Chapter 20: Bound and Begging
He stayed like that for a long minute, his weight a warm, crushing comfort. His breath was hot against her sweat-damp skin. Slowly, he softened inside her, slipping free. A wet, messy trickle followed, and she shuddered at the sensation.
He kissed her shoulder blade, soft where a moment before he’d been anything but. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice husky and thick with spent passion. “You take everything I give you so perfectly.”
Chloe’s muscles were liquid, her mind floating in a blissful, empty haze. She turned her head, her cheek against the rough couch fabric. “More,” she whispered, the word barely audible.
Danny stilled. He lifted his head. “What?”
She swallowed, gathering the shreds of her will. The submission had scraped her hollow, and now a deeper, hungrier void yawned open. “I want more. Don’t be gentle now. Not after… not after them. Ruin me again. Please. I need to feel it. I need to forget everything that isn’t you.”
A dark, approving heat flashed behind his glasses. He straightened up, his hand smoothing over the red marks his grip had left on her hip. “Look at you. My shy, sweet goth girl is a fucking little slut for it, isn’t she? Can’t get enough. You just want to be used until there’s nothing left of that pretty, sad head of yours.”
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to arch her back, to force her head up. He leaned down, his mouth next to her ear. “Look at yourself.”
Her eyes, wide and pleading, focused on the dark, smudged reflection in the blank television screen. A phantom girl stared back. Her mascara was a storm of black down her cheeks, her lipstick gone, her hair a wild tangle. She looked wrecked. Taken.
“See that?” Danny’s voice was a low, possessive rumble. “That’s mine. I did that. You begged for that. Say it.”
“It’s yours,” she breathed, the truth of it a raw thrill in her gut. “I’m yours. Please…”
“Please what? Use your words, Chloe. Tell me what you want me to do to this pretty, ruined face.”
“I want… I want you to make me forget my own name. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think. I want to be your slut.” The words, so crude and alien from her usually dry wit, felt like a sacred incantation.
He released her hair with a gentle push, letting her head fall forward. “Since you ask so nicely.”
In one swift motion, he grabbed both her wrists and pulled them behind her back, crossing them at the small. His one hand encircled them both, a firm, unbreakable manacle of flesh and bone. She was pinned, bent over, completely exposed. Helpless.
His other hand came down hard on her ass cheek. The sharp, stinging slap echoed in the room, a bright pain that made her cry out and push back against him instinctively.
“That’s for being such a greedy girl,” he said, his voice all dark promise.
He positioned himself and drove back into her with a single, deep thrust. She was swollen, sensitive, overspent, and the renewed invasion was a shocking blend of ache and electric pleasure. He didn’t ease into a rhythm. He set a hard, driving pace from the first stroke, pounding into her, each impact jolting through her pinned frame.
“Oh god, Danny, please!” she whimpered, the words forced out of her with every slam of his hips.
“Please what?” he grunted, landing another slap on her other cheek. The heat bloomed, mixing with the deep, internal friction.
“Please don’t stop! It’s so good, I’m gonna… please, let me come!”
“No.” The word was flat, absolute. He shifted his angle, hitting a spot that made her see white, but he slowed his pace, denying her the building rhythm she needed. “You don’t get to come just because you want to. You come when I say. You’re just a hole for me to use until I’m done. Understand?”
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, spilling over and cutting new paths through the ruined makeup. The pleasure was a tight coil in her belly, wound to a screaming pitch with nowhere to go. It was torture. It was everything she’d asked for. “I understand! I’m sorry! Please, I’ll be good, just let me come, I need it so bad!”
He fucked her through the begging, his grip iron on her wrists, his pace merciless and controlled. He was playing her body like an instrument, pitching her higher and higher but refusing the final note. She was babbling, a stream of desperate pleas and whines, her body trembling violently with the denied release.
Finally, he stopped, buried deep, not moving. He was rock hard inside her, a relentless, static pressure. He leaned over, his lips against her ear. “You want more? You want me to really use you?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, utterly broken on the word.
“You want me to tie you up? Leave you helpless so I can do anything I want to you?”
The image ignited something terrified and feverish in her brain. No pretense. No possible reciprocity. Just pure, unadulterated taking. It was the final layer, the last wall. “Yes. God, yes. Tie me up. Use me. Please, I’m yours. Do it.”
He pulled out of her completely. The sudden emptiness was a shock. He released her wrists. She slumped forward over the couch arm, her body throbbing, her mind reeling.
