WARNING: This story contains controversial Force Fantasy content
Read Lesson 1 here
MITCH
I fucked her right after I strapped her; there was no way I could wait. I held her for a few minutes to let her calm down, and then I bent her back over the chair, yanked down my jeans, and rammed my cock into her as hard as I could.
I didn't even care if she was ready; that's how hot the whole thing got me. She was ready, though, and that was what I had counted on. Sliding into her was like pushing myself into a slick fist, and it only took three or four pumps to shoot my load inside her. She started crying again, but she wanted it. I could feel it in her pussy, the way the muscles contracted around me, the way she arched her back, and the little gasps she let out between the sobs.
As soon as I came I pulled out of her. I didn't want her to come yet, not until I was ready to let her. She was even more upset after that and it was hard not to comfort her, but I told myself that I needed to stick to the plan. So I stepped away and slapped her on the ass as hard as I could, and she jumped and let out a little scream.
"Mitch!" she cried, and started to straighten up. I put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down.
"I didn't say you could get up," I said, and she struggled against my hand. I slapped her ass again, harder. Christ, it looked so gorgeous, round and red, quivering just a little.
"Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed, and I steeled myself again. My little Krissy. God, I loved her. But I had to be strong.
"Because I can," I told her. "Do you want to get up now, Krissy?"
She nodded, a tentative, little-girl movement that made me start to get hard again. Her hair fell around her face, mostly brown but with lots of blonde and red highlights. Thick, beautiful hair; it always smelled so good.
"Okay, baby," I said, and she straightened up slowly and wrapped her arms around her chest like she needed to protect herself from me. She didn't turn around; it was her little show of defiance, I suppose. I knew she'd be upset and confused, and I had to take advantage of the moment. I took her shoulder and turned her around, putting my palms against either side of her face and kissing her gently.
When I pulled away Krissy looked at me, her mouth drawn down into a trembling bow and her eyes wet and full of pain and confusion. I could feel my cock stirring and I had to reach down and adjust it. Just looking in those eyes really got me going.
"You hurt me," she said softly, and I reached up and wiped away her tears with the ball of my thumb.
"I know. You didn't listen to me, Krissy. You need to listen to me, don't you?"
She just stared at me, her hair tangled around her face and her expression so hesitant, and so help me God, I wanted to throw her to the floor and fuck the shit out of her, so hard that she wouldn't be able to walk the next day. It was those eyes; those big, green, amazing eyes. It had been since the first time I'd seen her.
"What are you talking about, Mitch?" she asked, and I could tell she was trying not to cry again. I took her hands and led her over to the bed, and she let me push her gently down onto it, making a hissing sound of pain as her tender ass came into contact with the blankets. I sat down beside her and cupped her face in the palm of one hand.
"I want you to belong to me, Krissy." She frowned and pulled back a little, as if I had threatened her. In a way, I guess I had.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "I'm with you, aren't I? I mean, we live together - " I shook my head and placed a finger across her lips.
"That's not what I mean. I want you to belong to me. To do everything I tell you. Everything. No questions asked."
Krissy looked frightened again. "Everything? You mean, like ... this?"
I smiled. She was smart, my Krissy.
"Yeah, baby. That's what I mean. I want you to be my slave. Do you think you can do that?"
She cut her eyes away from me, looking down at the floor, and I could almost hear her confusion: Is he serious? What the fuck is going on here?
I decided to make it easy for her. I put my fingers under her chin and tipped her head up until she was looking into my eyes. I loved it, the way she let me immobilize her head so I could trap that green gaze with mine.
"I'm giving you a choice, Krissy. I'm not going to make you do anything. But if you want to stay with me, you have to give yourself to me. Totally."
"What if I don't want to?" she whispered, and at the quaver in her voice that urge was all over me, that animal urge to take her again and again until she begged me to stop. I forced myself to tell her flatly, "Then you have to move out."
Krissy's shoulders sagged and she pulled her chin out of my grasp. She dropped her head into her hands and began to cry.
"That's not a choice, Mitch," she said, her voice muffled. "I have to let you abuse me or leave?"
I grabbed her shoulders and jerked her toward me, and her head came up like a startled doe. For a moment there was fear, real fear, in her eyes, and I liked it. Jesus, I really did.
"Who said anything about abuse?"
I made my voice impatient and angry and I shook her, just a little. She had to know I was serious, or this wouldn't work at all.
And I wanted it to. I really fucking wanted it to.
"I said you have to do what I tell you. Right away. Without asking any questions. If you do that, Krissy, you won't be punished."
She stared at me and began to plead.
"Mitch, why are you doing this? Are you trying to test me, or scare me? What's wrong with you?"
I kissed her, hard, over and over, until she was gasping and trying to get away.
"There's nothing wrong with me," I told her, letting my hand slide from her shoulder to her breast. "I want to own you. Is that so wrong?"
