Will You Be Mine?

Just like that, he had understood completely and made a law of my terrible idea, twisting it further, turning it from humiliating to terrible.

"Say thank you."

"Thank you, William."

"For what?" He brushed his fingers over my cheek, and I moaned.

"Thank you, William, for taking up with my useless bee stings and being willing to punish them harshly."

He reached around my head and pulled me close. This time, our kiss was slow and tender. Out lips smacked wetly and our tongues danced lazily around each other. I moaned into his mouth, and his hands roamed over my body. I felt it when his arousal reached a high mark and touching wasn't enough anymore.

"May I suck your cock?" I asked. "Please?"

"Have you ever done that?"

I bit my lip and shook my head. "You're my first in everything but kissing," I admitted.

His eyes widened. "You were..."

"A virgin," I said quietly. "But not anymore. All my pussy had before you was the handle of a hairbrush." I half chuckled, half sobbed. "How cliche is that?"

He stared at me, and I could almost hear the wheels whirring in his head. It was the first time I saw this side of him, caught unawares and not knowing what to say. But then the hint of worry flickered out and was replaced by something darker. I understood. It was about power, about control, about making me submit, and I had submitted utterly when he took my cherry.

His fingers gently stroked my hair, then wiggled in between the strands and tightened, pulling my head towards his midriff. "It was your own fault that your pussy wasn't trained. But I'll let it slide. Now suck my cock. I'll let you even do your own thing once, as long you swallow."

All I had was theoretical knowledge, half of it from naughty novels that used flowery words and used artistic freedom. The other half was from whispered conversations behind the gym, full of exaggeration and outright lies.

I let him guide my head within inches of his stiff rod and gave it a close look and a tentative touch. It was beautiful, in a terrifying, gritty sort of way. The skin was so soft. Its head, which was a dark red like my inner folds, was silken. I trailed my finger around its raised edge and tickled the narrow slit of his pee hole. The thin band of skin at the front I recalled from a particularly detailed novel. My fingers slid down his thick shaft. Beneath the soft skin, it was rock hard, and thick veins ran around its length. My fingertips reached his balls. They were smooth and large, hanging loosely in a sack of flesh. I heard him breathe deeply a few times and decided to work my way up from the bottom.

I lay flat between his legs, reached out with my tongue, touching his balls with the tip, then sliding a tiny bit closer and licking them with the flat.

When his breath hitched, I felt a rush of arousal. Like a kitten encountering a wellspring of cream, I licked my way around and up his stiff cock, making sure to cover every inch of skin. It took a while, and when I reached the soft skin around its head, I had to get to my knees. A hazy memory from another story reminded me to keep things wet. I softly grabbed his shaft, assembled some spittle and let it dribble on the swollen head. Before it could run too far down, I wrapped my lips over it and slid it into my mouth.

He groaned.

I moved my tongue around it and met a slightly musky taste, not entirely unpleasant. I twirled a little faster and felt his cock twitch between my lips.

The descriptions at the school yard had been of bobbing heads, and, if you listened to the boys, the girls could swallow their cocks whole. One look at William's huge appendage had disabused me of any silly ideas I might have harbored in that regard. So I extended my tongue and started slowly sliding up and down, changing the angle a little bit every time, making sure my spittle wasn't running out. My right hand massaged his cock, and my left hand toyed gently with his balls.

His short grunts turned to moans, and his breath started racing. His hips started to tremble. A hand gripped my hair and held me still.

Though he didn't say a word, I knew what it meant, and sealed my lips tightly around the tip of his cock. I still almost swallowed wrong when the first shot of sticky, salty sperm filled my mouth, and I struggled to swallow fast enough when the second shot was just as plentiful. I felt his cock expand with every spurt, and I loved the intimate feeling.

The spurts ceased after a while, but I kept my lips around his cock. It shrunk in my mouth, and a little more cum seeped out which I quickly swallowed.

"Well done, Billie," William said softly and untangled his fingers from my hair. He caressed my head for a while. "You're going to wake me up with that every morning."

Of course. I pulled my mouth off with a tiny plop. "Sure, William." Oh my god. "This is all happening so fast."

"It's better if you don't have too much time to think."

