His spell on me is broken. I stay still, frozen. I refuse to take instructions from anyone, especially from him. Even under current circumstances. It takes a lot more for this feral feline to be eating out of his hand.

He can use me, we have established that, but he will not order me around. Even if he has this black-magic way with words that seep into my mind taking it on a delicious joyride.

“Knickers off,” he repeats in a snappy tone most would find intimidating. Conveniently, I have a whole pack of defiant bitches on my side to stand up to him.

“No.”

The blue-haired one pouts her lips into a provocative, obnoxious sneer. I remember how rad she used to look with the lip piercing smirking like that, before we had to take it out for this last stupid job.

When the prick continues to give us the evil eye, my other rebel self, the worst of them all, the one I believe is responsible for my dom side, takes over.

“When will you get it through your thick head, Andrew? I do not take orders from you. I’ve been telling you from the beginning I’m not that kind of submissive, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“That’s not my real name,” he confesses with a satisfied grimace, completely ignoring everything else I’ve just said.

“As if I didn’t know that.”

“And to you, it’s Sir.”

I scuff into his face then casually continue sipping my wine.

A dark shadow clouds his hazel eyes as he grabs me by my jaw. My hand stops cold, mid-air, nearly dropping the wine glass.

“Now, listen to me, you feisty little fuck,” his raised voice penetrates my ears, my mind and takes over my whole body like a crafty little Trojan horse.

The rage and intensity in those words disarm my rational thinking and bring all my senses to their knees. With every amplified sound, his nails sink deeper into the soft tissue under my jaw. His alarming closeness smells like a mixture of phosphate and dry leaves on a hot summer day and my chest is bursting open with all these unstable little sparks wanting out. My lips are tearing open to let all those fireflies take flight, but with a heavy palm over my mouth he seals it shut.

“I have no problem making you do things. Do you understand? I’m sick of your snotty attitude and I will treat you like you need to be treated. You know your safeword; unless you use it, you’re mine to do whatever the fuck I want.”

The air of playfulness all but dispersed; I finally realise what held me back about him before. While all the others before him were happy to play by my rules in a respectful way, this misfit here is out to break me.

And I knew this. The red flags have been there all along one by one, flying on a string like a fucking birthday bunting. And I ignored them all.

I recall our very first conversation, how he was boasting about making it to my Telegram account despite my husband blocking him on the swinger site. And how easy it was to pressure me into sending him more pictures and videos when I previously said I wouldn’t. And to convince me to do things on camera. I always suspected that I was some sort of stupid trophy to him. Making me submit to him will be just another tick on his bucket list.

This is just ridiculous, I smirk at the memory. He’s so wrong about all of this, about me. He thinks I’ve done those things because he’s oh-so-irresistible, because I want to be his good girl and obey him. No. I’d sent those pictures, so he’d leave me alone - he was pestering me and pissing me off. And I only agreed to meet him eventually because Sam is abroad for a month and M is too busy playing with his other bitches. I was kinda bored. He’s lucky, that is all.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” He wakes me from my little trip of self-righteousness.

“Oh trust me, you don’t want to hear this.” I continue to act all coy as I smack his hand away.

But as soon as that flies off me, his other hand is behind my head, pulling on my bunched-up hair, arching my whole body backwards with excessive force

“You are correct there, I don’t.” His right hand snakes up my leg under my skirt and tugs on my knickers. “I said, take these off or I’ll have no problem ripping them off.”

“Go ahead,” I challenge him in a confident tone that defies the obvious physical imbalance between us. If he thinks he can intimidate me with a bit of hair-pulling... Hah.

But then he takes it up a notch and yanks me off the barstool by my hair. “Fuck, yes, uhmmm, now we are talking!” I giggle, despite shooting pain radiating from my scalp and tickling all the miswired receptors in my brain. It's difficult to find my balance on my feet under these circumstances.

He growls into my face - his pupils dilated, brows lowered, lips thinned into a snarl, “You are a proper annoying little cunt, aren’t ya?”

He bends me over the counter. The solid edge of the laminate worktop cuts into my stomach just over my hip bone.

“My husband always fucks me like this in the kitchen,” I purr - with a snicker under my breath.

