The Object of His Affection Ch. 05

The Object of His Affection -- Discovery

She lay on her belly, each ankle bound to it's corresponding wrist. If she could have she would have been screaming. Instead, she could only attempt to scream, a large ball gag halting her voice from completely expressing her pain. James lay on top of her, thrusting his cock into her ass. As she had always feared, it was a terrible pain and it could not end soon enough.

When he had begun his binding he promised she would experience pain. He was quick to admit that he could make this a more pleasurable experience. In the future, it would likely bring her great pleasure and minimal, if any, pain. However, there was only one first time and his sadistic side was in need.

His entry was excruciatingly painful and felt as if he were ripping her in twain. As he had prepared her, he dripped a small amount of saliva between the crack of her posterior. Then, after rubbing his cock over the saliva and his intended target, he forced his way in. One slow and steady thrust and he was buried deep in her ass.

She screamed as best she could, hoping he would stop or withdraw or just give her a moment to recover. Her wish was not met. As soon as he had buried himself inside her ass, he began his long and painful strokes; each stroke nearly pulling from her tortured ass, only to be buried, once again, deep inside of her.

At first entry, James reveled in her obvious pain and futile struggles. When his further thrusting was met with even more pain and struggles he was near to ecstatic. Consequently, the more she screamed and struggled, the harder and faster he thrust. It was a vicious cycle.

It was over too soon for James. After mere minutes he could contain himself no more. With a sudden jerking and arching of his back, he climaxed, sending a hot wave of fluid into her colon.

For a long while afterwards he lay on top of her, allowing his cock to grow soft inside her battered hole. With his softening he could feel the involuntary twitch of her sphincter. Pleasurable as that was, it hardly compared with her voluntary squeezing and pushing her felt. Few things were, to James, more intense or exciting than feeling a tightening asshole around his cock.

Lifting his head, he decided it might be time to pull the gag from her mouth. She might, he thought, be unable to breathe after so much crying. On the other hand, he was likely to get an ear full of angry complaints. Judgment and care prevailed.

Upon removal of the gag there was little from her other than soft crying. To his surprise, after she had regained herself, she did not offer up any words of anger or harsh comments. Instead, her words were a quiet description of the pain she had suffered. Then she returned to her quiet sobbing.

For many minutes James pondered her reaction to his brutal act of buggery. She had not expressed anger or told him she would never allow it again, as he expected. Instead, she seemed to have accepted it. More importantly, it seemed that she had accepted the possibility that she might suffer similarly in future. Her nature, he noted, was gaining more ground, while the headstrong woman was losing ground.

The next morning found them in the shower together. As many couples in love are wont to do, they were enjoying the sensuous pleasures of washing their lover. As is often the case, the two followed the occasion by drying each other off under the cover of the hot misty room.

Over breakfast they spoke of the previous nights activities. He admitted to her the intense pleasure it had provided him. Her struggles and tears, he told her, had caused him to find climax with considerable quickness. He also admitted to looking forward to enjoying such pleasures again.

Debbie was less enthusiastic. She admitted to wanting to experience anal sex but she had never wanted such pain. She concluded her comments on the matter with an expression of hope, that the next time wouldn't be so painful.

"You're enjoying the conversation, aren't you?" asked James.

"No," she said, avoiding eye contact. "It was painful and humiliating. Why would I enjoy talking about something that was so unpleasant?"

He pushed and prodded with invasive and embarrassing questions. Finally, in a burst of frustration, she admitted the conversation was arousing.

"Look," she concluded, "I don't know why it's arousing and I don't like that it is! And that arouses me too! Okay?"

"It's the humiliation," he told her. "You enjoy the humiliation."

She looked at him with furrowed brows. "You're nuts. Who, in their right mind, would get off on being humiliated?"

"You get off on it," he was almost too matter of fact for her tastes; almost smug.

"No," she replied, looking into her coffee cup. "I don't like to be humiliated. I like that it pleased you, that's all."

