It's Nature

Outside your place, I sit in my parked car breathing heavily through my nose, staring at the steering wheel. I’m so rabidly aroused, I’m almost dizzy. Possessed. On the eve of ovulation each month, my cycle renders me feral and inconsolable, ruthlessly starving for cock. YOURS, motherfucker. I will not be ignored.
I can’t decide whether to just fuck myself right here in the driver’s seat and head back home or follow through and risk letting you see me like this. It’s even worse than usual. I am not myself. I’m white light shattered through a prism. Sharp, messy, broken bits of mismatched colors on the wall. I’ve been calling and texting you all day with sinful, appalling requests that must have you thinking I’ve lost my mind. The thought spawns a breathless laugh as I grin.
I. Want. You. To. Hurt. Me. Hold me down and take what you like while I scream. I don’t want to be asked, pampered, or pleasured. I want to be forced. Beaten. Bitten. Marked. Made to sob, by you you YOU, no matter what I say or do, and I won’t be right again until you deliver. I need your bare hands to rip me apart.
I told you all this over and over while you patiently placated my frantic babbling with polite reassurances, well grounded as you tend to be. “We’ll take care of it,” you said. Told me not to worry. You told me to come over, so I did.
My jaw falls open and I close my eyes, panting shapes of demons in and out of my lungs. Harder… harder…
I need you to fuck them out of me, Daddy. Need you to silence the noise and purify my ravenous soul. A hot, glossy pool of slickness seeps through my panties, soaking into the skirt of my dress. You’ll see this if I go inside. You’ll see everything and I’ll have nowhere to hide.
Shakily, I open the door… grab my bag… step out of the car. Each moment that passes kicks the boom of my heartbeat up a decibel. It’s fucking deafening and I can’t take it anymore. My feet drag toward your door, one in front of the other, and I clench my teeth, nerves vibrating off the magnetism holding my cells together.
I shouldn’t be here... I am not myself...
My left hand rises, index finger sealing my fate as it meets the softly beaming circular doorbell and gives a long, steady push. Hearing it ring inside your house, a sudden rush of panic washes over me and I start to cry, ready to turn and run and take my chaos with me.
The knob turns and it’s too late. You open the door and lean against the frame in all your dark splendor, whiskey on the rocks in hand. Looking me over with a keen squint, you take a slow sip while I devolve into a helpless mess of tears. Rolling the liquid across your tongue as you swallow, your arm lowers and you swirl the glass. The ice clinks lightly against the sides and the sound, light and threatening, makes me lose it even further. I sob openly right in front of your house like the desperate storm of hormones I fucking am.
Smirking, brow arched, you hold me hostage with your relentless-yet-nonchalant eye contact.
“Jesus Christ, babe.”
The crazed frenzy of my mania all but vaporizes as you stare and I’m suddenly very, very scared to have poked a sleeping dragon. A warbling apology—for what, I’m not sure exactly—is all I can muster.
“I’m sorry, Dadd—”
“Shut up,” you say softly, glare hardening. All business. Shit. You’re about to give me what I asked for. “Get the fuck in here.”
Crossing the threshold into your entryway, I drop my bag to the floor and reach for you as you shut the door, well aware of how insane I seem. You down your drink in a long gulp and reach around to set the glass on the small table behind me.
“Please help me. I feel so crazy.”
Shaking your head and turning me around with a grunt, you bend me over with my hands flat against the nearest wall before reaching under my skirt and tugging the sopping crotch of my panties to the side. I hear you undo your belt buckle and unzip your jeans with your free hand behind me.
“Already said I would, didn’t I?”
My next apology is prematurely cut off as the thick head of your cock slides inside, stretching my entrance. Thank GOD.
“Daddy, I—! I need you to—!”
“I know what you fucking need.”
I gasp while you work me open, wetting your dick inch by inch with my slippery juices. Finally you bump my limit and I squeal in pain as you sigh and set into a slow rhythm. You fill me beyond capacity and it shocks me every time. How are you so big?
“Feeling out of control, little creature? We’ll have to fix that.” Long fingers dig into my scalp and take a fistful of hair while I fret, choking on tears. “You’d better be a good girl while Daddy does his job.”