She heard him move behind her, his footsteps on the creaky floorboards. A drawer opened in his bedroom. He returned a moment later.
He didn’t speak. His hands were on her again, turning her, pulling her upright. Her legs were jelly. He half-carried, half-dragged her the few steps from the living room clutter into the dim sanctuary of his bedroom. The single lamp painted the towers of comic books and the sagging bookshelf in long, serious shadows.
He guided her backward until her knees hit the edge of his unmade bed. She fell onto it, the sheets cool against her burning skin. She looked up at him, her chest heaving.
She looked up at him, her chest heaving.
He stood before her, holding the coiled length of navy-blue rope they kept in his bottom drawer. It was soft from use, but sturdy. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and even. “What position do you want to be ruined in tonight?”
The words hung in the air, thick with promise. She licked her swollen lips, her mind racing past the ache and into a dizzying want. “Prone,” she whispered, then stronger, “Fuck me prone into the mattress. I want to feel it give. I want you to break this new bed with me.”
A slow smile touched his mouth. “My submissive goth girl slut wants to be driven through the fucking box spring, does she?” He stepped closer, the rope dangling from his hand. “You’re really mine for this, aren’t you? Just a thing for me to wreck.”
“I’m for you,” she whimpered, the admission flowing out on a breath. “Only for you. Please.”
“Good.” He didn’t hesitate. His hands were on her shoulders, turning her with a firm push. She went onto her stomach, the cool cotton sheet against her cheek. The black nylon of her thigh highs whispered as she shifted her legs.
He moved quickly, efficiently. Taking her right wrist, he guided it to the wrought-iron bedpost and began looping the rope. The knots were secure but not cruel, practiced from quieter nights of learning each other’s limits. He tied her left wrist to the other post, stretching her arms wide. Her back was arched, her ass in the air, legs still sheathed in dark nylon and completely free.
She tested the bonds immediately, an instinctive pull against the restraint. The rope held fast, the bedposts solid. A thrill of panic, sweet and sharp, shot through her.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Danny said, his voice close to her ear. He knelt on the bed beside her. “Look at you. Tied up and ready. My little goth phantom, all trussed up for the taking.” He traced a finger down her spine, making her shiver. “You think you can get away? Try.”
Chloe strained again, her muscles corded, but it was useless. The struggle was pure theater, and they both knew it. It burned away the last dregs of the outside world, her parents’ disapproving faces, everything. There was only this bed, this rope, and him.
“Pathetic,” he murmured, but it was filled with dark affection. “You’re so weak for me. Helpless. And you love it.”
From the nightstand drawer, he pulled out a small box, black and unmarked. He held it up where she could see it with her head turned. “I had a gift for you. For our trip to Costa Rica next month. But I think you’ve earned it early. After tonight. After opening up like you did.”
He opened the box. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a ball gag. The ball was glossy black silicone, the straps heavy black leather with a sturdy buckle. It was elegant in its severity, perfectly her.
“Last chance,” Danny said, his voice dropping to something serious beneath the heat. “Safeword. Now, or not at all.”
Chloe’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked from the gag to his eyes, seeing the question there, the care wrapped in the dominance. She opened her mouth, a silent invitation.
He let out a slow breath. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He guided the ball between her teeth. The silicone was firm, filling her mouth, forcing her jaws apart. The taste was clean, neutral. He buckled the straps behind her head, snug but not cutting.
“Mmhph,” she moaned around the gag, the sound muffled and desperate.
“That’s my girl.” He patted her cheek. “Now you can scream all you want, and the neighbors will just think I’m watching a scary movie.” He landed two sharp, stinging slaps on her ass, the impacts blooming heat through the sensitive skin.
His fingers hooked into the torn lace of her panties, the last shred of fabric from earlier. With a rough tug, he ripped them completely free. He held the tattered black lace for a moment, then tossed it over his shoulder without a glance. It fluttered to land on a stack of coding manuals.
“You’re all mine now,” he said, his voice a rough promise against her ear. His hands smoothed over the reddened curves of her ass, down the backs of her thighs still encased in sheer nylon. “No more barriers. Nothing between me and this perfect cunt. I’m going to fuck you so hard this bed frame is gonna scream. I’m going to use you until you forget how to form words, gag or no gag.”
He shifted behind her, his weight dipping the mattress. “And this is just the start. I’m gonna do this to you in a sunny hotel room on the beach. White sheets, balcony overlooking the ocean, and you tied up just like this. I’m gonna ruin you with the doors open so all you hear is the waves and me telling you what a good slut you are.”
