Being A Good Girl

Content Note: impact play, CNC, restraints

I wrote this mainly to get myself off (and hopefully, many enthusiastic others as well).

This fictional scene is set within the context of a loving, respectful relationship; and so the activity described is entirely within the agreed consent parameters of both characters.

It has a tinge of CNC though, so if that’s not your thing, please look away now.

I’m in the bedroom. Bent double over the foot of the bed, ankles cuffed to the posts, arms tied above and behind my head. Face in the mattress.

Wooden slats against my stomach and thighs. They’re cold and hard. I shift slightly, testing the range of motion the cuffs give me; none. The muscles in my shoulders and legs feel stretched and taut in this unfamiliar position despite the pile of pillows supporting me. Carpet beneath my bare feet. My legs, spread wide apart. My cunt, aching in slow pulses, open and exposed to your silent appraisal.

If you wanted to, you could shove your cock into me right now, just one step forward, a nudge, a guiding hand and a thrust to be deep inside me. Hands on my hips, or perhaps reaching forward, one to wrap itself around a fistful of my hair, the other bracing yourself against the bedframe hauling me back onto you, and you further into me. This is a good position for brutal fucking, my favourite kind.

But you don’t. Not yet. I must earn my rewards; today, the currency is endurance.

You wrap the belt around your fist, take aim and swing the long tail until its graceful arc ends with a firm slap against my cunt lips. Again, harder, the smack of leather on wet skin resounding between us. A whimper escapes me.

“Hush”

Your hand on the back of my head, burying my face in the mattress. “You’re going to be brave now, aren’t you? You’re going to be a good girl and take what I’ve got for you.” A threat, a promise and a challenge all twisted into one; you know me so well. Pain and praise, a lock and a key that open the door to my most submissive headspace.

I nod, unconsciously arching my back, offering myself to you.

You run your hands over me, a brisk gesture of possession and assessment. A pinch here, a squeeze there, a finger lightly circling my anus. I know you can see how wet you’re making me. I can hide my face, silence my voice, but with my arse in the air and my legs pulled wide apart, every twitch of my cunt and trickling slick droplet of my arousal is plainly evident. I’m ready, willing, yearning for you to fuck me.

You know this, of course. Making me wait is part of the fun.

I hear the belt whistle through the air a split second before it lands across my buttocks with a loud crack, and sets fire to my skin. I barely have time to gasp and go rigid at the shock, then the second hit lands over the first and I squeal into the bedding. I hear you grunt with approval at the note of surprised protest in my voice, and I can’t help it because it’s so damn hot, how much you enjoy hurting me and how skilled you are at doing so; I moan, a moan of naked, urgent sincere desire to be fucked by you, hard and deep and relentlessly – but right now you have other pleasures to pursue and foremost among them is to wrest my attention away from my fuck-hungry slut’s wanting, and refocus it on you, through pain, with impact and sound and sensation, until I beg for mercy.

It turns you on, even more so than the smack of leather hitting skin or the pretty marks left behind; what gets you really hard is the little catch of close-to-tears sincerity in my voice when I tell you I can’t take any more, mercy, please. You choose to grant me that mercy, dropping the belt and yanking your trousers down over your swollen cock.

“What a good girl you are” you croon to me, “and so beautiful. So brave and obedient. I’m

so proud of you. Well done.” and that’s all it takes, I’m right back in I need you to fuck me mode, arching my back and raising my red-streaked arse invitingly. “Good girls-,” you continue, stroking my cunt open with a fingertip, “-get their cunts filled. Is that what you want?“. You slide the finger into me, out again, a slow, sensual movement, deliberate and mocking contrast to the apocalyptic pounding I’m so in need of. “Would you like me to do you now?” you ask. Two fingers; your thumb resting lightly on my clit. I’m nodding furiously. “Yes! Please…”

If I could open my legs any further, I would. If I could reach for you and pull you inside me, right now, I would. Restrained and unable to do either of these, I can only wriggle and bounce against the cuffs, whimpering variations on yes and please.

You withdraw your fingers and place one hand on each of my buttocks, spreading me wide open while my pleading becomes incoherent.

“Hush.”

When you finally relent, and enter me, I almost cry with gratitude; but you told me to hush.

And I am a good girl.