His Belt (Part Ten)

by Hannah Ford

Finally, he returns to where I am, still on my hands and knees.

  “Kneel.”

  I move from where I’m on all fours into a kneeling position.

  “Show me your tits.”

  I reach behind my back and unhook my bra. My hands are shaking. Not because he’s making me take my bra off – obviously he’s seen me naked before – but because I don’t know what’s going to happen.

  And I want so much to be enough for him, for us.

  His eyes meet mine as I pull the straps of my bra down, the cups loosening and separating from my skin until my bare breasts are exposed.

  He drinks me in hungrily.

  “Take out my cock.”

  I reach up and loosen the waistband of his shorts, and his cock springs free. I pull them down his legs and he steps out of them.

  His dick bobs in front of me.

  “Push your tits together, slut.”

  I do it, pushing them up and together, offering myself to him.

  He pushes his cock between them.

  “Now use those big tits to fuck me.”

  I slide them up and down slowly, instinctually knowing that this is what he wants, that he wants me to fuck him at a slower pace. Soon his precum is coating his shaft and my breasts, providing a natural lubricant as I continue my movement.

  He reaches down and pushes a thumb into my mouth. “I’m going to come all over you. I’m going to cover your tits with my cum and then I’m going to punish you until you cry and beg for mercy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pulls his cock out and slaps it against my cheek, hard.

  I gasp at the violence of the movement, but my reaction doesn’t stop him. Instead, it seems to spur him on, as he repeats the dick slap against my other cheek.

  When he moves his cock back between my tits, he holds me roughly as he fucks them, his fingers pinching my nipples.

  He comes without warning, almost violently, spreading his come over my skin, literally fucking it into me. Warmth splashes over me and he drops my tits and moves his hand to his cock, making me watch as more spurts explode from the head and hit my skin.

  When I’m sufficiently covered, he steps back, surveying me as I kneel there in front of him.

  I grab my cum-covered tits and hold them up, as if presenting myself to him.

  “Lick it off your skin,” he demands, still holding cock, which is already getting hard again.

  I do it, tasting the saltiness of him on my tongue.

  “You like that, don’t you, you little cum slut?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He watches me for another moment. “Go to the bed,” he finally says. “And get on your hands and knees. Face away from me.”

  I do as I’m told. Most of his come is still on my chest – it was too much for it to be licked away completely – and it’s already starting to dry into a sticky mess.

  My pussy is pounding with desire, and yet I have a feeling that he’s not going to let me come.

  Suddenly, my arms are yanked behind me, and I face plant onto the duvet cover.

  “Sir,” I gasp. He’s binding my wrists behind me, with something metal and hard. It’s not a belt – it’s much harder, like a restraining device. But then there’s a softness against my wrists and the scent of leather fills the air.

  Panic grips me as he reaches out and fists my hair, yanks me back toward him, so hard it makes my skull ache.

  “Don’t worry, baby girl,” he says, “this is going to be fast. I won’t last long with you all tied up like this, and the quicker I do it, the more it will hurt.”

  He kisses my neck, his teeth nipping into the sensitive flesh, and the panic blooming in my chest almost takes over. But then Elijah’s hooking a finger into my mouth, forcing it open. I taste rubber and realize I’ve been gagged with a ball gag.

  He fastens it behind my head, and then my arms are pulled back again, fastened into whatever contraption he has behind me and my cheek is back on the bed and my arms are aching and Elijah is forcing my legs apart.

  It takes me a second to realize that’s he’s now attaching my wrists to my ankles behind me.

  I’m spread wide open for him, gagged and bound, my cheek pressed painfully into the bed, the muscles in my arms and legs screaming for release.

  And that’s when the beating starts.

  Chapter 4

  ELIJAH

  She’s so fucking beautiful.

  Her cunt spread wide so that I can see her pretty pink pussy lips, glistening with her arousal, her mouth gagged, her breasts covered in my cum.

  I look at her for a long moment, then fist my cock.

  I resist the urge to reach out and trail my finger over her exposed cunt, to drag my knuckle over her clit, to lean down and taste her.

  Because that would give her pleasure.

  And this isn’t about her pleasure.

  I pick up the instruments I chose from the cabinet when we first got in here.

  Two belts, leather and buckles.

  I take one in each hand.

  The first blow lands on her right ass cheek. Her hands curl into fists, and she moans around the ball gag in her mouth.

  The second blow, with the second belt, lands on her left ass cheek.

  Another moan.

  My breath is coming in short, hard gasps as I look at the slight red marks that are already blooming on her flesh.

  Stop. This isn’t right, to subject her to this.

  I pause as the voice in my head whispers doubts that can’t help but filter through my arousal.

  But I can’t stop. I need to show her what I’m capable of, what I can and will do to her if she stays with me.

  It’s either that or cast her out, banish her from my life. And it seems impossible for me to do that.

  So I continue my assault on her ass.

  I wasn’t lying when I told her it would be fast.

