Reblogged from rolledtrousers
She was past breaking point. He’d pushed her to it, and she’d slipped past it with nothing more than a whimper. Something clicked in her head, and her mind shut down, leaving her just a ball of sensations and emotions, riding the wave of him just as he rode her, thickness between her legs, pumping as he spanked her. She reacted. All she did was react.
It was the serene of drowning, without any of the danger. An out of body experience only she’d stayed in hers, and it was only her mind that had vacated the premises. She felt like she could look over her shoulder, and watch her consciousness stare down at her in bafflement as she was reduced to animal pleasure, arousal as a state of being, the miasma of sex clouding everything but her nerve endings.
His words rained down on her like sleet, but she was already soaked through, and they didn’t do anything but keep her that way, nothing felt but the impact, each ‘slut’, each ‘whore’, each ‘fucktoy’ just another point that she could react to, another beat she could moan her melody over. She could do little else, after all. The ropes bit into her arms, her legs, her wrists. She was held fast, but that didn’t stop her squirming.
It felt like the core of herself was balled, a whirling black hole that was sucking her into an implosion, as if she would just fold in on herself and cease to be. Her body reacted, and that meant she reacted, her legs quivering, her back spasming. She as close. He could tell, and he only sped up. The permission was blurted out, a desperate stream of barely intelligible gibberish that made him lean down, grab her hair.
“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.” It was a torrent, asking for permission on autopilot. He slowed, lingering as he pulled out, before lancing forward, filling her, making her moan.
“Pleeeeaaaaase.” Pleading turned into an onomatopoeia. He shook his head, bringing his hand down hard on her rear, a stab of pain to bring her focus.
“Fuck! Please..” She moaned again, squeezing her eyes shut tight, forcing herself to balance on that edge. “PleasecanIcome.” Four words welded together, bound as she was bound.
His smile was malignant, before his lips pressed against her neck. “Go on then, you glorious whore.” She cried out, gushing, trembling, squirming. Her body was not her own, and her mind came hurtling back with the force of a car crash. Consciousness as a weapon, a flashbang to daze and confuse.
She was way past breaking point. He’d pushed her so far she was putting herself back together.