There's only you tonight

I sit on his back. There is always a lot of skin on skin, but today I opt to wear a few choice pieces: latex gloves, a hair bow, and the thinnest of sheer panties and a matching lace bra. The side of one calf is nestled into his side, the curl of my toes just barely grazing his cocked thigh. The other leg is bent, and my foot rests comfortably on his arm.
I lean down, kissing the back of his neck, keeping my hands from touching anything by holding my arms out so the kiss looks like a swan dive. I kiss over and over, up his neck and down his shoulder. I can feel his breath, as every time his chest rises it grazes my nipples. I can feel it slowing as he relaxes into the bed, into my body, and into what is about to happen
I slowly grind my hips into him, letting him feel how wet I am getting as my cunt begins to drip over his back. I can feel his hips rise slightly, knowing he is getting hard into the comforter. This only gets me wetter. I imagine his cock swelling, I picture taking it into my mouth as I open my lips and bite the skin of his neck and then shoulder. Holding it in my teeth, I tighten and softly lick, stroking his flesh with the tip of my tongue.
After a long moment, where I will either have to stop this or fuck him I sit up.
His skin is prepped and cleaned, ready for me to do what I love. I slowly pinch his skin in my fingers, rolling it slowly between my fingers until it is ready for me.
I pull the needle from its casing and drop the shell with an empty clink onto the metal tray beside us.
"Breathe in, Love." I feel his chest rise, holding it for a second. As he begins to let his breath out I slide the needle through the soft skin of his shoulder, right where wings would sprout from his back if only he freed them. He feel him shudder and then relax. I place the palm of my hand on him back.
I move slightly down, pinching more skin, telling him to breathe, repeating this ritual over and over. I poke and prod him, letting metal slip through this thin shell of his body, feeling him shudder and shake and growl each time. I feel every place of hesitancy of the needle. I try and push each through smoothly, but now and then there is a bit of resistance and I notice my breath catching with each stubborn needle. I push them in, tapping them all the way once they poke through the other side.
I place five and then six, ten and then fifteen and then twenty needles into a fan over his back. I decorate the canvas of beautiful curves and valleys over muscle and sinew with pretty silver tipped in blue. I string a gloved finger over the bumps that the metal lines create in his back. They are tiny bits of braille covering him in a wide, sparkling semi circle.
I slowly stroke the other side of his back, feeling the muscles tense and flex and relax, rippling from the slightest of touches. I stroke his hair, softly twirling it with one hand as I strum over the needles with the other.
And then I begin to tap them, making sure they are all securely in their place. I then sit back, bracing myself, planting a hand on the small of his back. I pull back and make a fist, coming down hard on the needles. I gasp at my own release of pent energy. I can feel him tense in desperate pain and I shiver at the thought of causing it. I swallow, trying to regain the calm and composure I need to finish this as precisely as I started. I punch again.
I hear him cry out, tensing his fingers tightly around the pillow and tensing every muscle at once. I do it again, punching over the needles, knowing there will be blood and bruises and a beautiful sun red and purple marks which I will stroke and touch and help to heal. Right now, though, they must be caused.
I punch down over and over, making sure every single needle gets hard smack, making sure the semi circle is complete before stopping. I am teetering on reckless as I pound over and over, feeling my body pulse only when my fist comes down. My heart beats in time, squeezing out more of my blood as I demand more of his.
He is crying out, wincing and groaning with each smack. Even when I stop I can hear his breath ragged and enraged. He is holding back everything which tells him to turn over and destroy me. With his size and strength, I know he could without a thought, needles still sticking from him.
I pause, placing the flat of my palm on his un-mangled skin. Finished punching, my skin is tingling with energy.  I feel like I've just cum with a hand tight on my throat. I stroke, running the tips of my fingers over his arm, strumming the length of it like a harp. I pull off my glove and run my fingers through his hair. I slide off his back and lean forward to kiss his shoulder.
I wait until his breathing calms, kissing softly across his neck, shoulder, down his arm. I lay next to him, fingers stroking over his side, leg wrapped around his, cheek resting calmly on his bicep. His heart slows, his breathing slows, his body relaxes.
I climb back on top of him. There is a crescent moon of pure pain and violent destruction rounding over his skin. There are already pricks of blood forming, and I know there will be cascading red streaks as soon as I begin to pull the needles.
I grab a new pair of gloves and paper towels and begin to slow process of pulling them out one by one. I pull quickly and slowly, feeling him writhe under me. As his hips rise and fall, it only makes me wetter. I slip needle by needle out of his skin as blood waterfalls down his side and into the waiting towel and what is revealed is the most beautiful sunset of reds and purples I have ever seen.

