She lay face down. Her arms and legs were tied, stretched out in that delicious X that unlocked everything inside her. She could feel the way the bed sagged and shifted under his weight. Her skin tingled and prickled in anticipation of his touch, and when it came it was light… almost imperceptible. He was lightly dragging something along her skin, over the curve of her ass, up her spine.
His voice was low and very close to her ear… she could feel the warmth of his breath.
“Tell me why you chose this.” He tapped her face with the soft springy black plastic beads. The chemical smell of new plastic filled her nose. It was not a question. The ropes, the position, there was no avoidance. She knew she had to answer. But the words would not come. He tapped her face with the thing again, harder this time. “Tell… me… why… you… chose… this…” Each word accompanied with a peremptory tap.
It was strange. It did not hurt. But each tap was unbearable, horrible, humiliating. She struggled to turn her face away. She whimpered and muttered, “You know why.”
“And I want to hear you say it… say it all.”
But there wasn’t a simple single answer. He already knew that there was not a single fantasy that did eventually end up with anal sex. But she had never told him that it had gotten to the point that she could not orgasm without thoughts of penetration, rough, dirty, debasing ass fucking. And how could she tell him that lately, several times a day she would steal off to some private place to touch herself there? How could she tell him how good it felt… to rub, scrub, worry, even abrade those tender tissues? How could she confess to the sensation, the rushes of orgasmic, whole body, shuddering pleasure that she had come to crave?
But now there was no escape, nowhere to hide, and in the end she said all those things… all those things and more… each confession leading to the next as he whispered his demands into her ear until she was babbling the words, blurting out her shameful secrets.
He lay half across her, his leg cocked across hers… his hand on her ass, toying with that small brown star that had become the focus of her obsessions. Whispering, insinuating is words into her head as he worked his fingers deeper and deeper into her ass.
“Like this? Is this how you do it?”
But she was out of words. All that was left were the primal sounds of gasps, whimpers and groans forced from her throat as he probed deeper.
He dropped the beads on the bed, next to her face. “You don’t need some fucking piece of plastic.” He shifted and his full weight settled on top of her. “You need this.”
She could feel his hand between them, working the head of his cock around to aim and then his body flexed and he lunged deep into her with one searing, stabbing thrust. She squawked and struggled, but there was no escape. He laughed and ground his hips against her, shoving deeper, grunting with effort and pleasure. “Your ass feels good… dirty… hot…” Each word was accompanied by a determined shove deeper and deeper.
He had braced himself, gripping her shoulders, his fingers only inches from her face. She could smell herself… the distinct smell of ass mixing with the scent of plastic.
He began to withdraw, pulling back until he was completely free only to slam back with a savage determined grunt. It was slow, predictable and brutal. Each time he pulled out there was a microsecond of awful waiting, the frozen, dreadful anticipation before he ripped back into her. There was no lubrication, each entry was more painful than the previous, and each time she would scream and each time he would laugh and taunt her.
Over and over, it was endless… the pace enough to keep him hard, but not enough to urge him to finish. It was not so much as about his pleasure as it was about listening to her cries… feeling her struggle beneath him. Only when she stopped struggling, only when her cries dwindled to soft, gasping moans, her body soft and pliant beneath him, did he quicken and tense, allowing himself the release he had been delaying.
He lay on her, compressing her with his weight, his softening cock still buried deep within her. His breath cool on the damp, sweaty hair on the back of her neck. His voice was soft, “Just like your fantasy?”
Her voice was hoarse and just a little angry, “It is never like my fantasy.”
He laughed again, “But you still want me to do it.”
“Damn you, yes.” And it was true, the actual act, while it may duplicate every step of the fantasy like a well choreographed ballet, never was the same. In many ways it was more dreadful, more painful, infinitely more humiliating but it never held the same eroticism, the same compelling sexual excitement that playing it out in her mind did. But she also knew that later, later as her body recovered, that was when those flames suddenly would ignite and roar to life. It was the memory that fed her hunger and made her crave it again.
He picked up the strange little bit of plastic and tapped her face with it again. “Do you actually think that this little thing would do it for you?”
She wondered about that. What the it he was talking about was. “Um… not this… nothing like this… but something… um… like you would make me wear it sometimes… or a lot of the time. We don’t do this very often. We couldn’t really. I don’t think I could take it, mentally or physically. But if you made me wear it… it would remind me of these times… help me remember?”
It was only later that he took the anal beads and putting a string around her neck made her wear them as a strange, disgusting necklace. He ignored her mortified protests that this was not what she meant when she had said that he could make her wear them. He was nice enough to let her hide them under her shirt when she went to work or was out in public… but he did not let her take them off for a very long time.