Good Girl, Pretty Girl

The blood in her ears ringing like bells in a cathedral, every heartbeat threatening to violate her visible composure. Inside she's racing, on the outside she's calm.

It's how he likes it.

You're a good girl aren't you?

She's on her knees. Arms raised up behind her head. Wrists tied tightly. Blindfold secure. The wood on the deck isn't worn enough to stop the splinters from nestling themselves into the skin on her knees and calves. Her shoulders are numb, blood drained from her arms, the muscles aching. The rope is too tight around her wrists, she can't feel her fingertips, it chafes with every pulse. There's nothing to see. There's the smell of the salt tanged air, the feel of the breeze against her naked body, the sounds of the water licking its way up against the sides of the ship and falling away. Over and over and over again.

It feels like an eternity. It feels like hell. It feels like vulnerability and submission and fear and anticipation all entangled into one wretched blissful ball in the pit of her belly.

It's how he likes it.

Good girl. Pretty girl.

His footsteps aren't silent enough left, right, left to escape her heightened senses. He's not far enough away that she can't smell him... she can almost taste the salt of the sweat he glows, look at him glow she imagines is on his neck, on his forehead, the bare skin of his chest, welling in every definition of his muscled body. Losing herself in the wanting, the unbearable craving... but never enough so she breaks position.

She learned quickly.

Good girls don't get the whip.

Every hair stands at attention, he's close. He's so close. The gentle lull of his breath, she's fighting against her muscles, pleading with herself to stay still, stay calm, good girl not to stretch up to feel it on her skin. Her mouth waters, remembering how he tastes, how he feels when her lips are wrapped around him, such a good girl the taste of his seed spreading over her tongue. don't break god no don't break

He brushes her hair back from her ear

My well behaved little girl.

slipping it around to the back of her head don't break, can't break making a tight fist, and wrenches her head back. She gasps. The pain is nothing compared to the relief of movement, the all-encompassing wave of yearning she feels at his touch. His lips are on on hers, insistent, dominating, his tongue is around hers, his hair falling around her face, beads of sweat find their ways down his cheeks to meet hers he glows, he glows and it's over. He yanks himself away. Every bit of composure she had up until this point has nearly dissipated... obliterated by the feel of his lips up against hers god no, can't break and he knows it. He watches. She can feel his eyes on her, anticipating the slight bend in her spine, the crumple of her shoulders, the twitch of her lips, any excuse.

He doesn't get one.

Such a good girl.

She hears him undoing the drawstring of his pants, the nearly inaudible unveiling. Her mouth waters again, his hands are woven into her hair again, clenching. She opens her mouth obediently, tongue tensed, softening against the underside of his cock as he slowly slides the tip between her swollen lips. He's inside her, he's already dripping... the taste, every vein of his shaft, filling her... even if not completely... the wave of her climax threatens to rock her backwards and she whimpers at the force of it. Every muscle tensing and god no please don't break don't break collectively releasing I'm a bad girl I'm a bad girl forcing her to crumple forwards, gasping for air, caught between relishing the bliss and fearing the rage in the consequence.

This is not how he likes it.

The sting, the shock, how can I still be seeing stars the blood, the wood pulverizing her ribs and hip, the wretched splinters I deserve this plunging themselves into every part of her left side, bad girl bad girl and she struggles to get back into position. Her arms are nothing more but failures just like me at her side, too numb to support her weight. She's such a bad girl disoriented and floundering, the blood of her broken lip oozing mercilessly into her mouth, leaving their crimson footprints on the deck, choked whimpers he should have gagged me escaping intermittently.

But he likes this.

She's flying again. She's flat on her back. Her wrists are pinned up above her head by his calloused hand he's so strong oh god he's so strong and despite the fear, her body betrays her... arching her back, flattening her breasts into his clammy chest, oh how he glows complying with the hand forcing her battered legs apart. His breath urgent, ragged, as he grabs her ankle, wrenching her leg onto his shoulder, his fingers cruel I deserve this as he rams them inside her, bruising the flesh, creating more crimson footprints. Her head tilts back, cries of pain punish me falling from her trauma-swollen lips, her hips arch higher, urging him to I'm such a bad girl drive his cock deep inside her.

He likes this, too.

He slams into her, so strong so strong locking her in place by planting his hands on her shoulders. He's brutal, cursing at her with every push, wrapping his hand around her throat see the stars as she's forced to yield, i'm flying again rocking with the relentless plunging. His hand closes around her throat i can see them i can see them with a last malevolent thrust as he climaxes, falling forward as she's lifting upward, caught in the throes of her own.

It's how she likes it.

Such a good boy. Such a pretty boy.