The door bangs behind us as we stumble into the apartment. It's been a good night, and I'm a little tipsy. I'm idly rubbing my hand over his chest, the front of his soft brushed cotton shirt, giddy from the cocktails and from being this close to him. The texture is nice, diverting. He's so warm. When I stand on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes like the herby liquor he likes.

Alex’s eyes are warm when I look up at him. He's laughing at my distraction.

His fingers catch my wrist, stopping my hand in its tracks, and he presses my gloved knuckles to his lips.

“Darling,” he says.

“Mm?” I'm still all done up in winter clothes, coat and hat and scarf.

He starts to take my glove off, carefully, bit by bit revealing my pale pink-blushed skin. His voice changes, hardens. These are not suggestions now, these are instructions. Orders. A determinate list of things that will happen. My mind focuses in on him so easily, like I'm pre-programmed to respond just by the tone of his voice. “I'm going to take your clothes off,” he says. Unwrapping me like a present. He discards the first glove. “You are going to lie on the bed.” The second glove joins the first. He unwraps my scarf, his fingers brushing over my neck, finding that sweet spot, tightening just to watch the way my eyes flare slightly with fear. Then he sets the scarf aside and slides his hands down over my breasts to pop open the buttons on my coat. “You are going to let me enjoy looking at you.” He slides the coat off my shoulders and I shiver even though it's not from the cold. He's clearly left the heating on while we were out in anticipation of this. “You're going to show me what's mine. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

He undoes the zip and my dress pools at my feet. “Yes… sir?”

I like how he smiles at me when I say that. It's almost enough to kill the self consciousness as he looks me up and down. Standing in the hallway in my white lace bra and panties, feeling so exposed. “Good. Keep going.” I keep looking at him as I reach behind and unclasp my bra. I naturally cover myself as I let it fall, I don't even think before I do it, but he is quick to slap my hand away. “I think I want you like this every time you're here,” he says. “Perhaps we should make it a rule. No clothes beyond this room.” He tilts his head, appraising, and then reaches out to palm my tit. Squeezing, playing. Like I'm a toy. “What do you think?”

I don't think much at all. His hands on my body stop all my thoughts. “I. I don’t-”

“You want me to make the decisions?”

I moan when his thumb presses against my nipple, drawing little circles. His grip tightens, squeezing almost painfully. “Yes please,” I manage. It's hard to think with the thick fog of want in my mind.

“Good. We'll make it a rule then.” He brings down his hand in a hard slap against my breast suddenly, making me yelp. “I don't like to repeat myself. Everything off. Get on the bed. Now.” My pulse quickens. I'm already wet, embarrassingly so, and my cheeks flush brightly as I hook my thumbs into the waistband and quickly step out of my underwear. I'm hoping he won't notice, but of course he does. “You,” he says, marvelling. “Are dripping.” He picks up the discarded underwear, smirks. “Such a whore, hm?”

I nod, feeling a little dazed.

“Use your words, whore.”

“Yes, sir.” I blink a few times, trying to clear my head.

“Yes what?”

“I'm such a whore, sir.”

“My whore.” A pause. “Say it.”

I'm so turned on I'm swaying slightly where I stand. “Your whore, sir.” I'm smiling as I say it, eyes unfocused. “I'm your whore.”

“Good girl.” He kisses me, hard, and catches my lower lip between his teeth, biting down until I let out a his of pain. “Bed.”

I do as I'm told. My legs are wobbling like a newborn deer as I stumble my way to his bedroom. I have been here so many times before, watching films and hanging out, but never in this context. His bed is big and comfortable, and I lie down as I'm told.

“I'll tie you up next time,” he says, settling himself between my legs. “Tie your legs like this.” He bends my legs out and up, spreading me open entirely, and I squirm in embarrassment. It feels so intimate, him watching me like this. Like his gaze is touching me. I can't help but push back against him, trying to close my legs, to hide from his probing eyes. His hand lands hard on the inside of my thigh. “Stop that,” he says. “Or I'll get the rope now.” He leans forward, presses a kiss to the rapidly pinkened skin where the slap landed. “You can't stop me from admiring what's mine. That's another rule.” I feel his teeth graze my skin and I can't help the sound I make.

I feel him smile against my skin in response.

Then he bites.

This is not a love bite. This is hard and crushing. This is painful. I can't help the urge to pull away, to fight it, which makes his teeth clamp down harder. It's exquisite. My head swims. There's a rhythmic keening sound in my ears and it takes a moment for me to realise that it's me, whimpering as he worries at my skin. Little rhythmic moans. My hand finds the back of his head, strokes through his hair.

Fucking ow.

This will leave a mark. Something dark and striking against my pale skin. It will make me happy every time I catch a glance of it, for at least a week after.

He releases me, finally, pressing bruising kisses over the tender skin. “You're pretty when your brain switches off,” he says. “My dumb slut.” His breath ghosts over my skin, across my slit, and my hips jerk involuntarily. He presses a kiss between my legs. “Needy, huh?” I'm barely seeing him from all the stars in my eyes. He's right, it's not a want, it really is a need. “Needy pretty little cunt.”