"Better for whom?"

He chuckled. "For me, silly girl."

*~*~*

We showered. Since it was already mid morning, we brunched and took our time. We mostly talked about my work. I had been trying for a while to convince Rose to open her shop to a little naughtier books. Not all out porn, mind you, but edgy romance, and dark, erotic thrillers. It was the twenty-first century, and there were so many housewives out there who heard whispers but didn't dare to order the raunchier books over the internet, afraid that their husbands or kids might discover them.

William agreed with my reasoning. With that new competition delivering any book anywhere while offering to shop from the comfort of your couch, we needed to use any advantage we had, and while we still had it.

After stowing away the leftovers and washing the dishes, we cuddled a bit on the couch. I languished in the closeness, feeling his hands roam all over me -- well, not all over. I realized after a while that he was sparing my breasts, telling me without words how serious he took our agreement from earlier. I didn't know if he saw it as a kind of game, or if he really wasn't interested in them. It was enough to wake up my self-doubts.

I was almost grateful when he sat up after about an hour and said, "We should take care of your insufficient tits."

He didn't tell me what he had planned, so I watched him head to the sleeping area and rummage through the closet. He came back with a few pieces of rope the diameter of climbing rope. It was a bit softer, though. With practiced ease, he took a piece of rope, knotted the end around my left wrist, ran it around my back, bound my right wrist as well, then tied it together with the loose end from my left wrist. There was still a good piece remaining, which he guided down between my legs, to the back and up through my crack. He tied it off at the back, and just like that, I was unable to move my hands, my arms awkwardly trapped at my sides.

But he wasn't finished. He proceeded with a fresh piece of rope and wound that in a figure eight pattern around my legs above the knee. A pull, a knot, and I wasn't going anywhere fast.

He lifted my legs onto the couch and had me lie down on my back, then he trapped my ankles as well, rendering me unable to flee. My heart started beating madly. He sat at my side for a while, just watching me. I yanked at the ropes a few times, but they didn't give. Was he expecting something? Was that impatience flickering in his eyes? It still took me a minute until I figured it out. "Would you please punish my bee stings, William?"

He bent down and gave me a short kiss. "Of course, Billie." Then he went to the kitchen. He came back with an oval wooden spoon and a fly swatter. Both looked clean, I noticed with a bit of relief.

He put the swatter on the coffee table and slid the spoon over my left breast. Then he lifted it and let it smack down on my tit. It took a moment until the sting came, and I let out a hissing breath. It wasn't so bad.

The first five weren't so bad, and he didn't increase the strength. I thought I could take it well, but my folly soon became apparent. He was hitting the same spots over and over again. What started as a sting turned into a strong bite, then into a cutting pain. The swats fell faster and faster, giving my poor tit no time to recover, the pain building and building, and I started crying. My small tit felt like it was swelling dramatically, and I started to beg him to stop, but he kept hitting and hitting until I was shaking all over.

Then he put the spoon away and cuddled me to his body, stroking my hair and letting me calm down. My left breast throbbed badly, but the biting part of the pain slowly ebbed away. He produced a tissue and dabbed my face dry, then he gently set me back on the couch and picked up the spoon again. There was still the matter of my right breast after all.

He smacked it for a minute. I was already sobbing by then. He looked me in the eyes and asked me whether I thought my breasts were symmetrically punished.

"N-not yet," I sobbed and hated myself for it.

He resumed the smacks and made me cry for real again. But then he was done, and he cuddled me again. At least both of my breasts were throbbing equally now. I calmed down, and he dried me face once more.

"Let's add ten more," he said softly, "but you get to pick the tool. Shall I use the spoon again, or do you want the fly swatter?"

The swatter was lighter, and the surface was larger. It would probably hurt less. "The swatter please," I said quietly.

"I love that you're so polite, no matter what I do. School must have been hell for you."

"It was," I admitted. "College too. We had mandatory sports classes." I bit my lip. "And communal showers."

He smiled at me. "How bad was it?"

I had to look away, and my blush went all the way to the welts on my breasts. "Worse," I said, my voice cracking.

"One day, you're going to share all your memories of that time with me," he said. "But we've got a pair of useless tits to take care of."

