You don't really know how you ended up in this situation. A joke not quite hitting its intended target, a statement a little over the line, anger met with smugness and already simmering tempers started to boil. The how doesn't really matter at this point, because you're in my living room with one of my knives pointed at me. Cold steel feeling heavier than its actual weight should allow. My smug smile is frozen to my face and while I start moving slower, but I'm still moving in your direction. „Lay that down and maybe we'll pretend this didn't happen,“ comes out of my mouth with an insulting level of casualness. Nothing in my body language tells you I'm in any way afraid of you, knife or not. It just fuels your irritation. You see your arm swiping at me before you make the decision for it. Well, at least that makes me stop closing the gap between us.
Empowered by this smallest of victories, it's you making a step in my direction, closing the distance to nearly being in reach of me, since I refuse to move.
The smug smirk is stuck to my face, but you see the caution in my eyes. Another step. You could hurt me now. Still no retreat. Another step and you're deep in my personal space. How it escalated to this is a mystery, but your heart beats like a war drum in your chest and placing the knife at my throat is just the obvious next step.
And there we are. You actively threatening my life and me not retreating out of pride.
„And now what, love?“ is the calm question you hear from me. My eyes burning into yours, while that stupid, little smirk refuses to leave. Even like this. Even with you in power.
You're not sure. What was this about again? Are you winning here? Should you hurt me?
But I take the decision from you, in a burst of movement. I kick your legs out form under you in a short swipe made possible by a vast gulf of experience in actual melee combat. You're falling, but that's an afterthought at most, with the absolute fascination of the knife digging into my flesh on the way down, leaving a bleeding cut on my neck and cheek.
The air leaves your chest without your input, as you roughly meet the floor and you hit your head, even though you tried to catch yourself. A short, sharp pain in your wrist makes your drop the knife and but a moment later, there is a hand on your throat in a vice grip and you're on the way up again and then several steps backwards until you're pressed against a wall. Very much against your will, you end up standing on your toe tips, futility grasping for the hand holding your throat in a bruising grip. You can see the blood dripping from the cut staining my Shirt, as it drips down my neck and my face is a stoic mask of displeasure.
“Now you fucked up,” is all I say to the situation and there is no airflow returning to your head. You kick at me but I don't budge and clawing at the hand changes nothing. The panic of the last moments never left and just crescendos as black starts to creep in at the edge of your vision. All reserves of strength leave you in my unforgiving grip and just as the world starts swimming out of focus, you're unceremoniously dropped like a sack of potatoes. It's hard to focus, but after some heaving breaths, the dark spots start to recede frustratingly slowly and you're rather sure about being curled up in a pitiful little ball on the floor. Something heavy sets itself down besides you and after a few moments your brain manages to connect the dots that it's me, as a hand grasps you by the back of your shirt. With you in the state you're in, there is nothing you can do about being pulled into my lap, like a newborn kitten. You end up sitting on my legs, with your back pressed to my chest, facing away from me. The throbbing in your neck tells you, that there probably is a nice and dark, hand shaped bruise forming, one again covered by a warning hand. The other one swims up into your vision and the knife gleams before your face.
“That escalated a little, Kira,” whispers a husky, but calmer voice into your ear. You lean back with your head, which seems to take a ridiculous amount of energy, pressing against where you know the wound should be. There seems to be a bandage over it, making you question how long you were laying on the floor, getting air into your lungs. I hiss into your ear and the hand around your neck moves you away from me a little, not too gently. Cold steel is pressed against your cheek and carefully makes its way down your neck, not hurting you. It moves past the cleavage your shirt allows, taps playfully against your tits. You're feeling very naked in your shirt and knickers on my lap. My hand around your neck leaves it's position for a moment and pulls your shirt forward. A short, harsh movement later, there is a long, horizontal cut in your shirt that your tits more or less tumble out of. The knife is slammed tip first into the wooden floor, uncaring for the damage it causes and is stuck there, in range of both of us.
One hand ends up at its spot on your neck, keeping you close and under a warning control, the other is quite happy to start playing with your tits. I'm not gentle about it either, as I kneed them and roll your nipples between my fingers.
