It was midnight by the time I finally kicked off my heels, and collapsed onto the couch. The brilliant white couch welcomed my exhausted ass, still as new as when we had bought it five years ago. The bookshelves surrounded me, mocking me with their contents, reminding me that the last time I’d touched them had been a month ago–and that had just been to dust.
My wine glass dangled from my fingers, already half-emptied on the walk from the kitchen. I chugged down more, before starting the arduous process of stripping down. A clinging white blouse, pushup bra, thong, and pencil skirt were excellent work attire (and had undoubtedly helped earn me my last promotion from that blasted Mr. Davis), but they were not comfortable home attire. My E-cup breasts fell from their lacey prison, and I flexed my back, letting muscles shift and loosen.
Above me, I heard Tom groaning as he got to his feet. I pictured him, all five-foot-five pounds of beard, creativity, and passion, struggling to wake from a sound sleep. I pictured his ruffled ginger head, that had only now began to thin. I pictured him, and I broke a bit inside.
I cursed to myself quietly, listening to the familiar creaks as he approached the oak stairs down. I gathered up my clothes, setting them in a crude pile, before stretching out on the couch. My long frame took up most of it, and I hoped the alluring sight might ease some of his anger.
“You’re late…again.” Tom’s voice wasn’t even harsh, now. And that was the worst of it. I almost missed the fighting, his desperate need–his foolish belief that I didn’t need to work so much; that I couldn’t possibly need to dedicate every moment of my time to work, just so he could stay home and work on his writing. I almost missed the times he’d yell at me to not bother coming home.
Almost.
Instead, all I got from him was a quiet reproach and tired acceptance.
I looked up at him, sighing. “Mr. Davis needed me to finish a presentation he forgot about.” Immediately, I knew it was the wrong response.
“Mr. Davis, Mr. Davis, Mr. bloody-fucking-Davis. Can’t get his own work done, can’t be relied on to hire some more people to take up his slack. Can’t do anything but rely on you, while I’m stuck here.”
Ah….There it was. The anger again. The passion of a writer who fell in love with an engineer, and wooed her analytical mind with poetry and mischief, transformed into anger. My green eyes swam with tears as I met his gaze, the gaze of my partner for more than ten years, “Tom….I’m sorry.”
He laughed, harsh and loud and long. “Yeah, you’re sorry. You keep on saying that you’re sorry, and I keep telling you I need you, and you keep just saying you’re sorry.”
I grabbed for my shirt then, suddenly needing to cover up, to hide. Something must have softened in him, for Tom dropped to his knees, and gently took my shaking hands in his. “I love you,” I choked out, unable to think of anything else to say.
“I love you, too, Joanne. I loved you ever since we sat across from each other in the coffee shop. I loved you ever since I watched you work, day in and day out, and your drive taught me to stick to my projects. I loved you ever since I realized how beautiful a person there was, behind that analytical mind.” He leaned forward, brushing lightly scabbed lips against my forehead. He must have been biting them again.
I let go of my shirt, clutching at him instead. “H-How do I fix this?”
He exhaled, muscles tensing under my hands slightly. “I’ve told you, Joanne. Work less. I miss you. I miss us.”
He didn’t understand. “If….If I do, we can’t afford this house, this lifestyle. We’d need to–”
“Do what? Move to a more reasonable place? Stop going on vacations all the time? Stop being like your parents?” Tom’s tension swelled, and I could feel the muscles beneath the softness of his body. “None of that matters if we’re not together, my love. Fuck, we haven’t even FUCKED….”
When had it last been? I didn’t even remember….
“I want you, too….”
An echoing sound. A sting on my cheek. Tom had–he had….
Slapped me.
Something inside me clenched. Had I–
“You want me? Then fucking prove it. On your knees.”
I’d never heard him like this. Never heard him be so forceful, so stern, so *dominant*. I was on my knees before I had finished marveling, looking up at him before I understood what I was seeing: His cock, shorter than the length of my hand, and thick enough my jaws ached as its head pressed against the back of my throat. My nose buried itself in his tangled ginger pubes, and something felt…right about that. Proper. Like….Like I was coming home.
He pulled his cock back, before pressing it into my throat again. He was going slowly, steadily, and I knew innately that he was testing me. Testing how far he could go. How much he could get away with.
With how my body felt, with what was going through my mind….
He could get away with anything.
Tom began thrusting faster, his balls slamming into my chin each time, his pelvis crushing into my nose. Tears added to the drool dripping down my chin, but he didn’t slow. Not even a bit, even as I felt myself start to struggle. Start to try and pull back, but it was pointless. He wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to let me breathe.
Not until I had learned my lesson.
Not until I proved I loved him.
So, I took it. I took it as the amount of times I got to breathe were outpaced by the times I couldn’t. I took it as his hands wove into my hair, tugging so hard at my scalp I feared he’d rip out the long blonde strands. I took it as I felt my pussy soak into the carpet below me. I took it as I felt himself pull back and slow, prolonging my suffering. Prolonging his enjoyment.