Progress

Every 30 minutes, a bell dings. Until then, the ticking is painful. I don't know how he's still working so calmly when the ticking, the seconds disappearing, continues. The first half hour in I was told to remove my clothes. I gladly stripped down to naked save my glasses. I folded each piece of clothing diligently and put it aside. As soon as it was complete, the timer was reset and the ticking continued.

30 minutes. The bell dings and I had almost forgotten, working away on my laptop, reading reports and trying to form an advocacy argument out of it. I am editing rapidly, completely engrossed in the world before me and not around me. I am told to move to the ground. I have lost privileges to the furniture. I nodded, scooting down to the floor, placing my laptop on the chair, continuing to type and read and edit.

It only takes a few minutes before my knees begin to ache. I shift into a curl on my legs and try again to lose myself into my notes. I am curled at his feet, leaning against his leg. He feels so comforting as he works. I can feel as he looks down sometimes, and that is all I need.

30 minutes. He steps behind me and slides a hard posture collar round my neck. My shoulder sink and my neck lengthens to accommodate. As he sits back down, he sets the time and the ticking becomes more present. I try and focus on my work, but it's useless. The collar chokes me every time I look down at my laptop. I shift, trying to sit lower, trying to move my laptop higher, but it only works for a few minutes before I have to try again.

30 minutes. The bell dings and I look up, nervous. Without a word, he points towards the wall in front of me and I look forward, my face freezing in that moment. My fingers are poised on the keyboard in front of me, held in the perfect waiting position from years of piano lessons. Practice, practice, practice. He takes a pair of cuffs and secures them to my wrist. I wait for another step but he goes back to work. I lean over and kiss his leg softly for being so kind in this round.

30 minutes. He leans over and takes my wrists behind my back, clasping them together. I look up at him, opening my mouth to ask.

"Keep working."

I nod and lean down, typing in awkward jerks with my tongue and nose. I try and switch back to reading but moving the mouth with my face frustrates me and I fight not to cry at my own inabilities.

30 minutes. I have been struggling, the ticking of the seconds feel like a cruel teasing. They are becoming torturous as I feel like a failure in this round. I have written a few words which are just barely removed from gibberish, and have been trying to read, mostly unsuccessfully. But the bell has tolled. He grabs my hair and has me stand. He kicks my legs open and locks a cuff to each ankle, and a spreader bar to each cuff. He grabs my long ponytail, knotting it tightly around a ring and pulls the ring tightly up, hooking it onto a post I didn't even notice above me. I am simply supposed to stand and wait. I can barely move my head, forcing me to do so whether I like it or not.

He walks back but not to his desk. He returns with a piece of metal which makes me shake my head violently. I want to scream, my mouth tightly shut.

"Stop."

I shake harder, whimpering and he grabs my face.

"Open."

I start to cry, feeling my mouth open whether I like it or not. Once it is cracked, I feel his feelings push my teeth in either direction and the metal dental spreader slide in. He forces my mouth open and locks it.I stand perfectly still, tears still streaming down my face. He sits down and re-sets the timer. As the ticking feels slow and fast at the same time, I continue to cry, waiting, legs spread and standing, just staring forward. I don't know what is coming next but I know there is no fighting it and I will accept whatever is next on the list. Sometimes my own submission frightens me. While the ticking is making me more and more anxious, it is still a marker that I have time left before the next stage.

