Rent Comes Due (part 2)

That night you get into my bed, naked, and curl up near me, not touching me. The temptation to touch you simply because I can is strong, but I don’t want to ruin this with pointless handling. You’ll do better if I touch you when I want you, or when you need to be put back into line, and not otherwise.

Humans and animals aren’t so different, I reflect. Show either one clearly who has the authority, and there’s rarely any trouble…

I wake, suddenly. Your hand is fumbling between my legs, and you’ve already got me hard. Why I didn’t wake up the instant you touched me, I don’t know. I was pretty tired, but I can’t imagine being that tired. You must have a very, very light touch.

You must be aware that I woke up, but I wait to see what you do. To my surprise you keep going, running a fingertip along the underside of my cock, then rubbing very gently against the frenum. And then down, petting with that one fingertip over my balls. It’s fucking effective. When your finger slides up again, it strokes over the head of my cock, and it’s slippery. You’re panting, very softly. It sounds more like fear than arousal. It’s a hot sound, either way.

Suddenly I twist, finding your hair in the darkness and forcing your mouth brutally over the erection you gave me. It fills your little mouth to choking, but I just grind in deeper. My other hand finds your breasts, and your hard nipple gets a slow, rough twist.

“Touching requires permission,” I snarl. You’re too busy gagging and gasping to protest. I punish your other nipple, and then pull your head back, letting you breathe. And then force your mouth over me again, snarling. You sound deeply frightened now, and I finger your pussy, roughly. You’re very wet. The fingering quickly makes you more desperate for air, and your noises get frantic.

I push you back on the bed, get up, and pull some heavy waxed twine for leatherwork from my closet. In the semidarkness you can’t see what I got, but I wrap some around your wrist a few times and you figure out what’s coming. I loop it around a bedpost and knot it. You squeal in rage, but I overpower you easily and in a couple minutes you’re spread eagle on your back, helpless. Helpless and wet and panting, with very hard nipples.

“Fuck me,” you hiss.

My cock wants to. And it will, because I’m not going back to sleep with this erection. But you aren’t in charge here.

“Hold still. That’s not some nice soft bondage gear, that’s waxed twine and if it tightens up it will fuck with your circulation. Another word out of you and I’ll stuff your mouth with my underwear, which I promise you will be even less fun than yours.”

I grip your hair to hold your head back against the mattress, and I start in on you. Slow nipple twisting, fingernails moving lightly under your arms, sudden rough fingering and then a very light clit massage. Nibbling on your nipple and then slapping your belly. Unpredictable touches meant to highlight your helplessness.

And then the combination of rough nipple sucking and the flicking of my fingernail against your clit. It gets to you, hard. Then rubbing, then flicking again…

“No…!” you moan.

“Be quiet. You woke me up, now you find out what that means.”

In a few minutes you’re shaking. I slowly drag you towards orgasm, whispering in your ear about hot and fuckable and helpless you are. I stop at the last possible moment, and then spend time tracing my fingers over your lips, cheeks, throat, breasts and belly. When I finally get back to your clit, you whimper urgently.

I bring you to the edge of orgasm again, nibbling your achingly hard nipples, fingering you and rubbing your clit, very fast, but not quite hard or deep enough. In the end you’re sobbing. When you’re drenched in sweat, I slide two fingers into you, and curl and thrash them inside you ruthlessly, snarling into your ear that you must not come. Your sobs turn piteous.

Then I pull out, and check the knots, making sure the loops around your wrists and ankles haven’t sunk into your flesh. Satisfied that you’re not in danger, I roll over and pretend to drift towards sleep.

It takes a few minutes, but…

“Please.”

I stir. “Yes?”

“Please, I want to come.”

“I wanted to sleep, but you didn’t honor that.”

You’re silent for a moment, and then whimper “Please. Use me. Please!”

It’s probably very hard for you to ask. I smile into the darkness.

I shift, get on to you, and rub myself against your body. Your hips tilt up almost immediately. Slowly I push into you, watching your eyes. I begin to thrust. You’re very wet.