His voice, still harsh, broke through my cock-high reverie. “You want more. I can smell you.”
Shame wormed its way through my stomach, a spasming knot. “Y-Yes…..”
“Do you deserve it?”
I could only answer one way, even though my heart broke to say it, “No.”
“Good girl. I knew you were smart.” Tom’s hands released my hair, gripping my neck instead. He wrenched me to my feet, holding me still. Despite the fact I was a good three inches taller than he was, I felt like collapsing to the floor.
“What….What do you want me to do, Sir?” I asked, feeling the squirms inside my body build, and threaten to spill into my mind.
His hands brushed across the firmness of my stomach, the softness of my chest, and the lean curves of my legs. My nipples and pussy ached for him, pleaded with him through tension and wetness, but he left them alone. Goosebumps danced across my flesh, and the only thing that I could do was accept him. Accept his touch.
I needed to be a good girl.
“I need you to let me fuck you. Without cumming. Without moaning. Without moving.”
Every word he spoke was a stab to my gut. I wanted to say no, to beg, to apologize, but it was worthless. We were long past the point where my words had power. We were long past the point where *I* had power. I nodded, trying to show bravery I didn’t feel, as his hands finally found my nipples and clit. I obeyed as best I could, fighting down the moans that built up. Fighting back the shaking in my limbs as my clit was rubbed, stroked, hard and rough and fast. I didn’t move as his fingers slipped into my soaked slit. Didn’t moan as his tongue caressed the nipple he caught between his teeth.
I stayed very, very still.
And it was this…this stillness, this forced denial of myself, that made everything more beautiful. My own powerlessness, my own need to simply become his, that made everything shine all the brighter.
His voice came again, softer now, gentler. “Good girl….Good girl, kitten. Good girl, just stay still.”
I stayed as still as I could, frozen at his touches. Frozen as his fingers picked up tempo, as his knees hit the carpet and his tongue found my clit. Even though each sensation was a strum on a guitar string, I didn’t make a single sound.
He chuckled, mouth still wrapped around my pussy, chin no doubt dripping with my juices. “You’re doing so well, kitten….Now, won’t you be even more of a good girl, and start to beg for my cock?”
I let out a single, broken whimper. In the heat, in my daze, I had forgotten about being fucked. I had forgotten the suffering to come. “Please…please fuck me….”
He laughed again, nipping at my inner thigh. I jolted, and was repaid in kind with another nip. “Stay still. Beg better. Remember, *you deserve this.*”
I deserved this. I deserved every bit of my punishment. I deserved every bit of the desperation strumming through every inch of my being. I deserved it. “Please. Sir, Master, please fuck me. Please, Master, I need your cock. I need your cock in my pussy, I need you to fill me, to fuck me, please!”
I had never begged like this. I had never relinquished my dignity, my pride, my control. I had never submitted, and it was this submission that brought the hunger to my body more than even his fingers and tongue. To give in, to surrender…..
“Good kitten…. You begged very, very well. I guess you can be taught,” Tom chuckled, almost mockingly. “I’m going to stop touching you, and when I do, you can move. You can move your pretty ass right there to that table, and present that same sweet ass on it.”
“Y-Yes, Master,” I could barely keep the moan from my voice. “Anything for you, Master.”
THAT earned me a harsh slap on my ass. “Now, if that were true, we wouldn’t be having this trouble. Get your ass over there. Now.”
He pulled back from me, and on shuddering legs, I walked to the table. I giggled softly at it–of course he’d fuck me on the most expensive table in the house. I wouldn’t even let us eat off this thing without plastic coverings over pristine tableclothes, and now, I was going to be fucked on it. Bare.
Even before my breasts had finished squishing into the table, Tom was on me. His hands gripped the taut cheeks of my ass, spreading it. My sphincter clenched, sensing his gaze, even before fingers gathered grool and spread it across my hole. Knowledge dawned on me, and it was only through the sheer desire to submit that I didn’t speak. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t say a word as his thick thumb rubbed circles around my ass, pressing harder each time. I didn’t squirm as the hole gave, allowing passage for the first time. I didn’t do anything.
I submitted, and that made it beautiful.
His thumb was replaced by a long, probing finger. Another was added. More slickness was added to my hole, pulsing running through my body. I kept myself loose, kept myself still, and listened to his voice.
I listened to him tell me how good I was. How much he loved me. How proud he was.
How much he was going to enjoy fucking my ass.
I waited, with bated breath, as he opened me up. I waited as he pressed his cock to my virgin hole, and fought back the terror. I knew from friends, from porn, that it was going to hurt. I knew he was so thick it would feel like it was tearing me open. I knew he wasn’t going to be gentle.
