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.


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.


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 into 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.


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.


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.

He pulled her face towards him and brushed his open lips against her face. The gesture was tender, but she could feel the contained aggression trembling beneath his face and hands.

‘I’m going to fuck you tonight,’ he whispered. She nodded in assent, trying desperately to catch his lips, to kiss him, taste him, and please him.

‘It’s going to hurt,’ he continued, nipping sharply at her neck before smothering it in the warmth of his lips. She replied by pulling him closer towards her skin, mentally urging him to bite. Straddling a man, eyes closed, hair cascading down her neck —

She had always loved this. She had always loved this purity of feeling, an unadulterated sense of the erotic. Though our other feelings and emotions and senses could be tainted by half a dozen other factors, arousal was the only state which was clean. She revelled in it; she was enthralled by it.


His voice grounded her back to reality, and she ran her fingers through his hair. It was his turn to close his eyes as she kissed his face — his eyes, brows and cheek; the bridge of his nose and his forehead all covered with wet kisses that were desperately covering every inch they could. At last, when she was gasping, leaning her forehead against his, she whispered, her voice trembling, ‘I want to be hurt. I need to be hurt. I want to be marked, to be whipped and slapped and caned and…and gagged and bound…chained…hurt…’ She trailed off into a soft moan, taking a deep breath and sighing, raking her fingernails across his skin in urgent, desperate, wanton, lustful need.

He shoved her off his lap and sat her down on the floor, in front of his feet. Putting his feet on her lap, she was made to take off his shoes and socks. His feet began to climb up her bare skin. They pushed her thighs apart till he could see her pussy, and made her lean back as they climbed up to her breasts. He liked it there, rubbing his soles on her nipples and pulling on them with his toes.

Rubbing his soles on her nipples- he smiled to himself as he examined the wordplay, perfecting the delicious image in his head. She saw the smile on his lips and leaned back further, pressing her breasts into his feet. Tentatively putting her hands on them, she brought them up to her face, brushing them against her cheeks.

Surprisingly, she didn’t find it degrading or humiliating. She’d imagined this so many times, and it was always filthy to her. This, however, seemed calming, to have him, any part of him so close to her. Being at his feet felt right.

He traced her lips with his big toe, and she opened her pretty little mouth just as he pushed it slightly between her lips. She sucked on it softly, keeping her eyes downcast and caressing his sole with her soft fingers.

He smiled again. Caressing his sole.

Caressing his soul.

He kneeled down beside her and looked at her. He looked at everything she surrendered to him — her obedience, her will, her consent; her pain, lust, greed, pleasure — everything was his, everything he deigned to take from her. Everything she did was because he let her.

His hand gripped her hair tightly, painfully, as he yanked it back, running his hands roughly over every part of her that he could touch. His hands mauled her breasts, slapping with much more force than she was used to, eliciting several contained sobs. Angrily, he pushed her over onto her stomach, repositioning her so her ass was elevated. Without ceremony, he folded his belt and started hitting her round cheeks as hard as he could bring himself to.

He saw it turn bright red to a deep scarlet within a few lashes.

He saw her crying, could see her body move as it was sobbing. He also saw that she didn’t move, or many any effort to get up or leave. He swore under his breath, moaning loud enough so she could hear. So she could hear how fucking hit he was, how fucking hot she had gotten him. He wanted her to know that he would take everything she could give him, that he needed her, that he would possess her and consume her — just fucking OWN her for tonight.

Just for tonight.

She was crying, and it hurt. She didn’t know what she had done, but she could see he was angry, and dammit, she could feel it stinging on her ass every time the belt came down. She couldn’t see past her haze of tears, and her confusion which only, confusingly, served to elevate her arousal. The leather sometimes landed fractions above her labia, and was often brushing against it on the upstroke, and she loved it every time it did.

Just as suddenly as it started, it ended. She could hear him breathing heavily behind her. He was standing with the belt folded in his hand, shirt left open and hanging from his shoulder.

He moaned.

Oh sweet Lord.