“You may come — if you kiss me, softly, sweetly, over and over.”

You snarl, whimper suddenly, snarl again. “No.”

I fuck you until I come. You thrash in frustrated and infuriated need the entire time, but even when I brush my lips over yours, you do not kiss me. Slowly kissing your unresponsive lips is as hot as fucking you, because I know what it costs you to hold back your instinct to obey. As I come I pull out, splatter you with it, move away from you and curl up. This time going back to sleep is going to be easy. For me anyway.

This should be a valuable lesson to you. You don’t fuck with a farmer’s sleep.

+++

When I wake up, around 5:30, you’ve managed to get a pillow between your legs, but you aren’t having much success humping it, though you’re contorting yourself hard to try. I check the knots again, and then ruthlessly and suddenly finger you, while licking and biting your lips. When your body is arched and rigid, I whisper “come”, and fuck your mouth with my tongue as my fingers rape you. Your orgasm is a thing of violent, infuriated beauty.

I get out of bed, wordlessly. I have a lot to do today. I fetch a small knife from my jeans and cut you free; you probably have studying to do today.

+++

We’re not sexual for the next few days; it’s time to pull in harvest, and the hands and I are in the fields, doing sixteen hour days. There’s a much appreciated meal waiting for me every evening, and my eyes close hard as soon as I find bed. You’ve taken to pressing against me as I fall asleep, but there’s no more groping. I don’t touch you back. If I’m going to start what I don’t finish, I want to be awake enough to watch you burn.

Come Saturday the hands and I are doing final gleaning and the massive amount of cleanup a harvest makes for. We’ll be bailing hay soon, and the garden needs work.

You’re around the house today, which means the garden work puts me in sight of you. You’re in a halter and shorts, and while the halter would work better on someone fuller up top, the toned stomach and hot ass make up for it. I don’t need the hands seeing that, and I walk over.

“Get in the house and change. Jeans and a tee shirt, now. And heavier shoes, not those flip-flops. This is a farm, not a beach.”

“You don’t approve?”

“I don’t want the hands seeing you and making assumptions about any extra benefits this job might come with.”

“So,” you say, softly and a little venomously. “I am all for you?”

“Yes. All of you, whenever I want, all for me.”

I take your wrist and walk into the house. For a few steps you protest and end up nearly dragged, but you get your feet under you and accompany me with some dignity the rest of the way. Once inside I march you to your bedroom, with the perfectly made and untouched bed and the neatly hung clothing in the closet. “Change.”

“No. I like that the men can see me with way. Let them wonder if you fuck me.”

“They don’t wonder, they assume it. If I have to undress you you’ll end up with more ripped clothing. As poor as you are you can’t afford that.”

You just stare at me. I spin you around. The halter is tied in back — women’s clothing always seemed to me to be designed for as much fuss and bother as possible — and I claw the knot open. No bra. I yank down the shorts. No panties. You’re panting and gasping, and looking back over your shoulder at me. Fuck, I have things to do, but…

I force you to your hands and knees. My cock comes out and your long, thick black hair is in my hand. I press my cock against your ass, and you make that tiny hot … You’re already wet.

“Don’t think for a minute I don’t get it,” I snarl. “You wanted a fucking and you knew how to arrange it. We’ll have a little conversation on what I do with manipulative girls, later. For now-”

I push in and pound you, pulling you back by your hair. It’s fast and brutal, and because I’m angry I come fast and hard, not giving you time to get there and not caring that you don’t. I jet inside you, and then use your mouth to clean my cock off.

“No clothes for the rest of the day. Stay inside,” I pant. “You’re mine, you’re not for the hands.”

“I have a friend coming over in two hours. We need to study.”

“A guy from school?”

“A girl. Why?”

“Fine. You can have your shorts and halter back. Is she pretty?”

“Why?”

“I’d learn to answer questions if I were you.”

“She’s alright. Do you like blondes?”

