Bound to Accept (10 page)

Tristan kneels between my spread legs, and
runs his hands up my body, squeezing my breasts, before closing
them lightly around my throat.

“
Have you ever
masturbated?”

I shift my eyes away.

“
Look at me. Have you ever
brought yourself to climax?”

“
A few times.”

“
How many?”

“
I don't know. Ten or
twenty.” It's a guess.

“
So few?” He sounds
incredulous.

“
It felt wrong—Sir.” I
close my eyes. “Like I was dirty. I was so embarrassed. I
felt…slutty.”

“
A woman isn't a whore for
wanting pleasure. If it were unnatural, we would not be born with
such drives.”

I don't say anything.

“
Do you
disagree?”

“
No, Sir.”

“
So you have some
experience getting yourself off.” He opens the package of vibrators
and selects an orange one. “What were you thinking about when you
did?”

I look from the vibrator to him in horror.
“I'm not going to tell you that!”

“
Why are you embarrassed?
Was it something really kinky? Like tentacle porn? A whole bunch of
glistening tentacles, invading your every orifice…. Is that what
gets you off, moonshine?”

“
No!”

“
Gang bangs? Vore?” He
bites down on my lower lip briefly. “That's a fetish for being
eaten alive, by the way.”

“
That's disgusting. I
don't like that! I would never—”

“
Scat? Necrophilia? Or
perhaps what you like is seeing all those sweet little ponies of
yours fuck each other raw.”

I flinch. It's like he's
slapped me. “Stop! Please. That's enough.
You
. It's you.”

My outburst doesn't shake him at all. “Me,
what?”

I'm breathing hard. “I was thinking about
you, okay?”

“
Okay, Sir,” he corrects
me. “Why did you make that so difficult on yourself, pony girl? You
wouldn't be here if you didn't want me to fuck you. Or was I doing
something kinky to you?”

“
We were just having
sex—Sir.”

“
Were you on the bottom or
top?”

I flush. “Bottom.”

“
So you like it when I'm
on top of you.” He begins rolling up my skirt. I clench my butt,
compressing my inner parts, trying to hide as much of myself as I
can from him considering my limited movement. What if he decides he
doesn't want me anymore once he looks down there? The lights are
on. All of my flaws will be illuminated. “Well. I like the way you
look all spread out beneath me.”

My skirt is all bunched up around my hips.
Oh dear God, he's going to touch me down there. “Can't we start
with something else?” Someplace else?

“
No.” He spreads me
further with his knees, and then parts my labia with his fingers.
The shock of their rough warmth makes me cringe. I squeeze my eyes
shut.

The air feels very cold on my exposed
vagina, tingly, almost. I wish there was somewhere I could
hide.

“
I'm not going to hurt
you.” With the hand that isn't keeping my labia parted, he flicks
the switch on the vibrator and it comes to life with a buzzing
sound that reminds me of a wasp. He runs it along my lower lip, and
the vibration of it tickles. The material is as soft and smooth as
skin. “And neither is this. You know that. You said you used one
before.”

“
It's different when
someone else does it.”

“
Yes,” he agrees. “When I
do it, it's better.”

Then he's running it along the inside of my
labia, teasing the vibrator close to my clitoris, close enough that
I can feel the vibrations without it actually making contact. When
it does, my body jolts, and my stomach turns to liquid.

And just like that, he slides a finger into
me.

I yelp, and stare at him,
alarmed. It
hurts
.

Tristan gives no indication that he's heard
the sound, and slides his finger in and out. That hurts more, the
movement, and I make a low, agonized sound, sighing in relief when
he pulls out, but then the vibrator starts rolling against my clit,
in thick, heavy strokes, and pretty soon I'm panting. I don't even
protest when he puts his finger back inside me. But then he inserts
a second—fire licks up my thighs and I try to jerk away. But I
can't, of course.

Those fucking restraints.

“
Tristan, I don't think I
can do this, it hurts—”

“
You know what your
safeword is.”

I think about that. Yes, I have a safeword.
Do I want to use my safeword? Do I want him to stop?

He slides his fingers out, and switches to
the vibrator again, and I begin to feel this sensation of glowing,
liquid heat, like I desperately have to go to the bathroom.

No, I don't want him to
stop. Not while he's doing that. What kind of vibrator
is
that?

My breasts are glistening
with sweat, and I can feel it beading on my forehead as I bury my
head into the pillow. He slides the fingers back, both of them, and
goes even deeper than before. I can feel something inside of
me
rip
, and I cry
out, “Tristan, I think you just broke my hymen!”

“
No,” he says, still
working his fingers, “you're just very, very tight. And you didn't
call me Sir.” He pulls his fingers out and squeezes my clit and I
moan.

“
Sir,” I correct
myself.

“
You're tight as fuck,” he
says, “and I'm opening you up, touching parts of you that have
never been touched. It's going to hurt, but then it's going to feel
good. So, so good.” Another squeeze, and I am dying, writhing away
because my thighs feel like a cradle of hot soup, and I'm about to
boil over. “I think you're about to come, moonshine.”

I bite my lip and stare at the ceiling.

“
I think you should ask
permission.”

“
May I come,
Sir
?”

“
If you look at me,” he
says, squeezing again, but this time he doesn't let go, and runs
the vibrator over the pinioned flesh. “I want you to look me in the
eyes when I finger-fuck you.”

So I do, and the sheer wanting in them is
enough to help push me over the edge. I make sounds I don't even
recognize as my own, and a rush of liquid seeps out from between my
legs, and for a moment I think I've pissed myself, though of course
I know that I haven't.

Tristan turns the vibrator off and sets it
aside, watching my breasts heave as I struggle to catch my
breath.

