Page 24 of Bound and Branded

He moves his hands to his belt buckle. And I watch as he works it free with one hand, drawing the belt through the loops and then undoing the button on his jeans, lowering the zipper.

He reaches into his underwear and pulls out his thick, heavy cock. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen, including my online pornography research, and that really is saying something.

He reaches behind me and grabs the ropes, drawing me forward, his large hand wrapped around the base of his dick as he presses it against my lips and then moves his hand to the back of my head, forcing it down onto him. The thick tip touches the back of my throat and I gag, a surge of need driving through the center of my body like a spike.

He arches his hips upward, and I worked to take him. There’s no way for me to set the tempo. No way for me to slow things down or make them more gentle. I don’t want to. “That’s it,” he says. “Take it.”

I have to take it. I don’t have another choice. He’s so big, I feel like my jaw is about to become unhinged, or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m losing my grip on everything. But I take him as best I can. Completely helpless to do anything else.

There’s a rhythm to this too. And I feel like I’m finding it. Feel like I’m losing myself and finding myself all at once. Feel like I’m being battered and also cared for.

This is the medicine I need. He tastes incredible, salty skin and like every fantasy I’ve ever had.

I’m his display. His art piece. A tool for him to take his pleasure from. I’m not important.

I’m not important.

Somehow, that finds its way to the center of my chest and roots itself there. I’m not important.

I don’t need to do anything. I don’t need to do anything but let him use me in the exact way he wants to.

It’s not heavy. It’s not something I have to work for. He’s done all the work. He’s made me into the thing he needs me to be. It’s nothing like the rest of my life. The rest of my life where I have to carry it all. Where I have to show up every day and give my best because if I don’t everything will fall apart. No. Caleb – my Wolf – made this the exact scene he wanted it to be. And he made me perfect for it. All I had to do was sit there and be his clay. Moldable to become the exact thing that he needed. I shiver with that realization. With anticipation for what comes next.

He thrusts into my throat one last time before withdrawing. I whimper. Because I want more. I want everything. I was ready to swallow his come and take his pleasure as the ultimate gift. But he has other ideas.

Still holding the back of my head, he pushes me down into the mattress until my cheek rests there against the soft bedspread. “I need that pussy. I need to see if it’s as tight as it looks.”

I whimper against the bedspread. I can’t help it. I want to beg him, but somehow, I know that isn’t what he wants from me. He wants me to just take it. He wants me to take it because he tied me up and made me into the gift that he wanted. I can’t do anything to stop him. And I can’t do anything to change the pace. To make it better. I just have to lie there. My teeth start chattering, my whole body trembling as he positions himself behind me and grips my hips. I hear him tear open a condom packet and I’m irritated at myself that I’m disappointed aboutthat. When you sign up for the app you have to get yourself on birth control and you have to get STD tests. I completed all of that. It’s so in theory you can play bare if you want to. I’ve never had sex without a condom before. And I’m chagrined to discover that I want it.

That I want feel him empty himself inside of me.

But that’s not happening right now, and I know that if I ask him he’ll end things, and I wouldn’t be able to stand it.

This is about him. His control. His needs. I just have to trust that I can fulfill them.

I don’t even have a moment to breathe between the time he presses the blunt head of his cock against my entrance, and when he thrusts in all the way. I gasp, crying out against the blankets as the feeling of him filling me nearly sends me over the edge.

He so big that I’m aware of every slight shift, every breath that he takes. I can feel him pulsing inside of me. And when he begins to fuck me— hard and without quarter, without caressing me or kissing me, without teasing me—I find myself racing toward a screaming orgasm that I would never have imagined was possible.

Normally, I need a lot of foreplay. Normally, I need at least twenty minutes with a vibrator and something hot to watch or read to get myself this wet, to get myself this close.

All I need now is his cock.

And I’m taking it. Taking everything that he’s giving me. He grips the ropes, drawing my head back and tugging my braid, the pain mingling with the pleasure as he fucks into me mercilessly.

Then he leans forward and bites my shoulder— this time more than a warning. More than a test. Branding me as his. I shiver, that shiver vibrating through the core of my body, echoing outward, blooming inside of me, spiraling into the beginning of an orgasm that builds like a crescendo. Each newwave is bigger, more intense than the last, and I’m certain that it can’t keep going. I’m certain that it can’t get more intense, but then it does. My internal muscles clamp down on his cock and I struggle against the ropes, wishing I had something to hang onto. But I don’t. My nipples are tight and sensitive against the bedspread, and I’m arching against it, seeking friction wherever I can as I come and come in an endless wave.

He doesn’t relent. He pounds into me harder, faster, extracting a scream from deep inside of me as he growls out his own release. And then I’m left drifting. Floating. Disconnected from reality entirely. Suddenly aware of the fact that my legs are absolutely asleep, my shoulders feel like pins and needles, and my whole body is sore from being stuck in one position for so long. I don’t even know how long it’s been.

He moves away from me and I lay there, tears flowing down my cheeks, even though I didn’t realize that I was beginning to cry. I’m shaking uncontrollably, and I can’t stop. Which is when I find myself pulled up into a sitting position and held against the hard heat of his body.

“You did good,” he whispers in my ear as he loosens one of the knots in the ropes, the slight give apparent to my extremely sensitized body. He holds me against him as he methodically undoes each and every knot holding me fast. My hair goes first, the full movement of my neck restored before anything else. Then he frees my wrists and loosens the binds around my breasts and my rib cage. It’s almost as slow as the tying. Almost. He does it with one hand, the other splayed over my midsection. He still doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t caress me in any intimate way. But there’s something intense about the way he holds me. Something that feels almost sweet.

Which is a strange word to apply to what just happened.

I don’t think very many people would call it sweet.

As soon as I’m freed he lays me down on the bed, then moves over to the closet, which he opens up and disappears into. He returns a moment later with a blanket. He moves to me and wraps me in it, tucking it beneath my body tightly, leaving me feeling swaddled and secure even though he’s not holding me now.

---