Content note: this story is fiction and depicts a consensual, happy relationship. However, if any of the following topics squick you out or make you anxious, please skip this one and go look at my tits instead:
- consensual non-consent
- pain play
Shut me up
Go on, I dare you. Cover my mouth with your hand and hiss it into my face; “Shut up!”
You won’t bring me to heel with words today, I’m in no mood to be reasoned with and my tongue has lost signal from my brain. I’d choose to stop pestering and being a brat if I could; today I am spiky and cannot settle, so I need your help.
“Make me.” I state, when you lift your hand. It was meant to sound defiant, but what comes out is more pitifully needy than rebellious.
You sigh, but it’s theatrical, a corner of your mouth is betraying your amusement with a quirk.
“You’re such a greedy little slut, aren’t you? Make me this, give me that… and now you want me to shut your demanding mouth for you? Are you sure you want that?”
I nod vigorously.
“This is going to be your last chance to speak for… quite a while – are you sure you don’t want to say something now? An apology, or perhaps a pledge to be a well-behaved fuck-puppet? Would you perhaps like to beg for mercy at this point, while you still can?”
Every word you say is making me squirm, the menacing edge to your tone brings a flush to my cheeks and I can see the dark glee of the sadist capering behind the glint in your eyes.
“Fuck you.” I say, quite deliberately and with all the grinning insouciance I can muster while my pulse races in anticipation.
You bring your face close to mine, close enough for a tender kiss, and for a moment I am fooled, tilting upwards to meet you, but then you grab my jaw and snarl-
“Oh no little one, I’m going to fuck you, because that’s the only way to shut you up, but don’t think for a moment you’re going to be allowed to enjoy it. And I don’t want to hear a peep from you while I’m using you either. I’ve heard enough of your voice today.”
If I didn’t know you so well, I might mistake the savagery in your tone for genuine anger; but it’s not, it’s something just as primitive and powerful. Lust. Power. Hunger. I’ve given you the green light to indulge in a darker flavour of thrill, you’ve accepted the invitation with suitable ceremony.
I open my mouth to retaliate, escalate even; but you get there first, and pinch my lips together, hard.
“I’ll make you shut up, don’t you worry.”
You hand me the bottle of lube. “Hold this. If you drop it, I’ll check in, if you throw it, I’ll stop immediately. OK?”
I nod, as much as I can with your grip sealing my mouth, and take the bottle of lube.
“Come with me.”
You lead me slowly but not gently through to the kitchen drawer where the clothes pegs live.
“Two here, two there and three there…” you muse to yourself, picking out the meanest-looking wooden pegs you can find. This is going to hurt. It’s what I asked for.
Two pegs take the place of your fingers, and my mouth is sealed again, only this time with hard-sprung, wood. It’s bearable – but only just.
You pull my hands together behind my back and tie a cloth bag around them, knotting the handle straps around my wrists and checking my grip on the lube before stepping in front of me again, brandishing the rest of the pegs and a wicked smile. I know where the next two are going, and sure enough; you scoop my breasts out from beneath my top and fasten a peg to each nipple.
I squeal, muffled but shrill.
“Shut…UP” You freeze me with a glare. “Every time you make a sound, I’m going to do this-“ you reach out and give the peg on my left nipple a cruel twist. “Or maybe this-“ you flick sharply at the other nipple-peg, and I try hard not to squeak but fail.
“What’s that? Can’t hear you. Let me turn up the volume,” you cackle and twist the peg again. This time the pain is so intense that I can only go still and quiet, shut my eyes and take deep breaths until you let go and the flare passes.
“Aha. So you can learn. Good.“
Your hands move to the button on my jeans, unfastening, pushing them and my knickers down over my hips. “Take them off. Lean back against the counter there. Spread your legs.”
I’d be smirking if the pegs on my lips didn’t hurt so much. I’ve forgotten about the other pegs, the ones you still hold in your hand. When you pull on my outer labia, and pinch them together, memory rushes back. Oh, this is going to hurt.
Three pegs, clamping my cunt shut, clicking against each other as I squirm helpless and turned-on in their harsh grip. My breathing is noisy, heavy, and I see you contemplate for a moment the idea of taking issue with it, but your cock is already leading you, hard and demanding, in a different direction. You turn me over, bending me over the counter, and slap my thighs apart. The pegs pinch tighter. My cunt is drooling, hot anticipation trickling with silent approval.
I brace the lube bottle in my hand as you pump the dispenser several times, and cling to prevent it from slipping from my grasp when you start to slather lube between my bum cheeks. I remember not to whimper while your hands are so close to the pegs, but can’t help arching my back and pushing my arse higher.
“Don’t be so keen,” you murmur, working lube up and down your poised, ready-for-action dick, ”Save your energy for trying not to scream”. And with that, you push the head of your cock slowly, inexorably deeper until you’re buried to the hilt inside my arse.
“So you see,” you say in a conversational tone as you grind against me “Now that I’ve stopped up your mouth and your greedy cunt, I can take my time with this.” Another slow thrust. “And with every minute, the pegs are more painful, aren’t they?” You grab a handful of my hair, tug lightly for an answer. I nod, trying not to move the pegs on my mouth. My lips will be bruised tomorrow, and every bite of food or sip of drink will remind me of this scene. I almost smile at the thought, remember just in time that’s probably not such a good idea.
Just you you threatened, you fuck me with long, punishing strokes, hard and deep, holding onto my hips for leverage and pressing me against the counter. The pegs clatter soft applause in counterpoint to your soft grunts as your pace quickens, ramming yourself into me hard, with intent to hurt; and I must stay silent or you’ll hurt me worse. Part of me wants to escalate, another part wonders how much more I can take before I have to tap out. The rest of me lolls passively beneath your touch and luxuriates in your exquisite cruelty. There’s no way you’re going to let me come, not today, but tomorrow… spoiling me is part of our aftercare, and I will be the object of much lavish petting. I don’t want petting, today. I want brutal, sadistic dominance. I want this.
When you shudder and groan with your own orgasm, I can’t help but let out a little humming sigh of pleasure, happy to have brought you satisfaction.
“Quiet, slut,” you admonish me softly. “Now I think I’ll have those pegs back, since they seem to have done their job.” Reaching out to the pegs on my lips, you tap a warning finger against the nearest. “This is going to hurt, and you are not going to make a sound. Right?”
I nod, take a deep breath.
And scream as you whip away the pegs on my labia with your other hand.