Signed (16)

He paced around the house. Dishes were piled up on the counters, a pizza box lay open on the table, exposing its days-old contents. The toilets had deep yellow stains, the splashes of dried piss on the white porcelain resembling dropped eggs. The shower was spotted, the sink covered in dark hairs, old chunks of dry toothpaste, and soap goo.

She’d only been gone ten days, and damn, he missed his wife.

He took another deep swig of his beer. He’d worked his ass off for this house, for her. Conveniently forgetting the girls he picked up at his bar, fucked in the alley, or in his car, forgetting the money he’d lost on gambling, and the neglect he often showed to the woman he’d married, he rubbed his crotch and stared at the rumpled mess of his bed. He needed his wife! He needed to pin her to the bed and fuck her silly, make her pregnant, give her something to look after. Their house was a fucking dump, and she needed to get her fanny home and take care of things.

Tossing the empty can towards the recycling bin, yet missing it, he ignored the spill of beer on the floor and went in search of the stupid fucking contract that dickhead in a designer suit had made him sign.

No address was listed, only his name, her name. The paper said their quicky divorce would be final in 20 more days, put through some stupid fuck-all way so that they would be free of one another.

She wasn’t going to dump him that easily.

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“I’ll be gentle with you…for now.”

His voice was soft and silky as he circled around where she stood in the single beam of light. She felt like a moth to a flame, drawn to him. His scent lured, his body made her crave. Despite the powerful orgasms she’d had upstairs, she felt the unfurling of want in her belly.

A gentle swish across her bum made her jolt.

“Hands over your head. You’ll feel a loop there. Put your hands in it.”

Each sentence was murmured, punctuated by the gentle swish of something on her ass. Something that almost tickled, almost. There was the faintest bit of nerves jangling around her shoulders as she did as he had bid. The noose tightened around her wrists, then pulled upwards.

“Hey!”

She yelped, dancing upon the balls of her feet. His hands came to steady her, as he knelt by her knees.

“Lift,” he said, tapping her left calf. The coolness of leather against her foot made her shiver. He repeated the tap on her right calf, and when he moved away, she could see the shiny black of the shoes on her feet. The heels were tall, but took some of the pressure off her wrists.

The slap on her butt was harder, stingy.

She took a breath, tried to not whimper, but the next blow curled around her hip, and she did whine then.

“Be a good girl. Let me hear those sexy noises.”

“Bastard!” she gasped, as the next blow came harder, faster, lashing up her side, and ending with a slap on the side of her left breast.

“That’s my good girl,” he chuckled, then all was silent but for the swish of the flogger, the click of the heels as she attempted to dance away, and her gasps and groans.

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Her head hung low as her body stung and throbbed. Cool hands slid over her welted bottom, up the stinging of her hips, and cupped her hurting tits. Fingers pinched and kneaded her nipples, as his heat pressed behind her. She felt his cock, barely registering that he was naked before he pressed between her shoulders, making her lean forward, then tugged her sore hips backwards. His cock parted the soft wet lips of her cunt, pressed slowly inward. Her moans now were deeper. Amazed that the beating had created this need to fuck, to be fucked, she pressed back, imploring wordlessly for more.

He took his time, sliding in and out of her dripping hot hole with a steady pace that she found maddening. Where she wanted fierce plundering, he gave gently. She may have whispered that under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing…” she uttered a moan as he sheathed inside her again, his thick cock rubbing all the right places. Her clit begged for attention.

“Say it again, slut.”

She hated when he called her that…and yet it was so exciting, too. The freedom of being a greedy, wanton woman, tied up with the nastiness that was associated with that term. She was a slut. For him.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you.”

“You know….” her words trailed off as embarrassment suffused her.

“Tell me.”

“I want you…to do like you did upstairs.”

Her voice was soft, her eyes closed, her wrists aching as she clenched her fingers into fists.

“Say it. Tell me what you want.”

She felt as though he was battering her emotions. Nice girls didn’t say those things. She was a respectable woman, a woman of impeccable reputation. She didn’t…couldn’t…say those words.

His hips moved in a soft, slow figure-eight, rubbing her cuntlips, her insides, with the most incredible sensations…but it wasn’t enough to get off. He kept her hanging right there on the edge.

“Harder!” she begged, moaning.

“Again? What?”

“Rough. Use me. Fuck me like a whore. Please? please?” she whimpered the last word, her body alive, alert, poised on the brink of something incredible.

“Ooooh. That.”

His voice was filled with amusement, and she blushed, felt suffused with the heat of it, for begging for something so dark. So dirty. So….slutty.

Yet her hips were suddenly grabbed roughly, his fingers biting into the already abused flesh as he began roughly fucking her.

“You.”

“Fucking.”

“Slut!”

His voice became guttural as he ground into her, hard pounding thrusts. She felt his cock stiffen further, she swore it grew a foot as he hammered her pussy, filling her and making her moan in one steady, long, ululation.

When her orgasm clenched his shaft, she felt it pumping, felt the groan leave his chest and enter hers as they came in unison. He filled her.

Filled her.

Darkness overtook her as pleasure turned her body into a living firework of sensation.