Also available as audio on (It Girl. Rag Doll) Podcast Episode 1: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

There is something bizarre about seeing him in our living room – a place where we entertain guests, where we sit and watch TV, where we live our very ordinary lives – red with passion and cruelty. He seems strangely out of context. The water stain on the coffee table; the twitch just beneath his left eye. The curtains we chose to match the red sofa; the calculated flexing of his knuckles. The slightly worn, beige carpet; the heavy rising and falling of his chest. I don’t think I will ever get used to this extraordinary juxtaposition.

But it doesn’t take long for his treatment of me to drive all thoughts of the unusual from my pain-thick mind. Placing a hand on my throat, he fumes, and forces me to look into his dark eyes. There is always a moment, between his display of cruelty and my enjoyment where I am terrified of what I let him do. He slaps me; hard. He told me before.

“I want to hit you. I know how much you want me to. It’ll be hard tonight.”

My body had bristled, waiting. He always makes me wait. He gives me the words, the facts, tells me what he will do, and then makes me wait for their execution.

As I kneel at his feet, my hands bound behind my back, the force of his palm would snap my head to the right, but his other hand on my throat keeps my head in place. I groan, deep in my throat. I long ago learnt that real screams should be reserved for real pain. And tonight I am not so convinced of his sadism as I am of his cruelty. There are times when the two go hand in hand, but his intention seems to be my discomfort and upset, rather than my pain. Which is why he holds my neck; not so he can squeeze, but so he can look into my eyes as someone I love, adore and worship, hits me so mercilessly. Closer he offers me his lips, and then takes mine with his teeth, dragging the flesh from my face. I give him nothing but the satisfaction of a whimper.

Moving his hand from my neck to my chest, he presses me backwards. I let him tip me onto my back, and wince lightly as my body crushes my awkwardly positioned hands. He let me keep my tee shirt on, but only because, he assured me in no uncertain terms, “I have no use for your tits today.”

Below my waist I am naked and bare, and as he tips me backwards, I am fully exposed. I can feel the whispering air of his gaze on my cunt and, as he presses my legs back a little, my asshole too. The way he pushes and exposes me causes heat to rise in me, and my cunt grows wet. He runs one, rough, calloused finger from my clit to my anus, trailing moisture and claiming, touching, tracing what he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, belongs to him. But that is all I get. His touch is to be begged for, pleaded for, earned. And he has other plans for me.

I hadn’t noticed until now, as he reaches for it, the roll of duct tape on the floor beside me. With his nail he scratches for the end of the tape and I listen to the synthetic sound of it as he rips a thick, long piece with his teeth. Almost ceremoniously, he places the strip over my cunt, lightly lining it from just above my clit to the space between my fuck hole and my ass. Pressing it with his palm, it sticks to my folds and I immediately feel it’s strength. I tremble, my cunt blossoming nothing but more heat and wetness as I realise just how completely he commands me. He smoothes the tape over me, taking great care with how I’m covered, and then he leans in, and parting his lips, lets a string of his saliva drip onto my asshole, where his rough fingers are already hungry to push inside. There isn’t a great deal of pain involved in having his fingers in my ass any more; my body has grown accustomed to it. He knows this well and instead I feel them tease, rubbing around, but not penetrating. He watches me closely as I bite back frustration and remain calm, desperately trying to keep complaints at bay until they are unavoidable.

Beneath the taut plastic of the tape I can feel the pulse of my cunt, in time with my heart, and eventually he eases two raw fingers inside my ass. Perhaps I downplayed the discomfort. I can’t help but wriggle a little as I feel their unlubricated presence, their intrepid violation.

“I love your whimpers.” He says as he withdraws his hands, tears another strip of tape, and presses it over my mouth.

His hands return and another finger is added. I feel my muscles stretch to take his invasive touch. My body contorts a little around him and then there are four pressing in, wetter as he compassionately spits again. The pain, the pressure comes with the thumb, easing in. Too much, too intense, too full. I squirm and his other hand is placed firmly on my abdomen, holding me still, his chest pushing my legs back and keeping me open.

He fists me, and it’s all I can think – “He is fisting me. He is fisting me. He is fisting me.” There is no consciousness those words. Yet more moisture blossoms, held in the crevice of my folded and taped cunt, and all I can think is “He is fisting me”. Not the first time, not the last time, but all-consuming nonetheless. He presses in, and retracts a little, and presses in. A light fucking is all it takes for us to both know, eyes meeting, that I feel the fullness of his ownership of me, and of how far I will allow him to degrade and debase me to show it. His fearlessness is what I love.