He laughs, conspicuously knowing that compared to us, my husband is nothing more than French vanilla with a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Was that meant to be an insult?” he snuffs into my ear. His fiery breath burns me in places I didn't even know existed. “It turns you on to be a little bratty bitch, doesn’t it? And make me lose my shit? Hm?” He plasters my head sideways onto the galaxy of sparkling stars, my cheekbone heavy against the cold surface.

“Thing is, I happen to like this pathetic little game of yours.” Standing behind me, he's making sure I can feel just how turned on he is. I'd always known he was on the thick and VWE (very well endowed) side, seen plenty of photos - that's why he's so darn cocky. But now, pressed against me threateningly, it's a whole other story.

“You’ve picked the wrong asshole, slut!” he speaks through gritted teeth making me realise just what a really tight little corner I've found myself in here. What’s that saying about pulling the lion’s whiskers?

While keeping my head pinned onto the counter by my hair, he tugs on my skirt and knickers and pulls them down to my knees, then to the floor. A button or two go flying in the process.

As soon as I open my mouth to call him six different swear words, he slaps my naked butt hard, I mean real fucking hard. The loud smack fills up the vast silent space of the kitchen. My distraught cry echoes back from the tiled walls.

“Oh, you vile son of a bitch!” I curse as the maddening sting and burning redness spread on my ass cheeks.

He tightens his grip around my hair before speaking again.

“It’ll be to my greatest pleasure to make you change that unfortunate tone, young lady." His feigned gentlemanly tone makes me want to giggle, but I gnaw at my lips. I'm already in enough trouble as it is. "Now stay still and take it like a good girl, or I can use one of your mean toys instead!” he adds.

Yeah, I bet that hurt his palm almost just as much  – flashes through my mind as he slaps me on my other ass cheek. Now they’re both burning like an absolute inferno.

“Fucking hell!” I cuss trying to break free pushing myself away from the counter, backing into him with all my strength. But he steps behind me and pins my whole body against the kitchen unit.

“Nah, nah, nah, you’re not going anywhere, slut! And keep it down for your own good.”

I struggle fiercely, I won’t give up the fight that easily but he seizes my hands and traps them with the length of his heavy arm. All his body weight against mine - he manages to keep me immobile for a few seconds.

Why do I have to be quiet? Does he have any housemates?  I wonder. I have seen no sign of anyone else and he didn’t mention any.  If someone else was in, he’d surely not be spanking me in the kitchen half-naked. Right?

“Not so feisty now, are we?” he huffs into my ear, his few days old scruff grazing against my delicate skin. His raspy voice continues to rub me up in all sorts of fucked up ways.

 “Hmmm, you think you can behave now?” He hums in a softer tone, grinding his rough denim-clad, stiff cock into my naked arse.

I suppress any sort of reply because if I spoke, it would be begging him to keep on fucking me with his words while pressing his second strongest weapon against my cushiony butt.

“Cat’s got Kitty’s tongue?” he laughs while spanking me again but this time with a few fast and light blows.

“More,” the spoilt blue-haired pain-slut begs him and even though I try to hold her back, it’s already too late. They are all desperate to be in on the fun.

When our tormentor gets ready to deliver another mighty whack, the dom bitch backs into him with a force that propels him into the wall behind us.

I have no other choice but to let her handle this and just see what happens. While he’s still under the shock of the surprise attack, being wallpapered against the cold wall, I spin around and use my right hand to pin his corresponding elbow to the white tiles and my left to block his other fist flying towards me.

His beastly chest heaves violently as he’s fighting me, trying to push me away, but I step between his legs and force my knee into his thigh. Then sliding it downwards I grind my hips into his obscenely bulging crotch.

“Now what, Andrew?” I grin into his stunned face. He isn’t much taller than me, maybe a couple of inches and now I’m on my toes to try to seem more intimidating and to increase my weight against him. I look down at him daring him to do something about my little pathetic performance. I know too well that he’s a beefy gym rat and can easily overpower me. But I need to see it, I need to feel it and suffer it. I’d never submit to anyone who cannot physically overthrow me.

“That was a very bad move, you crazy cunt! While it is adorable that you think you stand any chance against me, but...” Like a wrecking ball, he comes at me, spins me around, gathers my wrists and locks them into a makeshift handcuff of his left hand. Then with his elbow around my neck, he secures me into an inescapable choke hold.