He raises himself up, crawling the length of my body to press another kiss to my lips and I sigh in frustration.

“Oh? Complaining?” His teeth catch my lower lip again, pulls and worries at the flesh until I feel truly scared that he'll break the skin and make a panicked sound. “Eager to cum, whore?”

I nod. Feeling his weight over me is so satisfying, so reassuring. He's so solid and real and beautiful. I try to reach up to kiss him again but he hovers just out of reach. “Darling,” I say, pleading.

“Try again.”

“Sir. Please.”

His hand snakes between my legs to tease at my clit, his other thumb pressing at the corner of my mouth, and I take it in happily. Sucking obediently, demonstrating exactly how much I'd worship him if he'd let me suck him off. I press wet kisses to the tip of his thumb then swallow it down until it hits the back of my throat, bobbing my head up and down. I try to look up at him but his thumb presses down at the back of my tongue, holds me in place, and the gag reflex makes my eyes water. His face swims in stars for a moment. “You want me to give you something to occupy your mouth?”

“Ah huh,” I manage, through the fog.

“Unfortunate for you.” He withdraws, smearing saliva across my cheek as he wipes his thumb clean. I swallow, both relieved and disappointed. “I have other plans for tonight.”

His weight disappears suddenly as he resettles between my legs, kissing and biting alternately along my thighs until I'm begging and squirming. Finally, finally, his lips find my clit, his hand laying on my pubic bone and pressing down so I can't squirm away from the sudden flush of heat and pressure as he flicks his tongue, and it doesn't take long till I'm cumming against his lips, hips bucking and mouth open in a gasping “o” shape. I slap a hand over my mouth to smother my moans when I cum, embarrassed, and he pulls away to catch my wrist and yank it down.

“No,” he says. “Let me hear you. I won't tell you again.” His voice is so firm.

“I can't -”

“You can and you will.” He tangles our fingers together and I admire how our hands look together against the tangled bedsheets. Then his mouth is back on me and I can't think anymore. His finger slides inside me so easily, and then a second. He fucks me hard, pulling loud moans from me every time his fingers curl and hit that spot perfectly. I can hear how wet I am, an embarrassing sound, so loud alongside the sound of my breath and the soft uh uh uh sounds he pulls out of me. It's barely another minute before I cum again, still oversensitive from the first time.

But he doesn't stop.

He makes me cum until I lose count.

Until it's nearly painful. Until I'm saying no, no no no no, words moaned in time with every thrust of his fingers, every curl that hits that perfect spot. Until I'm screaming, my face turned sideways into the pillow.

“It's so cute when you say no and then keep on letting me play with your slutty pussy anyway,” he says, thrusting a finger torturously slow, in and out, in and out. “Not that you get a choice, of course. My perfect toy.” I want to put my legs together, push him out, stop the torture. I am close, again. So close.

My hand came up to cover my mouth at some point, I don't remember when, and I don't care at this point. I couldn't answer to my own name now.

“Darling,” he says eventually, his voice piercing through the fog. “Do you know that you've been covering your mouth for the last thirty seconds at least?”

I whimper, pulling my hand away like I've been burned, but it's too slow.

“I told you that I wouldn't tell you again.” He sits back, looks at me, admiring the mess he's made. There's a wet patch in the middle of the bed where I'm lying. My legs are visibly shaking. My tits are glossy with a sheen of sweat, bruises on my neck and breasts already pink and darkening. “Didn't I? Hm?” I nod, shakily, nervous. “I did. And you like to listen to me, right? You like to make me happy?”

I nod again. I really do. There's a satisfaction beyond anything else I know, just in making him smile.

He leans down, bites gently at my breast until I whine. I'm overstimulated, overwhelmed. The pain helps my brain to focus. “Then you're going to have to learn to do as you're told, darling. I'll have to punish you.” It sounds so… humiliating. So embarrassing. It sounds like I'm some silly spoilt princess being scolded. He can see the expression on my face because he tuts and leans down to stroke my cheek with his thumb. “Come on love,” he says. “On my lap.”

I roll over slowly, scramble up onto all fours, and he grabs at my ass as I do. Rubs his thumb roughly over my sloppy-wet pussy and laughs when I flinch away, my hips still twitching with the aftershocks. My pussy clenching around nothing. I want him to fuck me so badly, want to feel him inside me filling me up.

“Such a good toy for me,” he says as I get myself into position over his lap. I can barely hold myself up after everything- he pushes my shoulders down, my face into the duvet. My back arches naturally, and his hands stroke along my spine admiring the way I look laying so nicely on his lap. He's pressed against my side; I can feel how hard he is. He takes hold of my hair, runs his fingers gently over my scalp, smiles when I relax into his palm. “I'll give you a moment to rest. You took that so well, darling.” He pulls gently, watches me hiss and arch my back, and then relax again. His hands are big, his fingers long with thick knuckles. They feel good on me, everywhere they touch. “In a minute,” he says, “once you've had some time to breathe, I'm going to spank you. I'm going to use my hand this time, but if you break a rule again I'll be using a paddle.” One hand reaches down to knead my ass. I tense in anticipation. “You're going to count,” he says. “You covered your mouth for thirty seconds, so I'm going to hit you thirty times. I want you to count every single one, and thank me for it.” As he says that, his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass and I feel his dick twitch where it's pressed against my waist. “Do you understand?”