He didn’t make her wait. The blunt, slick head of his cock pressed against her, a promise and a threat, and then he pushed inside. The fullness was immediate, brutal, and perfect. A deep, guttural moan was trapped and distorted by the black silicone ball filling her mouth.
He didn’t start slow. He set a hard, driving rhythm from the first stroke, each snap of his hips slamming her bound form forward, the old iron bedposts groaning in protest. The force pushed her shoulders down into the mattress, her face grinding against the sheet.
“That’s it,” he growled, one hand fisting in her hair, the other braced on the small of her back, holding her down for his use. “Take it. You wanted this. You begged to be my used-up little thing.” His voice was hot and ragged in her ear, a violent contrast to the lavender-scented disapproval still haunting the edges of her mind. “This gag is perfect for you. Lets me hear all those pretty, choked sounds without your clever mouth talking back.”
Chloe whined into the gag, a high, desperate sound. She did want it, desperately, a need that felt carved into her bones after the emotional evisceration of the dinner. But her body, wired with ancient instinct, flinched at the overwhelming sensation. Her nylon-clad legs scrambled against the sheets, her hips trying to twist away from the relentless penetration.
He only pushed her shoulders deeper into the mattress, his weight pinning her in place. “Oh, you can try,” he panted, his thrusts becoming punishing, each one punching the air from her lungs in a muffled hungh. “Your body can fight all it wants. See where it gets you. You’re tied to my bed. You’re gagged with my gift. You’re nothing but a warm, tight hole for me to fuck. That’s all you are right now.”
The words lanced through the haze of pleasure-pain, branding her. She was his object, his creation in this moment, and the sheer totality of it broke something loose inside her. A scream of pure, overwhelmed need was swallowed by the gag, becoming a strained, vibrating shriek. Her legs kicked helplessly beneath him, the nylon whispering a frantic counterpoint to the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his control fraying into raw passion. “You feel how deep I am? I own this. I own you. And you can’t do a fucking thing but moan and whimper and scream while I use you up.”
She was coming apart. The coil that had been wound tight since the couch was springing loose, her muscles clenching wildly around him, her vision spotting at the edges. A tidal wave was gathering in her core, threatening to obliterate her.
He felt it. He slammed to a sudden, jarring stop, buried to the hilt. “No.” The word was a flat, absolute command against her sweat-slick neck.
A shattered, questioning sob hiccupped in her throat. She strained against the ropes, her body begging for the release it had been cruelly teased toward for what felt like hours. The denial was a physical ache, sharper than any spank.
“You don’t get to come,” he whispered, his voice a rough caress. He didn’t move inside her, just held her there, impaled and trembling on the edge. “Not until I say. This is what you wanted, remember? To be used. A good little submissive doesn’t get to decide. She just takes what her Dom gives her.”
He began to move again, but it was different now—a slow, almost cruel grind, a shallow torture that kept the peak maddeningly out of reach. Every tiny movement was a spark on tinder. She struggled wildly, not to get away now, but to get more, to force the friction that would send her over.
He chuckled, low and dark, easily controlling her frantic movements with his weight. “Look at you. Trying to fuck yourself on me. You’re so caught. So fucking used. And you love it. I can feel you loving it.”
She did. The helplessness was the point. The struggle was the conduit. In this, there were no expectations, no disappointments. There was only sensation and surrender, and his voice pulling her deeper into both. Her scream this time was one of utter surrender, muffled by the gag and swallowed by the waiting dark of the room.
Her scream this time was one of utter surrender, muffled by the gag and swallowed by the waiting dark of the room. Danny kept moving, a slow, relentless piston that denied climax and sustained a dizzying torment. He wrapped a hand in the hair at the crown of her head and pulled back, arching her neck, stretching her throat.
The slow, deep rhythm continued, a maddening counterpoint to the sharp pull on her scalp. “Listen,” he growled, his breath hot against her ear. His voice had shed all playfulness, leaving something harder, more absolute. “You want to come? You’ll do it while begging your Master to ruin you.”
He held her head taut. “I’m going to remove the gag. If you do exactly as you’re told, if you’re a good girl and beg pretty, I’ll let you come and we’ll finish.” His thrusts deepened slightly, emphasizing the point. “If you don’t? If you disobey? I’ll pound this cunt harder than I ever have. No safeword will stop me. You can cum all you want, but I won’t stop until I’m done. Understood?”
A frantic, eager noise escaped her around the ball. She nodded as best she could with her hair in his fist, her body trembling with anticipation.
