Grace and Favor Ch. 02


My blood turned to ice. Fear solidified my dazed mind for a moment as I heard him rustle behind me, and I considered bolting for the door. He must have seen my muscles twitch, because his hand wrapped around the back of my neck, pinning me to the bed.

“I know what you’re thinking. And you know it won’t help you.” His voice was cold. I felt him place the long, thin rattan cane against my ass cheeks, lining up his shot. “I almost don’t like doing this. After all we’ve been through, you won’t even tell me the truth.”

“Please,” I quivered, “Please don’t do…” A strong, solid cut stopped me short. I screamed, blinding hot pain immediately searing into my body. I couldn’t even cry, couldn’t think. Another hit me, harder this time. I saw stars.

I barely registered him tracing his fingers along these new welts, no doubt purple over crimson flesh. “Would you like to tell me the truth, now?” His tone had not warmed. He lined up the next stroke, I hoped to encourage my compliance.

“Sir… just… I…” I blubbered incoherently. “Please just…”

Another scorching impact branded my flesh, eliciting a fresh scream.

“Please…” I sobbed, “Please… just check…”

“Check?” He paused. “What am I checking, love?” he asked, unkindly.

“My… pussy,” I replied, hoarse.

“For what?”

I took a shaky breath. If I could get him to just look… maybe I’d be able to walk tomorrow. “To see… that I’m still… drippy. That my clit’s still hard.”

He said nothing, and his pause extended beyond my comfort. I closed my eyes, steeling myself for his next blow.

I felt him leave my side.

After a moment, he spoke. “No, I don’t think I will.” He swished the cane in the air, the wood’s thin whistle sending another wave of fear washing through me.

Tears breached my clenched eyes. I was out of options, and quiet, defeated sobs softly wracked my body. There was no use even begging anymore.

He tapped the head of the cane upward between my legs lightly, making me jump. “…Because I can see from here that you’re leaving a puddle on the floor.” The wooden tip grazed gingerly over my clit. I moaned, in spite of myself. “Which means,” he continued, “That either I’m going to have to find new ways to punish you, or you genuinely haven’t cum.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I might survive this, after all.

“You really faked it?” He still sounded skeptical. “Why?” he asked. Then, quickly realizing the more important question, “How? I didn’t think you could… do that,” he said, curiosity beginning to wear down his walls of anger. He flipped me over, so I was on my back, facing him. I winced as fresh wounds ground into the blanket.

“I didn’t either, but I wanted to…” I sniffled, “…See if I could. See what it would feel like. It was … a mindfuck, honestly.”

“Well, that was… not what I expected.” He paused. “So this…” he said, softly circling my clit with his fingertip, “… you’re still on the edge, then?” I groaned my response, struggling suddenly to keep still. “Answer me,” he theatened, slipping a finger into my drooling pussy.

I was instantly delirious with need; it had been weeks since he had let me have an orgasm. My body easily responded to his touch, and the pain from his beating magnified my need. “Yes… yes. Oh, gods, please… please Sir…” I trailed off. He slowed his rhythm, eliciting a half-cry from me.

As he considered my response, I watched the lines on his forehead soften. “Of course, I’m pleased that you didn’t fuck all our work to make you into a drippy wet cumslut.” His voice became took that condescending tone that made me weak in the knees. “To even to fake a orgasm for the poor boy. Did he do something…” he slipped another finger in and resumed his original pace, “Particularly worthy, to earn such a treat from you, his cute little domme?”

I felt my orgasm building, like it had built so many times in the weeks before. I tried to focus my breathing, regular in and out. Still, he played my body expertly, and removed his fingers a second before the immense moment, slowly rubbing along my g-spot along the way. Frustrated, I turned my bruised face to plead with him, hoping that his question was rhetorical. “Sir, please… it’s been… so long.”

“I know,” he said, more softly than I expected. “You must really need it.” He drew those words out, tauntingly.

I nodded.

“But really -” he continued, with a darkly inquisitive tone “- why would you do it? And, perhaps more importantly, what do you think I am going to do with this new found ability of yours?” He grinned, and it made my insides cold.