I looked at him, then at the fly swatter in his hand, and a cold shiver raced up my spine. "No!" I breathed, but the end of the handle already snapped down on my tit, the twin plastic edges digging deep into the soft flesh.

Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks, and I stared in despair and hatred at my useless little mounds and watched him cover them with more bruises and welts.

He didn't cuddle me right away when he was finished. He sat on my thighs and gripped his cock. "I need to let off some steam," he explained, rubbing himself. "At some point in the future, I'll fuck your pussy or mouth when I feel like this, but you need a little more training before that."

He was right, of course, and I was glad. Yet I felt a bit let down that he didn't want to use my pussy, however painful that would have been. I did enjoy watching him masturbate though. Call me perverted too. It didn't take him all that all long. His hand sped up, then he pointed his cock forward and shot jets of cum all over my upper body, gasping with every spurt.

His breathing slowed down, and he let go of his cock. I watched a last string of cum stretch to my tummy and dangle there a while before it snapped.

"I guess I should take another shower soon," I said.

*~*~*

I was lucky and woke up on my own before him. The rest of Saturday had been more talking, more cuddling, another nice dinner and a shower together. Before we fell asleep, I had sucked him again. This time, his hand had guided my rhythm, and I had learned that there was a very tiny line between a full mouth and gagging.

He let me do my thing for the wake up blowjob though, and he was still only half awake by the time he filled my mouth.

"Good morning, William," I greeted him. "Are we attending mass today?"

"You already had your communion," he shot back with a grin. "How are your titties?"

"They look pretty bad," I said, and slid upwards so he could take a look at them. They were lined with welts and covered with darkening bruises.

He raised an eyebrow and inspected them, though he didn't touch them. "Nice," he said. "That should teach them a lesson. But we'll need to find a different punishment for today." He gave me a peck on the lips. "I think I know what. It's going to be terrible."

"I'm worried it will get too much," I confessed. I had been in some kind of sexual high most of Saturday, but I woke in the middle of the night, having accidentally turned onto my front, and my chest hurt badly.

"I won't always beat them up like that," he promised, taking my hand. "There are other ways where the pain fades faster and there's no visible damage."

*~*~*

Sunday morning was filled with fucking. It was easier this time, my pussy had apparently adapted a bit, and William used a bit of lube. He still reached that point deep inside me that hurt, though. I learned that my suspicion was true and that his cock was just long enough to hit my cervix, and what felt like a punch for me was an insignificant bump for him. Yet, even while my cheeks were wet again from the discomfort, I came while he fucked me roughly, my fingers rubbing my clit in furious cycles.

We showered afterwards. Then we fucked again, and I came once more. Twice a day was more often than I had ever cum before.

I was left alone in the flat for two hours and lazed about on the couch, watching cable TV and munching chips.

When he got back, he brought freshly baked pain au chocolate and a zipper bag filled with stinging nettles. He wrapped my chest with cling wrap, cut out the parts over my tits, then added another layer which he stuffed with the nettles. I had to wear the nettle bra for a full hour.

I cried a lot. My throbbing, stinging nipples were so engorged that I thought they were going to pop. My titties were swollen too, far more than they had been in the morning.

The cold water from the shower was such a blessing, even though my teeth were chattering madly by the time I stepped out of it. Afterwards, we had coffee, cuddled some more, cooked dinner together and fucked a last time before falling asleep.

*~*~*

Rose looked strangely at me, and I quickly turned back to the shelves and almost died with shame. Every movement tortured my still sore nipples and breasts, and I was walking stiffly from the fucking. I thought she had shifted her attention to her own tasks and yelped when her voice sounded from up close.

"Are you and he fucking?" she asked with a bluntness that was totally untypical for her.

I took a shuddering breath, thought how to answer, and then I realized that I had paused too long to lie. "Yeah," I admitted.

"I thought so. The virgin waddle."

I had to laugh. "Virgin waddle? Really?"

"The two of you are quite the contrast."

I made the mistake of looking at her face, and she saw mine, saw the raw arousal, embarrassment and terror that little statement stirred up. Her expression turned questioning, then worried.

"Did he hurt you?"