With his other hand, he unbuckled the strap. The black silicone slipped from her mouth with a wet pop. Her jaw ached. She gasped, drawing in deep, ragged breaths of the stale, sex-heavy air.
“Now,” he commanded, his hand still tight in her hair, his cock still moving inside her with that infuriating, controlled slowness. “Beg your Master to ruin you. Use the words.”
Chloe swallowed, her throat dry. The instruction was clear. The path to relief was laid out. A reckless, electric current shot through her veins. She thought of her mother’s pinched face, of the lavender room, of the need to shatter that perfect, disapproving memory completely.
She purposefully tightened around him, a sharp, disobedient clench, and shook her head. “No,” she rasped, the word defiant and raw.
For a fraction of a second, everything stilled. Then a low, approving rumble vibrated from his chest into her back. “Bad girl.”
He let go of her hair. Both hands seized her hips, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. He pulled out and slammed back in with a force that stole her breath, setting a brutal, piston-hard pace that drove her face into the mattress with every thrust. The bedframe shrieked against the wall.
“You want it harder?” he shouted, the sound raw and guttural. “You got it! No safeword, remember? You’re mine to break!” He was pounding her, each impact a shockwave of pure, blinding sensation.
The orgasm tore through her almost instantly, a violent, convulsing wave that ripped a scream from her ruined throat. Her body seized, her back bowing against the ropes.
He didn’t pause. Not for a second. “That’s one!” he grunted, never breaking rhythm. “Cum all you want, slut. It doesn’t matter. I’m not stopping.” His words were a filthy, relentless soundtrack. “This cunt is so greedy. Taking my cock like it’s starving. You’re just a set of holes for me to fill. My perfect, used-up toy.”
Another climax, smaller but sharper, sliced through her before the first had fully receded. She sobbed, her fingers scrabbling against the iron posts. “Pineapple!” she cried, the safeword a desperate, automatic reflex through the pleasure-pain.
He didn’t stop. He fucked her through the word, harder, deeper. “I told you,” he panted, his control a terrifying, beautiful thing. “No safeword. You gave that up. You’re past that. You’re just a thing I’m using, and I don’t stop until I decide.”
The realization was electric. It wasn’t a game. The control was truly, utterly gone. She had handed him the final key and he had turned it, locking her in this cycle of sensation. A third orgasm, unexpected and devastating, wracked her, this one born purely from the psychological surrender. She loved it. She loved the loss, the total usage, the reality of being owned so completely.
“Again,” he demanded, his voice cracking with his own exertion. “Cum for me again, you beautiful fucking wreck.”
Her body, super-sensitized and overloaded, obeyed. A fourth peak, a trembling, continuous aftershock, blended into the pounding rhythm. She lost count. Her world narrowed to the slam of his hips, the wet, messy sounds, the coarse fabric against her cheek, and his voice painting her as his utterly ruined possession.
Eventually, with a final, deep groan that seemed pulled from his core, he stilled. He pulsed inside her, his own release a hot flood that mingled with her own. He collapsed forward, his sweat-slick chest pressed against her ravaged back, his face buried in her tangled hair.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their struggling lungs and the distant hum of the city. Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself up. His hands, now tender, went to the knots at her wrists. He loosened them, chafing her skin gently where the rope had bitten.
He rolled her over. She winced, her body a symphony of aches. He gathered her into his arms, pulling her against him, away from the wet spot on the sheets. He grabbed a soft t-shirt from the floor and gently wiped between her legs, then her face, clearing the sweat and tear-streaked mascara.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice soft, his fingers brushing her cheek. “Look at me, Chloe.”
Her eyes, wide and deep, focused on his. There was no makeup left to hide behind. She looked young, exposed, and profoundly peaceful.
“I need you to tell me,” he said, his thumb stroking her lip. “Exactly how that made you feel. The truth.”
She took a shaky breath. A slow smile touched her mouth, fragile but real. “It was… everything. I wanted it. I loved every second. Even the panic. Especially the panic.” She pressed her face into his neck. “When I said the word and you didn’t stop… it was the most real thing I’ve ever felt. You had all of me.”
She pulled back, looking at him with unwavering certainty. “And I’m looking forward to you using me every night on that holiday. In that room with the white sheets. I want to feel this there, too.”
He kissed her forehead, a seal of promise. “Then that’s what you’ll get.” He pulled the quilt over them both, wrapping her in the warmth. “Sleep now. I’ve got you.”
She curled into him, her body finally still, and let the deep, quiet dark claim her.