There's a moment, where she almost doesn't look human. Her pupils are dilated and her lips are curled into a smile, red lipstick smeared over her skin. There's blood, too, and dark stains spreading over her wrists, stretching out across her skin like a bad thunderstorm. The bruises just add to her allure.
This woman, Maggie, she twists her hands and reaches out as far as she can. The chains wrapped around her wrist clank together, tugging at the spot where they're secured to the ceiling. Her fingers curl, like if she just tries hard enough, they meet be able to wrap around my wrist.
"You aren't done yet, are you?" Her words are taunting. She's trying to goad me into action again and I'm not even sure if I want too. Looking at her now, like this, it's almost enough for me.
"I might be," is my reply, head tilting to the side, eyes taking Maggie in.
She's bound and frozen, unable to move, to act, but I still don't feel like I'm in control. She talks and laughs, tells me I'm not doing good enough, not pushing hard enough, and it feels like she's still the one in charge. It feels like every time I make a move, every time I strike at her, it's because that's what she had planned.
I feel like I'm missing the element of surprise, and that might be a little bit wonderful.
Maggie snorts. It's a loud, derisive sound. She curls her fingers into a fist, digs sharp nails into her own palm. "That's a little pathetic, don't you think?"
"What I think is that you talk too much." My fingers tighten around the handle of the crop- and I think that maybe it really isn't enough, that maybe I'm not enough, that I might be in this a little over my head. I'm not new to this scene and I'm not new to blood, but this is the first time that I've been urged to go further.
We didn't talk about this before hand, about how far she wanted to go.
I think that maybe we should have.
"If you start doing more," says Maggie, mouth parting in a clearly forced yawn. "Maybe I wouldn't have to talk to keep myself awake."
And then she's putting her fingers to her lips and I see a flash of pink. Maggie drags her tongue around her pointer finger, cleaning the blood from her skin. The sight sends a hot jolt along my spine and I lick at my own lips, stepping a little bit closer to her.
Her hand is slick with blood. Hers, mostly. A bit of mine - from the very start, before the chains, when she raked her nails along my spine over, and over, and over again.
"You don't need to keep yourself up," I tell her, reaching out and tracing the fingers of my free hand over her cheek. The blood is starting to dry and, even though I'm a little bit unsure, I still can't stand the thought of this ending.
She wants more, so I'll give it to her. My hand shifts, fingers tightening in her hair. I yank - she hisses. Every sound she makes pushes me a little bit further. She wants this, after all, has told me again and again that she wants this.
"Say it." My words come out harsh and firm. "Tell me what you want."
I lean closer, let my breath ghost over her face. There's a gleam in her eyes that says I'm going in the right direction. She twists in her bindings, fingers outstretched, trying to touch me. The chains are too tight for that.
"I want you to make me bleed." Her words are little more than a whisper. I tighten my grip on her hair, wrapping it around my fingers. "And then...I want you to fuck me."
"I can do that," I say. And then I say it again, more to reassure myself then her.
It's a mess of motions then, sharp and stinging. I dig my nails into her hips and press our bodies close together, whispering every foul thing I can come up with into her ears. She wants to bleed and so I tell her every way that I can make that happen.
It's a thrill, for both of us.
She shudders beneath my hands. When I pull away, she lets out the softest of whimpers. It's a quiet sound but it echoes in my ears, drowns out the last dregs of hesitation.
"That," hisses Maggie, and she just keeps repeating the words - over and over and over, and it mixes in with her small cries, and it amplifies the sound of leather striking skin, and it makes my blood rush and everything go tight, so tight, until I just can't take it any more.
The crop hits the ground and I'm up against her this time, pressed flush to her back. My hands roam her body, pressing against the bruises, digging into the places where her skin has been split. In those next few moments, she is both everything and nothing.
I forget about her name and I forget about her face. She becomes nothing more than a toy, a prop, something created solely for my pleasure. My teeth sink into her shoulders and the nape of her neck. All I can taste is iron and all that I can hear is my own heart pounding and the rattling of chains and the harsh rasp of my own breaths.
She is mine, mine, mine - and I never want to forget about how she looks, tied up and taunting me. Her words might say that she's in charge, but this says something completely different.
I'm in charge.
I will always be in charge.
She will come back to me, again and again, like a bitch in heat. And, one day, I will take it further. I'll think back to her screen name and think back to how we met, and I will flay her until there's no telling a difference between the two. Maggie will become my zombie and no one else's.
"Slut," I hiss, one hand drifting further up, grabbing at her breast. It's warm to the touch, the flesh swollen from being struck. "Is this what you wanted? Are you fucking happy?"
Maggie whines, the sound low and needy. She shakes her head, almost wildly. "No! No, no, no...more!" The last word is more of a gasp than anything and her entire body trembles with the effort of getting it out.
Heat races through me and for a moment I wonder - what would she do if I just left her here? If I stepped back and just watched her, not quite over the edge but too close to come back down easily.
She whines again and my entire world shudders.
Story by: Paintedzipper