I görükle escort hadn’t even thought of the personal implications of this. I hadn’t thought of Ethan, only of the sweet, weak boy kneeling in front of me, so eager to please. “I don’t know. He seemed so… sad today. I thought maybe if I did something nice for him… it might make him feel better.” I shrugged. “That’s all. Really.”

He eyed me like he was two moves from checkmate, and I hadn’t noticed yet. He slipped his fingers back onto my pussy, beginning his slow ministrations again.

“Sounds a bit,” he paused for effect, “dishonest, to me.”

My eyes widened. I saw the trap. “Shit.” I groaned. “No. I was just trying… just trying to do something… nice.” I tried to sit up, but he was still working on all my pleasure centers. “Please, you know that’s not what I… meant.” I could feel my pussy clenching at the painful memories of how he’d taught me to always tell him the truth.

He hushed me, keeping his pace. “I know, you wanted to bring him a bit of pleasure. I understand; I know it’s in your nature.”

At the edge of my orgasm, he took his fingers away from me. I cried sullenly as I felt the promise of pleasure fade back into nothingness.

“And you know what brings me pleasure, don’t you?” He smiled evilly, beginning the dance to my edge once again. “I love to make you suffer,” he slipped a third finger in, speeding my downfall. “I love to make you cry,” his thumb circled my clit in time with pumping fingers. “Whether it is bruising your tender lip, or marking your lucious ass…” He worked in a fourth finger.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please… Sir. Please, please, please…” I begged. I had waited for so long. I was so close.

And then everything was gone, once again. I was left panting, laying on the bed underneath him, waiting for something that wasn’t going to be.

“… Or denying you the sweet orgasm you crave, again and again…” He positioned himself at the entrance to my pussy. “Tell me what your little whore pussy needs.”

“I need you!” I begged. “I need your big cock! Sir, please fuck me and let me cum all over your thick cock…” I rambled. “I want to cum for you, please. Please! Please… just let me cum…”

He undid his pants and pushed inside me with a soft groan, betraying how much self control he had been expending. Inwardly, I smirked that I was not the only one suffering. His cock hit me in all the right places, all the places I loved the most; no one had ever brought me as much pleasure as he did. I tilted my head back in rapture, mouth agape.

“Yesss…” I breathed. Each stroke pulled luciciously between my clit piercing and my fourchette barbell, sending tiny shocks of pleasure between them.

His long, deep stokes sprinted me back toward my orgasm. I knew that I was only seconds away. I focused my breathing, trying to even my movements so I didn’t cum before he gave me permission. If he gave me permission.

“Are you close?”

He knew the answer already. “So close, sir. So… close. Please, let me… let me cum for you,” my voice strained.

He buried himself fully and stopped, leaving me feeling deliciously stuffed. He kissed my swollen lip, carefully drawing it into his mouth. My pained noises sounded strangely similar to those of pleasure. “I have missed your beautiful orgasm face,” he said.

I looked up at him, pussy clenching. “You… have?”

“Of course.” He trailed his kisses down the side of my neck. “I just also so enjoy your misery. You see my dilemma.” He shuddered, and took only long stroke in and out of my pussy, ramming cruelly into my cervix. “But now…” he smiled down at me like a spider to a fly, “Now I can have both, can’t I?”

I froze.

“I want you on top,” he said in a tone that assured me I didn’t have a choice.

“Sir…” I began to beg, “Sir… I can’t… ” He knew that was my favorite position, the one where I had, ironically, the least self-control. This couldn’t be happening. I was so close already.

He rolled us both over in one fluid movement so that I rested, impaled, on his lap. He stretched out and folded his hands leisurely behind his head. “Now fuck me. And show me how you fake an orgasm.”

My pussy clenched. This was not happening. Before, it was different – I wasn’t sitting on the precipice of orgasm to begin with, wasn’t fucking in the position where all my favorite parts were rubbed just the right way, wasn’t grinding against fresh marks on my ass. Before, I could control the situation, bring his face closer or nearer, tilt my pelvis so that he wasn’t licking at the very görükle escort bayan best angle. I had been at every advantage.

