

The List 12: Hands are for Being Restrained

Posted in stories tagged , , , , at 7:18 am by littlesubmissions

Click here to go to part 1

From Part 11: She locked eyes with him, her chest heaving from her breaths, her face froze in an animal snarl. “Remind me, what are your hands for?”

His voice was a muted whimper. “For being restrained, ma’am.”

She nodded, and her lips curled into a rictus grin. “Then lets get some use out of them, shall we?”

She grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, frog marching him over to the dresser. She reached around him and dragged the drawer open, letting it smack against his legs. Her eyes panned over the contents, grabbing the first usable thing she saw: nickel-played handcuffs.

She yanked his hands behind him, ratcheting one cut onto his wrist, then the other. “That’s what they’re for, right? Being restrained?”

“Yes ma’am.” He stumbled to the center of the room as she used the cuffs to spin him around and fling him that direction. He recovered his balance and stood there, breathing hard, licking his lips, and watching her with wide eyes.

She walked back to him with long, urgent strides, and kicked the backs of his calves until he crumpled to his knees. She shifted her balance and planted her foot between his shoulder blades, then gave him a shove.

His face smacked into the carpet and he lay on his stomach, trying to see her from the corner of his eyes. Her foot found its way back to the spot between his shoulder blades. He felt the pressure increase on his body.

“So the question that’s really on my mind is, now that your hands are restrained, how are you going to get me off?”

He turned his head and spit carpet fiber off his lips, then took a deep breath. “With my tongue, ma’am.”

She nodded and arched an eyebrow. “Really? How you gonna do that with your face all the way down there?”

He tried to roll over, but she dropped her weight and kept him pinned to the floor. He tried to scoot his knees up under himself so he could lever himself to his knees, but pushed down harder until he gave up. He tried twisting to roll over again, and the pressure increased again.

“You want me to cut your tongue out and use it like a dildo? Was that you meant?”

He clenched his jaw in frustration. “No ma’am, please don’t cut my tongue out.” He tried to roll over again, and again she pinned his body to the floor. “I can’t get up with your foot on my back.”

“Oh, is that the problem?” She let out a fake giggle, and stepped off his body. “Silly me.”

He shoved his knees under his body, and was starting to lever himself up when her foot collided with his balls. His body spasmed and he was on the floor again, gasping in pain and blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Well?” Her voice cut through the pain and he forced himself to roll over. He was still on his back, gasping, when her foot clipped his balls again.

He felt bile and vomit rise up in his throat and swallowed them back down, trying to ignore the horrible ache in his stomach as his balls throbbed.

“Looks like you can’t do much about protecting your balls without your hands either.” She let her foot hover over him as he curled up into a ball on his side, trying to protect his aching testicles with his legs.

“Well?” The inquisitive tone forced him to think again, and he groaned in pain and frustration. “I don’t know how to get you off ma’am.”

She kicked him in the ass, letting the toes of her foot bounce off the heavy muscles there. “So you see the problem? Before you say your hands are for being restrained, you better think about how you’re going to get me off with your hands restrained.”

He nodded, his cheek scraping against the carpet, and looked up at her from the corner of his eye. “Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.”

She shoved with her foot, rolling him back on his stomach. He braced himself for another thudding shock of pain to come from a kick to his balls, and shuddered in relief when he felt her weight settle on his lower legs instead.

He moaned and started to tremble when he felt her teeth sink into the soft skin of his fingertips. He forced himself not to jerk his hands away as her jaw bit down and the pressure increased.

She imagined herself devouring him, eating his body inch by inch, chewing until blood erupted from his skin and meat slid off his bones. Owning his body utterly and completely. Her muscles started to tremble with lust, and she took a deep breath and licked her lips. “Your only purpose is to get me off, and if you a part of your body can’t do that, I don’t see any reason for you to have it anymore. Understood?”

Her teeth sank back into his fingertips, and his arms jerked. “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

She clamped her hands around his wrists, just above the cuffs, and worked her way from fingertip to fingertip, feeling his body try not to twist and jerk beneath her, a steady pleasure building inside her, then spiking when he lost control and his muscles spasmed.

She pictured his eyes rolling up back in his head, and breathed slowly and deeply, enjoying the perfect control she had over him. His pain and whimpers, the taste and feel of his controlled body, knowing part if him couldn’t live without being treated like this. Knowing that part of him would be hollow without her filling that empty aching place with her pleasure in his pain and degradation.

She let the smallest finger on his left hand slide out of her mouth, and lifted her weight just enough to roll him over. She crawled up his body until her face was hovering inches above his own. He felt her weight on his body, her breath on his face, and slowly opened his eyes.

She grinned down at him, and licked her lips with exaggerated sensuality. “Now, about your stomach.”

Preview: Stomachs are for having degrading words written on! Like shovel, and bulldozer. Or not…

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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