I almost cried as he gently, so very gently, started slipping his cock inside. A millimeter, in and out, before moving on. No pain, only pressure, as he opened my asshole up around his cock. His hands shifted from my hips to my waist and back, rubbing, soothing. His voice kept up a steady tempo of reassurances, providing the backdrop to the sensations thrilling through me.
Everything dropped away. No work stress, no craving for wine, no residual soreness from too-tall stilettos. Nothing existed but this moment, right here, with his cock and my hole. Nothing existed but the twin beats of his thrusts and his voice.
I was his.
Tom began to ramp up in speed and depth, increasing until he was slamming into me just like he had my throat. Each impact felt hard enough to bruise, and the fronts of my thighs ached from repeated impact with the table’s edge. “Moan for me. I want to hear you.”
I almost wept with relief, and my cries soon joined his, echoing through this too-large house. My fingers dug grooves into the walnut wood, drool and sweat marring its surface. Wrenching my hair back, Tom began fucking me with all he was worth, hard and fast and rough. My vision swam, each cry from my lips as fragile as a bird’s. Distantly, I heard myself begging, but not for mercy.
Begging him to keep going, to keep fucking me, to not stop. Begging him to use me. Begging him to let me be his good girl.
Nails dug into my breast as his other hand left my hair for my neck, choking me. I stood, poised, hands pressed into the table for balance as my back arched painfully. I couldn’t breathe, and I felt it deep to my bones that I wouldn’t fight him. I’d never fight him again. All I needed was his cock.
All I needed to do was submit, and he’d take care of me.
He thrust harder, rougher. His voice transformed, rough and loud and dominant as he neared completion. I was melting, pliable, a fuckdoll for his use. I was nothing but *his*.
And I…was going to cum.
He felt it just as I did, felt the orgasm dancing on a knife’s edge. “Don’t you fucking dare,” Tom commanded, tightening his grip on my neck briefly. “You cum when I say you can, whore.”
I choked out a yes, hands scrabbling at the table. Anything, I wanted to cry. Anything.
“Ten….”
He loosened his grip, and I inhaled desperately, panting. On five, his grip retightened, and I knew innately it wouldn’t loosen again until he was done with me.
Four.
My world was his cock. My world was my own submission. Nothing existed but the need to submit. I was nothing but a fuckdoll.
Three. My ass, his cock. His toy. His toy. His whore.
Two.
His fuckdoll. His whore. His slut.
One.
His. I was his.
And I was orgasming. Beautifully, echoingly, rhythmically. I was lost on waves of light and fire, barely aware of anything as his cock pulsed inside me. The heat of his cum, though–that stoked my own fires, and I came again. My sphincter milked him, needing every single drop that he could give.
When it was over, when the world began to reform, I was facedown on the table. His softened cock had left my ass, and cum and grool dripped steadily down my thighs. My legs were jelly, my body a haze.
“I’m so proud of you.” Kisses caressed my neck, beard tickling tender skin.
“Th-thank you, Master.”
“I like it when you call me that,” Tom mused, gathering me into his arms. I melted into him, barely able to help support my own weight as he walked us to the couch. “I think that’s exactly what I am to you now. Master.”
I could only nod, nuzzling into his chest as he sat down, bundling me into his lap. He pet my hair, brushing sweaty tendrils away from my face. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Kitten. You’re going to be a good girl now, right?”
I nodded. “Yes, Master.”
“And you’ll talk to Mr. Davis, and get yourself a better schedule.” THAT definitely was not a question, and I shivered slightly inside. “My Kitten needs to be at home, where I can use her when I want.”
Something in me rose up, bade me to ask, “A-And only when you want?”
He looked at me, smirking. “I thought you enjoyed the denial.”
I mewled slightly, dropping my eyes. He caught my chin, returning my gaze to his. “I did….I did enjoy the denial. I enjoyed submitting.”
“Good Kitten, because I’ve got a lot more of that planned for tomorrow….”
-+-+-
Hey! So, I’m really enjoying writing this. [Click here]( [https://www.reddit.com/r/slavelabour/comments/hbhmwg/offer_extra_extra_read_all_about_it_10_for_custom/](https://www.reddit.com/r/slavelabour/comments/hbhmwg/offer_extra_extra_read_all_about_it_10_for_custom/)) if you want something custom made for you, or keep following along. I’m thinking this one will probably continue, and I’m foreseeing a lot more denial, and almost certainly cuckqueaning. I may also continue Train to Nowhere.
My long term plan is to make a new account, post the edited versions of these, and work my way up to selling erotica over Amazon.
For now? I’ll post a story every day/every couple days. If you have criticisms/comments/concerns, PLEASE let me know! I’m still fairly new to the erotica business, so anything constructive is welcomed with widespread legs–I mean arms.
Hope you enjoyed!
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hbuk2u/delectable_agony_learning_to_surrender_argument
Oh I definetly enjoyed this one.
This was very good.
I enjoyed it a lot ;)