“I’m not asking for me. I’m asking because if the hands see two hot girls, they’ll find it necessary to use the bathroom in here instead of just pissing in the field. Stuff could happen. So stay in here.”

“She’d like to meet Willis.”

“The hands are out of here by five. Do it then. And I’m not liable for either of you getting hurt in there.”

You nod. “You know you left me very needy. Would it be so bad if the men found me?”

“You think everyone is as nice as I am?”

“Do you think I am interested in ‘nice’?”

I stare at you. “I don’t have time for this conversation, even if it is fascinating. When your friend leaves we’ll continue it. Believe me we will.”

“I look forward to it,” you say, sarcastically.

That went too far. I slide my belt from my jeans. It’s supple leather and moves easily. I fold it double.

“It will mark!”

I bend you over my knee. “It didn’t last time. But I’m angrier now. Let’s find out.”

I’m no expert on this, but a hand and a belt are two very different things, and I mean this to burn. I bring it down fast and hard, and you cry out. The red welt forms quickly. I have the other cheek a similar kiss, and stand up.

I’ll check you for a bruise this evening. Don’t think you will, but even if it does you aren’t going to the police.

I walk out.

+++

I finish up the garden, check on the barn, and head back out to the fields. One of the hands was fucking with the baler, which is the simplest piece of gear I have, and he managed to mount the spool wrong. I fire his ass on the spot and get someone with some grey in their hair to fix it.

By 4 pm the hands are packing it in, and I head to the house. My one thought is a shower and a drink. Sarsaparilla is a tradition in my family during harvest, but the modern stuff doesn’t have the bitter kick that my father’s did. After a few mouthfuls, I give up; it’s crap.

Voices, from your room. Girls, talking. I take no interest in girl chatter, pass by, and fire up the shower. Time for a new furnace before winter, I decide; it’s not going to last, especially the way you go through hot water. I’m not exactly a 19th century farmer, but I was still raised that hot water is something you use when you need to, not want to. After the last few days of sweating out, though, I need to.

Clean shirt, clean jeans. Harvest went well, not that there’s not a ton left to do. But I got rain when I needed it and the rest is just hard work and knowing how. It was a good year.

I’m in the living room, treating myself to a little music, when footsteps approach. Not yours. Your friend must be leaving.

She’s not. She walks over to me.

Blonde. Maybe 21, hard to say. Curvier than you, and taller. Pretty in a sort of german ice maiden sort of way. Angry. It must be something about this farmhouse, I think. Angry girls come here.

“I’d like a word with you,” she says.

I kill the music and look her over. Shorts and a tee, but fairly modest shorts. She’s clearly not the slut you are. She didn’t use Sir to address me. That’s just bad manners.

“Probably more than one, seeing as you’re a girl and all. What’s on your mind?”

“You’re making Miyuki sleep in your bed. That’s wrong.”

I look her in the eyes. “Seems to me it’s not your business where anyone sleeps except yourself.”

“It’s wrong. She’s a nice girl.”

“We’re talking about Miyuki, right?”

“This isn’t funny!”

“This,” I say, pointedly, “is absolutely her business and none of yours. This is my house and you just got yourself uninvited to it. Bye, now. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

“You have to leave her alone!” she explodes.

I stand up, slowly, and slide the belt from my jeans. Twice in one day, I reflect. I’ll have to mark this day on the calendar.

“You wouldn’t dare! That’s rape!”

I’m not a legal expert, but I’m pretty sure rape involves penetration, which isn’t in my plans. Assault, though, is. Then again, she’s trespassing as of now, and the county judge is a cousin and the chief of police is an uncle, so…

“Recommend you leave now,” I say through clenched teeth.

“When I do, I’ll take her with me!”

Suddenly I have her bent over the couch, and the supple leather of my belt impacts her shorts… hard. Maybe I need an anger management class, I reflect. I gave her another, harder. She shrieks. It can’t sting the way it does on bare skin, but I’m willing to bet she’s never been so much as spanked before. I don’t understand parents these days.