Now, there was no advantage. He had teased me expertly, set me up at the most difficult task, in the most difficult way. I couldn’t even fathom it. How was I supposed to do this, and keep from cumming for real? I felt tears welling up in my eyes from the unfairness of it all.

Of course, he reveled in my turmoil, reading each emotion as it crossed my face. “Oh, baby,” he cooed. “Do you see what happens when dommes are… nice?” he said, stressing the last word. He smiled deviously up at me. “You should thank him next time for giving me a new tool to hurt you with.”

I felt a rear fall. I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

He growled and pumped into me. “Get on with it, now.”

I slid myself up and down the length of him, trying not to feel the perfection of every tiny movement. I tried to become conscious of every breath, in and out. In and out. This was so hard, so much harder than earlier tonight. I looked down at him, at his powerful shoulders, biceps that brought me so much pleasure and pain. I moaned, reminded of every wound he had inflicted. My breathing became more rapid, coming in shallow bursts. I gazed over his beautiful cheekbones, up to his narrowed eyes, watching me intensely. Those eyes made me weak; I felt my pussy begin to clench with increasing frequency.

Time was not my friend.

He felt so good inside me, stretching and touching all my favorite nerve endings. I felt my orgasm building, an aching pressure in my womb. I came back to my breath. In and out, in and out. The pressure subsided, but the gnawing ache did not diminish. In and out. My body, seemingly on its own accord, synced my pelvic motion with my conscious breath, all at once magnifying the connection. “No… no…” I murmured, beginning to shake.

I heard him chortle softly. I was failing, and he knew it.

I looked up at the ceiling, still grinding on his pelvis. I imagined myself sitting across the room, watching myself fuck him. Watching myself struggle to keep myself under control. Watching myself quiver and moan, tears dripping off my cheeks from the awful effort. My sitting self considered this lost little girl, who only hours before had been a paragon of power over someone else. That power, intoxicating as it had been, always led her back here, to him. Made her crave him. Crave the agony he gave her, that they both pretended was atonement. As much as she played the domme… she was not. Only in him, wounded, weeping, did she feel… truly seen. Accepted and bare.

That’s why she had married him.

Watching still, I fondled my wedding band, a simple platinum ring. I was struck with a wave of gratitude for this man, who always let me do want I wanted, and always gave me what I needed. And right now, I needed to show him… a fake orgasm, of all things. Because that’s what he wanted; that’s how he wanted to hurt me. And I needed to give it to him.

I watched her struggle, beads of sweat on her shoulder blades. I loved her tears.

“Yes, yes…” I began softly. My voice became her voice. “Yes… right there…” I manufactured building breaths. I made her voice grow, while squashing the ache down as small as I could make it. She closed her eyes, slowly bobbing her head in time with her body. “Please… yes…” she moaned. “Yes, yes!” She was nearly to the top of a beautifully concocted climax.

I looked as his face. He was nearly there, too. Perhaps he had yearned for the coupling of a shared orgasm. He began to add his own desperate thrusts to hers, momentarily bringing her out of her mock revelry with a yelp. Waves of new pleasure spilled through her body, and I heard her voice change suddenly from fabricated moans to real ones.

My eyes got wide. No, I thought, no, no, no! Breaths. Calming breaths. Squash the ache. Make it smaller. … But keep the voice, keep the charade. “Yes…” she breathed, emptier now. “Yes, baby, just like that…”

He grunted. Not long, now.

“Yes… Yes!” Her voice approached her cresendro. “Yes… oh, my god… yes, baby!” I twisted her face into the the beginnings of a mask of her peak.

I saw him reach the top of his own orgasm. I prepared her final shriek of pleasure that would seal the whole farce. On my last inhale, he dug his fingernails into the crimson welts on my ass, as he coated the insides of my pussy with hot semen.

My mind went white.

