I had barely touched her when she started to cry. Shoulders came up and forward and her chin went down. Her elbows locked in tight against the sides of her body as if to limit access to the sensitive under arm region and to reduce the area available for me to get ahold of. Her hands were set into rigid claws, palms out. Normally, an obedient sub who behaves quickly, I knew that something was happening in her head. I grabbed her hair by the ponytail that was packed into the back of her hood and pulled her head close.
“Put your fucking hands down.” I kept anger out of my tone as I leveled the words at her. I wanted the weight of potential punishments to settle on her mind without the distraction of screaming. Slowly as if her will was fighting every instinct in her body, the arms came down but the shoulders were still tight and forward. Her breathing was short and fast, more shallow and rapid that could be expected for so early in the scene.
“Drop your shoulders.” Nothing.
“Drop your shoulders.” I let her know that it was the last time I was going to say it nicely. Still nothing. I punch her in the upper arm. “Drop them.” I punch her other shoulder. “Drop them.” Again and again, the blows start getting harder and landing faster. She cowers and turns away. She is bawling now.
Her body language betrayed the state of mind she was in. It was as if her head was a well-decorated room and I was an earthquake that had knocked over vases full of flowers and torn pictures from the walls. She could not help it, she could not stop it. The pain of isolation and abandonment had gotten into her head. She is so proud of her strength, of her ability to withstand the psychological torment. Her walls are thick and when playing with others, ZG will usually only cry from physical pain or exhaustion. Now, here, for me she is crying because she is scared, confused and alone.
“I don’t like it when you are mean to me.” She sniffles through her tears.
“You don’t like it?” I move in close to her ear, my breath hot on her skin. “I don’t give a shit what you like.” I bend her over, planting her face in the bed and kick at her ankles to spread her legs. Her cunt is hot and wet, so I squeeze the bruises on her inner thigh.
“Your cunt is soaking wet, so either you are a fucking liar or you are such a slut that you will put up with anything if it means you will get fucked.” I pull my belt off and fold it in half so the buckle is in the palm of my hand.
“Which is it?” I bring the belt across her right butt cheek with a solid smack. She lets out a little moaning cry. She is trying to be quiet now, which tells me that she is still in control a little bit.
“Do you want to be fucked?” I bring the belt back across her left butt cheek. The connection is not as solid so I shift my stance and do it again. The scream is a little louder. I lean in again. “You want to get fucked?”
“Yes,” she whimpers.
“You are such a fucking slut that you will do anything to get fucked, aren’t you?” I undo my pants and let them fall to the floor.
“Yes.” She tries so hard to leave it there. She hates confessions. I can see that in this silence she is trying to rebuild the walls in her mind and pick up the pieces of her emotional sanity. She hates to admit to weakness, to needing anything, but I will not let her get away with this.
“Say it then. Say that you are a slut that will do anything to get fucked.”
“I will do anything to get fucked.” Again, she is cutting it short.
“Say the whole fucking thing,” I hiss. The buckle works like a roll of quarters tightening my fist as I punch her ass.
“Ah! I’m a slut who will do anything to get fucked!” I enter her as she says this. I fuck her slowly, letting her juice cover my cock.
“I’m a slut who will do anything… Ah!” I thrust hard to hit her cervix. She clenches her teeth and I drive deep into her. “It hurts…” She knows that it is a mistake to say it even before the words get out of her mouth.
“This is not for you, cunt!” I continue to alternate between softer shallow strokes and burying myself in her. I wrap the belt around her chest and arms, directly across both nipples as I tighten it. It makes for a handle to hold on to, allowing for more consecutive deep thrusts. I can see in her eyes that it hurts, but when I pull out she continues to cry.
She is broken. She is lost in despair and I am beyond turned on. Getting her to a place that no one else can take her, laying her out defenseless and destroyed and then picking up the pieces is both erotic and romantic in my perverted mind.