I give her a few more good smacks, harder each time, and then push her towards the door. “Bye now.”

She flees, sobbing.

You were watching, from the stairs. You’re all made up, and wearing lip gloss.

I look at you. “You told her.”

“No. She guessed. The bed was dusty.”

“Things get dusty around harvest sometimes.”

“I told her that, but she’s not stupid.”

“You liked watching her get punished.”

You say nothing. I walk over to you. Your nipples are showing through the halter. You’re looking at the hardness of my cock.

“You’re turned on,” you say. “Even though you just had me, whipping her got you hot.”

Hard to deny, with the erection. “Could be.”

“We are both hot, and no one is around now.”

You haven’t come recently. It’s clearly getting to you. “Take your clothing off.”

You obey me. You’re very visibly aroused, arms back, eyes down, hair cascading over one shoulder.

“Turn around.”

I inspect your ass. It’s red but not black and blue. Your friend’s might be a different story.

I slap your ass. “Hold still and take it.”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

“You like hurting me,” you whisper.

“I can take it or leave it. I’m all about my cock when you get right down to it. But I’m fascinated by what humiliation does to you, and how you want to please me even though you don’t like me.”

I slap your ass again, and then reach under you and slowly push my finger into your slit. Your legs shake.

“Why is that, ‘Yuki? Are you just that much of a slut? Or is there something else going on?”

“I don’t have to answer-”

My other hand goes to your breast, and I yank the nipple upwards, so you end up on your tiptoes. I keep you there as I finger you, roughly. After a few seconds you’re struggling to stay on your toes and whimpering in pain every time your knees buckle.

“Yes, you do have to answer.”

“Muh- No- stop, please- hurts. Don’t! Let go!”

My finger comes out and I slap your ass, still holding you trapped by your nipple. You’re moaning and whimpering now. I reach around with my other hand, capture the other nipple, and keep you on your toes as I bite your neck and rub the front of my jeans against your very tender ass.

“Fuck! Hurts! No, please-”

“Masturbate,” I snap.

Moaning, you do. “Fuck, oh fuck, please I already want to come so bad-”

“Faster. Think of your friend’s ass and the way she sobbed when my belt hit her. You’ll get that next if you-”

“Please LET ME CUM! FUCK PLEASE, THIS IS TORTURE!”

I let go of you, then push you to your hands and knees. My jeans come off.

“Nice girls get to come with cock inside them. Bad girls get fingered and denied until they scream for mercy.” I slide two fingers back into you. “Let’s see how much you can take.”

“I c-could j-just come-”

“You won’t. You aren’t allowed and you need to be obedient. I don’t know why you need that so badly, but you have to obey, you have to serve, you’re a total slut, and you’re all three of those things with me even though you don’t like me. I’m not one for a lot of prying, but I’m curious about all that now. So you’re going to explain.”

I reach my hand around and work your clit.

“Please. Please! I HAVE TO CUM! YOU’RE EVIL! JUST FUCK ME!”

“That’s what good girls get. Rammed by cock, over and over, coming your brains out. Feeling my cum trickle out of you while I make you come again. But bad girls-”

My fingers rape you, or it would be rape if you could make yourself be as unwilling as you wanted. My other hand torments your nipples again, then forces itself into your mouth so I can make you gag in time to the violation of your pussy. You start to come, but I take my fingers out of your pussy and leave you squeezing down on nothing.

“-bad girls feel pain and humiliation, and roll in a man’s cum, and go to school that way, and get called names like slut and cum-whore and cockwarmer, and beg for orgasms until they are hoarse-”

You collapse onto your belly, roll over and plead at me with your eyes, rocking your hips sensuously. I pet your aching breasts, slowly, and then slap one. You nod, suddenly and brokenly.