"Yes," she began, and then hesitated. My fingers played with her nipple, and it hardened into a bullet. I pinched it, and she made that hissing noise again, a slight intake of breath that made me want to tighten my grip until she screamed.
"No ..." she continued. "I don't know."
She reached up and touched my wrist, wanting to move my hand, and I looked at her in warning.
When she dropped her hand I knew she was mine, and I smiled at her and kissed her again.
"Are you mine, Krissy?" I asked against her mouth, and she nodded. "Say it," I ordered, and she did.
"I'm yours, Mitch."
KRISSY
For the rest of that evening I was in a daze. We did all the usual things: had dinner, watched a little television, and Mitch went into his study. But there was a sense of unreality to all of it, a feeling that everything had tipped just the slightest bit off center.
Did that really happen? What have I agreed to?
These and so many other thoughts rushed through my mind as I cleaned up the kitchen, and suddenly I felt as though I didn't know the man I lived with at all. Up until now he had been a passionate and loving partner - prone to outbursts of temper, yes, but nothing like this had ever surfaced before. He had never given the slightest indication of such leanings until that afternoon, and the shock of it was overwhelming me.
Slave?? K, what are you doing? The guy's mental! Start packing!
Even as I acknowledged the wisdom of those words, I could feel another part of myself reacting to the memory of the control in Mitch's voice and the suppressed violence in his hands, and this response was visceral, beyond my control. The more I concentrated on how my ass was throbbing the hotter I got, and it made me feel both ashamed and excited. Did I want this? Was there a part of me that craved the punishment?
Oh, God, what's wrong with me? Why don't I just leave?
At least I knew the answer to that: I didn't want to leave because I loved him. I sat down carefully at the small kitchen table and propped my chin in my hands. I smiled as I thought of the night we had met.
It had been at a party, and when I was introduced to Mitch something happened between us. We both felt it, and I was nervous and tongue-tied around him the rest of the night. Finally, when there were only a few of us left and we were sitting in a semi-circle passing around a joint, Mitch had accepted the joint and moved over to a spot beside me. Then he took a hit, leaned toward me, and blew the smoke from his lungs into my open mouth. I had been stunned, and when he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and kissed me gently I found myself kissing him back, suddenly longing to feel his hands all over me. No man had ever made me feel that way before - naked, dirty, fucking slutty - and once he had taken me I couldn't get enough.
It had been the same for Mitch, and for the first two months we had wallowed in it, having sex at every opportunity. It wasn't just sex, either - it was raging desire, lust beyond the boundaries of anything I had ever experienced. I let him do things I wouldn't have even imagined before. He had taken me in public places - bent over a bridge railing in the middle of the night, in a ladies' room at a local park, and in his car in the parking garage beneath our building. He had ravished me in every room of our apartment. He had covered me with oil until his hands slid off me and my pussy was as slick as he had made my skin; watched porno movies with me and insisted on trying out all the positions; fucked me so hard and so long that I had begged him to stop, and suggested that we have a threesome with another girl more than once.
Mitch had brought out a passion in me that I had never suspected existed, and all it took was the thought of his nearly shaved head, those steely eyes, and that hard and unforgiving chin and I could feel the desire overwhelm me, taking all my control and common sense with it.
My friends had never quite warmed up to him - Mitch was extremely outspoken and wasn't the least bit apologetic about it. He said what was on his mind, when it was on his mind, and if someone didn't like it, too bad. He was intelligent and well read, conversant on an amazing array of subjects, so he managed not to alienate too many people, but his biting sarcasm and ruthless honesty was too much for many of my friends to take. Numerous times he had casually cut me down in front of them, and in spite of my resentment I could never bring myself to tell him where to go. I always ended up feeling like he was right, that I didn't know as much as I thought I did, and maybe it would be better to just let him teach me.
As I sat there at the kitchen table, struggling to find a comfortable way to sit and failing to do so, I realized that in many ways I had already conceded to Mitch. I had become very pliable, too willing to just accept his viewpoints as my own, too reluctant to point out his shortcomings, although he never hesitated to point out mine. A rush of anger swept through me and I got to my feet, filling with a sudden determination.
Forget this slave shit! I'm an equal partner in this relationship, and it's time I told him that!
I marched over to his study before I could lose my nerve. Mitch was a writer, working on his first novel, and he spent many evenings closeted with his computer, shutting out the rest of the world. Normally I didn't bother him when the door was closed, but this time, I told myself, was different. This time he was going to listen to me!
I opened the door and Mitch looked around in irritation.
"I need to talk to you," I said, and he got out of his chair and came over to me.
"Really."
He stood in front of me, his face expressionless, and despite my earlier conviction I felt a quiver of fear in my stomach. I squared my shoulders and told myself fiercely to stop being such a chickenshit.