After breakfast, he brought her to the living room and made her kneel in front of him.

"In a few minutes, I am going to fuck your ass again. This time," he said, "You are not going to be tied up. This time you are going to be on your knees. This time I am going to cum in your mouth. Go take care of the dishes and return to the front room."

She swallowed hard, hoping to find a way to escape his proclaimed plans. She was not ready to be taken that way again. Beyond the pain, she was also disgusted at the thought of his cock going from her ass to her mouth. Before she could make to speak, he was gone, retiring to their living room.

The dishes were done in a haze. Throughout her chore she sought the words, which would get her out of this terrible predicament. Unfortunately, she was unable to find those words and, upon her arrival to the living room, she found herself quite unable to resist his wants.

"Are you my whore?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm your whore." Her voice was thin and shaky.

She hated the term "whore". She hated all such derogatory terms for women. More than speaking those words, she hated calling herself a whore. Worse yet, she hated the excitement she felt at telling him she was a whore -- his whore.

"Get on your hands and knees and get ready to take my cock up your ass," he ordered.

Slow to obey, she received a stern look that made her feel insignificant and small. It was all it took to set her into motion.

"Get that ass up and your head down," he commanded. "I want to see that big ass of yours and nothing else, cunt!"

She bit her lip and slumped into position. Her internal battle became greater and she began to question why she let him treat her so.

"Tell me what you feel like right now."

She took a deep breath, assessing his question. "I feel horrible. I feel like a piece of meat...I hate it. And those words you used for me...I hate those words. They're demeaning."

"Why did you obey then?" he asked.

"I don't know! Because I have to...it's how you want me," she began, "I want to be what you want. I need to...to be what you want me to be."

James knelt behind her and reached out to her sex. She was wet. Fingers probed at her wet entrance, finding their way inside of her to stroke her.

"You're plenty wet, aren't you?"

"Yes...yes, I'm wet." She was sobbing now.

"Would you still say that you dislike humiliation?"

"I can't like it," she cried. "If I did...if...there would be something wrong with me. What kind of person would I be?"

He continued stroking her; pointing out how wet she while using vile words to describe her and her reaction to his comments. Before long, she was panting, begging for release. He would not allow it.

"Not yet, my cum slut. Not until you admit how much you like this humiliation," he whispered to her.

She cried out, frustrated and angry. She knew that she should storm out and tell him what she thought of his words but she could not bring herself to do so. Instead, she begged for release.

"Not until you admit it, cunt!" he said, his voice sounding contemptuous.

She hated him, suddenly. He already knew how she reacted to his humiliating words and treatment. He already knew how it aroused her. Wasn't it enough that he knew? Why should she have to tell him? All these thoughts filled her mind. Suddenly, she heard her thoughts. It was at that exact moment when he withdrew his hand from her twitching sex, drawing a terrible groan of protest.

"Please, please, don't stop. I need it. Please, I'll do anything," she begged. " I like being called names and being treated like a whore. Please...let me come! Please! I like being humiliated. "

He did not appease her. Instead, he clipped her chin with his finger, lifting her to face him. "Good girl," he told her, before leaving her with her thoughts.

Humiliated, confused and ashamed, Debbie curled into a ball on the floor and cried as she had never cried before. Such torture was repeated with more and more frequency in the coming months. Each night she would fight it, eventually giving in. Each night, she would be left to cry, alone with her painful knowledge.

Eventually, she gave up fighting what she knew was true without a fight. Immediately after, she broke down in tears. Unlike before, however, James was quick to take her in his arms and whisk her into their bed, to comfort her and wipe away her tears.

"One does not choose ones sexual orientation or skin color anymore than one chooses what excites them sexually," he explained.

She accepted his comments - mostly. Somewhere deep down, however, she wondered if he was wrong and if she hadn't committed some crime that she was subconsciously punishing herself for.