“My mother,” you whisper. “She hates men. So much. My father left and she didn’t… recover. She caught me with a boy once and she spanked me with a bamboo rod while he watched. Afterwards he found me and fucked me, brutally, and dumped me. I came from his fucking, and afterwards, I came over and over, remembering it. I need- I don’t know what I need. I need to please, I’ll do anything. I need to earn my pleasure. She taught me it’s wrong to come and wrong to make men come, but I love coming and making men come so much. I- I need to be made to and when I am it’s so fucking intense- I know it’s fucked up. It’s like you’re raping me every time, except I want it so it’s not rape. You — you’re so hard. Arrogant. I hate nice boys. Use me. Force me. Force is so hot. When you spanked her I wanted to come. If you’d have fucked her I would have. Your workers, I wanted them to find me. But then when you said I was only for you, that was so hot too.”

“Back on your hands and knees.”

“I can’t, my legs won’t work-”

“Now!”

You try, but you really are unsteady. I grab your hips and push into you, pounding you. Your arms collapse and cross, making a place for your head. The way your hair flows out over your arms, your tiny waist and round ass… I get rougher, grip your hair, snarl-

“Let me come,” you whisper. “I can’t hold it back! FUCK! FUCK PLEASE! USE ME HARDER! FUCK, OH FUCK YES POUND ME OPEN, HURT ME, FUCK I’LL DO ANYTHING! JUST LET ME COME!”

You are batshit crazy, but I come in you and then on you, and then slump. I drag you against me; you lick my shoulder, shaking, whimpering. I toy with your hair, then tilt your head up and make you look at me.

“Would you really get off on watching me toy with your friend?”

“Yes. Please, I can’t think. That was… shattering. I want to come so much. You’re being cruel.”

I trace the cum on your hip and hold it up to your mouth. You lick my finger, slowly, trembling. I smile, darkly.

“Your obedience fascinates me. Not a lot of loyalty to your girlfriend, though.”

“She is just someone I study with. And she is… I think your word is prissy? She’s had two boyfriends and only sex with one of them. She thinks that makes her very superior. She was fascinated that I shared your bed even though she acted all horrified. I will tell you something. If she ever comes back here, it means she wants you. Girls can be that way. A man who isn’t afraid to discipline… you know what it does to me. It might be the same with her. If she comes here again, corner her and watch her hands. They’ll be restless. Look for the signs — nicer shoes, sexier shorts, eyes looking down, not away. If you see that, pounce without mercy.”

“And you have no trace of jealousy at the thought of me toying with her.”

You shift, sitting on my knees and facing me. You place your hand over my soft cock, look up at me questioningly. I nod, and you caress it, lightly, artfully. You add your other hand. You have such small hands.

“You have made me to talk, and I promised myself I never would. So now I am your slave in that too, and I will tell you everything. I want to see you get to her. I want to watch as she’s dragged to your bed, and tied down. I want to hear you call her names and see you blindfold her and then make her feel helpless, and watch her get aroused against her will. I want to watch her hate it, then shake from it, then need more. I want to watch her cry and beg as you tease her open with your cock. I want to listen to her want to hate you, then lose the fight to the needs of her own slutty, desperate body. When she’s begging I want you to force me over her and make me lick her nipples. I’m not attracted to girls and she isn’t either, but I want you to force us to feel arousal and repugnance at the same time. Then I want you to fuck me on top of her, so she feels the brutal impact of your body taking mine. Don’t let me cum. Take your cock all wet from me and make her suck it while I’m forced to lick her pussy. Edge her, push your cock deeper into her mouth while I rub your balls, and make her drink your cum, and then make me lick her mouth clean. Finger her while I’m forced to masturbate, watching her fight her orgasm. Make her cry. Make me kiss her again as you spank me. Mock her for aching to come as you finger her, then slap her. Edge me and make her listen to my begging until she’s pleading for her turn, then fuck her until she can’t hold back the shameful, shattering orgasm. Then spank her and send her away, leaving me to burn in bed next to you, sobbing because I can remember every moment of her torture and am not allowed to come.”