“But you try that one more time and your pretty face will wear the pattern of my shoe." He finishes his sentence as if disarming me was just a minor distraction to him. And no, he wasn't throwing empty threats at me or being exceptionally violent, he was reminding me of that photo shoot I told him about. The one that ended with a boot on my face. And all the fantasies that spiralled out of my out-of-control mind after that. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut.

Ruthlessly hurling me into a corner, he plunges my body to the floor. The cold tiles make me feel like sitting naked on a frozen lake. In case you are wondering, yes I do know how that feels. Been there, done that. It was a drunken dare or summin.

He’s holding me back by my hair while his other palm covers my naked thighs with a torrent of cruel whacks. When my arms fly up in protection, he easily bats them away and slaps me across my cheeks.

“Do you still not understand?” he blows up in my face. "Quit your fucking bratty ways, or else!"

If I was a mess before... now I’m an apocalyptic wasteland dripping thick toxic slime. I’m growling, panting – off my head on endorphins, adrenaline, dopamine and all that shit. Knowing that this is just the beginning.

"Stop, stop, enough!" I beg sobbing when he goes berserk on that furious spur, striking my body everywhere he can get to.

After my desperate pleas, he does halt the abuse for a brief second but only to tug on my hair harder and to whisper into my ear, "You know I won't, unless I hear that three letter word. Which, of course, you're too proud to say," he laughs. Me and my big stupid mouth. Of course, he also knows about my little game with Sam, because the irresponsible idiot I am, I'd told him. He knows I don't safeword out, unless my life is in danger.

"But, please, it's summer... How am I going to sunbathe with your palm prints on my thighs?" I try my clever little ways. It has gotten me out of a few similar jams before.

"That sounds like a you problem, slut." He grins in a way I know I should find repulsive. But I don't. In fact, if I wasn't nailed to the kitchen unit by my messy mane, the filthy sub-kitty in me would get off on licking his twisted stubbly face with absolute joy and a dripping pussy. What? Fuck!

"Please," I mewl. God, which thick bitch is this?

My change of tone surprises him (makes two of us). Watching his face considering my plea - for a split second I think I'm winning.

"Because I'm nice like that..." he starts and from his expression I already know, he will be everything but, "we can move onto other... more hidden areas." To demonstrate what he means, he pulls my top and bra down with a slow determined move freeing my tits. They bounce up and down as he straddles me, those heavenly thick thighs trapping me, condemning me to a fate I both dread and crave.

"No, not my tits please!"

"Oh, hmm yeah!"

"No, please, they are so sensitive," I plead, getting off on every little noise he makes.

"Hm, yes I know."

Of course you do!

He's not one to mess around - he digs his nails into my nipple and pulls hard. Then sinks his sharp claws even deeper and twists it roughly. The pain is worse than my star nipple clamps and those are some evil little torture devices.

"You're a fucking animal," I howl and throw my head back with a loud thud on the cabinet. But he rolls my sensitive, burning button between his fingertips and tells me how fucking hard and sexy it looks. Through teary eyes, I can't help but admire his grievous creation and the proud sadistic glint in his eyes as I slowly come apart inside.

"Other one?" he asks in a mocking chivalrous tone turning me into a whimpering wreck. It doesn't matter what I say or do, it's coming and my left one is even more sensitive than the right one. God save me!

I try to pull away, but I have nowhere to go.

"Ready?" he torments further.

As I open my mouth to say... not even sure what, he slaps my right breast with a heavy blow of his palm then both of them with the bony back of his hand.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I yelp, inhaling the cold air in short sharp gasps while all the pain signals shoot up into my brain urging me to do something about this unfavourable situation. Fight or flight? Both clearly impossible under current circumstances. Probably not being far from the 200 lbs mark, of course I don't stand a chance against him. With the moves of a rodeo bull, I still try to shake him off.

When he throws his forearm against my neck and locks me against the cupboard in a reverse choke hold, the bitter taste of defeat drips into the back of my throat. I choke on my liquorice tears unable to leave my body.

"Plea..." I try to beg for his mercy, but pressing his elbow into my throat, I only manage to squeeze through an inarticulate gurgling sound. In my last desperate attempt to throw him off me, my feet kick heavily against the solid floor tiles. But all it does is - my legs against the cold ground - reminding me of my naked and vulnerable state.

