the life and musings of a kinky slut


“You called me a good girl. I didn’t tell you that I liked that.”
“I notice things.”

He kept his voice low, almost a whisper.

“Close your eyes.”

I could feel his fingertips tracing along my face, lightly over my skin. Down my body, never quite touching, and then grazing my calves, and then digging in his fingernails into my thighs. I squealed.

“Keep your jaw shut.”

My noises became muted but never went away.

He grabbed me and pulled me somewhere. He yanked at my jacket, exposing flesh. I heard the seam break. I didn’t care.

“I’m going to hit you. When I do, you can breathe out and then breathe in. Only that. Only when I hit you.”

His fist slammed into my chest. I stumbled, exhaled out, took a deep breath in, and then waited. His fingertips again traced lines across my face. My breath burned in my chest.

He punched again. Breath out, breath in. Again. And again. Each time always making me wait. Each time always making me want the hit just so I could breathe.

“You can breathe normally.”

He nuzzled his head against mine. I returned the affection.

“Good girl.”

He grabbed my dress and lifted it above my breasts. He pinched nipples, pulling them, elevating them, and simply said, “Up. Up. Stand still. ” On my tippy toes, I tried to relieve some of the pain but I could not get high enough. With my eyes closed, I couldn’t even keep my balance. He let my nipples go.

His arm across my chest, he was now behind me. Pushing my body against his arm, he exposed my back. He punched. And punched. And punched. I gripped onto his arm for support.

He turned me, now facing him again. He slapped my face. He grabbed my throat. He squeezed, just a little.

He pushed me, willing me onto a nearby bed. One strike. Another strike. It felt like flogger hits on my ass. Then he used his hands.

“Since you can’t get away, a closed fist means go on. An open hand means stop. Show me. Do you want to go on.”

I made a fist.

He punched my ass. Up, down, alternating cheeks. He slapped my ass, hard. I screamed out.

“That’s different.”

He pulled me up from the bed, spun me around and around. I didn’t know where I was, what direction was where. I was bewildered, breathing heavy, trying to stay on my feet. The room felt enormous.

He stopped my body, held me, and told me to open my eyes.


He led me to the couch. We nuzzled, his arms around me.

Categorised as: Grue | Impact | London

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