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“Anything at all,” I say, walking towards him. “Choking, slapping, hair-pulling, and more. The whole nine yards.”
“I don’t know,” he says, backing up slightly as I approached, suddenly apprehensive.
“I knew it,” I say. “You’re all talk. When it comes to doing the deed you just don’t have the balls.”
His grin takes on a harder edge. I’m starting to get to him. Time to pour it on.
“You’re scared,” I say. “I can see it in your eyes. You don’t think I can take what you have in mind.”
“I know you can’t,” he says.
“Try me,” I say. “Fucking try me and let’s find out who’s right and who’s wrong.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” he says, suddenly yanking my shirt off, exposing my small, perky tits. My nipples are already rock hard. He fondles one of my tits and roughly pinches my nipple, forcing a gasp from my throat. Then, without warning, he slaps down on it.
I bite down on my bottom lip and let out a little moan. It hurts for just a moment before fading into pleasure.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” I say, smiling wickedly. “Do it again.”
Grinning back at me, Chris slaps down on my tit again, harder this time.
“Harder,” I say.
So he does, hard enough that the sound echoes about the room.
“Harder,” I say again, even though tears are leaking out of my eyes and my tit already stings. “Like you mean it.”
He obliges.
“Is that all you got?” I ask.
Grinning wickedly now, he does it again. And again. And again, forcing me to flinch more every time.
But then, at just the right time, he stops. Chris is smart enough to know that mixing pleasure in with the pain keeps things infinitely more interesting.
Bending down, Chris leans forward and takes my raw nipple in his mouth, sucking on it gently, my pleasure heightened because of the sudden absence of pain. But he doesn’t let me feel good for too long.
Rising up, he lets my nipple pop out of his mouth, then goes to work on my other tit, slapping away at it until I’m just about to go over the edge between pleasure and pain before bringing me back down by caressing my nipple with his mouth.
“Not bad,” I say. “Not bad at all. But still I need more.”
“Don’t worry,” Chris says, spinning me around so my back is to him. “You’re gonna get it.”
He grabs my arms and pulls them behind my back. Then, holdings my wrists together against my back with one hand, he uses his free hand to pull off his belt.
“Let’s see how you like this,” he says as he wraps his belt around my wrists in an interlocking fashion and then tightens it, incapacitating my arms behind my back before spinning me around so I’m facing him again.
“I fucking love it,” I say, smiling widely.
Without warning, Chris grabs ahold of my throat and starts to squeeze, not so much that I can’t breathe, but not lightly either. With his other hand, he slaps my face. The sound fills the room like a gunshot.
After taking a moment to let me recover, Chris slaps me again. He’s squeezing my throat more tightly, making it extremely difficult to breathe. But still he doesn’t let up, slapping me again.
I can feel my face turning red as I try in vain to get air into my lungs. But still I don’t want him to stop, which is a good thing because it doesn’t appear that he has any intention of doing so.
He slaps me again. And again.
Chris is squeezing my throat with everything he has now, making it impossible for me to breathe. Even though the rational part of my brain knows that I’m not in any danger, my body rebels against the lack of air, my arms straining against their bonds, but I can’t break free.
