Run

May 9

TW: light CNC, affection, aftercare, light ***, bratting, impact play
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I’m waiting.

The gravel crunches under my heels as I shift my weight. The air is cool, quiet, and heavy with expectation. My purple dress brushes my thighs. I wore it for him.

He said he’d bring the rope.

I hear the car before I see it. A small white one, simple, familiar. But the second it stops, my pulse kicks up.

He steps out.

The mask hides most of him. Blank white, with hollow eyes and just the hint of a smile. It’s the version of him that doesn’t ask. Doesn’t pause. Just takes.

He doesn’t say a word. Just watches me.

Then, after a long silence: “Run.”

I do. No hesitation. I bolt into the trees, laughing as I go. “You’re slow, old man!”

I can practically hear his smirk. “You really shouldn’t have said that.”

His voice is closer than I expected.

I push harder, but I already know how this ends. He’s not trying to outrun me. He’s letting me burn through my energy so when he catches me, I’ll have nothing left.

I dodge between trees, but it’s pointless. A hand grabs me out of nowhere, lifts me clean off the ground.

I scream and kick, but it’s useless. He’s strong. Calm.

Then I’m on the ground, winded, the earth cool under my back. I try to move, but he pins my thigh with his boot.

He crouches down beside me. “Still running?” he asks, voice calm, a little smug.

I shake my head.

His hand lifts the edge of my dress. He studies me through the mask. “Good. Lie still, little toy”

He pulls out his rope. Jute. Rough and ready. “You’ve got knots to earn.”

He steps closer, and I hold my breath.

He doesn’t speak. Just reaches out and brushes a gloved finger down my collarbone. Then lower. Over the neckline of my dress. The touch is light, almost reverent. “Purple,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

Then he grips the fabric and pulls it down.

I gasp as it tears at the seam. The air hits my skin all at once, cool and biting. He exposes me inch by inch, methodical. Not hurried. Not asking.

He slips the sleeves off my shoulders, then pulls the whole thing down, letting it fall to the forest floor. I’m left in my underwear and shoes. He takes those too. First the heels , each one lifted and dropped beside the pile. Then my bra, unhooked and tossed. Then my soaked panties, ***led down slow.

Now I’m bare. Excited. Waiting.

He walks behind me and takes his time uncoiling the jute rope. It smells like earth and fresh wood, grounding and raw. “Still not nervous?” he asks softly.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Good.”

He starts at my wrists. The rope brushes my skin like a tease. Then he binds. Slow, firm, careful. Each knot snug, not cruel. And every time he pulls the rope taut, he follows it with a stroke of his fingertips. Over my arms, down my back, across the dip of my waist.

Like he’s carving me into something. My breath starts to hitch.

“You’re quiet,” he says behind me. “Thinking dark thoughts?”

“I’m debating biting your hands off.”

He chuckles, low. “Yeah? You’d be flapping like a headless chicken by now if I wasn’t touching you exactly how you like.”

He’s not wrong. My skin is buzzing.

He binds my elbows close, then moves to my ankles, spreading them wide and tying one to a thick tree root. The other knee is bent, looped tightly to expose me even more.

He’s slow with that part. Slow because I’m squirming, and he wants to feel every shift. Slow because he’s enjoying the way I breathe harder each time his hands graze my thighs.

“Just look at you,” he mutters, not even bothering to hide how wrecked he sounds. “Soft. Tied. Dripping. You were born for this.”

He cups one breast, squeezes hard enough to make me yelp, then follows it with a gentle stroke. A soothing palm. A thumb across my nipple. “Do you feel owned yet?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. He knows.

He kneels, runs the rope over my inner thigh, slow and cruel. “I’ll take that as a yes, my pretty little whore.”

-

I yank against the rope hard, grinding my wrists against the jute. It bites into my skin, unforgiving. I twist my hips, kick out, shift my weight in every direction I can manage.

He doesn’t stop me.

He just watches. Silent. Steady.

I snarl, breath ragged. “You’re such an asshole.”

That grabs a chuckle out of him. “Took you longer than I expected.”

“You stunned me.”

“Of course I did.”

Another sharp tug, but it’s no use. The knots are perfect. I’m trapped, and we both know it.

He reaches into his bag and pulls it out.

