A follow on from Cool Shower. Content Warning: Humiliation and degradation.
‘So … Together or apart?
‘Apart. They’ve enjoyed each other too much today. Time to separate them.’
At our attempts to get on with showering and preparing for lunch, their hands rose into a stop motion and the words ‘don’t you dare move’ were uttered. We both sat motionless on the bed, as the atmosphere in the room shifted.
‘Which one do you want?’
‘Well mine needs a shower, she’s filthy and needs some punishment for fucking yours. So you take her.’
I love it when they speak about us like this, reduced to nothing but commodities, things they can share between them. The loving endearments of our individual relationships cast aside, while the focus becomes ownership and hedonism.
I am unceremoniously dragged to the bathroom and he shuts the door behind us, muffling the sounds that are beginning to come from the bedroom. He has that look that tells me he is going to make this hurt, whether that is physical or emotional it’s hard to tell.
Physical comes first as his hand makes contact with my face in a firm slap, with a simultaneous command to get on my knees.
His shorts are barely containing his cock and it bursts forth as if it has been suffocating when he undoes his button and zip. Once free it is forced into my mouth, his hand clamped in my hair. I gag and I drool as tears stream from my eyes.
When he releases me, I briefly gain enough focus to hear deep, enthusiastic moans of pleasure coming from the bedroom. I know he’s inside her, pushing, throbbing, lost in the thrill of her warm, wet cunt consuming him.
I am pulled to my feet by my hair and left standing while his hand reaches for the shower.
‘You look so fucking grubby. Get in the shower and make yourself decent again … if that’s even possible.’
The warm water is mine for just a second before he turns the temperature dial and ice cold water cascades over my body. My eyes close in shock and when I open them he is stood before me, safely out of reach of the water, his eyes upon me, cock in hand.
‘Turn the water off and kneel down.’
I do as I’m told and it soon becomes apparent that my painfully cold shower was completely pointless. The rhythm of his hand now promises to be fruitful, and it would be optimistic of me to think he’d do something as kind as order me to swallow.
I am transfixed by him. He is awful to me in these sessions. He does his absolute best to humiliate and degrade me. Having excavated all the darkest and most depraved thoughts I possess from my mind in order to use them against me. Which is how he knows that I can’t abide having come in my hair, but as he pointed out with great glee, not enough to have it on my list of hard limits.
I watch as he shudders and tenses while his orgasm builds within him, before his come lands just above my hairline.
He smears his come into my hair and across my face. There is nothing sexy about this, which begs the question of why my thighs are wet with my own arousal.
With the shower off and a brief lull in our own activities, I hear the noises of our respective partners floating into my mind as if calling to me from a far away place.
He opens the door just a fraction, and the sound of their pleasure becomes more audible. He moves me into position, my head is leaning against the door frame, he is purposely holding it there because he knows that not only will it be uncomfortable, but it also gives me the slightest glimpse of them.
He closes in on me, his body holding me captive as his mouth falls to my ear and I struggle against him, but he holds me in place, knowing my desire to escape is half-hearted.
‘Look at them. Look at how much he’s enjoying her. I bet you thought they were still fucking, hard and dirty like you always beg for. That’s not fucking though is it?’
When I don’t reply, he pushes my head harder against the wooden door frame, repeating his question with an almost venomous force. My voice cracking I manage to utter a single word, ‘no’.
That isn’t good enough though, he wants to hear me say the words that I can’t bear to use. Watching them though, I can see why he wants me to say it. Missionary would describe the basic position, but it wouldn’t convey the intensity of their interaction. I can see them moving in harmony together, taking deep, laboured breaths that look as if they are breathing in each other, not the surrounding air. Her head cradled by his hands, as his lips keep returning to hers, for one more kiss, and one more, and one more. Their eyes flicker from open to closed and back again, drinking each other in while they are open, committing the other’s face to memory for when the depth of the pleasure draws them shut. It is so fucking sensual I could cry.
‘Tell me … if it’s not fucking, then what the hell is it?’
‘It … it looks like … like … m-m-making love.’
I cringe inwardly as I say it. It’s a phrase I hate and an action I find hard to embrace. Seeing it though doesn’t create one emotion, but many. It’s hard to untangle them, they well up inside me until I’m like a river threatening to burst free from its banks. Just as it starts to verge on unbearable, he saves me.
‘That’s enough voyeurism for you. Lie in the bath and spread your legs. Head under the tap.’
His fingers do not move gently or with grace. They slam into me, hard and unforgiving, and the shame of how close I already am to coming brings the moment of climax even closer still. His voice graces my ears with a tirade of verbal degradation, the more he belittles and berates me though the more turned on I become. His fingers continue slamming into me, with what seems like reckless abandon, but he is actually exceptionally aware of the spot he is hitting. Over and over again, pushing me closer and closer, just as I am perched on the edge, only one more forceful push to tear my climax from my body, he turns the shower on.
I can barely breathe as the water cascades over my face, and it feels like an eternity of fear has descended upon me. It pulls me back from the edge ever so slightly, but his fingers keep on going and before I know it fear and arousal have combined, and I don’t know if I’m going to die or come, and for just a second I don’t care, because wave after wave of pleasure starts to wash over me and suddenly the water is gone too, and the deep breath I take seems to fuel the fire and I come so hard the world goes black.