  Seeing her like this, bound and gagged, her wrists tied to her ankles, the slash of my belts landing on her ass, making her skin raw and scraped, excites me.

  I lash her, over and over again, until I know her eyes are filled with tears, know that she’s past her limit of what she ever thought she could take.

  And then I wrap one of the belts around her throat, pull her back toward me, and plunge my cock into her pussy from behind. I pull the belt taut with one hand, and my other hand takes her hip, and my thumb pushes against her ass.

  As my dick pushes into her, balls deep, I push my thumb all the way into her ass.

  “You like that, don’t you, slut?” I grind out as I pump into her.

  And when she whimpers around the ball gag in her mouth, I come, unloading into her, half of my load ending up inside of her, and then I pull out and take the other half and spread it over her ass, watching it run down between her cheeks, covering her.

  When I’m done, I release the belt around her neck.

  It had been my intention to leave her like this, on the bed, bound and gagged, maybe for the entire night.

  It was important that she feel that abandonment, what it would feel like to have her heart broken by me, so that she would know what she was getting herself into.

  But when I cross to the side of the bed, and I see her there, the tears rolling down her cheeks, the red welts on her ass, I soften.

  I do leave her there.

  But only for a few minutes as I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm.

  I look at myself in the mirror as the steam starts to fill the bathroom, twirling around me.

  How could she love me? I wonder. She’s so pure, so perfect, so innocent and good.

  I don’t understand.

  I don’t deserve her.

  And yet it’s true that I just cannot stay away.

  I need to know.

  Need to know that now that she’s seen what I’m capable of, if she’ll still have me.

  It’s the anticipation of this that makes me wait i
n the bathroom for one more moment. I tell myself it’s because I need her to wait, need her to feel my abandonment as acutely as she can in order for her to know what it is I’m capable of.

  But it’s not true.

  The truth is that if she’s going to leave me, it will destroy me.

  And I want one more moment of not knowing if that’s what’s about to happen.

  Finally, I go back to the playroom.

  She’s still there, bound and gagged, and my hands shake as I undo the restraints, pull the ball gag from her mouth.

  Her eyes are filled with tears, and her breathing is labored.

  “It’s okay,” I soothe, gathering her into my arms. “Shh, it’s okay.” I carry her into the bathroom, set her down in the shower and watch as the spray washes away what I’ve done to her.

  Chapter 5

  ABIGAIL

  I lean my head against the cool tile of the shower, trying to catch my breath and make sense of what just happened. My limbs feel loose and my head swimming. The skin on my ass is starting to hurt badly from where Elijah lashed me with his belts.

  He begins to wash my hair, the water sliding over my shoulders as he massages shampoo into my locks. I lean back into him, mostly because the urge to be close to him is overriding everything else, and also because I’m not sure I trust my legs to hold me up on their own.

  He finishes with my hair, then slides his hand over the front of my body, down my stomach.

  Even now, even after everything he just did to me, my core aches for him, for his touch, for the release that only he can give me.

  “Now you’ve seen it,” he breathes against my ear. “Now you see what I can do to you.”

  I close my eyes, not aware that I’m crying until I taste the saltiness of the tears against my lips.

  I can feel his heart beating against my back, the first time I’ve felt it kicked up even a little bit – it’s usually strong, steady, unflappable.

  “If you want to leave,” he says. “I won’t try to stop you. But know that it will destroy me.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  His right hand is on my hipbone now, his fingers rubbing gentle circles on my skin. My belly tightens, fire starting deep between my legs, and it takes all my self-control to resist the urge to grab his hand and put it on my pussy.

  “That can’t happen again,” I say. I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to say it. “If you need… I mean, if you need to do that to me because I’ve been bad, or if we’ve agreed upon it beforehand, that’s one thing. But to only do it to try to push me away… it’s not acceptable.”

  “I understand.” His hand slips a little further toward my pussy, his middle finger now resting on my mound as the warm water slides over my skin, and I shudder.

  “I’m serious.” I turn my head slightly, my eyes meeting his. “It can’t happen like that, Elijah. Next time, I will leave.”

  He nods, and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s taking what I’m saying seriously.

  His hand finally finds my pussy, his middle finger sliding gently over my slit.

  A moan escapes from my lips, and he kisses me tenderly, his tongue tangling with mine.

  “I love you,” he whispers. “God, Abigail, I love you so much.”

  He kisses me again, his lips warm as his finger finds my clit, so soft, so slow, so excruciating.

  “What is this?” I ask, desperate for a name to put to what I’m feeling right now – something so intense, so close, not just sexually, but emotionally and spiritually.

  He shakes his head as if he doesn’t know, still stroking my clit and giving my body exactly what he needs.

  He lips whisper against my skin, the steam from the shower swirling around us as he tells me how much he loves me and I come undone under his touch.

  After, he dresses me in one of his oversized t-shirts and I lay on my stomach in his bed – his real bed, the one in the master bedroom -- while he rubs lotion onto my ass, soothing my wounds.