“You're going to sit there and behave until I know what I'm doing with you. I don't want to hear any complaints, whining or whatever. You brought this upon yourself,” is nearly growled into your ear. A painful squeeze of your nipple follows the statement and I bite down quite harshly on your neck. Distracted as you are by those painful impulses you don't quite get the exact moment my hand pushes into your knickers.
Greedy fingers spread open your lower lips, while another starts tracing patterns between them, a rough figure eight trailing up to were your clit is hiding, around it, down and a tight circle around your hole, repeating the movement in a rhythm only I hear. The little strength you pooled, to fight back, to break free or whatever you planned a few moments ago, is used up gasping from the sudden change of pace.
“Well at least your body is on my side, even though you apparently aren't,” is mumbled close to your ear and with a healthy dose of embarrassment, you realize I'm right. Your pussy is quite happy to get wet for me. In a knee jerk reaction you reach for the knife and grasp it's hilt. But you don't get farther than that, as two fingers draw a circle around your hole and then dip into you with quite a bit of enthusiasm. The gasp that steals from you is getting higher by the second as my thumb nestles itself comfortably on your clit. The grip on the knife gets tighter, but not to pull it out. Just to steady yourself as skilled surgeon fingers start playing with your pussy. Two fingers happily fucking you while the thumb does the devils work on that sensitive little nub a little higher. A low chuckle echoes in your ear, as you have to check yourself to not end with your head in the clouds. Deeper and deeper the fingers plunge until every thrust sinks them into you as far as they go. It steadily pushes you forward into a haze, one you think you can control, but then they curl just a little and press against that sweet, sweet spot hidden in your, by now, pretty wet hole.
Fireworks behind your eyelids, not that you can remember closing your eyes. There is no use trying to keep quiet now, as more and more sounds are ripped from your lips, your pussy contracting around my probing fingers, that won't stop massaging your G-Spot or your clit. While the orgasm is delicious, you feel the need to get away, to pull away, but you can't. Merciless fingers keeping you constricted and the ones from the other hand still play happily with you.
“No running away, hun. I'm not done with your pussy,” rumbles my voice and a third finger pushes into you, keeping you not quite in the orgasm, but high on the erotic wave that just dragged you with it. They fit tightly as my thumb is still drawing patterns over and around your clit and I press you close to my chest as your body quivers before me. I'm getting harsher with you too and there is another problem you can feel creeping up on you.
As wet as you are already, it's about to get a whole different kind of wet if your body has to deal with another orgasm. Not sure if your bladder will hold for another round and being very sensitive all over after the first time, you try to pull the knife out of the ground, but just as I see you pulling, I push the forth finger against your hole and partway in. Prying your wet cunt open, your knickers drenched by now, dripping honey all over my hand and I curl up again a little, massaging G-Spot and Clit at the same time.
You don't want to but your embarrassment makes you fight against coming undone on my fingers, keeping the flood at bay but then I hiss into your ear again: “Don't fight it. Come for me. Come undone, make a mess, let go, Kira.”
And that is just a little too much. The tide drags you with it again as your body shakes into an orgasm, pleasure in a feedback loop that's nearly painful. Control is lost, but your head can't comprehend what is happening as you lose the battle against your body, hot piss streaming out of you, accompanied by moans and whimpers. Traitorous lips mumbling half formed sentences, lost in pleasure as you cum on my fingers, again, harder than before.
You ride the wave of extasy for quite a while before it starts to ebb away. Thoughts first jumbled, end up getting clearer and clearer.
So there you are, mostly naked, in trenched knickers, sitting in a growing puddle of piss and pussy juices, my fingers still in you even though they have stilled. A hand shaped bruise on your neck and tits splaying out of your cut open shirt.
“And you see Kira, one single fact can not be denied. Sitting here, in your own piss, my fingers still in you, breathing hard from the orgasms I caused, right at this moment, you belong to me. You. Are. Mine.”
I pull my fingers from you and lay the drenched fingers against your lips. I go on, in a voice that brooks no argument: “ And now the next words out of your mouth will be the worlds meekest, most pathetic apology, ever spoken. Or at least I recommend it.”
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from Gonewild Stories https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/qhxbd0/mf_a_short_educational_experience_for_a_very/
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