You have me hard again. Not hard enough to fuck, since I just came, but hard enough to like the sensation of your hands. You look down at it, and then back up at me. “Please,” you whisper. “You have me begging, what more can you want? Look at me. Look at my heartbeat in my nipples, listen to my breathing. I can’t take any more. Please. Please?” You shift. “Let me take you inside and masturbate to the sound of your voice.”

“Will you kiss me as you come?”

“That is only for a man I fall in love with.”

“I don’t want your love. I want you humiliated and needing cock so badly you’ll do anything.” She’s kneeling over me now, and I take my cock and run it against her slit, over and over.

“Please — please don’t — please-!”

“Do as I wish.” I put my hand on your ass, and rock you against my cock. You mewl.

“If I kiss- it won’t be real — I’ll be faking-”

“I don’t care about that.”

Suddenly her arms are around my neck and she’s kissing my mouth, frantically, while rocking her hips, working me in deep. “Masturbate,” I whisper, and your hand darts down, you rub yourself frantically; I reach up and grip your breasts, moving my thumbs roughly over your nipples. I pinch-

You arch, tighter, tighter, eyes going vacant and then closing, slowly, sweetly-

“FUCK YES!” Your mouth moves frantically on mine and your body tosses in my lap; then suddenly you collapse. I guide your mouth over my cock and make you lick it clean.

“You… you always make me lick it. Why?”

“Hot girl smells ok, but cold girl, no. And I like how you look, serving me.”

“I will make her serve you, too. I’ll tell her you make me suck your big, hard cock, and you come on me, but you won’t fuck me until I crawl for it. That will get into her imagination and make her burn. She’ll want you to take her before you take me.”

I stroke your hair, smiling darkly.

+++

You and I fall into a simple pattern. When I want you — anywhere on the farm, any time — I take you. Usually it’s in the farmhouse, sometimes it’s outside.

It’s neither consensual nor non-consensual; somehow you blur the line, and the result is always hot. I feel like I can take you over and over, and never truly have you, so the sense of pursuit never diminishes. You’re a living rape fantasy, a way to satisfy the internal fury a man feels when he sees a pretty girl he can’t just take. I read somewhere that there are people who act out rape fantasy. That doesn’t make sense to me; how do you consensually do something that’s not consenting? But in you, the contradiction works. What I like best is when you dress slutty — which you must do when alone in the house with me – and then fight your orgasm until I force it out of you.

The relationship is hard to describe. On the face of it you’re a whore, exchanging sex for room and board and my occasional work on your car. Maybe I could think of you that way if you were dispassionate about it, or pretended to be friendly. But the intense reluctance and emotional distance of you makes it impossible to think of you that way. A whore would smile more, and fake orgasms freely.

We are never going to be friends. Someday whatever emotional damage that makes sex what it is for you will probably fade, and you’ll want something deeper. I won’t offer that, not to you and maybe not to anyone. I got a vasectomy a few years ago, when I realized that I didn’t want family and children; I am to in love with my own freedom. I’ve seen guys like me acquire wives and browbeat the shit out of them. I don’t like how the wives turn out: too quiet, emotionless, and by all accounts asexual. What I think of as a broke down woman.

That is part of my fascination with you; you seem unbreakable. Or maybe you’re broken already, but scar tissue formed and now you are hard where you need to be, and helpless where I want you to be.

Today you’re in translucent panties, a red bikini top, a choker collar and high heels. Not very subtle, but dressing as a slut for a man you don’t like, gets to you. Whenever you bend over to pick something up, your ass is towards me. Sooner or later I’m going to do something about it. We both know it; I can already see the wetness marking your panties and you know all about the hardness in my cutoff jeans. But I don’t feel the need to rush. Making you welter in the anticipation of your own plundering is turning you inside out.

When you were out, I installed a set of locking hooks in the living room, next to the fireplace. I also got some handcuffs, and a few toys. It’s possible you haven’t noticed the hooks yet; they are small and plated in dull brass, and mounted on a wooden plank wall. There’s six of them, each rated to a thousand pounds, and the wall planks are mounted to the 6×6 oak pillars that were plentiful and cheap when this place was made. You won’t be going anywhere. I’ve read about city sex dungeons, all concrete and soundproofing, and I laughed — all you need is an old study farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Scream all you want, sweetheart, the cows don’t care.