My legs struggle not to give out, wanting to simply curl up at his feet and beg him to stop. I am terrified of what is in store. I move my tongue around a little, trying to see if I can form words enough to beg him for no more, that I am done and I can only couch and gurgle a little. I want to beg for release, but it will not come. I don't even have the words to ask for mercy.

I hear the bell.

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine

So as some of you may already know - I moved on up to the East side! It's only few a little while, but it's quite a change from my beloved Brooklyn. It's going to be a nice change for summer, though. I've never lived in Manhattan, I've never lived by myself, I've never been surrounded by so many khaki-wearing white people...
But there are some very specific things I am excited for. The men in suits here are gloriously dapper. It could easily be an Electra-style complex inspired by the many years where I watched my father coming every night and take off his suit jacket and loosen his tie, but one of my deepest and most resonating fetishes is a man in a suit he knows how to wear.
When I am Daddy's girl, I dream about undressing him after a long day of work. I think about wearing a sweet little dress for him, something light and wispy, something with a little frill and a little lace. I wear panties (no bra) which match the sweetness of the dress.
When he comes in I am ready for him, and greet him with the longest of kisses. He walks and sits down and I trail behind him, giddy that he is home. As he walks I slide off his jacket and fold it over my arm, and then lay it to the side.
He sits and I kneel. I begin at his feet, kneeling and removing his shoes, his socks. Each is put aside, heels clicked together on the floor and laces re-tied. His socks are balled and placed next to (but never on!) his jacket. I ask him about his day, and his answers are always short, always banal place holders for longer answers he is not interested in sharing but I am happy to hear.
I slide up, my arms resting on his legs and look up at him. He caresses my face softly and I close my eyes, nuzzling his hand. His hand slides around to my ponytail, holding it tightly in his hand. I wince softly as my scalp adjusts to the sharp ache. His hand relaxes just slightly and I know what to do. I reach up and unbutton his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down just enough. I pull down the fabric of his underwear, which today is a beautiful bright green, and pull out his cock. It is slowly moving towards half hard and I lean forward.
His grip tightens and I watch him smile. I smile back at him, even though the ache is still present.
I open my mouth and extend my tongue as much as possible. He holds my head in place, tongue reaching and extending until it touches his cock. The beginning will be the hardest, where I can barely reach him. I push forward, running the tip over the head as much as possible, leaving little filigree designs of saliva all over the head. I flick and lap at the slit coaxing a little precum towards the front so I can taste him already. He lets me pull forward a little more and I maneuver my tongue under the tip. I can not yet reach enough to take it in my mouth, but I can at least stroke the head with the pad of my tongue, mouth wide and reaching. I want to take him in my mouth and feel him get hard next to my cheek. I want to slide my wet mouth from base to tip and back down, but his hand is so tight, I can only whimper periodically.
I feel him growing and swelling against my tongue. I rub the head with the tip of my tongue eagerly, trying to get him harder. He watches as I grow more and excited by this and shifts in his seat to make it easier for him. As he gets harder, and as his grip loosens, I am finally able to take him, slowly, into my mouth.
I am gleeful as his cock grows and stiffens. And without the slightest warning he pushes my head down on his cock, forcing himself into my mouth and throat. I choke, cough, not ready to have him so deep in my mouth but he does not relent. I am forced to adjust with his cock already in my throat. I squeeze his legs, my eyes watering furiously, and slowly breathe through my nose.
"Good girl."
I nod slightly as he simply holds me by the hair tightly. I slowly begin to lick, and then to suck. My fingers go from tense to relaxed to tense again on his thighs. As I begin to try and bob up and down on his cock he pulls my head back. I gasps, a line of pretty spit hammocked between my bottom lip and the head of his cock. I look up at him, eyes still watery and a tear of mascara now smeared below my lashes.
He pushes my head back down, all the way to the base, on his cock. I choke again but for less time now, trying to immediately suck him like the good girl I try so desperately to be.
As I suck he begins to pump my head roughly. It is his way of fucking my mouth. He tightens his grip on my hair and pulls me back before shoving my mouth back down. I can feel as spit drenches his cock and lap, tears run down my face as I gag over and over and over again.
And then he stops. I sit back a little to catch my breath.
"Good girl. Keep going."
I nod, asking him whether he would like a drink in the smallest whisper I can eek out.
"Not yet."
I smile up at him as I lean up to loosen his tie. I pull it open and slide it through the collar of his shirt. This morning, I sat on the bathroom counter and very carefully shaved him. I softly touch the skin of his neck, letting my fingers dawdle over the jaw line. Daddy has the most beautiful jaw line.
I unbutton his shirt, pulling out his cuff links and setting everything aside. I roll up his tie into a soft coil, fold his shirt into a perfect square, and delicately place his gold cuff links to the side.
Feeling a little more brazen, I straddle his lap, sliding my arms around his bare shoulders.
"Daddy? I would like a kiss."
"Oh is that so?"
I nod.
"And do you think you deserve it?"
"I have tried to be a good girl for you today. And if there is more I should do to earn it, I will do that."
He smiles and caresses my face softly. I relax into his hand just enough for him to pull back and smack me across the face.
"Did you really ask for a kiss before you finished undressing Daddy?" I nod, eyes cast down and move to crawl back between his legs. He stops me by grabbing my jaw. "Good girls aren't selfish. Good girls complete their tasks before they ask for rewards."
I nod, tears welling up as he scolds me. I regret being so bold. His hand does not release my face, and he forces me to stare at him as I struggle not to cry.

