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Message-ID: <50476asstr$1108383002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Toran <toran_29@insightbb.com>
User-Agent: NewsPro/3.7.4
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 13 Feb 2005 19:41:08 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} His Valentine (M/f, BDSM, cons)
Lines: 266
Date: Mon, 14 Feb 2005 07:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

The following is a work of fiction and the copyright of the author.  All 
comments are appreciated and can be sent to the author at 
toran_29@insightbb.com - just take out the _

   HIS VALENTINE
   By Toran  2/13/2005
    
    "It's time to be tied," he said, running his hand down the small of her 
back and pulling her into him.  His smell engulfed her, filling her world and 
she pressed into him, molding her body to his.
    
    "Yes," she murmured, eyes closed, heart thundering in her chest.  Her body 
shuddered as she whispered, "Tie me."
    
    His mouth found hers, his arms locking behind her back, strong, so strong, 
and his lips crushed hers.  Her breath hitched as his tongue invaded her mouth, 
searching and probing and claiming her just has his arms held her.
    
    "What were you thinking," he breathed in her ear, forcing her head to his 
shoulder, his body holding her tightly to his.  She borrowed her nose into the 
soft skin of his neck, eyes closed.  "You could have given me anything.  
Anything for Valentine's day."
    
    Not breaking the embrace, he found her arms and pulled them around behind 
her, holding her wrists in place just above her ass.  "You could have dressed 
up in a teddy and let me fuck your brains out," he whispered, every hair on the 
back of her neck bristling at the heat of his breath.
    
    "You could have lain with me, massaged me with oils."  One hand held her 
wrists helpless behind her while the other hand unzipped the top of her 
strapless evening gown.  She gasped as the coolness of his bedroom embraced her 
naked skin.
    
    "But no.  You offered surrender."  She gasped at his last word, whispered 
in her ear.  He pushed her back, back until her ass bumped the dresser.  She 
knew what was on the top of the dresser, had seen it when he led her by the 
hand back to his bedroom.
    
    "What were you thinking?  Coming here in nothing but a thin evening gown."  
She felt him fumbling behind her and she knew that he was taking something off 
the top of the dresser.  She wriggled her wrists, caught in his firm hand 
behind her and pushed her hips against his crotch when her mind told her that, 
yes, she was still caught.
    
    "Coming to me, begging to be fucked.  Like a whore."  She recoiled at the 
word, almost as if he had slapped her.
    
    "Are you a whore?"  He whispered, soft and hot in her ear, as his smell 
held her, as the circle of rope slipped around her wrists, as he pressed her 
naked body against the dresser, pinning her.  The word again, hard and cold.
    
    "Yes," she moaned into his neck.  Was she?  A whore? A line was being 
crossed, a bigger line than the one circling her wrists.
    
    "Say it."  He pulled the rope tight, binding her hands behind her.  A 
shiver raced up and down her spine.  He was going to make her say it.
    
    "I'm a whore," she murmured, the word foreign and dirty on her lips.
    
    "Who's whore?"
    
    He was going to make her say it again.  "Your whore."
    
    He nuzzled her face away from his neck and kissed her again, hard, mashing 
his lips against hers, pushing her against the hard wooden dresser, his arms 
encircling her shoulders, capturing her.  His tongue again invaded her, 
probing, pushing, claiming, and without warning he lifted her up onto the 
dresser top.  Ropes and leather and everything that he had laid out dug into 
her ass and she twisted her bound arms behind her.
    
    He pulled away and looked intently into her eyes.  "I'm going to tie you, 
whore.  Tie you so tight you can't move.  Do you want that?  To be tied?"
    
    Heat crept up her cheeks.  "Yes," she whispered, fearing that she was 
getting the ropes and leather beneath her puss wet.
    
    His eyes trailed down her body and she felt the heat in her cheeks grow.  
"You won't be able to stop me, will you?"
    
    "No."
    
    "If I want to do this..." His hands cupped the flesh of her breasts, and she 
moaned.  "You can't stop me, can you?"
    
    "No."
    
    "But aren't you supposed to stop me?  I'm a man - I'm not supposed to be 
able to just do this -"  His hands pawed at her breasts, cupping and squeezing.
    
    "Am I?"
    
    "No."
    
    "Who is supposed to stop me?"
    
    "I am."
    
    "Can you?"
    
    She shuddered.  "No."  Only it wasn't that he was going to make her 
helpless physically.  It went deeper.  The ropes were just the surface.  The 
word, that fucking dirty word, that was the part of what run deeper.  It was 
definitely a line she was crossing - when she had scribbled the promise to him 
in his Valentine's card she caught a glimpse of the line.  Now, she had taken a 
tentative step across and he was pulling her the rest of the way. 
    
    His fingers found her nipples, hard and sensitive.  She squirmed, trying to 
wriggle free of the ropes around her wrists.  His eyes bore into hers, and she 
couldn't look away, not now, not ever.  He smiled and crushed the buds of her 
nipples between his fingers.  She screamed and tried to pull back but he held 
on and when she realized that it hurt more to pull away, she leaned into him, 
her face finding the curve of his neck once again.
    
    "I'm going to tie you, whore.  And hurt you.  And there isn't one thing you 
can do about that, is there?"
    
    "No," she softly cried into his shoulder.  But the ropes didn't matter.  
She was on the other side of the line now.  His fingers had not let up on her 
nipples and waves of pain raced through her, fanning the embers of heat deep 
inside.
    