He holds up his two fingers, index and
middle finger, like he's a boy scout making that salute. He has
such long, tapered fingers. “This is what I put inside you.”

He taps the second, glistening joint with
his other hand.

“
I only went about this
far.”

I can't help but feel disappointed. He felt
so much bigger when he was inside me. It makes me wonder about
those women who say they prefer a man with a big dick. How can they
possibly stand it? They must have vaginas of steel.

Tristan picks up the glass penis. It's a lot
like the one from that video he showed me. “I'm about this big.” He
rotates the dildo, letting me glimpse it from all angles. “A little
bigger at the head. Not quite as thick.”

For comparison's sake, he holds it beside
his two extended fingers. The glass penis is a lot longer than his
fingers. I feel a little faint as he sets it back down on the tray.
“We have some work to do. I need to break you in.”

I'm glad when he unties my wrists although
my arms are a little sore. I rub my wrists, wincing as the blood
rushes back into my fingers. There are thick red marks where the
cord cut into my skin as I strained against the bindings.

“
Did you like being
interrogated?”

I stare at him like he's
insane.
“No.”

“
How did it make you
feel?”

What is he, a psychologist? “Mortified.”

“
How did it feel to tell
me the truth?”

“
I don't know.”

“
Yes, you do. Tell
me.”

“
A relief, I guess. I
don't know!”

“
Sir,” he corrects me. “If
it was a relief, why didn't you tell me the truth from the
start?”

I look away. “Because it's
embarrassing.”

“
But you ended up being
mortified,” he points out. “So why did you lie to me,
Kelly?”

His using my name makes the question so much
more personal.

“
Maybe because I was
afraid you'd think I was a psycho for telling you I thought about
you like that. Sir.”

“
But I like the idea of
you thinking about me while fingering yourself, pony girl. Maybe
I'll have you do that while I watch, and you can tell me everything
that goes through your head.”

The thought of him watching me masturbate
fills me with horror.

But…in a way, the idea of being watched is a
little thrilling. Like stealing a cookie from a cookie jar, and
wondering if you're going to get caught. Not getting caught makes
the cookie taste sweeter.

I start to button my shirt, but he stops
me.

“
We're not
finished.”

We're not?

“
I brought you to climax
and then let you come.” He clicks his tongue. “But what about me?
Or are you that quick to forget your Master's needs?”

“
I…I'm sorry.”

“
Not yet, you aren't. But
you will be, pony girl. I want you to thank me with your mouth.
You'll take my cock between your lips, and show me just how sorry
you are when you let me fuck your throat the way I'm going to fuck
your pussy.”

He rolls over and unzips his fly. I
immediately see that he wasn't exaggerating about the comparison.
His penis is just as big as the glass one—rosy testicles, darkening
to a dusky beige, with a plum-colored tip. My face goes
scarlet.

I look away, unwilling to
look at him while he sits there so intently.
He's so big.
“I don't know if I
can…”

“
Yes, you do. Get over
here.” He grabs a fistful of my hair and tugs, causing me to tumble
over his outstretched legs. My face is inches from his. He could
kiss me if he wanted, but he doesn't want; he nudges me down his
legs, so I'm bent over his knees and—I realize I've left a damp
spot on the leather. Tristan laughs, a little cruelly. “You're so
wet for me, you're just begging to be fucked.”

Tristan leans forward and wraps my hair
around his hand, pulling my head back so I'm looking up at him.
“Just thinking about that tight little hole gets me so fucking
hard. But you're not quite ready for that, are you, pony girl? So
I'm going to fuck your mouth instead. Open your mouth.”

I part my lips, and he shoves my head into
his lap.

I can smell him—a little
musky, a little like the ocean, with a spicier scent that's
inherently
him
.

I take his cock into my mouth carefully.
He's hard but the skin is soft. The texture reminds me of the
vibrator he teased me with earlier—soft silk stretched over
steel.

I wrap my fingers around the base, and he
closes his eyes and tips his head back as I cautiously lick the tip
of him. I've heard people say blowjobs are like licking popsicles,
but that's a poor analogy. Popsicles get smaller when you suck on
them; Tristan actually seems to swell.

He tastes salty and warm. Not at all
unpleasant. I can feel his pulse on the tip of my tongue, his
throbbing veins, and his heart must be beating furiously.

His grip on my hair
tightens, and he uses his grip on me to push my head up and down as
he pumps his hips. “All the way in,” he says, when I resist.
“
Fuck
me, pony
girl. Really fuck me.”

I don't think I can. I've only taken a third
of him in and I already feel like I'm going to gag.

Then I realize I can curl my tongue up a
bit, and block the back of my throat. It suppresses the gag reflex,
and keeps him from going too far in. It makes a sloppy, smacking
sound as he thrusts in and out of my mouth, with the occasional
pop.

There's a lot going on at once, and I've
never been good at coordination. I have to keep my tongue pressed
against the back of my throat while keeping my lips curled over my
teeth so I don't accidentally bite him. I try to stroke him with my
tongue, but his shaft keeps getting in the way and knocking my
probing tongue aside.

“
Stroke my balls,” he
grinds out, and he shifts his grip from my hair to my head, keeping
me in place so he can go even faster. My lips are starting to feel
chapped.

I cup him in my hand. The skin is so soft,
almost like a baby's—velvety, and delicate. His pubic hair is a lot
darker than the hair on his head, almost black. It prickles my skin
as I carefully stroke him, rubbing my thumb against the folds. He
shudders against me, and lets out a low, pleased sound that makes
my own breathing pick up a little as well.

“
You fuck so
well.”

My head is spinning. I'm starting to feel a
little dizzy.

“
I'm going to come in your
mouth, pony girl,” he says. “And when I do, I want you to swallow,
like a good little cum-slut.”