You clutch my hip and start to get rough, penetrating so hard I shriek. I can’t keep the position and my hands slide down the wall. You pull out and follow me to the floor, taking the opportunity to rip my panties down to my thighs. I try to squirm away, but the weight of your torso bears down and I’m trapped. Hair tight in your grip once more, you turn my head to the side, squishing my left cheek against the glaze of the hardwood floor.
Long, bestial breaths pant in and out of my ear as the pain of your length stabs through me repeatedly. A dull sheen of reptilian pleasure shimmers across the surface of my brain. I melt into the floor and my clipped cries to you ring sonorous, steady like a mantra while I beg you for nothing in particular.
“Da—, Daddy! No! I ca— I can’t! I—! Ow—OW! Daddy, I can’t! No!! Don’t, please!”
You titter through a vicious chuckle, liking how I play.
“No, huh? Does that hurt?” You sink in to the hilt and hold there, piercing with subtle microthrusts into the cleft of my cervix, growling against my cheekbone. “Changing our mind, are we?”
I whine in agony, nodding profusely. I don’t want to egg you on, but my wishy-washiness ends up doing just that. You slide out and I breathe a sigh, grateful for a moment of mercy while you tuck your cock back into your jeans.
Ah. Your belt. You take hold of the buckle, tugging to slide it from the loops. Rising onto your knees, you splay your left palm wide over my lower back, pressing my stomach into the floor, holding me down.
“You really thought you could show up here and walk back all that shit you said today?”
No. Not remotely. I know full well what you’re capable of. You are a man of your word. It’s number 37 of 8,682,047 reasons why I love you.
​
WHAP
The first lick of leather bites into my skin, searing diagonally over my cheeks. You continue, striking like you’re teaching a lesson. The visceral nature of the experience sends me unraveling, kicking and writhing against your hold. Sobbing without reserve.
“Daaaaddy-y-y-y!”
You’re fucking fierce about it, honestly. No warm-up for me. I drown in the cognitive dissonance of the fact that I begged for this all day. After a minute or so, I’m struggling so profusely that you get fed up with me and fling your weapon, sending it clattering into the next room. “Fuck it,” you snarl. Circling your left arm around my waist, you take rigid possession, robbing me of wiggle room. My eyes squeeze shut and I brace myself.
SMACK!
Your hands are sufficient tools in their own right. Large, rough, calloused, and unyielding, they make quick work of my resistance with thick, hard swats that serve to compel obedience and tranquilize my agitation. Sweat trickles from my armpits, running down along the contours of my breasts.
You release me and rise once you’ve painted my whole ass and the backs of my thighs ruby-red, rolling the kinks out of your neck and shoulders on an exhale. Reaching down, you take my hair in your grip once more and drag me to my feet, pulling toward the stairs. Abuzz with the instinct to flee, I resist and you laugh like it’s cute, swooping me up in your arms and starting the climb. My panties dangle off my toes and fall softly to the floor. Evidence for later of my undoing.
“You asked for this,” you whisper, planting kisses on my forehead. “And even if you hadn’t, I might do it anyway. This is all mine. Isn’t it?”
My fists clutch your black sweater and I bury my face in your chest to cry, soaking the cashmere with tears, shaking in anticipation of what you’re about to do. We reach your room and you set me on the bed before taking your cock back out of your jeans.
“Come here, honey. Open.”
Kneeling on the bed, you grasp my jaw and pry it apart, stuffing yourself inside all the way to my epiglottis. The walls of my throat spasm around your circumference and I gag but you hold me there, hugging my head to your crotch with your left hand. With your right, you reach over and start spanking again. It’s a test—a strategy to hone my focus toward submission. One you apply frequently. You seem to trust me more than I trust myself.
Don’t bite don’t bite don’t bite don’t bite don’t bite...
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK…
I fight for control over my basic functions while the breath in my lungs runs stale. Withstand the pain. Don’t puke. Don’t chomp off Daddy’s dick. The panic of suffocation increases with each passing second until my head goes swimmy and my eyes roll back in their sockets. You pull out and I gasp for air, heaving with spiddle drooling from my lips. Then you do it again. After a few rounds of this I’m delirious, intoxicated off a sick sense of satisfaction over the fact that you’re using your cock to threaten my life.
