Women Seeking Women #155

He pinned her wrists over her head against the headboard. Cold metal cuffs bit into her skin, and the chain ran down behind the bedframe. She stopped breathing for a second. Every small twitch sent another sharp jolt of steel cutting her wrists. He just looked at her, dead calm, like he was carving her open with his eyes. "You get one rule," he said, low, close enough his breath stung her ear. "You break it, I add another lock." She wanted to spit back, but the words got stuck somewhere in her chest because his hand had already slid down, opening her legs, spreading her wide. The room felt too small, too hot, the old ceiling fan clicking above like a broken clock. He dragged his fingers up the inside of her thigh, slow as a blade. When he touched her slit, she gasped. She was already wet. He slid two fingers in without warning, pumping slow, deliberate, the stretch forcing her hips to twitch up toward him. She fought the cuffs again, hated how much she needed that, hated how it made her cunt clench around his hand. He smiled, just a curve of his mouth, like he'd expected it. His thumb found her clit, circled it once, hard. Then he pulled out, watched the slick string stretch between his fingers and her skin. He wiped it across her stomach, marking her. Then he stood, unbuckled his belt. The leather hissed free. Her pulse slammed in her ears. He wrapped the belt once around her throat, just tight enough to promise, no loose ends, and fastened it to the headboard beside the cuffs. The metal sang when she pulled. She couldn't run now, couldn't even twist away. He undressed like he had all night, every button, every zipper slow and deliberate. When his cock finally sprang free, heavy, already dark at the tip, he stroked it once, twice, no hurry. She watched, throat tight, chest rising hard against the belt and cuffs, her cunt clenching around nothing. He knelt over her, pressed his knees between hers, spreading her even wider. He rubbed the blunt head through her folds, coating himself in her slick, and paused right at her entrance. One shallow push, and she felt her cunt spread, the wet sound humiliating in the quiet room. He didn't thrust. Not yet. He let the head rest inside, let her feel every millimeter, let her hips try to rock for more. The belt creaked. The cuffs rattled. She hated him. Needed him. Both at once. He reached down and pinched her nipple, sharp enough she yelped, and that sound sent him deeper, only an inch. Then he stopped again, eyes locked on hers, mouth curved. "Say it," he whispered, voice gone rough. She bit her lip until it hurt, tasted blood, and finally the words ripped out of her. "Fuck me." He shoved in all the way in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, legs shaking, wrists yanking at the cuffs, throat straining the belt. The headboard slammed the wall. He fucked her hard, merciless, each snap of his hips driving her body up the mattress until the restraints cut deeper. Every thrust punched a moan out of her. He bent low, teeth scraping her throat just above the belt, and whispered through the grind of bone and muscle. "You're mine until I take those cuffs off."