Page 68 of He Hate Me

“It hurts,” she sobs.

“Poor Princess. How are you going to take my cock when you can barely take my finger?”

“No,” she says. “Please don’t fuck my ass. It’s too small.”

“Okay, I won’t,” I tell her, “but you have to do exactly what I say, or I don’t care how tight that ass is you’ll be giving it to me tonight.”

“Please, Sir,” she begs, “don’t.”

“So you’ll be good for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you know what I want you to do for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You do? What is it?”

“For me to suffer.”

“You are such a good girl,” I say popping my thumb out of her ass and replacing it with my finger. It’s coated with her natural lubrication, but not so much that it’s not uncomfortable. I know she doesn’t want this, but also that a part of her does or she would have used her safe word or raised her color from green. I pump my finger slowly in and out and she wiggles in discomfort, but I can also feel her wetness leaking onto my thigh.

“Stand up.”

She gets to her feet, her limbs shaking. She looks at my face, her expression watchful and tinged with fear. Her pulse flutters rapidly in her neck, and I can’t resist licking and sucking at her pulse point. I bite down on her trapezius, not as hard as I would like because I don’t want to leave a mark, but hard enough to hurt.

It’s difficult to describe how good I feel right now. The things I’m doing I’ve fantasized about for the last two years, playing over in my mind what I would do if I found a girl who was into the same things I am. Part of the thrill is in inflicting pain, but another part is in her surrender to me. We are not just exchanging pleasure like most couples or power like many dominants and submissives. She has given me permission to hurt her and trusts me not to harm her and that’s an intimacy beyond what most people ever get to experience. Of course I would enjoy inflicting pain on anyone, but the adoration I have for her makes it that much more fulfilling.

I position her at the foot of the bed with her hands clasping one of the posters. She faces it, bending slightly at the waist so that her butt sticks out. I pick up the flogger and trail it gently over her back and ass, down her thighs and back up, sensitizing her skin. She relaxes a bit, her face losing some of its tension. I let her have it, passing the soft leather strands over her breasts and stomach, across her shoulders and up her arms.

At first, I just tap her lightly with the flogger, producing barely a sting, but then I go harder and harder across her back and shoulders. Her sounds of distress grow stronger, and I’m glad I decided not to gag her. Her soft cries are pure joy.

“Green, yellow or red?”

“Green,” she gasps.

I toss the flogger onto the bed and approach her from behind, bending my knees so that my hips are level with hers. I spread her butt cheeks and guide my dick between them, rubbing the head of my cock against her rear hole. The spearhead of my dick slides up and down her crack, the burn when I apply pressure foreshadowing the pain she’ll feel when I take her back there. Or would feel if I didn’t plan to take my time and do everything to make sure her first time is pain-free. What I’m doing now is fun because of the fear she can’t hide, the slight wince when I push the tip a few millimeters into her asshole.

I pull back, my dick protesting at leaving the warmth between her curvy cheeks. I reach for the riding crop and test it, enjoying the whistling sound it makes as I wield it and the satisfying thwack it makes against my hand.

“Don’t move or we add five more strikes with the riding crop.” She glances over to look at the long, thick whip with a flap of leather at the end and a black silicone handle. “Every strike I want you to count, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I lay one hard strike across the middle of her buttocks, at right angles to her spine. She jolts and counts one. I lay the next few lines in a fanlike pattern across her ass, leaving welts, but not breaking the skin. Her response is outstanding. She wiggles like there are ants in her pants and squeaks out her number in a high-pitched gasp that turns into a grunt.

When I’m done with the crop, I survey her ass, wondering if I’m being too ambitious. Her inner thighs glisten with moisture. I could probably make her come with ten seconds of direct clitoral stimulation. But I haven’t come close to testing her limits and this is for me, too. I’m not satisfied yet.

I order her back on the bed and cuff her spreadeagled to the bed frame. She’s completely helpless as I tease her nipples, suckling and tonguing them until they’re swollen and erect. Her moans of pleasure turn to cries of pain when I fasten a clamp to each nipple and pull gently on the chain that runs between them.

“That really hurts,” she says tearfully.

“You know how to make it stop,” I remind her, but she just squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head from side to side, apparently determined to endure it.

Smirking, because with her eyes closed, she can’t see me, I open the bedside table and pull out the last two objects I plan to use tonight—a condom and a clothespin. I set the condom to the side for the moment and close my hot mouth over her clit, raising her arousal and sensitivity to an even higher level. Then I attach the clothespin to her clitoral hood, and she screams, writhing as much as her bonds will allow.

“Green—”