  Then he orders us breakfast, and when I can’t choose between the waffles or the Western omelet, he gets them both, along with crispy sour dough toast and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

  “I’ve never ordered like that before,” I say when he brings in the food, setting it up on a tray in his bedroom, not allowing me to move or reach for anything.

  “Like what?” he asks.

  “Like where you don’t look at prices and just order whatever you want.”

  He glances at me and smiles. “You deserve to have whatever you want.”

  When we’re done eating, he clears the food and we snuggle in his bed.

  He pushes a button on a fancy remote, and sliding doors on the wall open, revealing a television.

  He lets me pick a movie, a romantic comedy that causes him to roll his eyes at every corny line. But the whole time my head is resting on his bare chest, his arm around me, his fingers sliding lazily up and down my arm.

  When it’s over, the screen goes dark and I turn to him, nestling into the pillows.

  “What we did tonight…”I run my hands over the cords of tight muscle in his shoulder, allowing my hands to feel the tendons, the hard power that exists in his body, the power that was just used to inflict a punishment on me so severe that my skin is still raw and aching.

  “I know.” His takes my hand in his, pulls it to his chest. “It can never happen again. Not like that.”

  “Yes.” I pause, trying to figure out what it is exactly I want to say, how I can make him understand. “But it’s… it’s more than that, Elijah. It’s important that we’re able to talk about it, so that we can figure out why it is that you think those… things about yourself.”

  “You can say it,” he says, and I can make out the outline of his face in the dark, the hard line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his strong brow. “That I think I’m evil.”

  “You’re not evil.”

  He tenses next to me, wanting to pull away, I can tell, but I hold his hand close. An anticipation fills the air around us, a pause that’s filled with some kind of expectation, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell me he already knows why he thinks that about himself. Because I have a feeling this is more than what he’s told me about his father and how he found him that day, what he did.

  Instead, he says, “My father is waking up.”

  “What?” The words are shocking, like being hit with cold water.

  “Tonight at the hospital. We found out he’s waking up.”

  “Like, all the way?” I fumble around in my brain, trying to figure out the right thing to say, how to phrase it without knowing the correct medical terminology.

  “I don’t know. He’s blinking his eyes in response to questions, and trying to speak.” His eyes darken on this last part. “But it could take a very long time for him to regain any function.”

  “But this is great news.” My heart soars for him. This is his redemption – this whole time, his brother wanted to let his father go, to take him off life support. It had been Elijah who had fought for more. And now that his father is waking up, Elijah will be vindicated.

  “Yes. It is.” But Elijah’s voice is flat, as if he’s announcing something of little consequence, like what he plans on having for dinner tonight.

  I reach for him, and he squeezes my hand and then pulls me close.

  “You need sleep,” he says. “You’ve had a long night.”

  “I need to get up for work soon.”

  “Not today, angel.”

  I snuggle against him, knowing something else is going on with his father, knowing that there’s something he’s not telling me. And yet his arms are strong around me, pulling me flush against his chest, his body warm.

  My mind is swirling with this, with the way he can make me feel so safe even when I know there’s so much he’s not telling me.

  Safe enough that before I know it, I’m asleep in his arms.

  I wake up to the sound of my p
hone going off beside me.

  I turn over, but Elijah’s side of the bed is empty, the sheets rumpled, the pillow mussed.

  There’s a note on the nightstand, and I grab for it.

  “Hello?” I say, answering the call still half asleep, and not bothering to check the caller ID. The last part of my hello is cut off by the sound of the recorded voice that is all too familiar.

  “You have a collect call from a correctional facility,” it drones. “If you would like to accept this call, please press one.”

  I press one, and read the note Elijah left for me while waiting for the call to connect to my mother.

  Abigail –

  I am in the gym. I will probably be done before you wake up, but just in case, I wanted to let you know. Come and see me when you get this note.

  I miss you.

  Love, Elijah

  I smile and clutch the note to my chest as I lean back in the pillows. He loves me. He misses me.

  “Well, well, well,” my mother’s smug voice cuts through my daydream, and sends me crashing back to reality. Hard. Everything that happened yesterday comes rushing into sharp focus, like a camera lens turning in my brain.

  Hailey getting assaulted at the club.

  Elijah’s father starting to wake up.

  And what Elijah did to me last night in his playroom.

  Jesus.

  What Elijah did to me last night in his playroom.

  My ass is sore, and my body feels wrung out, my limbs like cooked spaghetti. And yet there’s a weird satisfaction under the achiness, like the feeling you get after you’ve pushed yourself to do something hard.

  “Why are you calling me so early?” I ask, getting out of bed and walking into the bathroom. “I thought your phone time was in the afternoon.” I flip the light on, trying not to recoil from my reflection. My hair is a mess, my lips swollen from all the kissing Elijah and I did last night. My cheeks are flushed. I turn around and lift up the side of Elijah’s t-shirt, wincing at the bruises on my thighs.

  “This is the only time I have now that that whore Dolores is in charge of the phone bank,” my mother grumbles.