My dissociated self crashed back into my brain, as the ache in my core blossomed terribly. Wave upon wave of forbidden bursa escort pleasure ripped through my body; I felt like I was drowning. Somewhere far away, I heard screaming. I realized it was my own voice as a torrent of liquid gushed from my pussy, covering his pelvis, chest, and dripping onto the bed. The release was overwhelming, unlike any other experience I could recall. I rode the rush of pure bliss, the luxury of long-denied satisfaction glazing my mind with pure indulgence. A tiny part of my brain silently wailed in horror of what had just occurred, but the orgasmic aftershocks dulled this worry for the moment.

I collapsed onto his chest, still breathing hard; his skin was slick from our shared fluids. He cradled my head and rolled us over. I knew there was going to be a price to pay for this, but I couldn’t help but snuggle into him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed my forehead. After a minute he continued, “But we’re about to get very sticky. Let’s get in the shower.” His voice was gentle.

I followed him to the bathroom, watching for sudden movements. The ecstacy of the moment had worn off, and I expected some retribution. But he was perfectly calm. He stepped into the steaming water, holding the curtain open just enough for me to slip in beside him. I grimaced as the hot water found all my abrasions.

I watched the rivulets run off of his muscles. He was making me nervous.

“Are you… angry with me?”

He gathered me in his arms, under the water. “Yes. And no.” Perfectly vague.

“I’m sorry.”

He studied me. “Are you?”

I considered, then smiled. “Yes. …And no.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, smiling. “Right.” He took the shampoo and began to wash my hair. “Tell me what you think should happen now.”

I purred under his ministrations, but he was baiting me, I knew. Ideas flashed through my mind. “Well…” I began, softly stroking his cock. He shuddered. “I did lie… earlier, with John. With the faked orgasm.” In a way, I thought. “There’s that. Then I both failed to show you a faked orgasm, and came without permission. …Marvelously.” I looked up at him. He had closed his eyes, but began to smile as I listed my transgressions.

“Hmm. You are insatiable.” He turned me around to rinse my hair. As the water ran clean, his grip tightened. I winced, and he smiled his dangerous smile. “I think we ought to try to clean that dirty lying mouth, first.” He took the bar of soap and lathered it, unsparingly covering his shoulders, torso, cock, and balls.

I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his body, his movements. Everything about him made me feel like a bird being eyed by a cat.

He stepped out of the jets’ range, and, too gently, pushed me to my knees. I looked up at him, confused. Suds still covered him.

“Open,” he ordered.

Time seemed to dilate for a second as I tried to process this new horror. My face must have shown my shock, because his grin grew wider. I pulled back, shaking my head. “I… I can’t.”

His voice darkened. “You will. Do not make me tell you again.”

There was an strange dissonance of the intersection of a child’s punishment, and a woman’s sexual duty. I opened my mouth. At any other time I would have relished the familiar feeling of fullness, the pleasant distension of my cheeks and jaw. But the soap was bitter and sharp, immediately making me gag. The taste was all at once everywhere in my mouth; it was inescapable. He began to pump in and out. This only served to create more bubbles, amplifying this appalling act. I squeezed my eyes shut as tears began to fall, again.

“Think about this next time you consider lying,” he said, breaking through the experience. He breached my gag reflex, pushing both his cock and a mouthful of suds down my throat. I thought I was going to be sick.

His pace was deep and even; he seemed to enjoy my revulsion. Every time I thought I had sucked off all the soap, a new rivulet of lather fell from his abs to the base of cock, where my lips would inevitably meet. I was crying in earnest now, sincerely regretting that faked orgasm earlier. I could take his beatings – even revel in them – but this was too awful. Never, I promised myself, never would I give him a reason to do this to me again.

I felt his pace increase, and he grunted as he held the back of my head, slamming his hips into my face. Every thrust sent a new wave of pain through my busted lip, but I was rewarded with a stream of cum on the back of my mouth. In comparison, it was welcomely sweet against the horrifying taste that had been assaulting my senses. He pulled out, and I swallowed out of habit, immediately regretting it. My stomach was rebelling; my breaths came shallow as I tried to keep from retching.

He finished rinsing and stepped around me and out of the tub. “Take your time – when you’re ready, meet me back in the bedroom,” he said, his voice syrupy.

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