Something Missing

There was always something missing. Despite the love, the commitment, the trust – there was always something she felt they lacked. She knew what it was, and had often tried talking about it, but to no avail. Apparently, he felt it was too important to fuck up and was prepping himself to do it right.

Sigh.

That was months ago. There had been so many drunken fights, hungover apologies, serious conversations and bawling confessions as she laid herself out bare, open and vulnerable. But he had never stepped up to the plate. He had never sheltered her the way she longed for, the way she needed. All she got were empty promises, broken hopes and broken dreams. She knew it was partly her fault, the way she freaked out when he had tried once. But how could he expect otherwise, after what she had been through? To give yourself over to another, that level of trust was hard enough to gather once without having had that abused ; doing it over and over and over again with no results was heart-breaking.

She had started to think maybe it just wasn't him. Maybe he didn't have the understanding, the dedication to take another life into his hands. Maybe, and she was always afraid to say this out loud, too afraid of what it might mean, maybe he wasn't the one.

The mere inkling of the thought of the string of consequences that brought about made her heart go cold.

I can't. I can't. Not after everything we worked through. Not after every... She couldn't bear to finish that thought.

She always descended into this chaos every time she was alone. Especially these last few months, what with the nervous breakdowns and the major upheavals in her life. She felt lost, directionless. Not quite like a boat in a storm, but more like the world was spinning around her and she had no clue which way was up. She tried to distract herself from this reality for a while, but you can't run forever.

All she wanted was peace. For once in her life, she wanted to surrender everything to someone else – her mind, her body, her feelings, her very soul felt like a burden she wanted to upend on someone else. Him. She wanted someone else to control everything for a while, even when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. She just wanted to be along for the ride. Just once, she didn't want to think. Just once, all she wanted to do was obey.

Another sigh, another hour gone by. She sat wondering what to do with herself for a while. As she slipped into the well-worn thoughts and feelings, an immense exhaustion came over her. She knew where to go. She had walked back and forth across the familiar memory for hours before, and there was nothing wrong with doing it again. That one night, that one treat, that one ounce of freedom life had granted her – she went through the nooks and crannies of it ever so often, afraid she would forget it. The touches and stings, the cries and bindings. It had overwhelmed her then, it overwhelmed her now. But it was like an addiction to her – the sound of his voice, the sharpness of the crop, the sheer force of the restraint that stayed her own will. Over and over she replayed it in her mind, sometimes with variations of what happened, taking it further and further each time. But it all started just the same.

'Strip.'

It didn't matter what preceded it. Her entire world both started and ended with the one word. She trusted him, else she wouldn't be here. Nothing mattered besides that.

She pulled off her clothes hastily, eager for the shebang to start. He looked her over steadily, absorbing every inch of her that she had exposed to him.

No, not to him.

For him.

She was usually not shy of her body, despite having a few jiggly bits. His gaze made her uncertain. He came forward and ran a finger over her stomach, drawing large, lazy circles on it. His finger moved to one side and swept upwards, lifting her left tit. He looked into her eyes as he let it fall.

She gulped.

He walked over to the one sofa in the room, and sat down. He motioned for her to come over, and just as she took her first step, he made a disapproving noise. A tap made it clear he wanted her on the floor, and she kneeled. Another tap indicated lower. Understanding, she got on all fours and crawled over to him slowly, feeling the weight of her heavy breasts as they hung down under her. She could feel the cold, conditioned air on her ass slip down to her pussy lips as she approached his feet. He patted on the couch beside him and she crawled up to him, settling down as much like a cat as she could manage. He put an arm around her and pushed her legs down, making her sit upright, but leaning on his shoulder.

She nuzzled into the warmth his clothes provided him, shying away from the sharpness in the regulated air of the room. He protectively put his arm around her and pulled her close, squeezing her thigh with his free hand. She felt his sigh run fleetingly over her shoulder, followed quickly by a pair of hungry, soft lips. They bit.

They bit hard, and she gasped as she registered the duality of the bite and his fingers digging in to her thigh, rough fingernails scraping against her skin. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back, breathlessly brushing his lips and tongue and teeth against her neck while she whimpered silently, too scared, too aroused, too owned to say a word. She did, however, muster enough courage to slowly rub his leg, giving it a reassuring squeeze before returning to wrap softly around the hand on her leg.

'Are you scared?' he asked softly, sucking on her earlobe, sucking it firmly between his lips.

A wave of unadulterated arousal swept over her. His hands cupped her right breast, caressing the underside, eliciting an involuntary whimper. She was breathing hard, her mouth dry, her throat parched, unable to say a word. Her eyes shut out all external images and sounds, focusing on what he was doing to her. The feel of his skin on hers, his clothes against her naked body, his warmth that she wanted to disappear inside.

His fingers went to her nipple, and a she felt a momentary tingle of excitement which turned into sudden sharp pain as he twisted it. Her eyes flew open, and she tried to pull away, which only made it worse since he wouldn't let go.

'I asked you a question. I expect you to answer it.' His voice was soft; his tone was polite, not even particularly commanding. The firm grip on her nipple, however, belied his authority.

'Very,' she whimpered, unable to say the usual "sir" or "master". She had tried saying them out loud a number of times, but they didn't feel right in her mouth.

'Good girl,' he said, smiling and relaxing his grip.

Aha.

She loved that. The sound of that praise, the approval it implied always made her feel uncannily happy. Purring, she turned towards him and nuzzled into his shoulder. By now, he had relaxed his grip on her hair. Pulling her towards him gently, he made her straddle him on the couch. She leaned in to kiss him, but he pushed her away.

He guided her hands to his shirt buttons and left them there, expectantly. She began taking his clothes off, pausing to run her hands over his exposed skin every once in a while. She began to get wet in anticipation of what would happen. Unconsciously, she had begun grinding her hips into his lap in small circles, and panting just a little.

He pulled her towards himself forcefully, holding her by the shoulders as he growled. 'Horny little slut aren't you? Grinding on my lap, panting like a bitch in heat even before we've started.'

He caressed her cheek as she looked, terrified, into his eyes.

Smack.

She didn't anticipate the slap. But the sting went straight to her clit, and helplessly, she just got more aroused.

The other cheek.

Then the other.

And again.

She moaned audibly, gasping and whimpering as another short slap landed on her face.

The night had just started.