The paddle.

Purple. Handmade. Mine.

His fingers curl around the handle like he’s remembering how it felt the last time he used it on me. Then he looks at me through the mask. “You remember how many you begged for last time?”

“Fuck off.”

He crouches beside me, gloved fingers curling into my hair, forcing me to look up at him. “Need a check?”

His voice cuts through everything. It’s not optional. It’s real.

I lock eyes with him through the mask. “Green,” I hiss.

His whole body shifts like I flipped a switch. “Good girl.”

The first strike lands on my thigh. It knocks the breath out of me.

Then the second. My ass.

Then again, lower, crueler.

I try to twist away, but there’s nowhere to go. All I can do is writhe and take it.

“You still fighting?” he growls.

I pant. “I don’t like you.”

“Liar.”

Another crack across my pussy. My body jolts. I whimper and shake.

“You’re soaked.”

“I hate you.”

“You’re dripping.”

“Asshole.”

He leans in close, steel dark and smug. “You love this.”

“Shut up.”

He presses the flat of the paddle between my thighs. My skin burning. Everything raw. I can’t stop shaking.

He leans closer, the edge of the mask grazing my cheek. “Say you want more.”

“No.”

Another hard strike. “Say it.”

I breathe through the sting. Through the heat. “I want more.”

His voice lowers. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I want more. Hurt me. Use me. I’m yours.”

He groans like it undoes him. The next blow lands with enough *** to knock a dry wheeze out of my lungs.

And he doesn’t stop.

"Is that all you’ve got, old man?”

He freezes. The paddle slams down harder than before. I cry out, but my breath is already coming back with a grin.

“Careful,” he warns. “You’re pushing close to the edge.”

“You’re the one with weak wrists,” I shoot back.

He tosses the paddle aside. “Say that again when you’re drooling around my cock.”

I roll my eyes. “Promises, promises.”

He kneels beside me, reaches towards me, and offers me his hand, still gloved.

“Take them off.”

I eye him. “With what?”

“Your mouth, obviously.”

I glare, then lean in and grab the tip of the glove between my teeth. I pull slow, dramatic, eyes locked on his mask the whole time. Once his hand is bare, I nip his wrist. Hard.

He hisses. Then laughs.

“You little savage. I just got bitten by a menace.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

He removes the other glove himself this time, then grabs my hair, pulling my head up roughly. “You talk a big game, but you’re still just a tied up slut begging to be used.”

I shiver.

Then he tightens his grip and leans in, voice rough. “But you’re my slut. Which means I don’t have to give you what you want.”

His fingers slide between my legs, grazing my soaked folds. Teasing. Cruel “Only good girls get cock. And you’ve been a fucking menace.”

I squirm, aching, ***. “So why do you keep coming back?”

He leans close enough that his breath brushes my cheek. “Because I live to ruin you.”

I don’t ask again. I just open my mouth.

He sees it. The surrender. The defiance still burning behind it, but the want, the ache, louder.
He stands, steps in front of me, and unzips his pants. The mask watches me while he strokes himself once, twice, slow. “You want it, my little toy?”

I nod.

He taps it against my cheek. “Then work for it.”

He grabs the back of my head and feeds himself into my mouth. There’s no slow buildup. No gentle rhythm. He holds my face still and fucks in deep.

I ***, gag, tears spilling instantly. But I don’t pull back.

He groans, one hand in my hair, the other braced on my shoulder. “God, look at you,” he murmurs. “All tied up and drooling on my cock. This is what sluts like you were made for.”

He pushes deeper. My throat stretches. I gag again.

I hum around him in response. He twitches.
His pace is rough. Unforgiving. My lips stretch, my jaw aches, and still he doesn’t slow.

“I should just keep you like this,” he mutters. “Gagged. Used. On your knees for me. Nothing but a warm hole with a bell on it.”

I moan around him, thighs shaking against the rope.

“Every sound you make just makes me harder.”

He pulls back to let me breathe. My spit clings to him in strands. “Aw, poor thing. Is the little toy messy already?”

I glare at him through watery eyes, panting. “I will *** you.”

He laughs. “You’d have to run fast.”

Before I can respond, he pushes in again. This time slower. Deeper. Like he’s savoring it now. His hand cups my throat, thumb stroking where he can feel himself moving inside me.

