I send her a message an hour before I arrive telling her that I want her to fight. When I get to her house she lets me in as normal. We go upstairs. She is breathing heavily. I can hear this even as we talk about our respective days. In her room I sit in her desk chair and she sits on the bed. Empty space between us. We haven’t so much as kissed yet. I ask her to tell me about her work over the last week, and listen to her talk. After a minute or two I stand up, move to her, and put my hand on the back of her neck.
She shrugs me off. It’s light at first – she doesn’t quite know if we’ve begun the game. But her words dry up and she is looking up at me, and there is something in her look of real, honest fear. There will be a moment, we both know, when things shift from this innocuous conversation to something brightly violent, something which only one of us will have any real control over. I raise my hand slowly, deliberately, and place it back on her shoulder.
This time she twists away, rising to her feet from the bed and I catch her as she comes up and she yelps in surprise and pushes me with both her palms, but I’m stronger than her. She struggles, wriggles, attempting to free herself, and the expression on her face is almost puzzled, as if she cannot figure out why this isn’t working. Perhaps she has been in this position before. Brushing away unwanted touch. She should be able to disengage my hands and step away, smoothing things over with a laugh. But she can’t. I won’t let her.
Hey, she says. I… hey… wait a second… I turn her around so that her back is against my chest. Her little fingers are prying at my hands. She’s stronger than she looks, but not strong enough. My other hand finds the back of her neck.
Down. On the floor.
She doesn’t comply, and so I force her. She bends and scrabbles at my hands, but then I knock the back of her knee with my own. No. Don’t. Let me… let me up. I push her down until she’s flat on the floor. She puts her palms against the boards and tries to push up, but I pin her with my knee in the small of her back.
This is happening, I say. You fight me and I’ll make it hurt.
She whimpers. Such a small noise of alarm. It’s easy enough to ruck up her skirt, but when I take the waistband of her underwear and pull she finds some new strength, and manages to buck me. It’s a surprise. A thrill. I feel my cock twitch and harden, and I’m on her again in a second, straddling her and wrestling her hands. I pin them both down, and my face is an inch from hers. She turns her head, mouth pressed shut. I fasten teeth on her ear and bite. Hard.
Both her wrists pinned beneath one of my hands. I pull back and slap her across the face and she squeals, and in the moment of shock afterwards I flip her over once more and press her head down against the rug and this time I have her skirt up and her panties down to her knees before she starts kicking. I make a fist of the fabric and pull. Her underwear rips and comes away in my hand. I ball it up and, still pressing her head to the floor with one hand, force it into her mouth. Lips and teeth graze my fingertips.
You wanted this. Cunt. You’re a whore and you deserve it all. I’m not listening to your screams. Bite down. Take it.
She won’t spread her legs. I take a moment to free myself from my jeans. Rock hard. Throbbing and heavy. With one hand I whisk my belt out of its loops and snake it around her neck. I hold it in one hand, tight, like a dog’s leash. The other I brace myself against the floor and put a knee between her legs and push down until I slip between them. Her hands are fumbling with the belt where it cuts into her neck, panicked gasps and gurgles coming from her throat… but still I can feel her resisting, trying to bring her legs together.
I don’t let her. I lay down on top of her, pinning her with my weight, the belt still tight, and on the tip of my cock I can feel the heat of her. Close. Both of us panting, bodies heaving. Hard against the floor. All of her muscles tightening as she tries to breathe and buck me and push up from the floor.
I’m going to take what I want from you. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.
And I push forward. She’s so wet that I slip inside without difficulty, and in that moment she stops fighting. Groans and shuts her eyes, teeth gritted. There’s so much tension in her still, so much fight. But I’m inside her now. And I push deep – deep enough to hurt – and the way she moans tells me that I’ve won.
This is a short extract from Slave – a part-novel part-memoir about a Dominant/submissive relationship. You can read the whole story for less than the cost of a cup of coffee – just download the book from Amazon.