Finally he removes his fingers. He leaves the room and my tension, my desire only rises. I hear him washing his hands in the downstairs bathroom. I wait. When he returns, something small glints in his hand. A razor blade.

I shake, I squirm, I writhe to get away. I feel fear send shockwaves from my cunt to my heart. The beat and force muffled screams. Is this the day? Is this the when, when he will go too far and I won’t forgive him?

It only takes one hand for him to hold me still. Forces my legs apart, on either side of him, beneath his armpits, and he wields the blade, hovers it over my flesh. In a part of me I want to see my blood, I want him to cut and mark me. But I hadn’t given permission. And the violation scares me. The misuse. He lowers the tiny blade to my cunt and I shake and shake. Only a second in use, he lightly, delicately, carefully slits open the tape. And the razor blade is cast aside.

Leaning over me, he penetrates the slit with his tongue and through the thick tape, he drags my clit, and bites into it. I scream and come, hot, needy, clinging to him with my heels.

This entry was posted in Dark, Fiction, Lustful, Rough, Seven Days of Smut. Bookmark the permalink.

24 Responses to Slit

  1. Molly says:

    Fucking eh woman… that is one seriously hot piece of writing


    • LadyGrinSoul says:

      Thank you. It felt hot writing it. Which doesn’t happen a lot with me.

      • Lilly says:

        I know it’s been a decent piece of writing when I get aroused writing it….and when I don’t, I don’t continue. This was very well written, I felt afraid FOR you. with you.

        • LadyGrinSoul says:

          Thank you! I wish I could measure the quality of my writing by my arousal, but the two don’t necessarily go hand in hand. However, it would seem that this time, they did.

  2. Newswriter22 says:

    As usual, a brilliant piece.
    You have created a delicious portrait of submission, but also of pleasure, on both parts. The detail you always so carefully shape draw the reader in, give them permission to imagine they are taking the lead in this fantasy or to be the willing sub, so eager to please, so eager to be punished.
    One can only image what comes next and I am sure each and every reader of this piece will do just that.

    • LadyGrinSoul says:

      I love the idea of the reader taking it away and continuing it. I certainly hope you’re doing that. And thank you… very much.

  3. Lovelustlondon says:

    Ouch. Love how the total submission comes across. Did Anais Nin ever say ‘cunt’?

    • LadyGrinSoul says:

      Thank you. You know, I’m not sure she did. I think she said “sex” mostly. But I couldn’t be certain.

  4. Yes, THAT Tonya says:

    Please. Don’t. EVER. Stop. Writing. My heart leaps every time I see you’ve posted.

    Every word takes my breath away. You never fail to draw me into every moment. Such raw eroticism. I feel like there is more I need to say, but I want to go read it again. And again.

    I sincerely feel that you keep outdoing yourself.

    • LadyGrinSoul says:

      That is the most wonderful comment. Words cannot describe how happy that made me… thank you.

  5. Jack and Jill says:

    We posted something today that ventured slightly into D/s. It was exciting to voice something we hadn’t yet voiced on our blog, even though it’s all in good fun and not really deep or particularly thought-provoking. This, however, puts everything into perspective. Very arousing, intense, and dark. As usual, your writing goes places of which our minds are incapable. Thank you.

  6. MissCatherineGail says:

    Really quite amazing how you’ve told this tale – I love it!

  7. Wyeth Bailey says:

    I love the tenderness of the final act. Brava. I always enjoy your work.

    • LadyGrinSoul says:

      Oh, I love your comments. Only you would see the tenderness in that. Thank you.

  8. Squeaky says:

    …*remembers to breathe*…

  9. Anita says:

    Ahh…I’m happy. Thank you

  10. Sadey says:

    Yum! I’ve been busy reading a couple of your posts and you are truly a fantastic writer. Thanks so much for sharing such intimate words.

  11. Sir Wolf says:

    This is not something I would ever do or even seriously contemplate, but you had me hanging on the edge of my seat. My breath was shallow and my palms sweaty. I was mesmerized, taken captive in a way by your words. Damn hot stuff.

    • LadyGrinSoul says:

      Wow… that is quite a compliment. Thank you. I’m glad you found it so engaging.

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