Tears of Many Kinds - Part II

Click here if you missed Part I

Part II

He only has the belt he uses for work, having forgotten his preferred one at home. This one is of stiff leather tipped with a shiny silver buckle. The left side of my face is pressed to the table so I can see as much of the room as possible; it’s an effort to retain whatever vestige of control I imagine I have. I see him wind the belt around his hand until he has the desired length and my body stiffens in anticipation. Before he can strike me, I ask him to get the gag from my bag. I’m afraid of screaming too loudly in this family and business type hotel. He complies gladly with my request.

I begin to panic when he closes the strap around the back of my head. I don’t mind having the gag in my mouth but the thought of not being able to remove it when I need to is enough to push me towards the brink of hysteria. I swallow back my apprehension; willing myself to be calm, recalling that the straps of this gag never stay in place and I will easily be able to divest myself of it should I need to. Victor is used to my semi-submission. In fact, he relishes my struggle, both physically with him and internally in my own head. When he ultimately triumphs, it’s a much greater victory.

My time for contemplation is short lived. Suddenly, the air moves, parting as the belt slices through it before landing on my ass with a resounding crack. I don’t scream, I breathe and think it will be fine, I will be fine, I can handle this. But each ensuing strike increases in violence. I feel the rope tightening around my wrists, digging in as I struggle uselessly. There is no way I am getting free of this until he wants me free. He’s tied me so securely that I am forced up onto my toes and my calves vibrate with exertion. The straps of the gag slide down my hair and I am able to pop the gag out enough to shout my dismay when the belt lands on an area already bruised and sore from his repeated torment. I scream again and he still hits me over and over. The sharp crack of the belt accompanies each whack. I try to contain my resistance, my screams. I tell myself to stay still, to stop struggling, but it’s as if I can’t control the flow that bubbles up from some well deep inside me. My ass glows fiery crimson as he methodically, sadistically abuses me. He stops and I am suddenly aware of his breathing; it has become as heavy and jagged as mine. His face drips with sweat. The room seems deadly quiet despite the fact that he’s turned on the television to cover the thunder-crack of the belt and my ensuing shrieks.

My eyes close as I finally stop struggling and try to regain some composure. He doesn’t allow me long. He pulls my head back by my hair, so taut that each strand pulsates with the beat of my heart, and with the other hand he spreads my cheeks apart. His clothes have been shed and his cock presses against the tight bud of my ass.

“No, no, fuck, no, Victor,” I scream, tensing and making the inevitable lube-less thrust that much more painful. The belt was nothing compared to this; this is brutal, excruciating. I don’t think I can bear it, and I feel my safe word on my tongue, but hesitate for a moment. In that moment, he pushes even harder entering me. But it’s too much and I wail in agony before I say the one word that stops him cold.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry, so sorry, baby,” I find myself muttering stupidly. I needn’t be sorry and I know it but in that moment I wanted to give him what he wanted and so I find myself ridiculously repentant.

He pulls on a condom and thrusts into me, this time sliding smoothly past my slick, engorged folds while pushing my face into the table. I don’t even realize I’m screaming; this time my screams are of debauched pleasure. This time I want it rough, as rough he can give it. This time I want his cock penetrating me to my core. This time I want him to keep fucking me relentlessly. I find my entire body quivering, starting with the clenching of the muscles in my cunt, as his cock hits my g-spot again and again. He stops too soon.

“Baby….,” I whisper .

“Shut up, bitch,” he says. His eyes are still flat and dark as he climbs on the table and looms above me with his cock, hard as steel and purple with blood, in his hand. He ejaculates so strongly that the first stream is propelled high, missing me entirely. The second falls all over my back and ass. It feels warm in the chill of the air conditioning. He jumps down and walks away, leaving me tied there trying to catch my breath. His seed has landed on me in individual droplets reminiscent of warm, salty tears. I feel each drop begin to trickle down my ass, flowing along my thighs. My mind tells me it’s my body weeping. Somehow, though I can’t cry the way I want to, his come has somehow transformed into my tears; tears that continue to stream over the taut satin skin of my ass and down my tense, quaking legs.

He comes back from the bathroom and clicks open his knife forcing the point of it under my chin, stilling me again. He watches my eyes open wider as I begin to tremble. He smiles; a dark, cold smile. A smile filled with glee at the way I cringe and how my breathing catches raggedly. The cold, hard blade makes its way down my neck, along my side and up my back. He prods me with the point until I beg him to stop. I think I’m still begging when we hear knocking at the door.

“Oh fuck,” I say.

“Shhh,” he says, taking control of the situation in a way that somewhat eases my mind. He shouts at the unwelcome presence to wait a moment before going to the door. Still bound, I hear him open the door a crack and speak to someone. He walks back to me, “It’s hotel security.”

“Nooo,” I interrupt him. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, baby, it is. He wants to speak to you. Make sure you’re alright.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Perhaps you’d better untie me then,” I say, even as he has begun unwinding the ropes from the legs of the table. Trailing rope, that I manage to discard from my wrists but not my ankles before reaching the door, I open it a crack, trying to keep my nakedness hidden from view.

The man is grey-haired and stern faced. “Are you alright, ma’am?” he asks, scanning my face for signs of distress.

“I’m fine, really, I’m fine,” I mutter. I can feel the smile on my face, one there not to convince him of my safety but simply because like always, after the intensity of what preceded, I am ecstatic. All the stress has been drained from my body and I feel so light that I think I could float.

“Alright then,” he says, “just tone down the screaming please.”

After a cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die assurance that we will keep it down, Victor and I walk back to the bed and fall laughing in each others arms. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror; hair wild, eyes and skin glowing brightly. It’s a look of feral radiance, one I wish I could muster every day.

Victor ponders whether this particular chain of hotels will be blacklisting him in the future.

“We need to find the local equivalent of that hot sheets red room motel I like so much. No one cares what goes on in there,” I say. “Plus I like hearing the sounds of other couples fucking.”

“You are such a whore, Tess,” he says with a smile full of warmth, amiability and humor. The beast has been momentarily sated but I know as does he that it’s only temporary and that by morning the low rumble of the beast will be reverberating in my ear as he wraps a fist full of my hair around his fist and once again impales my greedy, yielding cunt with his perfect cock.