"But good girls also know how to ask very sweetly for what they want. And they understand that Daddy can say yes or no, but they may still ask."
I nod again, and he pulls me closer, lifting my chin and bringing my mouth to his. I kiss him back tentatively, but relax into my own eagerness. I lean in, sliding my tongue against his, arms gliding around his shoulders.
When I finally pull back (far too soon) he nudges me back down between his legs. I diligently sit and continue to undress him, pulling off his slacks, folding them, and then his underwear, holding them as well. On my knees, between his legs, I have perfect posture. I rest my arms on his thighs, his hard cock pointed up at me. I look up at him and open my mouth. I pause, letting him know that if you wants to hold my head and fuck my throat until I cry, that is his choice. He smiles and nods for me to continue.
I lean down, sucking him into my mouth. I am hungry, gagging myself on his cock with my over excitement. I plunge it deep into my throat, couching just slightly as my throat opens for him. I hear him sigh loudly and continue to bob up and down, my lips stroking his shaft.
My fingers find his balls, stroking them and working them as they fill with Daddy's sweet cum. I bounce on his cock faster, sucking heartily. This is my only purpose in this moment. Nothing else matters as much as milking Daddy's hard cock into my mouth with my own lips, at tasting every drop of precum before swallowing every drop of his cum. Over and over and over again I achingly suck on him. I want to taste him more than anything else in the world. It would make me nothing short of gleeful to have a mouthful of him cum.
He pushes forward and holds my head softly, and I know he is ready. He groans, tightening his fingers on my head and cums, exploding wave after wave into my mouth. I suck and suck, swallowing every last drop. I want it all so, so much.
I sit back on my feet and wipe my mouth. My eyes are watery, tears have streamed down my face. I must look like such a mess for him and I feel bashful. He breathes hard, leaning forward to stroke my hair, and then leans forward to kiss me on the lips. I touch his neck softly, kissing him back so sweetly that he knows how much I want to thank him for every drop of his cum.
"Can you take more, baby?"
I nod. I know exactly what he means. He watches me take a deep sigh as I nod, shoulders shifting up and back down.
He stands and strokes my hair. "Lets not get anything on that pretty dress of yours, ok?"
"Yes, Daddy." I nod and open my mouth, leaning a little forward, just in case.
I watch the edge of his mouth cock a little. He knows I'm nervous and that's why I'm leaning forward but doesn't say anything. I am still new and trying and he appreciates this.
He lays his soft cock in my open mouth. I stay perfectly still, trying not to get him hard again. He relaxes, breathes softly and slowly I feel him fill my mouth with his piss. I close my lips around his cock and begin to swallow over and over and over again. I feel his eyes on me, but I still can't look at him while he is doing this. It still makes me blush. It still makes me feel so low and used and worthless and small and wet and swollen. I am Daddy's and this is what he has asked of me and I will do this for him. Only him.
He finishes and I swallow, breathing softly. I hate this. I can't look up at him. I keep my eyes down, my chin dropped practically to my chest.
He crouches down and lifts my face but my eyes remain down.
"Thank you for being such a good girl for me." He whispers to me. "You are a very good girl."
I force a tiny smile and he lifts my face further, kissing me again and sliding his arms around me. I wrap mine around his neck and kiss him back aggressively. I push my mouth, my face, my body into him and he takes all of me. This is what Daddy wants of me, and I will be his good girl. Always.

