Marked (m/f)

It always begins the same.

I’m sitting on the couch, or at the computer, my focus entirely elsewhere. Maybe we’re in bed, awoken late on a rainy Sunday morning. Maybe I’m standing naked in front of the open fridge, gulping down orange juice straight from the bottle, desperately rehydrating after fucking her for the third time that night.

Regardless of how it begins, it always begins the same.

She approaches, her posture supplicant and imploring, cupping the treasure in her hands. Taking it from her, I pause to appreciate the size and weight of the thing. Thick, curved stainless steel ending in a wide bulb, counterbalanced by a heavy ring. Perforce of training, her mouth is already open, waiting to be filled with the plug. She sucks greedily at the toy as I bend her over, knowing her spit is the only lubrication allowed. I undress her then, if necessary. My command comes sharp, direct and undeniable.

“Position Three.”

She instantly springs into motion, obediently turning away, a trickle of drool running down her chin from the plug filling her mouth. Legs spread wide, she bends at the waist and reaches back to spread herself for me. I keep her in this position for a few moments, allowing her to revel in the complete exposure of her body to me. Perhaps I’ll reach down and idly fondle one of her tits, hanging pendulous above her rapidly reddening face. My finger loops around the ring of the plug. I slide it gently out of her mouth. Glistening with saliva, I run the heavy metal bulb up through the parted lips of her spread cunt before settling the tip into her tight, pink asshole.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please Sir, please fill my ass. Please stretch my whore asshole the way it deserves. Please, Sir, I need-”

I cut her off with a series of shushes. She has a tendency to ramble in these situations. It’s adorable.

“Good girl. Hush now.”

Despite its size, the plug slides smoothly into her asshole, evidence of frequent stretching sessions. Properly plugged, I stand her back up, allowing a few moments to catch her breath. Taking a step back, I realize something isn’t right. A sharp slap to her face.

“Fix your hair.”

She scrambles to pull her long hair into a high, tight ponytail. Her appearance corrected, she resumes the basic inspection pose- legs apart, arms crossed behind her back, face still flushed from the previous inversion. I take in every inch of your body in the next moments, squeezing, twisting and otherwise groping as I please.

—-

“Position One.”

I unbutton my pants (if applicable) as she falls to her knees, assuming the classic pose of submission. The broader purpose of this session will wait for a bit. She belongs to me and I will use her as I wish. Later, there will be moments of tenderness, gentle reassurance and encouragement in the wake of layered pain. But not now. At this moment, she is my toy. In one motion I thrust myself directly down her throat, her ponytail wrapped in my hand, holding her face against my body. She chokes and sputters as I fuck her throat, pulling out only to rub my drool-slick cock across her face before plunging back into her mouth. Before long, she is a slobbering, sticky-wet mess, panting like an animal as she strains against my grip, desperately reaching for more.

“Now now, fucktoy, don’t be greedy. We’ve made your face nice and pretty, it’s time to move on.”

Her large eyes beg me to keep fucking her throat as I pull sharply on your ponytail, leading her on all fours, towards the bedroom.

—

The tie is a simple harness, intended to keep her tits tightly bound and pushed forward. Available. Easy targets. She stands in Position Two, similar to the inspection pose, but with her arms crossed over her head. My hand lingers between her legs, generating a few moans by manipulating the heavy metal plug in her ass or gently teasing her literally dripping cunt, eventually making my way up to flick at her large, sensitive nipples. I want a steady build-up, linear escalation of sensation to a final and brief verticality of limit-pushing pain.

Even slaps across the tops and sides of her bound breasts, the ropes keeping things from bouncing around too absurdly. Hard open palm strikes to the wide expanse of tight, sensitive flesh. Faster, stinging strikes with fingertips directly to the nipples illicit satisfying moans and sharp inhalations. Next, pressure. I squeeze her tightly tied tits as I watch her eyes, waiting for the signs of unbearable, un-fun suffering. They never come.

Her nipples twisted, used as a sadistic handles to lift and pull her tightly tied tits even further away from her body. I hold them there, suspended between us, as she whimpers in beautiful agony.

I let them drop.

Then I do it again. And again.

The many layers of rope wound tight around each breast offer marginal support, but I know the pain is still intense. Linear progression of sensation now abandoned in favor of the exponential, I lift one of her tits by the nipple, holding it as before, now with my right hand free. I focus my strikes on the particularly sensitive underside of her breast, keeping everything held up and out with an iron grip. Finally satisfied, I dutifully repeat this process with her other breast. I can see how much this hurts her. Beyond that, I can see how much she loves it.

—-

The flogger is a simple thing, practical, effective. The pain it inflicts is different than my hands, broader, more diffuse. I prefer the intimacy of skin-on-skin contact, but certain outcomes require certain tools. Her still-bound tits, pink and swollen from my previous ministrations, are pushed forward as she stands before me, arms crossed high behind her back. I reach between her legs, sliding my fingers along her soaked cunt, before grabbing the heavy metal ring of the plug in her ass and slowly pulling it out.

“This next part is really going to hurt. Can’t have you screaming, bothering the neighbors.”

She groans with pleasure as the huge bulb of the plug slips free of her her asshole. Once again, training takes hold. Her mouth is open and ready to receive the steel toy, quickly closing around the narrow stem. I take a step back to admire. Her body, a willing and eager canvass, aching for the lasting marks I’m about to inflict. Her mind, pliable and obedient, committed to this ritual of submission. I adore everything about her.

The flogger is merciless, dozens of stinging flails shattering capillaries across the tightened pale skin of her tits. She moans in ecstasy at the tiny bites of the leather strips, languishing in the cream-white tide of layered orgasms. I can see the mottled spread of bruises already beginning to bloom before I consider stopping. She’ll be disappointed with anything less than total coverage.

Afterward, the ropes undone, relieved from posing, protocol relaxed, she rests her head against my chest. I stroke her hair and kiss her forehead before leaning her back to admire our work. A topography of lust, pain and submission raised across her chest. The exquisite palette of yellow, black, blue, green, and pink blossoms, a temporary monument to the braided pain and passion of our love. She wears these marks with the same pleasure and pride that I feel every time I see them in the days to come. She belongs to me. As I belong to her.

Eventually, bruises fade into pale flesh. Memories of pain transmute into a quiet longing, craving. Sooner or later, stars align, circumstances conspire and she’s begging to wear my marks again.

It always begins the same.

(Thanks for reading.)

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/twhetx/marked_mf