He groans. “You feel that? That’s what being mine tastes like.”

My body is burning. Desperate. All the teasing. The slapping. The waiting.

He pulls out with a wet sound and grabs my jaw again. “You want more?”

“Yes,” I rasp.

“Say it.”

“I want your cock.”

He kneels behind me, dragging his hands down my thighs. “I’m not done tasting what’s mine.”

I start to protest, but his fingers part me again. His mouth presses between my legs, warm and wet. His tongue starts slow, deliberate, curling through my slick folds, teasing and sucking like he’s starving.

I jerk in the ropes, moaning loud. My body tries to back into him, to grind down on his face, but the knots won’t let me. They keep me wide and exposed, twitching with every flick of his tongue.

He hums against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat through my core.

He doesn’t speak. He just devours.

Over and over, he brings me right to the edge. Tongue thrusting, sucking my clit, fingers sliding inside just enough to make me arch... then gone. Pulling away. Leaving me empty and whimpering.
Again. Again. Again.

My thighs tremble. I’m a mess. Panting. Soaked. The sounds are obscene, slick and desperate.

He looks up from between my legs, beard dripping, mask still perched above his head like a crown of ruin. “You’re going to come when I say.”

I shake my head, ***. “Please.”

He goes back in. This time he doesn’t stop.
His mouth clamps down on my clit, fingers curling just right, tongue relentless.

“Now,” he growls into me. “Fucking come for me.”
And I do.

I break, body seizing in the ropes. I scream, moan, tremble, clench. My whole body convulses, grinding against his face, and he doesn’t stop. Not until I’m gasping and twitching and leaking down his chin.

When he finally pulls back, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and laughs. “You’re dripping off my beard, slut.”

I groan.

He moves behind me again, one hand sliding down to grab my hip hard enough to leave bruises, the other wrapping around the base of his cock. He slaps it once, then growls:
“Spread your knees wider.”

I snarl.

That gets a solid slap. “Wider,” he murmurs.

The better part of me, the dripping part of me, groans. I open up. Obey.

“You begging for cock again, slut?”

I exhale a whimper.

He presses in again, stretching me open this time. I gasp, kick back into him, ache and drag, far too much at once. He’s big. He’s always big. The kind of big that makes your lungs stutter and your cunt try to pulse him out even when it wants to suck him in.

He grunts, fists my hair, ***s my head down.
“You’ll make room for me. You’ve done it before.”

“I’ll bite your balls off.” I hiss the threat into the air. Useless. No shock to his system. Just an ache in mine and a need to feel him everywhere.

“You didn’t bite last time. You whined.”

My jaw clenches. I brace myself, try to make space for him.

He presses in harder. Slow. He makes me feel it.
It’s not just stretch. It’s pressure. It’s weight. It’s heat. It’s being split wide by something I was never quite built to take.

“Is that it, little one?”

I nod, breathless, grit my throat like the grip around his size will change it all.

“Repeat your safeword.”

“Red. Yellow.”

“That’s it. All the way.”

The stretch burns in the best way.

He groans thick at the sounds I make. His s***d follows. The pressure is the same but my legs are shaking, the ropes around my thighs pressing tighter with each deep thrust. I’m whimpering, sobbing, panting while his hands drag me back to take more. Because he needs it.

While he leans in tight, his arm around me, one hand rubbing at my clit. My voice breaks with a whimper.

“Such a filthy little one. Look at you. Open wide to take it. Bent over like a fuck toy, my fuck toy.”

He groans again, and the motion drags something so devilish and perfect across the roughest part of me that I twitch, nearly scream, and have to gasp for air. He pulls my head up to kiss me. Licks into my mouth while he slams into my body. Hard. Fast. Feral.

“I deserve this.”

“You do.”

“Good.”

“Such a fucked brat.”

“God, you hit the perfect…”

He doesn’t slow. If anything, he s***ds up.
My legs start to tremble, heart beating faster.

“Please.”

He bites down, over my shoulder now. Moves like a beast breaking in. Feral. Hard. Breathless. He drops the ropes and I was too wrapped in him to notice when he was working on them. My legs collapse.