“Mmmm...”
You smile down at me as you step back and undress completely, eyes glittering like starlight—bits of supernova splattered across the surface of those fathomless black pools. I take in the sight, face sticky with tears, as you channel the darkness of the infinite, sapping shadows from my soul like poison from a snakebite. You gladly play the villain, stealing my demons for your collection so I can be at peace. Reason 394 for my unquestioning devotion.
Reaching over me to your nightstand, you grab the hairbrush that lives there and I quickly find myself draped over your lap, legs dangling limply over the edge of the bed.
“Let’s do this properly, shall we?”
I whimper and nod, timid with dread. “Okay...”
As you roll up your sleeve, I try to fortify myself with the confidence of the endorphin rush folding in around me. Surely this won’t be so bad. I’ll be able to handle it. You’ve already smacked my butt raw.
Unfortunately, I’m mistaken. You begin and it’s excruciating. Each blow rings through the room and reverberates through me. Your determination to make every single one of them count is clear.
“Oww-ow-ow! Fuck!” I grit my teeth and dig my nails into your knee until you grab my wrist and hold it away from my body. “I’m sorry!”
You laugh as you carry on, further punctuating the sting of your swats. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for. Fucking wild animal.”
I do though. I’m sorry for being out of my mind and making it your responsibility to fix. I’m sorry for bugging you all day with my aggressive sexual demands. I’m sorry for talking a big game and changing my mind the moment you began accommodating my lust for suffering. I’m sorry for topping from the bottom, eschewing submission in the name of my violent fantasies. YOU run this shit. I’ve trusted you to do so.
I want you to go fast and get this over with, but I’m acutely aware you’ll be taking your time. What you know and I tend to forget during a spanking is that my capitulation is a process. I think I’m sorry in the beginning but continue to resist you, fighting back in frustration. It requires a certain period of intensity to push me through the instinct of self-preservation to the destination of acquiescence. Then, in that warm space of surrender, I accept the pain as mine and I’m sorry for real. Swat by swat, we make our way through each stage and finally I give in, wailing atop your thighs.
You desist, returning the hairbrush to its home. Broad hands run over the arcs of my cheeks, rubbing and squeezing while I catch my breath.
“I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry for fighting you.”
“Hope you mean that, baby. I don’t appreciate being toyed with.”
“...I’ll be better. I promise…”
Two fingers begin gliding up and down over my slit, spreading a coat of lubrication over my folds.
“Are you sure?”
I frown, wondering if there’s something in particular I should say or do to convince you. There isn’t, however. You plan to test me.
Patting my butt, you move me off your lap and head for the bathroom, returning with an armful of towels. You shoo me to the head of the bed and lay them out one atop the other while I stare with wide eyes and rub the stinging welts on my freshly bruised ass. From the dresser, you produce the Hitachi, smiling as you lay it on your towel pile and reach for my arm. I whimper but follow along and you pull me over the toy onto my stomach, urging my legs wide open to awkwardly straddle its head.
Reaching beneath me, you click it onto its highest setting and I jolt up at the intensity. Climbing on top, you enter me from behind and the weight of your body presses my clit down directly onto the ceaseless zap of vibration. Again, I’m stuck.
Your arm threads under my neck to take hold of my shoulders, keeping me from budging while you move in and out of me with leisurely thrusts. You whisper in my ear while I shudder and do my fucking damndest to grit and bear it, proving I meant what I said.
“What do you say when Daddy gives you exactly what you asked for?”
Fuck fuck fuck. I won’t last long. The buzz is harsh but obscenely pleasurable, tapping directly into the core of my clit’s internal structure. I’m gonna come whether I want to or not.
“Th-thank you, Daddy.”
Humming a throaty, satisfied growl, you kiss behind my ear and fuck me harder. “Good girl.”