I got you the choker the day after your study partner stormed out. You smiled when I gave it to you, and put it on. We both knew how it would make her react. You’ve told me she hasn’t said a word about the spanking or brought up your apparent enslavement. I think that means she’s learned her lesson; you think it means I got to her, and she’s afraid to think about how much it affected her.

Maybe you’re right, but I’m having trouble believing I hit the lottery twice and ran into two girls who like a man who doesn’t let a girl call the shots. But I have to admit — studying you, and taking a closer look at the women in town, has me wondering. There’s a lot of politically correct cowshit out there about equality and rights and no meaning no and a lot of other crap every generation before my father’s would have laughed their asses off over; I never saw much in political correctness myself, but I always figured the women liked it. Now I’m starting to wonder if maybe there’s more interest in men who take charge than anyone’s willing to talk about. That Miss Ames, now, she looks down when I walk by; I’d like a look at her browser cache…

To be fair, I know No means No. I also know Please don’t, You mustn’t, You wouldn’t dare, You can’t, I promised I wouldn’t, You have to stop, and I have to go now, all mean Yes.

Tomorrow you’re going to propose another study date here, on the pretext that you have an intermittent car problem and don’t want to drive much, and that I’ll be away all day. Both complete lies, both your idea. If she shows up… that’s all the proof I need that you’re right. She’d never risk showing up here again if she wasn’t tempted by what I offered.

You’ve taken it into your head to clean the fireplace. Kind of a waste, since September is getting on and I need to clean the flue soon, but you’re kneeling on the raised slate hearth, legs pressed together, ass out…

“Don’t move.”

You freeze. You know the rules now. Some of my commands may have a little play in them, but Don’t Move is an instant asswhipping if disobeyed.

You have one hand on the back wall of the fireplace, the other on the floor of the firebox. Your hair is wrapped around two sticks in a bun. You’re a regular Cinderella, with soot on your palms and forearms, but I’m more interested in the back half of you at the moment.

My hand traces your ass, then shifts, sliding down the back of your leg, and up again. You have your legs pressed together, and I force a finger between them and rub it along the inside of your thigh. Your translucent panties make it easy to tell that you’re getting wetter, and I know from experience that the inside of your thighs is one of your trigger points.

“I’ve been thinking,” I announce. You bite back a reply whose sarcasm would probably have gotten your ass red.

I scrape a fingernail, lightly across your clit.

“I don’t figure I’ll ever understand all that goes on inside your head, but you seem to be fine with that so it’s not keeping me up at night. I never met a girl that didn’t need love, though. Sooner or later you’ll be looking for someone kinder than me. So you and I and this… someday it ends and you move on. That makes me want to use you more, and more… ruthlessly, I guess is the best word. Take all I can while the taking is good.”

I run my fingertip along your slit, teasing very lightly. “Sex without love… I guess people could say it’s all unfulfilling and shit, but to me it just means I’m free. Free to use you however I want, no regrets. It’s a fucking rush. You’re like the most addictive drug ever. And I think you know that.”

I slide your panties down to your knees, then pull them taut around your legs and tie an overhand knot in the cloth. It won’t hold long if you force your legs apart, but it gives you the sensation of bondage, if you don’t test the knot too hard.

“Why you want me addicted, now that’s a question… maybe you’re all about the old, old exchange of comfort and security for sex. I let you be what you ache to be – a cock craving slut who needs it rough — and take care of you at the same time. But then it doesn’t figure you’d want to bring me another girl.”

I stroke my finger along your slit, over and over and over. You’re invitingly slippery, whether you like it or not. Your body tenses in rage, and I smile. Female rage is impotent and sometimes amusing.

It’s not long before you’re shivering for reasons that have nothing to do with rage. Your pussy controls your mind; I control your pussy.