He catches me in the same motion, flipping me onto my back without slipping free, adjusting to a new angle and then slamming in again. “Your cunt always takes it.”

He grins down at me like a monster, spanking the side of my ass hard. “You asked for this.”

“I did.”

“I’m not done.”

He fucks me like a promise and a punishment. Mutters into my skin that he’s going to ruin me. That I deserve the filth he’s giving me. That he’s going to break me in so hard I’ll be aching tomorrow, and the day after, and the next. And he means it.

He pounds into me, hard and rough. My legs are trembling, the ropes around my knees long undone, but I’m too far gone to fight. I’m spread wide, open and dripping, and he’s using me like he owns every inch of me.

Because he does.

His hand leaves my hip for a second, and then it lands on my ass. Loud. Sharp. My whole body jerks. Again. Again.

“Fucking brat,” he growls. “Look at this greedy hole. Clenching like it knows who it belongs to.”

His palm cracks against me once more, the sting blooming into something hot and bruising. I cry out, fingers clawing at his shoulders, and he doesn’t let up. His hips slam into mine, cock driving deep as he leans forward, breath rough against my neck.

His other hand digs into my side. Nails. Hard. I gasp. He doesn’t loosen. “Hurts?” he asks.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“You want it.”

“Yes.”

He groans, and his pace gets harder. Meaner. The tip of his cock hits deep, dragging broken moans from me with every thrust. My body’s shaking, unable to process pleasure from ***, from pressure, from the brutal stretch of him inside me.

“I know that look,” he murmurs. “You’re close.”

“No,” I lie.

“Yeah, you are. You’re holding it.”

He grabs my hair and yanks my head back so he can see my face better. His mask is pushed up now, his eyes on fire, watching me unravel. Watching my lip tremble. “You’ll come when I say,” he growls.

His hand slips between my legs, fingers slick as they find my clit.

“Don’t,” I beg.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make me.”

He grins and rubs harder. “I want to see you break.”

My whole body tenses, teetering.

“Not yet.”
I sob.

He leans down, voice low in my ear. “You need something to bite?”

I nod, breathless.

He offers his arm. “Go on.”

I sink my teeth in. Hard.

He hisses, hips jerking forward. “Now.”

My orgasm hits like a scream through my nerves. I moan around his arm, shaking, convulsing, barely conscious under the weight of it.
He groans and slams into me one last time, spilling deep inside.

We collapse together. His arm around my waist. His hand still tangled in my hair.

And then, for a long moment, there’s nothing but breath and the soft thud of his heart against my chest.

His body slumps over mine, breath hot and ragged against my shoulder. I kiss every part I can reach of him, in awe that this man is part of my life. I can feel his smile and lips against my skin.

For a while, neither of us moves. Just breathing. Letting the silence stretch between heartbeats and cooling skin.

Then I feel his weight shift, and he starts to pull back.

“Wait,” I whisper, voice hoarse. I reach for his face, cupping his cheek. “You good?”

He blinks, caught off guard. His thumb is still brushing my hip, absentminded, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You?”

I nod. “Used. Melted. Owned.”

He smirks. “Perfect.”

He kisses me softly. Both at peace.

But I don’t let it end there. I sit up slowly, the blanket he pulled out earlier half d***d around my legs. I pull him in with me, wrapping arms around his bare chest, pulling him down beside me. “You always check on me,” I say. “But you just gave everything, too.”

He doesn’t argue. Just lets his forehead fall against mine.

I kiss his temple, slow and soft.

Then the inside of his elbow, where I bit him.
Then I press a hand to his chest. His heartbeat is still heavy, but slowing. “You sure you’re okay?” I ask again.

His voice is quieter now. “Yeah. Just… full.”

I nuzzle into his neck, my voice a playful whisper.
“You’re nearly past all my walls, you know.”

He snorts. “I’m sorry, what?”

I lean back a little, grinning. “I said you’re nearly past all my walls. Sir.”

He bursts out laughing, the sound low and rough and real. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t ruin the moment. This is serious character development.”

He chuckles again, then pulls me tighter against his chest.

I rub slow circles on his back. “You were incredible.”

“So were you.”

“Yeah, but you knew I would be.”

“True.”

We stay like that, tangled in each other, warm, filthy, spent.

And safe.