The Beach

"Take off your blouse."

Carol didn't look at him to see if he meant it. She knew he did. At first, when Tom had begun these games she'd been uncertain in so many ways. Now she knew him much better, or at least a little bit, and she was just afraid. Well, not only afraid. She was turned on, too. Her fear did didn't mean she didn't want him. Maybe she wanted him all the more because of the things he made her do. But she just liked it so much better when he seemed ... more normal. These sexual games were kind of scary. Only they weren't games. He was entirely serious. The things she did for him shamed and humiliated her. She couldn't tell anyone about them.

He removed the belt from his pants. She watched and knew enough not to speak. She'd done that before, asking him, please, not to do it and he'd hit her harder. He'd explained that he liked the marks it left, he liked that she was afraid of it, he liked it when she whimpered, when she screamed. She never admitted to liking it. She thought he knew, though, and she was sure it didn't matter to him. He'd have beaten her anyway.

She put her hands to the hem of her blouse, knowing it was too late. He had told her to take it off and, right here on the beach or not, that's what he wanted and she hadn't obeyed. The punishments always followed. The blow came as she lifted the thin fabric over her head. She stumbled, her ass burning, and he delivered another, harder and faster, in exactly the same place, as she tore the blouse off. She dropped it at her feet, trembling, and looked at him. The flesh of her ass flamed.

His expression told her nothing. Carol told herself she'd been stupid. She should've taken the blouse off immediately. She shouldn't have made him use the belt. There was no one to see her. The beach stretched for miles, empty in all directions. The weather and the earliness of the season had kept everyone else away. She could've removed her skirt too and she wouldn't have been exposed to anyone but him.

"Go find a stick. Something small. Bring it back here in your mouth with your hands behind your back."

He turned away to look at the ocean.

The carcasses of dead crabs, scattered strands of kelp, some rocks. Not much wood. She'd have to find a stick, though, and she did. Putting it in her mouth was kind of terrible. Well, no, it really wasn't. What was terrible was that her cunt got wet. She was carrying the stick back to him like a dog and she was wet. How did he do this to her? How did he know?

She stood beside him and he said, "In front of me. Face me and kneel."

She obeyed.

"Drop the stick."

He picked it up. She knelt there, looking up into his face. Would he beat her? Would he make her suck him off? Please, she thought, let that be it. He threw the stick. "Fetch. On your hands and knees."

Carol lowered her head, hiding the rush of wetness in her eyes. She crawled to the stick and brought it back to him, carrying it in her mouth without being told. He took it from her kneel and threw it again. This time, he lifted her chin and smiled when he saw the tears. "Get two this time. Bring the second one back in your ass."

The orders continued. Sometimes he allowed her to stand, sometimes she crawled. She put sticks under her breasts letting the soft weight of her flesh hold them in place. She put them between her thighs and tiptoed back to him, waddling awkwardly. She balanced them on her head. Finally, she knelt before him, a pile of sticks at his feet, and he said, "Roll over." She didn't understand. She refused to understand.

And the expression she most feared came over his face. He was bored with her. Or maybe disgusted. Or maybe disappointed. She was disobedient, making him go through something he didn't like. She surrendered. She laid face down and rolled in the sand.

"Again."

She did.

"Again."

"Now get on your knees, put your face in the dirt, spread your legs and hold your ass open with both hands."

She cried while he fucked her. She wanted it so much. It was so good. And it was always this way. It was so horrible. So horrible that he was like this, so horrible that even now he made her hold a stick between her teeth, so horrible that she never said no to him. Her orgasm came quick and hard, her body awash with the sensations she couldn't deny.

At the end he pulled out, grabbed the stick from her mouth, and hit her with it, slashing the backs of her legs until she screamed. He only stopped to shove deep into her ass her for his orgasm. So often he didn't come in her, so often he made her open her mouth so he could ejaculate onto her face and down her throat, but this time she felt she had done well. Not perfectly, but well enough that he let her take his cum while he was deep inside her, calling her a slut, a cunt, a bitch, making her wet, making her come again. Next time, she vowed, she would do better.