    Then he let go and she felt him grabbing for the coils of rope underneath 
her ass.  She moved and shifted enough so he could get what he wanted, her mind 
telling her that she was helping him tie her.
    
    "You're really are mine now, aren't you?  Mine to do with as I please?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    "Is that right?  Should I be able to do whatever I want to you?"
    
    "No."  Yes.
    
    Rope went around her shoulders, crossing her breasts, around and around, 
pulling her arms tighter to her body, framing her breasts.  "If I want to wrap 
you in more rope?  Can you stop me?"
    
    "No."  I don't want to.
    
    "Can you fight?"  He tied the rope off and she was left with her arms 
molded to her sides, wrists bound behind her.
    
    "Yes."  But I don't want to.
    
    He reached around behind her and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling hard 
until she yelped.  "Then fight.  While you can."
    
    She strained against the ropes, trying to free her head, twisting atop his 
dresser, moaning as the waves of pain and surrender coursed through her.
    
    He pulled her hair until her head was twisted to look up into his face and 
through her pain his eyes caught her.  "Can't stop me, can you?  Not now."
    
    He let her hair go and she slumped backwards against the mirror at the back 
of the dresser and the cold of the glass against her naked arms and back was 
like ice.  Her eyes never left his.
    
    "Say it," he said, conversationally.
    
    "I can't stop you."
    
    "Why can't you stop me?"
    
    Again her cheek flushed and her body pulsed against the ropes.  "Because 
you've tied me."  And more, so much more.
    
    "And why are you tied?"
    
    "Because I let you."
    
    "Why are you naked?"
    
    Could she say it again? "Because I'm a whore."
    
    "Whose whore?"
    
    "Your whore."  Her eyes dropped and she found herself staring at the bulge 
in his pants.  It's done.  The line is crossed.  Maybe for keeps.
    
    His hand slapped her across her cheek, stinging her skin and she cried out. 
 "You can't stop me from hurting you, can you?"
    
    She glared up at him, face burning, her blood pounding through her body.  
"No," she hissed.
    
    "Because you're my little naked and bound whore.  Nothing but a plaything 
to me.  A female to be used.  Hurt.  Maybe fucked."
    
    Her breath caught and he smiled.  "But maybe not.  Maybe just hurt."
    
    His hand reached out and caressed her belly, his fingers running down her 
taut muscles and she wanted to pull away, draw back, because he was going for 
her pussy now.  She tried to bring her legs together but he straddled her as 
she sat on the ropes that would soon bind her and make her more helpless.
    
    His eyes looked into hers, piercing just as his fingers grazed the top of 
her mons.  She strained against the ropes that held her arms, feeling the 
tightness across her breasts, the bite of the coils around her wrists.  His 
fingers would do what they wanted.  She couldn't stop him.
    
    "Do you know who owns a whore's pussy?"
    
    She glared up at him, suddenly both afraid, and hungry, her body poised to 
go off.  
    
    He thrust two fingers deep inside her and she arched, moaning.  "Answer me, 
whore.  Who owns your pussy?"
    
    "You do," she breathed, closing her eyes, feeling his fingers fill her up.
    
    "Can I do what I want with a whore's pussy?  Can I fuck it?"
    
    "Yes."  Her hips strained against the dresser, seeking leverage to drive 
his fingers deeper.
    
    He suddenly withdrew and she moaned, eyes opening, questioning.
    
    "Can I leave it alone?  Let it simmer?"  He leaned forward, his head 
disappearing between her legs.  Sudden hot air blew across her engorged flesh 
and she screamed as her body nearly exploded.  Her muscles strained against the 
ropes that held her.
    
    "Who binds you?"  His whispered in her ear and she could hear the zipper of 
his pants being undone.
    
    "You do."  Her hips were pulled forward, sliding across the dresser top.
    
    "Who is my fuck toy?  My female whore?  My slave?"
    
    "I am."  She screamed as her pelvis slid into his and her pussy, hot and 
wet and hungry, slid onto his cock.  Her breasts, bound, pressed into his chest 
and he scooped her up in his arms, her body impaled on his cock.  She wrapped 
her legs around his waist, fighting the ropes that held her and the arms that 
held her, and he fell back, back onto the bed.  She laid atop him, panting, 
feeling him buried deep inside her.  There was nothing but the sound of his 
breath in her ear and the feeling of his cock buried deep inside her and the 
rise and fall of their chests pressed together.
    
    "Should I fuck my whore?"  His whisper got her hips going but he stopped 
her with a slap on her ass, hard and stinging.
    
    "Or should I just hurt her?"
    
    She moaned.  Lost.  Forever.  His.
    
    He thrust deep inside her and her back arched, her face coming up, her body 
straining against the arms that held her to him.  Then he pushed her back so 
she straddled him, her body sitting on his cock as it rammed up and into her.  
His hands found her nipples and pinched.
    
    "Or maybe I should do both.  Fuck my whore.  Hurt my whore."
    
    She opened her eyes as another wave of pleasure and pain raced through her, 
burning every nerve in her body.  His cock rammed relentlessly into her, 
invading her, filling her, claiming her and there was nothing her bound body 
could do about it, nothing to stop him, nothing to keep him from hurting her 
nipples, slapping her breasts.  Fucking her.
    
    She looked down at him, hips riding him, grinding into him, getting closer 
and closer to the explosion that would take her away on a river of heat.  He 
stared up at her, eyes focused, intent.  Claiming her surrender.
    
    "I love you," he whispered and she screamed, feeling him explode inside her 
just as the river of white heat came and carried her away.

-end-

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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