Vulnerable

He's pulled me close to him and my face is buried against his chest. His fingers encircle my wrist, pull my arm up over my head, and with his other hand he touches the areas left exposed by this position - my sensitive armpit, the inner part of my upper arm. I gasp with pleasure, every breath I take a shuddery one as he traces tingles into my flesh.

"So sensitive," he whispers as he touches me, as his fingers glide gently over these areas that rarely get touched.

"So delicate. So vulnerable," he says, making my breath catch.

He hears my breath catch, draws the moment out as he draws his fingers down my skin. "There's a part of me," he says, his voice even lower, close to a growl, "that wants to beat you here."

I gasp. I don't think he's ever said something so inherently sadistic. I feel my entire body sort of melt against him.

"Now why would I want a thing like that?" he asks. His fingers are still stroking me, skimming over my armpit. "When I can just stroke you gently here and make you shiver?"

"Because you're a sadist," I whisper, and even my whisper trembles.

"Hmm, I suppose I am," he says. "You know I'm not just doing this to make you feel good, right?" he says as his touch elicits a sigh of pleasure from me. "Why do you think I'm doing this?"

"You can do anything you want," I answer.

"Mmm... I believe that's the answer I was looking for. Because I fucking can," he says, and draws his hand back slightly. I brace for the impact but it doesn't come, and he resumes stroking me. "You afraid of me, girl?" he asks.

"No sir," I whisper. There's fear of what it might feel like, when he succumbs to his desire. But not fear of him.

"Maybe you should be," he says. He's still stroking my delicate skin. "This is to show you who's in control here. Who's in control here, my girl?"

"You are," I breathe out. I am so wet that as I shiver against him, I feel the moisture between my legs.

"Good girl," he says. "I'm going to beat you here, you know." His fingers leave goosebumps behind. It's impossible to imagine the slender, loving fingers that are making me feel so good dealing out the kind of pain he's talking about. He strokes until he finds the most sensitive part of my arm, the place that really makes me tremble. "Right here," he says, stroking that spot, so I know. "I'm going to beat you. Right. Here."

He draws his hand back and slaps my most sensitive spot, just above my armpit. I squeal - it stings unbelievably. It hurts so much. I jerk, but he's got my wrist. I'm trapped there, open, vulnerable, helpless. His slave. At the end of my squeal, I kiss his chest - an unexpected, unplanned reaction to the pain. He slaps me, I kiss him.

He slaps me again, higher, on the inner part of my upper arm. That hurts even more. I writhe against him, pull at my wrist, but he keeps it in place. I scream as low as I can manage, and again, my lips kiss him. Gratitude for his gift.

"This is all well and good, this touching you and beating you, but I think I'm missing something. Do you know what that could be?" I can feel his cock, hard and insistent against the hand that he doesn't have trapped.

"No sir," I murmur.

He leans down and kisses me, his lips soft and tender, my head having to lean way back to meet his lips. It's erotic. He slaps my breast while we're kissing, right on the nipple. I yelp against his lips, and find the entire thing even more erotic. I am so ready for fucking. He slaps my inner arm again and it feels like someone set off fireworks in it. Oh, it hurts. I kiss down his chest to his cock.

"Oh, that's right," he says as I lick the head of his cock. "I can touch you," and he takes his cock in his hand and rubs it over my lips. "I can beat you," and he uses his cock to slap my face, twice. "And I can fuck you," he finishes, shoving his cock between my lips.

His other hand still holds my wrist captive, and as he fucks into my face, he slaps my armpit again. "Keep sucking that cock, girl," he says, and slaps my arm and my armpit until it all feels raw and open. I am squealing with pain, but I keep sucking. "Good girl," he says, "good girl. You keep sucking."

His fingers stroke my flesh delicately and even that gentle touch makes me whimper. "Oh, does it hurt, girl?" he says. I manage to make a positive noise. He slaps my breast now instead, still fucking into my face. "Just keep sucking, girl."

I do, oh, I do. My armpit and upper arm are on fire, my breast feels stung, but I suck as if my life depended on it, even when I am struggling for breath to deal with the pain.

He rolls on top of me, his knees on either side of my head, my hand still up above my head. I can see the tiny broken blood vessels and bruises on my upper arm. My head swims with pain and desire. I am so wet.

"Your pussy might like to be fucked," he says, sliding his cock back into my mouth. I suck for all I am worth. My legs spread themselves wide, but I keep sucking his cock. It's hard to give up fucking in one place - a reality - for the idea of fucking in another. My pussy wants him, but my mouth doesn't want to give him up. He fucks my face, and my free arm wraps around him, pulling him into me. He hasn't hit me in a while, but my armpit still burns.

He pulls his cock out, rubs it against my face, moves up so I can suck his balls. He's looking down at me. "Good fuck hole," he murmurs as my mouth gently wraps around and sucks his balls. He moves again, to slide his cock back down into my face. His hand is on the back of my head, holding me up even higher than I can on my own to allow for greater penetration. "Your pussy gets wet for a reason, you know," he whispers down at me. I am grunting, growling, moaning around his cock. It's so huge and hard and it feels amazing right now, fucking my face. My pussy is spread and wanting, but my mouth doesn't care.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuck," he says, and he is coming into my face, spurts sliding easily down my throat. I swallow it all.

I keep sucking and licking. His cock stays impossibly hard for a long time, and I lick, suck, and stroke it the entire time. He acts as though he wants to move. "I'll stop any time you want me to," I remind him, my voice husky from the use my throat has just received.

"It's hard," he says.

"No it's not," I laugh, because by now it has softened a little.

He rolls over next to me. "You broke me," I whisper, speaking of the broken blood vessels in my arm.

He looks at it, sees the red splotches and the bruises. "Is that all it takes to break you now?"

I thrill inside. "You're a sadist," I murmur.  His fingers slide between my folds, and at his first touch, somewhere between my opening and my clit, I moan, a deep, pleased moan. His fingers slide around a little, and I keep groaning. I am so so sensitive, all the places he touches me feel incredible.

"Is that pain?" he asks, as I keep moaning.

"No sir," I answer.

"Good girl. Such a little slut," he says.

"Nuh-uh, I'm yours."

"You are a slut. Did you see yourself with my cock?"

"I'm yours," I groan. His fingers make it hard to have this conversation.

"Mmm, so you're not a slut, you're my own personal fuck hole?" he asks.

"ohhh yes sir," and now his words are thrilling me as much as his fingertips. I roll my hips into his touch, and I groan.

"Just for me to fuck wherever I like," he continues in my ear. "Anytime, any way, any how."

He makes me come, and again, and again. I am helpless, and sweaty, and his. He's amazing.

He holds me close and whispers, "You're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

I'm amazing, he says.

We're both pretty fucking lucky.