His hand was wrapped around my throat. Such a pretty little neck, he said softly. Almost like it was made for my hand, he told me. I whimpered and nodded as best I could in his grip.
Moments like this, I could believe that my body had been made for his touch.
His hand moved, fingers dug into that sensitive spot on my jaw, just below my ear. It hurt, and I made small pain sounds, writhing just a little against him.
Do you want me to stop? he asked.
I gave it a moments thought. I could hear the smile in his voice, the utter joy he feels at hurting me. I wanted him to keep feeling that joy.
No, I whispered.
He dug in harder, another finger pressing into the sensitive spot just below my nose and I shivered with the effort it took not to fight his big hands. I whimpered, pressed tightly into him.
A moment or an hour later, slowly, reluctance clear in his hands, he released me, his hands moving to cradle me against him. Good girl, he whispered to me. Good girl.
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