I tried to think of what to say, but I had no idea. And then, born of embarrassment and tension and a million other emotions I hadn't had the chance to work through yet, tears started running down my cheeks.

Rose froze, then she jumped up and raced to the door, turning the key and the closed sign. She came back, took my hand and pulled me into the back, where I plopped weakly onto the faded couch.

"You can tell me anything, honey," Rose said, crouching down in front of me and rubbing my arms. "Anything at all. I won't judge. If he hurt you, we can talk to a friend in the police, someone important enough so his money or status won't help him."

I squeezed my eyes closed, willing her to stop, but she kept up ensuring me that it wasn't my fault, that I could tell her, that we'd put things at right.

After ten minutes, she ran out of steam, and I ran out of tears. She had sat down on the couch too by that time, and I gladly took the tissues from her to blow my nose and clean my face.

And then, facing the most awkward moment in a continually awkward life, I decided that I needed to step far out of my social comfort zone for once and maybe salvage the chance to keep working here, for Rose, at the bookstore that had become my life.

I stood up straight. I righted my dress and managed not to flinch when my nipples protested. I took Rose's hand and stood up, unwilling to crane my neck for this talk.

"Rose," I said, "I'm sorry for falling to pieces like that. Your question triggered something in me, but it's not what you think. I trust you like nobody else, and I need you to trust me the same. I need you to trust me to make my own decisions, even if you don't understand them. I'm -- I'm going to tell you something I wouldn't share with anybody else, and I'm trusting you to keep it between us. You may think less of me. You may no longer want to have me around. And I understand. Just don't talk, don't go up in arms. It's my conscious decision."

"Billie," Rose said quietly, eyes wide, and squeezed my hand.

"Hear me out, please. This is difficult enough." I took a few steadying breaths. "William and I are in a relationship, yes, and we're having sex, but it's not your average relationship." I struggled for a moment to find the right words. "William is... incredibly dominant, and a sadist. And I am his complement. I am utterly submissive, and I am a masochist. He hurts me. He objectifies me. And I love it. I love the pain, but even more so, the anticipation and fear of it. I have never felt so alive, never been so happy. I have found my place as his property. His commodity."

I was breathing hard. The fact that Rose hadn't pulled her hand away gave me some hope, but I didn't think she could understand what I tried to tell her.

Then she surprised me. "I know William's proclivities. But I needed to be sure you knew what you are signing up for." She squeezed my hand. "I'm not convinced it's going to end well, but I also know that there's no use in stopping a submissive's journey. I have just one question: have you met Lizbeth yet?"

"Who's Lizbeth?"

"Never mind. You're going to meet her soon enough. I was just curious." She pulled me down onto the couch again and pulled me into a sideways embrace. "I consider you a friend first, an employee second, Billie. I'm not going to think any less of you."

I blinked away some tears and snuggled against her shoulder. "I feel the same about you," I said quietly. "Thanks for understanding."

*~*~*

William had moved my things without me -- a few of my things. I had written a letter for my landlord, canceling my flat, and William had brought my documents, my painting stuff, a few mementos and photo albums and a tiny selection of my clothes. He took only the high heeled shoes, only the skin tight dresses, and my raincoat. No underwear, no pajamas. No jeans or t-shirts. Everything he didn't take went to goodwill. My whole life, once again, fit into a big suitcase.

The week went by quickly. Between work, stowing my stuff, punishing my tits, fucking and cuddling, there was little time to be bored.

We took a long shower together on Friday, and William rubbed lotion into my skin, spending a lot of time with my pussy. By the time he was finished, I was dripping madly and begging to cum.

"I've got a surprise for you today," he whispered into my ear, and I shivered in anticipation.

"What is it?" I asked, wiggling my naked butt against his groin.

"A surprise," he said a little sharply and slapped my butt. "Stop asking." He led me to the dining table and had me lie down on my back with my feet almost touching one end. Then he fetched ropes and tied my ankles and wrists with them, running the ropes under the top and spreading my limbs wide. More ropes went around it, tying my midriff down as well.

I watched him walk to the closet and put on loose cotton trousers and a t-shirt that clung to his muscular chest. For a moment, I wondered why he was dressing, but then the doorbell chimed, and my eyes widened.