Just Average

"I think I'm just average looking," she says.

"What did you just say?" I ask.

"I'm just average looking," she says with a little hesitancy. I rarely ask her to repeat anything.

It infuriated me instantly. Not just that she would express such a thing aloud, but that she would even think it.

Hyde rattles his cage, desperate to get out and make her pay for what she's just said. I agree, punishment is need, but she has to understand why. Hyde will have to wait just a little longer. But there's nothing wrong with letting a little bit of him out now.

I grab her hair and yank down, bringing her to the floor on her knees. She gasps in surprise and grabs for my wrist. This reaction from me is definitely unexpected.

"Get your hands down." I hiss at her, no louder than a strong whisper.

She goes down to all fours wincing as I guide her along with that leash of hair. A little cruelly, but she's kindled dark emotions. It's her fault that she's suffering now really.

"Stay." I whisper into her ear. I can feel the heat radiating off her against my lips. Normally I'd nip at her ears, run my nose along a cheek, enjoy her warmth, but not now. I release her hair and stalk off.

When I return to the room and she looks back over a shoulder at me.

My hand meets her bare ass with a loud crack. "I said stay."

She goes back to how I left her, eyes closed tight, her ass wriggling, feeling the burn of that palm print placed with a little more force than usual. She has no idea how young the night is.

I set the mirror down in front of her. She opens her eyes, looks at herself, then at me confused.

"What did you say earlier?" I demand.

"That I'm average?"

I strike her again. Hard.

"What did you say?"

"Average, just average."

I let Hyde out. Or perhaps he escapes using my anger as cover. His hand strikes her perfect ass repeatedly. Buried in her hair is his other fist, holding her head up, forcing her to look to the mirror. The relentless crack of skin on skin fills the room. He holds nothing back, simply beating her ass. His fingers tingle and go numb, a fiery pain seeps into them. He doesn't care, he continues, enjoying the music of her protesting squeals.

When she squirms, a blow lands in an awkward place. It breaks the rhythmic fleshy sounds of palm striking bare bottom. She tries to curl up breaking her confrontation with the mirror.

He yanks back on her hair, "You better get that ass back up in the air."

She says something he doesn't quite want to comprehend, lost in the blood music of sensual violence. He sits on the floor yanking her ass to him, forcing her to continue looking at herself in the mirror. His legs are under her as he begins again. Long hard fast strokes, their sound like a machine in the room. She dances on all fours, crying pleading. He keeps striking her again and again and again.

She collapses into him, begging. He wraps a leg around her back, capturing her in the scissors of his thighs. The blows rain down. She struggles against him, thrashing, pleading. He keeps striking. At some points the tears start. She digs her nails into his thigh. He rips back on her hair, whispering that she better do as told.

In the mirror I watch the mascara runs down her cheeks. It's time to put Hyde back in his cage. This is difficult to do when his blood has reached a full boil. Hyde and I struggle. He takes a few more swings, then he's locked mostly away. Mostly.

I pull back on her hair. She looks at me through the mirror pleading. I slap her ass again. She still has no idea.

"Can you feel me?" I ask.

She nodds, squirming, perhaps thinking there's some position that will cool her burning flesh.

Uncertain if she really understands I grind against her, "Can you feel me, really feel me."

"Yes," she whispers in a throaty seductive voice choked with tears.

"Do think my arousal would come for just average?" I ask while continuing to grind against her, letting her feel the passion that she's ignited. I want her. I want in her. I want to throw her down and savage her right here on the floor.

She closes her eye. I yank on her hair again refusing to let her escape into subspace.

"How dare you?" I hiss. "How dare you think that I could have this reaction for just average." I grind painfully against her.

What are you?" I ask, forcing her to look at herself as she answers.

"I, I, I..." She doesn't know what to say.

I slap her ass again, with everything I have, it sounds like a gunshot in the room.

"You are beautiful," I whisper close so she can feel the breath on her ear. "Say it."

She hesitates and I strike her again.

"I'm beautiful," she says halfheartedly.

My hand whistles through the air striking her yet again. "Don't ask me, look at yourself and mean it."

"I'm beautiful," she says to herself.

She must be numb, or floating in some hidden garden in her mind. She barely flinches when I slap her, "Once more with feeling."

"I'm beautiful." I strike her.

"Again" I demand.

She repeats it again, and again, and again. And when my hands is deadened, arm aching with effort, it finally begins to sound like she actually means it.