Possession

The first time was for her.

The second time was his.

A year he had waited. Constantly questioning his own worth, that she would leave him after ten years. Constantly questioning her love, that she would leave without saying goodbye. Constantly wondering what had gone wrong, what could have been fixed.

A year of pent up yearnings, wet dreams, fantasies, memories… Building up with each moment she was gone. Other women, while they brought satisfaction, were never enough. He wanted her, he Needed her. He had told her that she was his, and she had sworn it would always be so. She was his, and he was going to make sure she never forgot it…

The first time had been slow. Making Love. For her. He had still been uncertain, afraid it was another dream… Afraid that tomorrow he would wake alone again… She had cried as they came together, though he was sure she didn't realize he'd noticed. She had whispered her love, her regret at the lost time, her promises that he would never lose her again. She had sworn again that she was his, had always been his, would always be his.

Tonight it was his turn. They had the house to themselves. He had a plan. A year's worth of pent up frustration, a years worth of rage, a years worth of tears… She was back now, and he was going to make sure she never forgot where she belonged. She was his, and he was going to brand the fact into her. He was going to ruin her, make it so that another man would never satisfy her the way that only he could.

He was going to teach her a lesson. Maybe she sensed this, maybe she wanted it, maybe she only accepted it. Regardless, she was waiting in the bedroom when he came looking for her. She was stretched across the bed, reading an old copy of Penthouse Letters. Whatever story it was, she was into it… Her top had come off, she had one hand around behind her back working at the latch to her bra. She was squirming, squeezing her thighs together as if that would give her some relief.

His low laugh alerted her to his presence in the room as she managed to remove the bra. She hesitated for a moment, then sat up on the bed, turning to face him. Her nipples erect, puckered slightly in the breeze coming through the open window. At a nod from him, she continued to read the story, this time out loud. It was amusing, but foolish. A couple who'd turned to role-playing to spice up their sex life… Setting up clandestine meetings, the wife dressing the part of whoever their fantasy strumpet was for that encounter…

She glances up at him occasionally as she reads, he moves closer, sitting on the end of the bed. She hesitates again, in her reading, but continues at his soft command. "When you finish, start on the next one." He lays the knife on the bed beside her as he reaches for her skirt, pulling it off and tossing it across the room. Picking up the knife again, he cuts away the remaining barrier of fabric between them.

Something in his eyes warns her, excites her. Her voice catches as he roughly pushes her thighs open, then pushes her back against the wall. "Don't stop" he warns, growling softly as he takes hold of her thighs, sinking his teeth into her tender flesh, bruising almost immediately. She gasps slightly at the pain, but makes no complaint. This is only the beginning, it hasn't been so long that she would forget…

He tunes out the words, listening only to the tone of her voice, inwardly pleased with the effort she makes not to sound distracted as he re-maps well known territory with his tongue. Several minutes later he realizes that she has come to enjoy this too much, her body gives the familiar signs that she is close… too close…

He reaches for the knife again, closing his teeth around the tender pearl, warning. Without looking, he draws the blade up her calf and thigh, then flipping it around so that he holds it by the blade. None too gentle, he pushes the thick handle of the knife into her. She makes a hiccupping sound that is part pleasure, but mostly pain. She is completely still, though she continues reading. He shows mercy, returning to his previous attentions. Teeth are replaced with tongue, caressing and teasing in contrast with the knife's handle which stretches painfully as he moves it out and back in again…

The story is finished, the next begins, some pointless fantasy of a cable guy… Do these guys think that we actually believe their stories? She passes the threshold of pain, adapting rather, her body responding to the invasive object as the substitute it is. He laughs, removing it, dropping it back onto the bed. Absently licking at the blood on his palm from holding the blade so tightly. She looks up from the story, a question in her eyes.

Not so easy, but yes… You are released from your task. The magazine falls onto the floor beside the bed. She watches him, waiting for come command or sign of what is expected of her. Good, she understands the game. He gestures to the drawer beside the bed. She leans over to investigate, finding the handcuffs, giving them over to him.

She holds her wrists out to him. He shakes his head, reaching to put her hands behind her back, closes the cuffs. She bows her head, as she kneels before him on the bed. He smiles, pulling her to kneel on the edge of the bed as he stands, quickly removing his clothes. He stands before her, giving no order. Waiting. After a moment she looks up to him, and he nods.

Carefully she balances herself on her knees as she moves to take him into her mouth, semi hard. He puts one hand on her shoulder, helping her balance, the other hand goes in her hair. She is awkward at first, out of practice… This pleases him, it means there was no one else… She had been as alone as he had felt… Quickly, as it had always been with them, she finds her place, her rhythm. Without the use of her hands, she relies entirely on the talents of her tongue and her throat.

Some small part of her starts to wonder, but quickly realizes the encounter for what it is. She is being punished. Somehow she finds this to be a relief. His anger, his vengeance makes it all real… It cannot possibly be a dream when she can feel both lust and anger coming off of him in waves, as though he is broadcasting his thoughts to her. Some silent apology, all that she is likely to get… Though he may feel mean for this, he Needs it... He needs her to know, understand, and acknowledge his ownership. This is something she has always known, understood, and acknowledged… It is something she knew before he ever had a clue.

Her thoughts are delegated to a lesser function as she focuses on him again, opening her throat to him as he presses her face against his belly. He is close, she slows down. She knows that he must have more in mind for her than this. He's become lost in the sensations, a slave to his body's impulses… She refuses to let him give in, ruin his moment… This will be his only real chance at such a revenge, the element of surprise having been lost. She lets it seem like her own reticence as she struggles against his hand, letting him realize that he's in danger of losing control.