"Yes, really." Mitch reached out and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me into the room.
"What have I told you about the door, Krissy?" he asked in a tone of counterfeit patience, and once again I vowed not to let him intimidate me.
"When it's closed not to bother you," I rattled off, and he nodded approvingly. "But this is important, Mitch," I continued. "I have something I want to say."
Mitch raised his eyebrows and regarded me with amusement, and I felt anger stir inside me again.
"You do, do you?" His voice was gently reproving, as though he was the father and I was a difficult preschooler. Before I could restrain myself I snapped,
"Don't use that tone with me. I'm not a child, you know."
Mitch seized my shoulders in an iron grip and jerked me toward him.
"Oh, I know that, Krissy," he told me. "I wasn't fucking a child earlier, was I?"
"No, you weren't," I retorted, although the fear was back, trying to take over. "What gives you the right to treat me the way you did, Mitch?"
Mitch just looked at me - speculatively, the way he would size up an opponent - and I lost my nerve. Just like that he had overwhelmed me, and now I was sorry I had said anything.
"What gives me the right?" he repeated softly, and I had to resist the urge to apologize. He shook me, and my head wobbled back and forth. "You gave me the right, Krissy. Don't you remember?" I started to speak.
"Mitch, I - " He placed his palm over my mouth, and for some reason the gesture was threatening.
"Stop, Krissy. Stop talking right now. It looks like you don't understand yet. I'm going to have to help you with that."
Mitch began to pull me toward the door, and panic took over. I twisted away from him and backed up, and for the first time a look of real anger crossed his face.
"Get over here."
His voice was flat and authoritative, and now I felt like a recalcitrant child. I shook my head and continued to back away until my sore buttocks brushed up against the edge of his desk. Mitch stood where he was and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Krissy." He spit out my name through clenched teeth, frightening me still more, and I struggled for control. "I said get over here. Right fucking now."
"No." I forced the word through the dryness in my throat, shaking my head again. It was ridiculous, really: where was I going to go? Out the window behind me?
Mitch shook his own head - you silly, silly, girl - and started toward me. I bit back a scream with an effort.
"Oh, Krissy," he said in mock disappointment. "I thought we were straight about the way things are now." He stopped right in front of me, and my heart began to race so quickly that I felt faint.
"I don't want to - "
It was all I managed to get out before he grabbed me.
"You really don't get it, do you?"
Mitch pulled me toward him until our bodies were tight against each other. I could feel his erection, and a shock of lust went through me. "You're mine now, Krissy. Mine to do whatever I want with. You said you would listen to me and do what I told you. Didn't you?"
I just stared at him, and he shouted, so suddenly that I began to cry.
"DIDN'T YOU?"
Now I was nodding, my head bobbing up and down frantically, but it didn't matter; he was angry. He dragged me out of the room, not even giving me a chance to cooperate and walk beside him. He strode to the bedroom, pulling me behind him, and threw me into the room. I went sprawling on the carpet, turning around and scrambling away on my hands and knees, and in seconds he was beside me, his hands like steel as he grabbed my hips. He pulled hard, and I slid on the carpet toward him.
"Mitch - " I gasped, and he smiled, a gentle smile that was somehow terrifying.
"You know what to do, Krissy," he said, and my breath stopped entirely for a moment.
"No, oh Mitch, no - "
Mitch hooked his fingers in the neck of the tee shirt I was wearing and tore it down the front.
"Get your fucking clothes off."
He got to his feet and looked down at me expectantly, and I sat up, wincing at the pressure on my ass.
His eyes promised pain, so much more pain. I began to cry again, removing what was left of my shirt and then reaching around to unhook my bra. Mitch nodded, smiling, and I got slowly to my feet and unzipped my jeans, pushing them down and stepping out of them. I could hardly see what I was doing for the tears in my eyes, but it didn't matter; my hands moved automatically. When I was naked I stood in front of him, trembling. I wiped my eyes with the heels of my hands like a child, and it seemed to amuse him.
"Go get the chair."
I looked at Mitch pleadingly, and when he began to unbuckle his belt I was unable to stop myself from begging.
"Please - " I began, and he pulled the belt out of the loops of his jeans, still smiling.
"It's way too late for please. Now go and get the fucking chair."
I walked to the dresser and got the chair, carrying it over to where Mitch was standing. I placed it in front of him and he caressed the side of my face briefly with the hand not holding the belt. Then he stepped away from me, and I turned around and bent over the back of the chair, clutching the sides of it until my knuckles turned white.
"Ready, Krissy?"
I won't cry I won't scream goddammit I won't -
This time I counted until twenty, and I wasn't screaming by the time it was over, because by then I had no voice left.
Read Lessons 4 & 5 here
Originally published March 2006 - "Straight Lines and Sexy Curves"