I’m drowning in the sea, flailing for the surface against the tug of monsters. I wanted you to make me, and you are. The thought sends me over the edge and I scream into the blanket below. The walls of my pussy pulsate around your cock, clutching you inside me and you murmur approval, but are in no way swayed to let up. You keep going, plunging into the flow of my carnal juices.
The relief of orgasm lasts all but a sliver of a second. The sensation that just had me howling in ecstasy morphs into a weapon of torture against the hood of my sore, swollen little pearl. Sweat beads on my upper lip and my teeth chatter. I need to stay focused. HAVE TO.
Don’t resist him. Keep to your word.
You pull out slightly to focus on my G-spot with tiny, poignant bursts of friction and I feel like I’m gonna pee. The Hitachi buzzes on and on and on. You ask again, breath hot in my ear, voice dripping with venom.
“What do we say?”
“Thank you, Daddy!”
You keep it up until I squirt despite all my effort not to, drenching your cock and the towels below me with an unbelievable gush of liquid. I desperately struggle to take air into my lungs between loud, high-pitched moans.
“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah—!!”
You chuckle sumptuously, malevolence personified. “Good girl.”
And yet, even so, you’re not quite done. Your free hand reaches beneath my hips once more, fingers creeping toward my mound. In a gesture of absolutely merciless cruelty, you stretch back the hood of my clit, exposing the naked nucleus of my sex before forcing it back down onto the vibrator. It HURTS.
“Oh my god! Oh god! Daddy!! Oh!! Shit!”
Your teeth nip my earlobe and you kick up the pace to deliver the deepest, roughest, most thorough fucking of my life. I feel your cock stiffen further, stoking fire within me while raw pain slices into my nerves. Involuntary tremors rack my body. Tears flow unbidden. I’m gonna pass out if this goes on. I need your forgiveness right fucking now.
“I’M SORRY, DADDY!”
“I’m sure you are, you spoiled little brat. What the fuck do you say to Daddy when he gives you what you fucking BEGGED him for?”
“THANK YOU! THANK YOU! I’M SORRY!! PLEASE!!”
Kicking and screaming, I’m dragged toward absolution and in my state of utter helplessness, I’m torn asunder. As my soaked cunt chokes the life out of your cock one last time, you chase your own release with malicious brutality, splitting me in two until finally, FINALLY, you let go with a coarse, ragged moan and fill me with cum.
The Hitachi clicks off and we lay in a heap, panting rapidly to catch our breath. On the climb back to earth through each circle of hell, the cacophony fades and I’m awash in relief. White light on the breeze, whole and pure like sunshine. Silent and still, to the depths of my being. You saved me, Daddy. Scared the shadows away, and I am simply… me.
Gently, carefully, you pull out of my body while I lie there sniffling and hiding my face. I can’t look at you yet and you don’t make me. Rather, you inspect my bottom and spread my labia apart with curious trepidation, checking your work and placing slow kisses over every ravaged bit of skin. Your lips gradually work their way up my spine and settle at the nape of my neck.
“What a very good girl,” you mumble, shifting to spoon me from behind and wrap me in your arms. “Look at my wild little creature, all docile and tame.”
I try not to smile at that, stubborn like always, but I fucking love you and fail.
Oozing contentment, primal programming sated, we lay awhile and meld into a singular being.
“You okay?” you ask eventually, still kissing from behind. “Did I hurt you?”
“Mmhmm. But I needed it.” I inhale shakily, running my fingertips over the veins that wrap around your forearms. “Sorry I’m so crazy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
You laugh. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You do this every month. It’s nature.”
“Oh… that’s true, huh.” I blush, embarrassed by how clearly you see through me. “It’s not annoying?”
“I look forward to it.” You pat and squeeze my sore cheeks, flaccid cock sticky against my leg. “Like Christmas.”
You go right on doing your thing, filling me with happiness. Rubbing, stroking, looking, pinching. Whispering that it’s Daddy’s job to fill my hungry, naughty little holes with cock whenever necessary. Making low, romantic threats to continue turning me over your knee and spanking me as you see fit at any given moment, whether I want it or not. Daddy has to sometimes, you know, to keep me well behaved. Keep me in line. I listen and dreamily stare into space, lashes fluttering, and ponder the ruthless demands of the universe.