“Mhm,” I say, lost in the sensation. I'm so deep in subspace now I feel like I'm floating.

He laughs. “No. Words please, I need to know you understand.”

“Yes,” I say, and then hurriedly, “yes, sir.”

“Good whore.”

I cannot help but smile at the praise. He keeps touching me, stroking my skin, just keeping contact with me as I slowly stop shaking. I relax, letting the full bulk of my weight fall onto his lap. He keeps me like this, on the precipice of anticipation, for far too long before the first slap rings out.

The dizzying sting stops my tongue for a moment and I can't say anything. “Count,” he prompts.

“One, thank you, sir.” I blurt it out too fast, pause too long, but he lets it go. His broad palm soothes over the hot patch of skin where the first slap landed, just for a moment, before the next slap lands perfectly positioned over the first. I gasp, my eyes stinging. “Two. Thank you sir.”

He alternates between fast and stinging, and slow and bruising. By the tenth blow I am breathing slowly, hissing through my teeth and struggling to keep my voice even when I thank him for correcting me. By the fifteenth I am crying. He strokes a hand slowly down my spine and kisses my shoulder. “Okay to keep going, love?”

Deep breath. I'm still smiling, through all of this. I wriggle slightly, feeling the wetness between my legs, despite the pain. Or because of it. “Yes sir,” I say. “I'm good.”

“Good girl.”

The next ten slaps come in quick succession and I struggle to keep up. I'm tripping over my words by the end, a messy tear stained litany of thanks and sobs. I will bruise tomorrow for sure. It will hurt to sit down. I am torn between dread and perverse satisfaction. I've lost track of my thank yous so I add in an extra one for safety. “Thank you, sir.”

“What for?” He's smiling. I can hear it in his voice. “I didn't hit you yet.” His hand reaches between my legs again, testing my wetness. It makes me shiver, violently. I'm so oversensitive. “Spread your legs for me,” he says gently, pressing on my thigh with the flat of his hand. “A little more.”

“But I still have five slaps left.” I think. I've lost count.

“Mhm, you do.” He pauses, circling my clit gently, enough to make me moan, just enough to feel good. “But your ass isn't the only part of you that deserves a beating.” The slap, when it comes, lands hard on my clit and my legs snap closed automatically. I try to wriggle away but his arm around my waist stops me from rolling myself off his lap and on to the floor. I press my face into his duvet to muffle the cry that comes out of me unbidden.

“Fuck,” I say, when I'm capable of speech again.

His hand, when it strokes over the tender skin, is no longer soothing. My overstimulated pussy is already close, my hips bucking against his touch automatically. “You think you can take the last four on your pussy?” He asks.

“I-” I don't think I can. But I know I will anyway. “Yes, sir.”

“You're sure?” And he's checking in, hand on my mascara-stained cheek, wiping my tears away, fucking my hair behind my ear.

I nod shakily. “Really really,” I say.

“Good girl.”

The next blow makes me scream, really scream, mouth wide and eyes wet. The third slap lands against my clit again and it feels so intense, such a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. My mind is so quiet, so calm. This is bliss, for me. The fourth slap makes me scream again.

There is peace for a moment. I breathe slowly, shakily. It's done. I did it. I took it all.

The fifth slap- the thirty-first slap- when it lands squarely on my cunt, makes me cum again.

I'm sobbing when he takes me up in his arms and pulls me to his chest. He's sweaty, still fully clothed, smells like his apricot body wash and sweat, and his arms snake around my shoulders and hold me so so tightly. My tears blot on the fabric of his t shirt. “You did so well,” he murmurs with his nose smushed against my hair. He kisses my forehead, again and again, until the sobs stop wracking my body and the shaking has mostly stopped. “So good for me, darling. So so good.”

“Thank you,” I say again, voice muffled. My face is crushed against his chest, his soft pectorals. “Needed that.”

“Yeah?” He's smiling at me again, that knowing smile, so I wriggle up out of his grip and kiss the bumpy bit on the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah.” The catharsis was so bone-meltingly satisfying. My bones have been melted. I am a puddle of satisfaction in his arms, pooling on his bedsheets.

“Knew that would push you over the edge.” He's still hard. I can feel it, and I push my hand between our bodies, stroke his length gently. He catches my wrist, pulls my hand away. “Not now, darling. I want you to rest after that.”

“But-”

“No. Do I need to get the rope, slut?” I shake my head, and he smiles, presses me down into the sheets. He's so comfortable, his weight over me like that. Like a weighted blanket. “You're going to rest, at least for a while. I'm going to get you water. You're going to rest more.” He kisses my forehead. “Then I'm going to fuck you.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm. Promise.”

“Thank you,” I say again. It's the last thing I say before I fall asleep.