Mister smacks me across the mouth.

“Behave,” he says. “You’re really being a fucking brat.”

Tonight we aren’t playing. I’m really resisting him, but I don’t know why. I’m spoiling for a fight and I want to push back. Something deep in me feels poisoned, twisted. Storm clouds are brewing and I don’t want to stop it.

“What’s your safeword? Do you remember it?” Mister asks. He’s not sure what’s going on with me, this is his way of checking in.

“Yes,” I hiss.

“Well, what is it?” he squeezes my face, hard. I can already picture the bruises forming under his fingertips.

“Orange. Fucking. Crush.” I spit every word out as if I’m offended. I am. I know what I want.

“Do you want to use it now?” he tries to ask me as evenly as possible. A hair’s edge of tension creeps in around the edges.

“No.” I turn away from him.

“Knees, now,” he orders.

I take my time. Exasperated, he wrenches my arms behind my back, binds my hands, then shoves his entire cock in my mouth. I bite down against his flesh. Not hard, but with enough pressure to make him flinch. I wince as he firmly smacks my face. Stars bloom before my eyes, my ears ring.

“I’m not sure you even deserve to breathe, slut,” he says, pinching my nose and ramming his cock down my throat. I shut my eyes and try to meditate. I want to be good, to follow every command, but I feel like the devil is running through my blood. I don’t like to fight. I don’t know what’s wrong.

Usually I love this discipline. I need it. One hard night keeps my head straight for days. I think better, my brain hums along happily. I love the deep violet night sky of subspace, feeling lost and content among the stars. I love when, days later, I run my hands over my body and feel each bruise, pressing each one like ripe fruit. I love it all, except tonight. All I want right now is real violence, something to fight against.

I start to choke. Mister lets go of my nose. “If you puke on my cock, I’ll hit you for real,” he says, annoyed. He pinches my nose closed again and I try to be obedient. The anger swells again. I try to swallow it, force it down, but it won’t go away. Suddenly, I’m really angry. Angry about all the time I’ve lost and wasted, the times someone hit me, when I was held down for all the wrong reasons and a safeword wouldn’t have released me. I spent years trying to find this kind of discipline, but it always backfired. I chose men who hurt me for real, I didn’t know, couldn’t have known the difference then. I pull away from Mister in an unspoken challenge, daring him to keep me in line.

Mister throws my legs apart and spanks my inner thigh. I clamp my legs shut and cross them. His eyes narrow. I’ve never pushed him this far, never been this openly defiant. He rolls me on my side, I roll back over. Mister puts his knee on the side of my face and holds my head down. His body shifts as he reaches for something. He attaches the extra wicked set of nipple clamps to me. He knows I can barely tolerate them on my best day. The pain is blinding and only adds to my rage. I flail around trying to escape, but the pressure is firm. My arms are still tied behind me, cramped and painful.

I wouldn’t say my safeword now for anything. This is the fight I wanted. We’re soaked with sweat, his knee is making my cheekbone ache. He slaps me over and over, wrenching my legs apart. He hits my thighs, my ass, my cunt. He jerks on the chain joining the nipple clamps. Mister doesn’t hold anything back and I don’t want him to. I want to hurt. I want all this ugly poison to boil over, to rip towards the surface and to burn away. We’re daring each other with our bodies to take it further.  Mister fucks me, spits in my face, pins me down. I spit back, biting and screaming. There’s blood, but I can’t tell if it’s his or mine. We’re raw energy, raw skin, raw hearts.  This is ugly and real. This is ugly and real and safe, I tell myself. We come hard, battered and exhausted like the last survivors crawling away from a war.

He unties me, smooths my hair, curls protectively around my naked battered body. The power play is over, we’re equal again. I feel drained, exhausted, the demons finally exorcised.

5 thoughts on “Mister smacks me across the mouth.

  1. Sigh. In the top five reasons I regret not having regular computer access are news of your updates frequently not getting to me until days after the fact.

    Beautiful story, with lots of sharp edges. I hope to someday be worthy of such trust.

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