I push my finger in. “Don’t squeeze down. Don’t move at all.”

The finger curls inside you, differently each time. Warm, wet silk. You’re already beginning to pant.

“So I figure that’s about watching a girl get humiliated, the same way you are, and that makes it easier to accept what I do to you. It’s ok to be a cock-craving slut if other girls are. You want permission.”

I slide my finger back out, and trace your asshole with the wetness. You stiffen. I continue to tickle lightly… and then push in, slowly.

“I’ve never fucked a girl in the ass before. But you have to allow it, don’t you. Your rules say you really do have to give me whatever I want…”

In and out, slowly. Your legs are beginning to shake. My guess is it’s your first time for this, too. I bring my other hand to your slit, and now I’m fingering you in two holes. That gets a sudden, shuddering gasp.

“She’s going to come against her will, while you watch. That’s what you want, isn’t it.”

You don’t speak; just a tiny nod and a soft, choked back moan.

I unzip. Now the rest of you is shaking. Suddenly you whisper:

“Please. Pussy first. I don’t ask much. Please.”

It’s the first time you’ve asked anything at all. And seeing as without some lubrication it’s risky, it’s what I had in mind anyway. I wonder if you’ll think I’m being kind.

I slide my cock into your pussy slowly, then wrap an arm around your small frame and begin to work your clit with my fingers.

“I’ll do to her what happened to you,” I murmur. “Grab her, spank her, then force her onto her back and show her my hard cock, and when she tries to crawl away-”

You cry out, gasping, squirming. I begin to hump you, brutally. Your gasps turn to sobs, but I’m not here to get you off.

I slide out, and start to press in, higher.

It’s slow going, and your gasps and shudders are not of pleasure, or maybe it’s a dark pleasure. My fingers find your clit again, to distract you from the slow stretching…

It’s not as different a sensation as I expected, other than the tightness. The difference is in the power of it. I’m not doing this to get you off, not even in your twisted, indirect, “I must not come but oh I have no choice” way. This is purely me taking you for my pleasure; you are a thing to be used. From the way your body tenses and shakes, you’re weltering in the degradation of it.

“Anything I want,” I whisper. “Say it.”

She shakes her head no, panting.

My finger stabs up into your pussy. The head of my cock is almost in and your panting has changed to whimpering. I push in, a little faster now.

“Say it. I don’t have to be this gentle.”

“Fuck you.”

That’s unprecedented from you. I push in, forcefully, and push two fingers into you brutally.

“Big fucking mistake, girl. I’m not as nice as you seem to think I am.”

Thrusting. You curse in Japanese, bracing against the filthy walls of the fireplace, but there’s no escape from my cock and what my fingers are doing inside you. I add a third finger.

You scream, and the orgasms start, suddenly and violently. Even as pissed as I am, I grab your hair to prevent you from bashing your head repeatedly against the brick. You shriek in Japanese again, and then cry out.

“Rape me harder!”

I haul you backwards, still inside you, twist you, and grip you by the throat while ravaging your pussy walls. Your words are cut off, but you come again, more violently than I’d ever imagined a girl coming, even while you’re trying to crawl away. I curl you tighter and bite the side of your neck.

You’re sobbing and convulsing. I can’t tell when one orgasm stops and another starts, but not having to hold back on you is so impossibly hot that I don’t care. My cock is rigid inside you and suddenly I come, impossibly fast. I pull out, spin you, slap your face with my cock. I’m dimly surprised it doesn’t leave a dirty mark, just the wetness of my cum.

I force another orgasm out of you with my fingers, watching you still try to crawl away. You suddenly arch, biting your lip so hard I see a drop of blood.

Then you collapse. To my shock you’ve passed out, or at least fallen asleep.

I wash up, and then gather you into my lap, as I sit on the sofa. You stir. I grip your hair and make you look up at me.

“Don’t use that language again.”

“I won’t. But it got me what I needed.”

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/f0iib7/rent_comes_due_part_2