He pushes her head down again, then lets go, letting it seem like a favor to her. She pulls away, sitting back to look up at him. Already her shoulders ache, but she'll hurt worse before this is over. He makes a show of being annoyed at her, and he is… Not for her reminder, but for the fact that she so readily accepts her fate.

He pushes her back onto the bed as he lays beside her. Automatically she opens for him, as if she thinks this is why he stopped, though they both know the truth. Roughly he pushes her thighs together, throwing one leg over them to hold her still. He finds the knife again, holding her down with one hand as he looms over her.

The glint in his eyes cannot be described as anything but feral as he drags the blade across her belly. He notes the scars, though he says nothing as he presses the blade into her skin. A thin red line follows the tip of the blade, weeping drops of blood. Pressing harder with his hand he leans to follow the line with his tongue, both lapping at the blood, and forcing the wound to open for him.

She wonders, for a brief moment, if he will carve a new orifice… Not only will she always be his, but now there will be a part of her that no other man will possess… But the knife continues, its touch growing lighter as it traces its way under one breast then up and across the top of it… She fights the urge to close her eyes… This, the knife, has been a toy to them for as long as she can remember… A fantasy of hers before sex was something to consider… Bloodletting…

She shivers and squirms against him as his lips close around one nipple, and the hand pressing her against the bed moves to close around her other breast… Fingers roughly kneading and pinching at the tender flesh. A whimper escapes, and he pauses, looking at her. She pleads silently, and he smiles, moving up to kiss her.

She tastes herself on his lips, and her own blood on his tongue. His leg moves, and she shifts beneath him. One of his hands is still at her breast… She isn't sure where the other went… She doesn't feel it, or the blade. She loses interest as he pushes himself, so so slowly, into her. This he does not out of any consideration or gentleness, but out of pure selfishness… The need to savor this moment… The fact that she loves it as much as he does means nothing… It is purely his own need he satisfies tonight.

She fights the urge to rise against him, wanting this moment to draw out as long as possible. Her eyes closed, her entire being centered solely upon this moment, this sensation… Something registers past her single-mindedness… A sharp pain in her belly, a warm sensation of blood loss. Her eyes open and she looks down in time to see the blade of the knife buried to the hilt.

His eyes are open, he is watching her mixed expression of pleasure, amazement, and pain… Somehow the pain comes last, and he wonders at that. Somehow it annoys him, so he twists the blade and is rewarded by a whimper… Of pain, not pleasure. He pulls the blade mostly out of the wound, her new orifice, and drags it sideways across her belly. More blood pours from the wound as he slowly pulls out of her, then moves within her again…

She watches, half dazed, as a new spurt of blood pours from the wound each time he thrusts. Half frantically she focuses on the blood, trying to gauge the damage, the depth… Luckily he knows what he is doing, and no organs were damages… The flow of blood lessens as he continues… She relaxes and returns to focusing on the moment.

He senses the moment, as she stares at her own blood pouring, flowing downward, making their thighs slippery, causing sloppy sounds each time he buries himself inside her. He senses the change in her before she begins to respond to him. For a moment she forgets about the handcuffs, wanting to reach up and put her arms around him. He is pleased.

He shows his pleasure by making a gesture toward her own pleasure, nuzzling against her throat he finds the sensitive spot, biting down. She gasps, not with the pain, but with the pleasure of it… Knowing that his teeth will be bruised into her for days… She purrs and moves against him, whispering, begging…

She wants the handcuffs off, wants to be able to reciprocate, wants… But her wants, tonight, are irrelevant. He makes small concessions because her pleasure heightens his pleasure.

With some reluctance he pulls out of her. He is surprised by the momentary look of panic in her eyes as she stares at the blood across her thighs. He is even more surprised by the relief which follows the panic, as she remembers the wound in her belly. She manages a smile in response to his question, shaking her head.

Roughly he flips her over onto her belly, as if to comply with her wish to have the cuffs removed. Instead he moves her so that she is kneeling before him, her legs spread for him, her face lost in the pillows. She tenses for a moment, worried that he will take the game too far, breaking her one rule.

He understands her tension, and whispers assurance, saying he would not take advantage of her vulnerability. As he speaks he rests one hand on her hip, reaching down with the other to position himself, slipping easily inside again. She relaxes, quickly he regains the rhythm. He quickens as he is close, running one hand down her back, wrapping his fingers around her throat.

She responds instantly, a soft whimper as he increases the pressure, pulling her back toward him. Her breathing is ragged as she becomes near frenzied with passion, struggling against the cuffs in effort to gain some control. He closes his hand against her throat, yanking her so that she is half kneeling as he bends over her, whispering into her ear.

She is close, but she manages to wait, knowing that he will tell her when… She whimpers, then lets go as she hears his soft command in her ear, then feels his teeth biting hard into her shoulder. She arches back against him as he thrusts deep inside… Both lost in their own sensations… lost in the moment… lost in each other.

"You are Mine" he whispers as they collapse onto the bed. He unhooks the cuffs and drops them onto the bedside table, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her, brushing gentle kisses across her face and throat.

"Yes love, yours… Always." She returns the kisses, snuggling closer.

He smiles. "You belong to me." He whispers.

Under her breath she responds. "You belong to me." And at his question, mutters something about having to take care of the wound he made.