Lion

He stalks me around the room, though in truth i’m not really trying all that hard to escape. i’m prey, but willingly so.  His eyes are fierce, and a shiver travels from my neck to my pussy.

i’ve never seen Him quite like this before.

He says nothing, just that leonine stride towards me as i mince ever backwards around the house.  My nipples ache from the treatment He’d given them before….

*****

Sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, He rises. i take no note of it, He often gets His own second cup of coffee. Yet, not today. He  yanked me up by my hair, pulled down my cami, and bent his head to my tits. His hand stayed in my hair, pulling me backward into a living bow, quivering as his insatiable mouth arrowed to my  nipples. i tried, once, to pull away from the hard clamp of teeth on tender flesh, moaning and crying out as he feasted roughly on me, but His free hand snaked around my waist, holding me tight, holding me close.

my nipples were doomed.

Mauled, throbbing, sucked to hard, rosy peaks, He finishes with me by placing the new clamps onto the tenderized bulbs. The chain is so heavy, and i moan. How to tell Him how much it means to be held this way? Chained to Him by His hand, even when He is not here to control me, i am still, clamped thus, His to control.

The texts came throughout the day.

“Left clamp off. Pinch my nipple.”

“Right clamp off, roll that tender bud and text me *immediately* how it felt.”

“Good. Good. I *own* that pain. *I* own that nipple. MINE.”

“Clamps on.”

“I don’t give a FUCK if it hurts.”

“Do. It. Now. coz if *I* come home to do it……”

By days end i was a sopping, ragged mess. My tits ached, hot licks of fire stirred again and again from softly warm embers to 3-alarm raging inferno by Him.

At supper, as at breakfast, He rises quickly, chair thrust back so fast it tips, and crashes to the floor. I startle, like an antelope upon seeing the lion stalking her.

Too fast for me to resist,  He is on me, His teeth busy at my hurting flesh. Gawd. Gawd. Hurts. i am moaning, dying, living, breathing through the torment, even as my cunt clenches and my orgasm leaks down my thighs.

He pulls away, grabbing the clamps off the table where they lay, gleaming in the candlelight. A strange decoration for ones’ dinner table, perhaps. . . but not our table!

He fastens them brusquely. Precise in His movement, drawing my pain to new levels. His words come from far away as i find myself falling into the deep well of submission.

“no. cumming.”

All i can do is nod.

He releases me, pats me on the ass and sends me to my chores. i wash the dishes in a dreamy haze of pain, of submission, of intense need. He knows what nipple pain does to my cunt. He’s smelled the results of it by now… that first hard cum.

To be shut down as the need built? Built that need ever deeper, ever more intense.

Denial is so fawking hawt, i’ve told Him.  Obviously, He believes it. He sits reading the paper as i move around the kitchen, setting it to rights. Preparing the coffee for morning, setting the table for breakfast.

Perhaps i provoke Him, leaning across to lay out His napkin, His spoon, my chain swinging free and tap-tapping on the paper.  He knows i hunger for Him now.  i smile winsomely at Him as i move away, back to the safety of my side of the table.

i see the hunger rise in Him. His game has tormented Him as well as me. my eyes flash to His crotch, the hard bump in the front of His jeans mute evidence of His need. He sees me looking. And snaps.

In a heartbeat His eyes change. From amused, to hungry. From complaisant watcher, to fiendish predator. He folds the paper with a sharp snap, then rises. He stalks me around the room, though in truth i’m not really trying all that hard to escape. i’m prey, but willingly so.  His eyes are fierce, and a shiver travels from my neck to my pussy.

He hunts, the hungry Lion.

Swiftly, efficiently, i am brought down,

and consumed.