After that icy sensation, the hot rush of adrenaline pulsing in my veins burns me from the inside in a maddening polarity. Without thinking I sink my nails into his arms and squeeze hard. Trapped in a deadlock, both of our faces distorted into something savage and inhuman...

I've read somewhere in a BDSM forum that "When we lose our humanity, that is where the real fun begins." And how fucking true that is.

I could squeeze harder, I could draw blood. He could press harder, he could make me pass out. But we aren't stupid. This is just a game. One that wakes my body like never before.

"Red?" He grins into my face. His expression akin to someone who just won an Olympic gold in judo pushing his opponent to the tatami. Even though this signals the end of me, I want to frame his smirk and hang it in the long, boring grey hallways of my mind.

I blink rapidly and tap the wooden surface behind me twice. Both are nonverbal safewords for 'stop'.

He waits for me to catch my breath, relaxing back before speaking. "I want to hear it from you."

"What? Red?" I grin cheekily. "I didn't want to rip your arms off," I chuckle.

He rolls his eyes but laughs with me, then forms his hands into the shape of attacking animal claws. "Should we try again?" he threatens.

"No, I give up, I'm yours," I murmur, avoiding his gaze. But looking right into his eyes I add, "shitface." Not because I have no strength left to fight, but because we have to do something about the puddle on the floor. I’ll die if I don’t have that cock inside me very soon. Of course I don't tell him that.

“It seems, you're still a mouthy cunt," he counters with a gentle slap of my face. "Corporal punishment failing, I have other methods to correct your despicable attitude,” he muses looking at me with a cute, cocked head as if he was just trying to understand what went wrong with his science home experiment.

Straddling my left leg, he slaps my inner thighs to urge me to open and when I still don't obey, he goes for my hair again reminding me, "Really, bitch? Don't make me make you again!"

Me being my own worst enemy and all... Fuck that! I need this.

He slides a couple of fingers into my needy cunt with ease. He fucks me deep and hard with an ever-increasing number of digits. The welcome, long-awaited full sensation is like lying in a summer meadow in wildflower scented warm breeze.

“Fuck, yes, hmmm. Yes, thank you,” I rumble in a rhythm he dictates. “More! Yeah, that’s it, fuck me with those thick fingers.”

The more I thrill and mewl the faster he goes, rubbing on my g-spot making me gush around his fingers. Then he abruptly stops.

“Now, we are talking,” he laughs mockingly repeating my earlier line. “You are absolutely dripping.” He pulls his fingers out to stare at them in the same home experiment kind of way, leaving me panting and empty. Undone and vulnerable. Please don’t do this! Don’t leave me like this!

“Mouth,” he requests. This time, I follow his order without a word and obediently suck his fingers, enjoying the taste of my sweet juices. I playfully nibble on his fingertips then take all his digits into my mouth and let my lips stretch around them with a slight burning, tearing sensation.

“Good girl,” he grunts with a brief loving stare letting go of my hair. But it only takes a fraction of a second for that gentle affection to turn nasty and predatory as he’s forcing his fist into my throat. My head falls back, hitting the corner between the wooden kitchen units.

I’m back there again, trapped, gagging, choking on his fist as he kneels up using his whole body weight against me as he does. He catches me being fixated on the outline of his cock as my eyes tear up and the world starts to spin.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He laughs finally letting me breathe.

When I don’t reply... How could I? I don’t even know what planet this is or which century. How could I possibly form anything that makes sense when the whole world is blurred into something I don’t recognise anymore and all I feel is the throbbing need between my legs.

He gives me a hard blow across my face. “Earth callin’ zoned out fuckdoll. Kat, are you there?” He laughs.

My eyes straighten even though I had no idea they were crossed. Or that they were rolled back into my skull.

“You fucking asshole.” I giggle, still off my head.

“Oh, no need for all this animosity. Why am I being an asshole? Hm?”

“Grrrr, I don’t even know.” My thoughts are still in orbit somewhere.

“For turning you into a needy little whore? Is that it?”

The euphoria I feel rises in my chest as he raises an eyebrow at me, staring into my face... The last time I looked back at someone feeling like this, I was swimming in a cocktail of party drugs. Fuck. This is bad.

I close my eyes fighting it, telling myself it’s all fake, this is all just all those weird chemicals.

“Hey,” he punches my shoulder, “you okay? Have I pushed you too far?”

I forcefully keep my eyes shut, otherwise I think I’d cry or laugh hysterically but most likely both. At the same time. “No, all green.”