My new toy is meant to be played with

I sit on his lap. That is not entirely accurate. I am curled on his lap. He has more than a foot on me and when sitting, his body creates a space that I inhabit, legs curled under me. I wear only scraps of tempting fabrics, lacey and sheer and unable to hide anything.

His hands rest on my hips, the fingers tensing into my flesh periodically. I lean back against his chest, wrapped around myself in a serpentine coil. I feel his hands shift, snaking around my stomach and down between my legs.

And despite all of this, my eyes remain squarely on her. I grow into the space his body provides, but my attention is on the girl several feet from us, waiting.

She stands with her hands behind her back. I can see the nervousness every time she tenses one of her legs or feet. She is waiting for him to speak, not knowing that she is my present, and I intend to play.

"I want you to dance for us."

I pull his arms closer around me as her hips begin to sway, her sweet figure rolling in line with unheard music. She is trying so hard, and I find her naivete, her assumption that he is the cruel one, so delectably precious.

"Take your clothes off."

She stops and her hands immediately go to the hem of her shirt.

"No." The edges of my lips have dropped and I am unamused. "I didn't say stop dancing."

She nods, the realization that I am not an ally coming over her and making her tremble.She begins to move and sway again, pulling off her shirt in the meantime. I find her endearing, but I am electrified at the possibilities.

I lean slowly and kiss the space behind my Sir's ear. "I want to make you proud." I whisper, my lips kissing and caressing the soft crest of his ear, my lips finding his ear lobe and placing another gentle peck there. "I want you to know what you have."

He smiles, his hands squeezing softly. I smile and kiss his neck as she continues to strip down, though no one is watching. I am enjoying ignoring her, re-focusing all my adoration on my Sir.

"I know what I have." I leans down to kiss the top of my head. "That's why I'm scared for her."

I giggle, turning back to watch her rock her naked body back and forth. "Fuck yourself for us." I lean back into him as his fingers move into my panties, feeling how wet I was. I rocked back against his cock, only getting wetter when I felt how hard he was. I felt my breath catch a little as he touched me.

She nodded, opening her legs for us. Her hand tentatively moved to her cunt as his found mine, and begin to work her sweet clit. She played with herself so earnestly that I fought not to find it sweet. Her fingers worked her clit back and forth before sliding inside her pussy. I heard her whimper and I almost giggled, knowing that this would be the last un-aching moan she would be allowed tonight.

I felt his other hand slide around under my shirt, flicking my nipple to a tight peak as his other hand languidly rubbed my soaked clit. He leaned forward again, and I felt his nose brush the back of my ear, just as I felt his cock brush my ass. "You're going to destroy her, aren't you, baby?"

I nodded and I felt him squeeze my nipple hard. I arched slightly, opening my mouth to gasp. I ache to make her hurt. I ache to tease her and not allow her to cum and to make her cry and beg and whimper on the ground. I want to spit on her and call her names as much as I want to beat her until she cries. I want so many things. I want to prove to my Sir that I am cruel and powerful and merciless so he knows how much it means that I submit to him. I want to tell him all of this, but I want to show him more.

"As much as you hurt her... I'm going to hurt you more. Just so she knows how amazing you are."

I open my mouth both to giggle and to protest, but I know it will just dig my own grave.

On Father's Day...