And just like that she needed and wanted and oh God craved him inside her. She pushed her ass up a little more, and spread her legs apart. Lowering her chest to the floor, she looked back at him, teary-eyes and lustful, pleading and awed by — by him?

He walked towards her, carefully measuring his steps. It was getting progressively more and more difficult to not possess and con-fucking-sume this beautiful woman in front of him, to not brand her and collar her whip her till she screamed for mercy. This woman whom he barely knew except that she had given herself over to him ad was now lying there with her lashed ass up in the air, swaying her hips at him to invite him closer, begging him to fuck her with her tear-swept eyes, and that mouth that was created to be fucked.

Taking deep breaths, he ran his hand lightly over the redness on her buttocks, and heard her whimper. She spread her legs even further, her pussy peeking out from between her ample thighs. He could see her wetness glistening on her lips.

For fuck’s sake, woman,’ he thought, gritting his teeth and sliding a finger over her very needy pussy. She moaning into her hands, pushing her hips back into his finger. She didn’t stop, pushing him and pushing him, prodding at the aggression beneath the calm. She didn’t know she was doing it, and it wasn’t fair on her.

‘Do you like this?’ he asked, sliding his finger between her fat pussy lips, coating it with her juices. She whimpered in response, pushing down to get his finger insi-

Oh fuck yes.

She could feel him inside her. She was a little embarrassed by how easily it slid inside her, but nothing mattered now. Nothing matters except the thrusting of his finger. She wanted him, she wanted more, she wanted a cock inside her, but oh God, this was good and she needed more. She didn’t know she was humping against his hand. She did know when he turned his hand inside her, when he added another finger, and when he scissored inside her.

Eyes closed, she let go for the moment. She sat back and just felt. The momentary lightness of being. All those sensations washed over her — the roughness of his motions, the warmth of the skin on his fingers, the coldness of the floor, the stinging of her ass. She heard him beside her, his moans and grunts. The sound her pussy made as it was finger-fucked. Her own breathing — there was more moan than breath now. The purity of feeling was back, and she felt clean.

A hand pushed her onto her back, and she lay back smiling at him. He cupped her breasts in both hands, bending down to take her nipple into his mouth. She pulled him closer towards her, urging him to put more of her ample breasts into his mouth. His hand went for her pussy and circled her clit, spanking it softly as she jumped and gasped underneath him. She pulled his face to hers and licked his lips. Sucking on his tongue, her hands undid his pants and pushed his boxers down. Sliding her hands over his ass, his hips and soft tummy, she moved them to his shoulders, scratching down his arm desperately, hurting him like he had. Pushing him off, she straddled him. Her eyes locked on to his cock, half hard already.

‘May I?’ she asked, eyes glazed, mouth open. He nodded a quick assent as she pushed herself down further to align her mouth to his cock. She started by licking up and down the length first, till all 6 and a half inches was slick, careful to stay away from the head. Gripping the base of the cock firmly, she licked her own lips once before pushing the head into her open mouth.

‘Oh shit,’ he groaned. His hands rested in her hair, twisting it, tugging it up and down.

He tasted wonderful. Her tongue sliding around his head was the most complete she’d felt in a long time. The slight pressure he kept on her head, and the tight grip on her hair reminded of freedom in chains — she was beginning to understand what that meant. She got a rhythm going, bobbing her head up and down on his cock, looking into his eyes as he lay on the floor under her. She felt him growing harder in her mouth, the veiny skin growing more and more prominent every time her tongue brushed past.

Her head jerked up as they both heard a knock on the door.

‘Room service.’

She looked at him, and he smiled back as he pushed her away. He pulled her off the bed and gently pushed her down to her knees on the floor. He could see the fear in her eyes and tried to calm her by patting her head gently. He softly pushed her knees wider apart, and ran his hand down her back to straighten it. After arranging her hair in a way that pleased him, he moved to put on a dressing gown.

‘Sit and stay.’

A roused herself from the memory long enough to peep at the clock. 4am. Why did her nights always end this way?

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