My eyes fly open and the one from deep, deep inside, one of the forgotten ones who doesn’t often make an appearance answers, “I fucking love what you’re doing to me.” My voice is distorted, alien, unrecognisable. Every single word burns my lungs, my throat, my lips. The recognition hits me like a lightning strike: this voice is not one of my personalities, this is all of me, the real me. The unfractured, unshattered one, the one who doesn't have to pretend.

Ok, ok, calm down. And just like that... she's gone.

“Is it bad that I want to voice-record what you just said?” He cocks his head at me with a smile sweeter than anything I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Did you fucking spike my drink, you pig?” I giggle joking. I know what this is. This is not my first trip down the subspace rabbit hole and the high that comes after. But it still always surprises me just how powerful it is.

“Yeah, the whole bottle though.” It takes me a long minute to understand what he means. But he's waiting patiently. And when I'm there...

He holds my face between his palms and kisses me. Well, it’s not really a kiss. He bites into my lower lip, then my upper one as his nails graze against my cheeks. Then he pierces my chin with his teeth, then he’s kissing my cheeks. Then back on my lips...

For context: I don’t do kissing. And he knows that.

But honestly, who the actual fuck cares anymore? The rulebook is torn to pieces, the pages are scattered across the floor, some of them now see-through soaked with my juices.

I don’t hold back anymore. “This greedy slut needs those fingers back, please, Sir!” I beg in a sham sobbing voice. The word "Sir" tastes so exotic on my tongue. Even though I have said it to M a couple of times... That was different. That was beaten out of me. This one... This one just kind of slipped.

“Where do you need those fingers, slut? Cunt or face? Tell me,” he asks, still holding me tenderly between his hands, staring into my eyes.

“In that order.” I grin.

When I see his lines harden, “Please, Sir,” I add. I'd like to say I said that in a somewhat mocking tone but to be honest I don't think I have.

He strokes my face with his hand dripping with my spit and juices and pats my cheeks. Under normal circumstances I’d find that gross but today, with him, it’s just hot as hell.

“See, stupid slut, you can have anything you want if you just behave.”

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry, Sir, I’m just... just...”

“Fuck, now I want to spank you again!”

I don't quite understand why but... “That later. Now fingers, please.”

“You are fucking incorrigible.”

“I know. That’s my middle name.”

“I thought it was Kat," he laughs.

Fuck, I forgot how much he knows about me. “Yeah, that too.”

“And ‘needy cunt’.” And just to prove his point his fingers are back in my burning, throbbing hunger.

“Yeah, yeah, that too.”

“And ‘useless pathetic whore’."

"Mmmm, more," I beg, words just flowing out of my body without any filtering through my obnoxious mind.

His thumb clamps down hard on my clit as he fucks me with the rest of his fingers. “You like that?” he responds to the deep inarticulate growls escaping my lungs.

The puddle on the floor would probably answer that better. The husky shrill I cry as a reply is only really the white noise in my head manifesting into the outside world.

“I bet you want to cum on these fingers, huh? But I bet you’re too proud to admit that?”

"What?" I laugh. “No, I give up. You won. Please make me cum on your fingers.” I’m not sure he picks up on the mocking tone. I’m not sure there is one.

“But I’m afraid I can’t do that. I need you to beg a bit more and I need you to fucking worship my cock before you can even come close to cumming. And even then... Well, we’ll see. I’m not sure I’ll ever let you go there seeing you’re such a naughty fucking girl.”

“Worship your cock?” I chuckle like Chucky’s bride, Tiffany. “That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Well, let’s take this little circus to the bedroom, shall we? Then see what happens."

He packs up my toys into my long shoulder-bag disguised as a yoga mat bag. He wraps my hair around his fist and uses it as a leash to lead me up the stairs.

This is hot like a fucking heatwave in hell. Whatever happens, I know it's gonna be bad. And good. So fucking good.

I purposefully rub my sore nipples against the carpeted steps and moan every time.

"I'm dripping all over your stairs, you know that?"

The look he gives me... If I wasn't held by his grip on my hair, I know I'd tumble down the staircase.

To be continued...

***

Many thanks to my dearest lushie friend and gem of an editor for perfecting this. I mean it's still not perfect but it was meant to be 2k. I hope I managed to make her not give in too easily.