So in my heart of hearts, I am a Daddy's girl. True, I am certainly a switch. I love fucking women, topping men, and destroying pretty girls. It's all exceptional. My favorite new game? Being a mean Mommy to a pretty little femme who needs to learn how to be a big girl. It's cruel and wicked and turns my crank so, so hard. But after all of it, there is nothing in the world I want more than for Daddy to tell me I've been his good girl.

There is something about watching Daddy dress and undress, smelling his cologne, knowing the care he takes. When he walks in, I immediately feel it. I feel how strong he is, and I feel desperate to be kneeling in front of him.

I love when Daddy fucks me. I love when Daddy's cock in inside me and I know I'm being a good girl for him. I love showing Daddy all that I learn by riding his cock until he cums inside of me. I love begging Daddy to let me cum on his cock, buried deep in my dripping cunt. I love it most when I'm lacking back and Daddy has his fingers inside me. I love arching up, my hand on the back of his neck, fingers tensed, and so completely in his control, his hands manipulating my cunt and making me completely within his whims. I love when I am so close and I can feel his breath on my ear whispering "Cum, baby." I love when I am allowed to cum for my Daddy, screaming out, whimpering and shaking and trembling and fucking his fingers. I love when I am under control by my Daddy, and in that moment I am completely owned.

I love when my Daddy pushes me. I live to hear my Daddy tell me that I've been a good girl for him. Nothing makes me smile quite as wide as knowing that I have made my Daddy so proud. I want him to show me off, to show the world how well he has trained me, and how proud he is that I am his little girl, his baby doll. I love when Daddy knows that my limits are his, and that when he says I am ready, I am ready. And when I whimper, and tell Daddy that it hurts, that he takes the most delicate of care, slowing his cock and shifting me to be more comfortable as he fucks me. And when he doesn't, I love knowing that my pain is a gift to him, and that he appreciates the ache.

And I love giving him that pain. I love giving him the gift of my pleasure, my pain, my hurt, my ache, my agony, my cunt, my skin, every inch of my flesh, my devotion, my want, my desire, and my heart. I promise to always be your good girl.

Besos.
The Prude.

The New Girl is Trained

I come into your office and close the door. You wave me in, the phone against your ear. I know you'll be on the conference call for the next 45 minutes at least, though I have no idea what it is. Your "mmhmm"s and "yup"s give little information as to whatever you're discussing.

It's not my job to know, though. It's simply my job to be of service.

You wave me closer and I walk silently to you. I know exactly what to do, as we have been here many and too few times before. I stand in front of you and bend over your desk, forearms on the hard wood.

Your hands are practically clinical when pulling my skirt up and panties down. Your voice remains perfectly calm even when my breath catches. I can feel the tips of your fingers moving over my skin and I spread my legs for you.

Your fingers slide down my ass and I shiver. I know I'll be beaten to shit and my panties shoved in my mouth if I make a noise. I don't want that today. Today I just want to be perfect for you.

As I hear you launch into a critique of whatever was just proposed, your fingers find my cunt.I hold in all my noises but my eyelids flutter and I drop my head onto the desk, laying my cheek against the slick wood.

I whimper slightly in the back of my throat and he hears. I feel his fingers dig into my side. I open my mouth to cry out in pain, but no sound emerges. I simply lay my my head back down, spreading my legs more for him.

He keeps working my clit, still pointing out the issues with someone's grand new idea. His fingers never stop moving, always keeping a slow and steady pace. Once I am wet enough for his pleasure, I hear him unzip his pants and pull out his swollen cock. He is hard, ready for me. He wastes no time before both sliding inside my cunt and beginning to fuck.

His voice does not waver.

I hold onto the desk as his cock moves in and out. His hand rests on the small of my back as he starts to pound. This is not about pleasure. This is about his need to cum. This is about being available for his use. This is about fucking my cunt until he explodes inside me and feels sated for the rest of the day. This is about cum dripping down into my panties for the rest of the day. This is about me sitting outside of your office with my hand in the clandestine space between my legs, pressing into my cunt.

I get up on my toes just a little, trying to find the perfect angle for his cock to pump inside me. I feel his him slide in and out, feel juices dripping down my thigh. His hands begin to tense on my hips as he moves faster, getting ready to cum. I can still hear him on his call.

He cums hard, jerking his hips harder into me as he unloads wave after wave of his hot cum into my swollen, wet cunt. When he is done, he taps me once on the small of my back to let me know. He steps back and I stand, pulling up my panties. I have offered in the past to lick his cock clean but he usually prefers to get immediately back to work.

I pull down my skirt as he zips up his pants. I turn around and smile at him. I would love for him to kiss me - I would beg for it, and he knows this. He lifts his hand to my cheek and wipes off an errant smudge of lipstick which has moved past the boundary of my lips. I kiss his thumb as it moves over my mouth.

He sits down and I walk to the door, quietly closing it behind me, proud of my service. I sit down at my desk and as I cross my legs, I feel how wet my panties already are, and think about how little I will be able to think about much else for the rest of the day.

We are well trained to react

I don't need to be tied down to this chair. No matter what happens, I'm too afraid to move. His gloved fingers move across my teeth, running over my tongue, feeling my gums. They are aggressive but exactly. While it feels like an abuse of power, he is simply doing exactly what he came to do.

When he is satisfied, he pulls out the needle and I can feel the slightest of tremors begin to grace my body. I breathe a little faster and my heard pulses viciously. My body is not mine in this moment. Whether it belongs to my fear or him I don't know, I simply know it is not mine.


He is exacting but not cruel. And when i feel the needle begin to slide through my skin I tense and without thought he begins to stroke my face. The needle pulls out and slides back in. He fucks me the same way - slowly, tenderly, knowing how much the size of his cock hurts my tight cunt, but knowing that it must be done.

I wait, only hearing my heart, only feeling his touch.

I relax back and he takes my calm as the cue to start bringing out the implements he will need. I begin to tense again seeing the light glean off of what can only be described as unforgiving. I can't hold back and whimper slightly, a noise which he hears clearly.

He leans over, his hand back to me face. "Are you scared, baby?"

I nod, my lower lip trembling. I am trying not to let a single tear squeeze out, knowing it will streak down my cheek in a display of sheer terror and weakness.He strokes my face until I calm.

"You know I have no choice, you earned this, right? This isn't a punishment, it's just what must be done."

I nod again, and take a long breath. He is simply doing what must be done. I have dug my own grave.

He moves back to his toys, shiny and fresh to be used. I remain perfectly still and in the back of my head, a flicker of debate manifests to simply tell me to run. I can feel the familiar shivers of cold fear fun over me. Every time I am about to take a beating I don't know if I can conquer, every time I am about to embark on a blindfolded task, every time I know I am reaching a new level of submission and servitude, I know these chills. I know these chills well.

"Close your eyes." I nod, letting them slide shut. He strokes my lips with his thumb and I feel him opening my mouth wider. I breathe faster, harder through my nose as I feel the metal touching my lips.

I feel only blur. I feel cold metal moving. I feel it clamp down. I feel it wiggle. And slowly, I feel the remnants of a shattered tooth being pulled slowly from my gums. My flesh tenses around it, gasping not to lose the bone as it moves, wet and slicked with blood and saliva. His hand brushes my face as he wiggles the pliers back and force to wrench it from my mouth. I am cold with fear and trapped in this chair, ready to cry.

He sees my tremble. I look up, eyelids exploding open to try and catch his for comfort. He looks down at me, his eyes soft and comforting.

"Baby?" I can't move, but I stare at him desperately. I can feel it wiggling, pressing on flesh and vulnerable skin. I can taste blood running down my throat and I whimper. I am scared. I want to scream. I want to do something but I am trapped in this chair, paralyzed by fear that any sudden movement will simply be worse. My eyes dart around, not sure what I'm looking for outside of escape.

"Baby." I look back up at him. He knows every thought as it crosses my mind.

"Baby." I make the tiniest noise in the back of my throat to let him know I am with him despite my continually quickening heart and breath as he pulls once more, hard and forceful. I feel it slide slowly out of my mouth and hear it clink down into a small metal tray beside my head.